First-fruits of the Kingdom

Resurrection, Anna Kocher, US, 2006

The resurrection of Jesus sent shock-waves through the established order. It was the first-fruits of a new kingdom: a kingdom of life, not death; love, not hate; justice, not oppression.

A 2014 essay by Anglican theologian N. T. Wright explains:

Jesus’ risen body was the first element in God’s long-promised "new creation." A little bit of God’s new world, coming forward from the ultimate future into our surprised and unready present time. And launching the project of new creation that continues to this day. . . .

Here's the point: Jesus’ resurrection doesn’t mean, "He’s gone to heaven, so we can go there too" (though you might be forgiven for thinking it meant that, granted the many sermons both at funerals and at Easter). It means, "In Jesus, God has launched his plan to remake creation as a whole, and if you are a follower of Jesus you get to be part of that right now." What God did for Jesus, close up and personal, is what he plans to do for the whole world. And the project is already under way.

This has profound implications for daily life, spiritual practice, and public policy. Last week the Political Theology Network shared a short essay by Carmen Joy Imes, associate professor of theology at Biola University: The Politics of Resurrection. 

When I speak of how the resurrection of Jesus is world-remaking, I mean it in the best sense: the reversal of bodily decay, the defeat of exploitative expressions of power, and the restoration of agency to those who have been oppressed.

Imes provides a good summary of "ways the resurrection of Jesus changes everything."

It's for all of us: 

Christ is the “firstfruits” of resurrection. No one plants a pear tree to get just one juicy pear. The first pear is a harbinger of an abundant harvest. Bushels of pears are yet to come. . . 

The hope of Easter applies to us and it is meant to transform the way we relate to one another.The hope of Easter applies to us and it is meant to transform the way we relate to one another.

It's not just about heaven: 

The resurrection of Jesus initiates more than just an internal sense of well-being or a promise of a life after this one. It’s also thoroughly political. The systems of this world wield the sword against all who challenge their rule. When Jesus rose from the dead, every worldly abuse of power was put on notice: rulers who are not aligned with God’s priorities face the certainty of judgment. . . .

The blessings of the LORD’s kingdom are not purely spiritual. They are inherently practical. They transform life expectancy and employment practices. The kingdom over which God rules is soaked in Shalom and absent of violence. 

It's not just men:

Theology and proclamation were men’s work: male priests, male scribes, male rabbis, male disciples, male governors, male philosophers. The name of the game became an attempt to protect the status quo. But Jesus wasn’t having it.

When Jesus chooses Mary Magdalene to announce the most important news of human history, he disrupts these social expectations and power dynamics. By sending Mary, Jesus signals a new creation reality that upends assumptions about male power and begins the process of restoring the collaboration between male and female that God has always intended.

Les Saintes femmes au tombeau du Christ,
Irma Martin, 1843 France

The resurrection is political. But it's also personal. For all of us. A decade ago, I wrote a post about the way God speaks to each of us, entering our stories, drawing us one by one: 

Witnesses across continents, across centuries, give thanks for the reality of resurrection, bringing hope where hope seems impossible, freedom from constraints of culture, poverty, illness, evil, oppression, sin.

It’s certainly true for me. In a broken, battered world, I am blessed with hope and joy made possible by the great reversal of resurrection morning.

In the jubilant noise of this Easter Sunday, I am listening, again, for that quiet voice that speaks my name, reminding me of the great value we hold in the eyes of God, reminding me that through Christ’s death and resurrection. . . we are all claimed and called to something far more than simple dying flesh: immortal, priceless, loved. 

We're surrounded this year by political anxiety, economic uncertainty, social unrest. Our churches are divided. Friends we've worshipped with for years have stepped away from church completely, alarmed at a narrowing gospel that no longer seems good news for the poor, the sick, the stranger.

I'm reminded that none of this is new. There have always been religious leaders eager for political power and ready to kill when their will is thwarted. There have always been political leaders with great ambition and no moral compass.

And since that first Easter morning, there have always been those who follow the way of Christ and rejoice in the fullness of his resurrection, at great risk, with great love, with joy that overcomes fear and sorrow. 

May we know that love and joy, and live as first-fruits of the coming kingdom. 

Icon of the Resurrection, Greek Orthodox Church

Other Easter Reflections:

• Is the Resurrection Just a Myth?, April 12, 2015
• Resurrection Sunday: Exuberant Reversal, April 5, 2015
• Saying Yes to the Risen Christ, April 20, 2014
• Where Is Newness Needed? March 31, 2013
• Risen Indeed: the Hermaneutic Community April 8, 2012
• Resurrection, April 25, 2011 

Hands Off Our Neighbors

I am an unaffiliated voter and have been all my life. I watched recaps of the Watergate trials on late night TV my freshman year of college, knowing my Christian elders had voted for Richard Nixon.

I watched Mayor Frank Rizzo's blind eye toward abuse of black Philadelphians during my years of grad school in Philly, knowing most white folks in churches around me  supported him because he said he'd keep them safe. 

When my husband Whitney worked with Prison Fellowship, founded by Chuck Colson, Nixon's hatchet man, we spent time with people from both parties who had served time for illegal partisan political actions. 

While I know there are often good reasons for choosing one party over another, I've also seen the harm of blind loyalty, and the danger of throwing support too fervently in one direction. 

George Washington apparently felt something similar. His 1796 Farewell Address explained why he chose not to seek a third term, then warned against "the dangers of parties" and "geographical discriminations."  He said:

Let me . . . warn you in the most solemn manner against the baneful effects of the spirt of party. . . . The alternate domination of one faction over another, sharpened by the spirit of revenge, natural to party dissension. . . is itself a frightful depotism. But this leads at length to a more formal and permanent despotism. The disorders and miseries, which result, gradually incline the minds of men to seek security and repose in the absolute power of an individual; and sooner or later the chief of some prevailing faction . . . turns this disposition to the purposes of his own elevation, on the ruins of Public Liberty. 

I lead a non-partisan grassroots organization working to change Pennsylvania's redistricting process. I've seen how the "spirit of party" Washington warned against can lead to bending the rules to keep one's own party in power. Even when it undermines democracy. Even when it damages confidence in government, wrecks public policy, and yields that ugly spirit of revenge between legislative colleagues. 

Our all-volunteer Fair Districts PA team is composed of Rs, Ds, and some, like me, unaffiliated voters. Some are registered with a party solely so they can vote in PA's closed primaries. Some have shifted parties over the years due to changing party platforms or their own changing priorities. ALL are tired of the way our political structures encourage partisan games instead of common sense solutions. 

One of our mottos, repeated often: Not Red, Not Blue, Just Fair. 

Our nation needs deep foundational change. But we also need moral courage and a willingness to set party aside and stand up for what we know is right. 

In the past few months I've watched people I once admired contradict themselves rather than acknowledge or counter their party leader's endless lies. 

I've watched people who claim to love their neighbors stand silent as neighbors born in other countries are deported without due process or legal rationale. 

I've heard people who give generously to Christian aide agencies repeat lies about fraud in those same agencies. 

I've seen legislators who once worked in national defense pretend dangerous security breaches are not worth noting. 

All of that was on my mind in deciding this week to join a Hands Off rally in West Chester, our county seat, just minutes from my home.

My participation wasn't a statement of support for Democrats. 

It wasn't a repudiation of Republicans.

My goal was to stand on behalf of my neighbors:

• Immigrants targeted unjustly.
• Disabled children whose protections will vanish as the Department of Education is unraveled. 
• All those hungry, sick, impoverished people impacted by the loss of USAID.
• Health researchers whose projects have been cut abruptly, leaving sick people in confusion and undermining years of work. 
• Thousands and thousands of government workers suddenly fired without notice, explanation, or plan to carry on important work they've been doing. 

In making a sign to carry in the protest, I realized there's far too much at stake to ever put on one small sign. But I did make my sign.

I did go and stand with others to say "Hands off our democracy, our neighbors, the protections enacted by Congress over decades of debate."

At the protest I met people from my church.
Conservatives I've known for years.
A parent who sent her children to the local Christian private school. 
People I know - for sure - voted Republican in every election until they voted against Donald Trump. 
For many, it was the first protest event they've ever attended. 

We are all wrestling with the question: what does it mean to love my neighbor?

We are struggling with the command to walk justly in a tragically unjust time. 

In my church, we pray weekly:

Most merciful God,
we confess that we have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our whole heart;
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.
We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.
For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ,
have mercy on us and forgive us;
that we may delight in your will,
and walk in your ways,
to the glory of your Name.
Amen. 

I will never fully do what I should do. There will always be work left undone. 

I will never love God as fully as I should, and will never fully love my neighbor as myself.

But today I took a step to do that, against a frightful depotism that is already costing lives, sowing chaos, harming communities, and dragging us ever closer to the ruins of public liberty.

I found myself surrounded by people doing the same: trying their best to love their neighbor. I was thankful to be there. Thankful for the hundreds of thousands, at over 1200 events nationwide, who showed up to say "Hands off my neighbor." 
 
My goal, in politics as in every aspect part of my life, is to walk in God's ways, for His glory and our good. 

Attending that rally was part of that. 

I'll be watching for the next occasion. 

• ABC: Huge crowds gather in Hands Off rallies nationwide
• NPR: Nationwide protest rallies erupt against Trump and Musk
• NPR: Photos/ See demonstrators around the country rally
  
  

Just a few notes in response to critiques I've seen of the hundreds of Hands Off rallies:

Despite right-wing accusations, there's no evidence anywhere that participants were paid to attend. There were no massed produced signs, no central distribution of any kind. If there were buses, they were paid for by the folks who attended, or in some cases, by continuing care communities whose residents wanted transportation. My 80 something uncle from Washington State was part of a community that sent several buses to the Olympia. Some, like my uncle, went with walkers. None were paid protestors. 

In all reporting I've seen so far, there was no hint of violence except for one incident where someone offended by protestors brought an automatic gun to threaten them. He was arrested, then released. 

Despite some headlines highlighting "angry protestors," my experience of the event I attended was that attendees were thoughtful, friendly, determined, ready to do what they can to make sure our democracy works for us all. I saw nothing I'd call hateful, little that looked angry. 

Observors noted that the overall demographic seemed to skew older and white. I saw a handful of young attendees, including some college students I know, and a few children and teens. That seems at least in part reflective of the current political climate. When black and brown people are being arrested without warrants or probably cause, when immigrants who have lived here for decades are deported without due process, when college students fear expulsion for speaking out against the administration, public protests no longer feel safe for many. 

Even so, it seem likely that the April 5 Hands Off protest will be remembered as the largest multi-site simultaneous protest event in history, at over 1200 sites with over 400,000 registered, and many more unregistered attendees. For most who attended, the event was just the start of citizen efforts to protect democracy and neighbors threatened by unjust actions. 

When did we see you?

I woke up Sunday morning with this passage on my mind:

"When did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?"

That's toward the end of Jesus' final teaching, before the last supper and crucifixion, as recorded in the Gospel of Matthew 25.  

Not quite the end. The very end is this: 

"When did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?"

He will reply: "I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me. 

Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.

I grew up in a church tradition that took doctrine seriously: make sure you get the details right. My tradition also focused on definitions of personal behavior. Some things are sin. Some are not. Don't confuse the two. 

So as a kid I found that passage in Matthew 25 puzzling and alarming. In a way that's stll the case. Jesus seems to say we'll be judged, not for believing the right thing or avoiding sin but on how we care for the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the sick, those in prison. 

Those who fail to help "the least of these" will be told "depart from me." 

Jim Wallis podcast, Feb. 20, 2025
Stand Up for Jesus and the Stranger

They'll be asking that question: "When did we see you?"  
This week I listened to a podcast that focused on a lawsuit regarding the right of churches and faith communities to obey Matthew 25. Podcast host Jim Wallis, faculty director of the Georgetown University Center for Faith and Justice, was joined by Kelsi Brown Corkran, lead lawyer in the case, and Reverend Carlos Malave, president of the Latino Christian National Network (LCNN), one of the organizational plaintiffs. 

As the initial court filing explains: 

 1. Plaintiffs in this challenge are 12 national denominational bodies and representatives, 4 regional denominational bodies, and 11 denominational and interdenominational associations, all rooted in the Jewish and Christian faiths. Plaintiffs and their members are Baptist, Brethren, Conservative Jewish, Episcopalian, Evangelical, Mennonite, Quaker, Pentecostal, Presbyterian, Reconstructionist Jewish, Reform Jewish, Unitarian Universalist, United Methodist, Zion Methodist, and more. They bring this suit unified on a fundamental belief: Every human being, regardless of birthplace, is a child of God worthy of dignity, care, and love. Welcoming the stranger, or immigrant, is thus a central precept of their faith practices. 

2. The Torah lays out this tenet 36 times, more than any other teaching: “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love them as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Leviticus 19:34). In the Gospels, Jesus Christ not only echoes this command, but self-identifies with the stranger: “For I was hungry, and you gave me food, I was thirsty, and you gave me drink, I was a stranger, and you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35). Plaintiffs’ religious scripture, teaching, and traditions offer clear, repeated, and irrefutable unanimity on their obligation to embrace, serve, and defend the refugees, asylum seekers, and immigrants in their midst without regard to documentation or legal status. 

3. Recognizing the importance of communal religious practices “to the well-being of people and the communities of which they are a part,” the Department of Homeland Security (“DHS”) for over 30 years substantially restricted immigration enforcement action in or near places of worship. Although DHS has statutory authority to conduct a variety of enforcement actions—such as conducting stops and interrogations, serving process and other orders, and executing immigration arrests and raids without judicial warrant—DHS’s longstanding “sensitive locations” (or “protected areas”) policy provided that Immigration and Customs Enforcement (“ICE”) and Customs and Border Protection (“CBP”) would do so at or near places of worship only under exigent circumstances or with prior written, high-level supervisory approval. 

4. On January 20, 2025, DHS abruptly reversed course and rescinded the sensitive locations policy. Disavowing the need for any “bright line rules regarding where our immigration laws are permitted to be enforced,” the Rescission Memo instead directs ICE and CBP officers to “use [their] discretion along with a healthy dose of common sense” in deciding whether to conduct immigration enforcement actions at places of worship, during religious ceremonies, and at other sensitive locations. DHS’s website features a news article stating that ICE agents understand the rescission “to free them up to go after more illegal immigrants.”

The hearing is scheduled for Friday April 4. 

I'll be praying for the outcome of the case this week. But threats to the least of these go far beyond fear of raids in places of worship.  

On Friday a federal appeals court rejected a lower court order blocking further cuts at USAID (the U.S. Agency for International Development.) The same day, the Trump administration announced plans to eliminate USAID, with all employees terminated sometime before September 2. 

DOGE and Trump administration accusations against USAID have been many, often voiced on social media, with scant evidence of waste or fraud.  

In December 2024, USAID was one of 6 US agencies to earn a gold certificate in Results for America's evidence-based program: Invest in What Works Federal Standard of Excellence. Only 2 agencies earned the higher platinum award: the Millennium Challenge Corporation (also a US foreign aid agency) and the Department of Education (another target for dissolution). By contrast, the US military budget has never completed a successful audit. In 2018, Congress required the Department of Defense to undergo a yearly audit. By November 2024, DOD had failed the 7th audit in  a row. According to a General Accountability office report: 

DOD financial management has been on our High-Risk List since 1995. DOD’s spending makes up about half of the federal government’s discretionary spending. Its physical assets comprise almost 68 percent of the federal government’s physical assets. DOD has not yet received an audit opinion on its annual department-wide financial statements. It has been unable to accurately account for and report on its spending or physical assets.

While DOD represents half of all discretionary US government spending, and 13% of total spending, since it's start USAID has been just a tiny fraction of the US budget. In 2024 the total International Affairs budget was 1.4% of the US budget. USAID, less than a 1/4 of that, was .3% of the national budget.    
The original intent behind USAID was to slow the spread of global communism. Over time, USAID's efforts to alleviate poverty, curb disease and promote democracy yielded positive long-term relationships. Through USAID, the US helped train decision-makers world wide and built avenues of diplomacy and commerce that have benefited our nation and others while saving millions of lives.  Loss of USAID will harm our national reputation, will mean lost income for farmers and has already jeopardized faith-based organizations that have partnered with USAID in providing services around the globe. 

Concerned infectious disease researchers developed an impact tracker to document in real time the impact of cuts to USAID with "up-to-date calculations of increases in mortality, disease spread, and healthcare costs for HIV/AIDS, TB, malaria, pneumonia, diarrhea, neglected tropical diseases, and malnutrition."

The Impact Metrics Dashboard "visualizes the human impact of funding changes for aid and support organizations. Each metric represents real people affected by policy decisions."

The dashboard provides estimated deaths, to date, caused by aid disruption, and projected estimates for 2025 if aid is not resumed. It also provides the estimated interval between excess deaths, a sobering reminder that time is short and the cost in human lives will be high. 

In Jesus' parable, those who failed to help asked "When did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?"

There are two implied excuses: we didn't see the need. We didn't see it was YOU, Jesus, that we refused to help. 

I find myself wrestling with difficult questions:

• Can I claim I don't see the harm taking place?
• Can I claim I'm not responsible?

None of us can know all that's happening around the world. 

None of us can solve it all. 

But we all are called to at least try to see, to try to act, to try to help.

For me, it starts with prayer and scripture.

The next step is to do the work of struggling to see. I'd prefer not to. I'd prefer to look away.

But in Jesus' parable, failing to see is no excuse. And once we see, we're expected to act.

So -what to do?

Donate to aid organizations that have lost funding? There are thousands, many small and very local. Some of the larger are mentioned here. 

Letters and calls to legislators? Refugees International offers a place to start. 

Hands Off Day of Action April 5

Organizations across the country are planning a Hands Off Day of Action on April 5th to speak back against policy changes that are harming our neighbors. 

There's one in West Chester, PA, not far from my home. Should I participate? Should I invite others?

In a world where information and misinformation fly past us at a dizzying pace, it's hard to really see. It's even more difficult to know how to respond. 

My daily prayer is "Lord, show me."

Show me what's true, and not true. Show me what it means to follow you.  Show me the places of need where I can best use my time, opportunity, resources and voice in ways that honor you. Help me see clearly. 

Help me see you.

Christ of the Breadlines, Fritz Eichenberg, 1951, New York

An Plea for Mercy

The word mercy is central to the season of Lent. In many churches, Lenten services start with a recitation of the decalogue (the ten commandments) with the words "Lord have mercy" after each. 

In many, the Kyrie Elsison is sung: 

Lord have mercy, 
Christ have mercy,
Lord have mercy. 

That word, "mercy", captured national attention this winter in the wake of Bishop Mariann Budde's homily at President Trump's inaugural prayer service at Washington National Cathedral on January 22. She spoke of the foundations of unity: honoring the inherent dignity of every human being; honesty in both private conversation and public discourse; and humility. 

And she closed with a short, gentle plea for mercy: 

Let me make one final plea, Mr. President. Millions have put their trust in you. As you told the nation yesterday, you have felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are transgender children in both Republican and Democrat families who fear for their lives.

And the people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings; who labor in our poultry farms and meat-packing plants; who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shift in hospitals—they may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes, and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches, mosques and synagogues, gurdwara, and temples.

Have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away. Help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were once strangers in this land.

Some who heard Bishop Budde's words were outraged, as was the president himself. Some members of the US House of Representatives even introduced a resolution of condemnation. 

Some church leaders, including Catholic priests, the United Church of Christ president, and the Presbyterian Church (USA) praised her for her courageous witness and fidelity to the words of Jesus. The  United Methodist Church Committee on Faith and Order sent her an official letter of support:

In The United Methodist Church we encourage our bishops to live out “a prophetic commitment for the transformation of the Church and the world.” We say, “the role of the bishop is to be a prophetic voice for justice in a suffering and conflicted world” (The Book of Discipline ¶403.1.d). We believe this is in keeping with the prophetic tradition of Amos who encouraged us to “let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an everflowing stream” and Micah who told us that what the Lord requires is justice, kindness and humility before God. We believe this is in keeping with the ministry of Jesus who took special care for the least. We witnessed such episcopal leadership in you this week. You inspired and encouraged us. As a committee we found your sermon profoundly rooted in the prophetic tradition of our shared Christian faith, while being delivered with gentleness and respect. We are pleased to call you a friend in Christ and offer our prayers.

Some from Episcopal backgrounds found Bishop Budde's words unremarkable:

If you have ever attended an Episcopal Church ordination service, Bishop Budde’s sermon would not have been surprising or different. The Prayer service was, in essence, like an ordination.

The request Bishop Budde made to President Trump at the end of her sermon was not a political one. It was a request made directly from the Holy Bible in which God charges, first the leaders of the Jewish people and then also Christians, to Love God and in so doing, care for the alien resident, widows, children, the homeless, the hungry, to clothe the naked, and, yes, visit the prisoner.

Asking the President of the United States of America to consider these biblical commands in the course of carrying out the duties of his office was not a political nor disrespectful action. It was an act of recognizing his position.

Voices from the pews are more difficult to document, but I know from my own conversations with friends that some life-long followers of Christ heard Bishop Budde lambasted from pulpits in their own churches and quietly resolved not to return. And I know from social media posts and reports from Episcopal and national press that some Christians who left their increasingly right-wing politicized churches have since visited or are considering joining Episcopal churches.

I also know there are others, in Episcopal and other churches, who urged church leaders to rebuke Bishop Budde and her use of the pulpit in implying criticism of God's chosen leader or using the inaugural homily to say anything that could be interpreted as critical of the president-elect.

While it's been two months since that inaugural homily, it continues to echo through social media, church communities and quiet conversations. In a sense, that sermon has become a Rorschach inkblot test: an assessment tool that reveals our partisan leanings, our view of scripture, what it means to obey God's call and our understanding of the role of faith in political discourse. 

In the questions raised and the swirl of responses, I find myself praying for mercy. 

For our nation. For our world. 

For our churches. For our fractured Christian witness. 

I'll be writing more about the word "mercy" and about Christian witness in this divided political season.  

For now, if you haven't watched the sermon, please take a few minutes to do so. 

What do you hear? What do you see? What do you pray?

Lord have mercy. 

The Time We're Given

We live in an unusual time, a time we’re not well prepared for.
It’s been 250 years since the start of the Revolutionary War, rejecting the autocratic dictates of a distant king. It’s 236 years since the US Constitution was ratified, now the oldest written and codified national constitution still in use.

Too many of us have taken the constitution for granted, failing to understand and value the balancing of power and protection of rights it offers. It was never perfect, but the 27 amendments, approved across two centuries, strengthened the underlying principles. As a US Senate webpage says:

For over two centuries the Constitution has remained in force because its framers successfully separated and balanced governmental powers to safeguard the interests of majority rule and minority rights, of liberty and equality, and of the federal and state governments.

Failure to understand and affirm the separate, balanced powers is now putting us all at risk.

Can a presidential appointee disband an agency instituted by an act of Congress?

Legally, no.

Can a president allocate millions for his own created agency, bypassing laws regarding security clearances, federal oversight, conflict of interest and freedom of information?

Legally, no.

Can a presidential executive order reverse legislation passed by a state’s General Assembly, or suspend funding approved by the US Congress?

Legally, no.

What happens when one part of the government insists on power over others, despite constitutional language making clear that’s not the case?

What happens when a president declares himself king on the White House social media page, and admirers celebrate with thumbs-up emojis?

We’re in the middle of that experiment.

In the few weeks since Donald Trump took office, the US has signaled friendship with Russia in opposition to NATO and freedom-loving allies. Long-standing European partnerships are in disarray. Shared work against global disease has stalled. Long-standing US safeguards against discrimination, disease, weather disasters and more are disappearing quickly.

We don’t choose the times we live in.

What we choose is how we’ll live in them.

In J. R. R. Tolkien’s Fellowship of the Ring (volume 2 in the Lord of the Rings trilogy),  Frodo, a small hobbit caught in the middle of a history-shaking drama, says: “I wish it need not have happened in my time”. 

Gandalf’s  response, “So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us”. 

Scripture gives many examples of times of trouble, and courageous responses. Joseph in Pharaoh’s court, Daniel in the lion’s den, Elijah facing down the hundreds of false prophets of King Ahab, John the Baptist beheaded by Herod’s henchmen.

I’ve been listening to podcasts from a mix of sources, trying to understand where we are, wondering what it means to be faithful, kind and courageous in such a strange, disorienting time.

Here are three I’ve found helpful this week:

From the Good Faith Podcast, a project of Redeeming Babylon:

• Adam Kinzinger Defends Democracy and Embraces Biblical Hope: A conversation with former Congressman Adam Kinzinger about the moral dilemmas facing political leaders and strategies for staying politically engaged without succumbing to rage or giving up in exhaustion.
• Checks, Balances, and the New Trump Era: A discussion with New York Times columnist David French and host Curtis Chang about the erosion of checks and balances and the importance of community and worship in confronting authoritarianism.

From The Bulletin, a weekly podcast from Christianity Today exploring current events from a Christian perspective:

• Extremism and the Path to Peace with Elizabeth Neumann. Neumann is a national security expert, conservative Republican and lifelong Christian. She worked in Homeland Security under George W. Bush and Barack Obama, and as Homeland Security’s Deputy Chief of Staff and assistant secretary for counterterrorism and threat prevention in the first Trump administration. She offers a security perspective on extremism, rage, grievance, and misinformation, and explores the challenge of loving our neighbor in this present political season. 

In all the discussions, there’s a thread of concern about Christian formation. We are never fully prepared for unexpected challenges. Yet, if we’ve read scripture carefully, if we’ve developed a life of prayer and spiritual practice, we have the tools we need. 

As the narratives of Old and New Testament remind us: power-hungry rulers are nothing new. Lies and cruelty are as old as humankind. Without wisdom and discernment we are easily held captive in ways that destroy community and peace.
How do we escape? That’s the challenge we’re facing.

Here’s what I know for sure:

Prayer is essential. Every day. All day.

For ourselves, our leaders, those we agree with and those we don’t.

Prayer for wisdom, courage, repentance.

Open eyes, listening ears, tender hearts.

Prayer for those hurt most by sudden shifts in funding, by sudden dismantling of jobs, protections, programs.

Prayer for provision, protection, restoration.

Truth is also essential. That means looking past the partisan sound bites and simplistic messaging. There’s no way we can know for sure what’s taking place. No way we can follow all the twists and turns and complications.

But we can refuse to repeat inflammatory, dangerous language. We can refuse to bear false witness against entire groups of people. We can dig a little deeper, ask for sources, speak out against obvious misinformation or hateful accusations. 

We are all, also, called to do something. That something will be different for each of us, different each day. Some days it might mean befriending someone who has lost a job. Some days it might mean donating to an aide organization that is struggling to carry the weight of care while budgets are frozen and key contacts vanished. Some days it might mean listening patiently, while at other times it might mean speaking out clearly.

For me, today: I’m joining the 24 Hour Economic Blackout, loosely organized by The People’s Union.  I’m also, today, posting this blogpost.

Tomorrow? I’ll be praying about that tomorrow morning. None of us can change the course of history. All of us are called to play a part. 

How am I doing in all this? It's a question I'm asked, and one we probably all need to ask ourselves.

How are our hearts? How's our mental health? How's our spiritual health? I’ll answer with a song I’ve discovered on my Porter’s Gate Pandora station. It’s by an independent singer-songwriter, John Lucas Kovasckitz, from the hills of North Carolina.

The song, Time, was included in his first  go-fund-me album, Promised Land, released in 2017.

These lines catch me every time I listen:

There is a time to dance on sorrow
And a time to kiss her cheek
There is a time to mourn in silence
But justice aches to hear you speak. 

And I don’t know the end, or tomorrow’s story
But I have found the one who gives me rest
And I will make my bed in His promises
For He holds true when nothing’s left.

The song echoes Ecclesiastes 3: a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. But it also echoes the format of many psalms of lament: statement of a hard reality, then a reminder that God is our rest, and worthy of praise.

So crown Him in your mourning
And crown Him in your laughter
And crown Him when it all turns dark
Crown Him when you bury
And crown Him when you marry
And crown Him when your faith finds a spark 

Crown Him for He’s faithful
And crown Him for He’s worthy
And crown Him for He is good
Crown Him for His promises
Cut through the blindness
Of children that have barely understood 

The beauty that has come
And the beauty yet to come
And the beauty that is yours and that is mine
And that death produces life
And that we are made alive
By the King who paints beauty with time.

I don’t know the end, or tomorrow’s story
But I have found the one who gives me rest
And I will make my bed in His promises
For He holds true when nothing’s left...When nothing’s left.