While some may celebrate this display as faithful Christian practice, followers of Jesus must be careful not to confuse patriotism (pride in country) with nationalism (our country is better than every other country). And nationalism with idolatry (placing love of country before love of God and neighbor).  

Dr. John Wisely argues that American Exceptionalism “serves to deify the nation…paving the way toward heterodoxy at best, heresy and idolatry at worst.”

Dr. Michael Gorman describes exceptionalism as “the idea that the United States has a unique place in God’s plan.” 

What transpired this past Sunday is nothing short of a bold display of American Exceptionalism. Which, to be clear, is idolatry.

As Christians, our primary allegiance isn’t to any nation-state, it’s to the kingdom of God. A kingdom marked by sacrificial love and suffering sacrifice. The economy of this kingdom runs in direct contrast to the economy of any nation-state or Empire. When these lines get blurred, bad stuff happens in the name of a “god” that looks nothing like Jesus. Without doing a historical overview, this has been the case for most of the past 1700 years since Jesus’s life, death and resurrection 2000 years ago. 

Our current administration is not the first to fall victim to propagating this idolatrous relationship between church and state as nearly every President who has come before (both Republican and Democrat) has confiscated the mission of God as a convenient endorsement of their vision for our country.  

READ: The Myth of the American Dream

In his 1865 “Annual Message to Congress,” President Abraham Lincoln described America as the “last best hope of earth.”

Friends, the United States (by the way, to say “America” in this context is an offense to our North American neighbors who are not in the United States) CAN BE exceptional when we leverage our influence to embody equity, equality and justice. But that is NOT the same as saying the United States is divinely elected as “exceptional” such that we can no longer critique it’s behavior in light of the values of the kingdom of God. That is nothing short of idolatry and is unChristian in every way.

There is a better way. A way that liberates us from the shackles of partisan politics and convenient power grabs. A way that doesn’t require us to pledge our allegiance to any other kingdom than God’s and any other king than Jesus. 

We don’t need to stick our heads in the sand and disengage from the systems we have a responsibility to renovate. Nor do we have to pander to the power brokers as if they have the last word. 

We can be Christians without falling victim to the myth of American Exceptionalism. We aren’t the first nation-state to wrestle with a compromised allegiance and we won’t be the last. But this is our moment to decide to which kingdom we pledge our allegiance.

As for me, my allegiance is to the Lamb that was slain so that all can flourish. Not to the Elephant or Donkey seeking to conquer in the name of a “god” that looks nothing like Jesus.

Meanwhile, Jesus, born into a community on the underside of power (as the Community of God almost always was throughout the biblical story), became a threat to the “peace” of the state. He came to disrupt and dismantle the systems and structures that compromised the in-breaking of the holistic peace of kingdom of God.

The peace of this kingdom ran in direct opposition to the “peace” of the state. The peace for which Jesus gave his life liberates the oppressed from the shackles of Empire and the oppressor from their shackles of hatred and indifference. It’s a peace compelling the powerful to embrace powerlessness. Where prisoner is set free. Where the idol of safety is set aside for the practice of faithfulness. Where the last will be first and the first will be last. Where our allegiance isn’t given to the principalities and powers, but to the kingdom of God.

Jesus disrupted the pseudo-peace to expose it for what it was; a weapon of the state to maintain the status quo. He caught on film the boot of the empire stepping on the neck of the oppressed.

And who was most outraged at his nonviolent struggle for the peace of the kingdom? Religious folks and those in seats of power.

READ: #SundaySermon: This Is the Way the World Ends

He was calling into question their power and compromising their comfort. They had built a political and religious system to maintain it, and with his life he said, “No more!”

There is a better way, but for those of us in power, we have to have the eyes to see and the ears to hear. It’s going to cost us something. It’s going to be uncomfortable. It’s going to disrupt. It’s going to require confession and repentance.

Where are you in this story? Where am I? Are we more offended when our comfort is disrupted or when black men are lynched on our streets? What’s the journey we must embark upon to follow the Jesus of the oppressed rather than the bread and circus of the powerful?

Protesting is holy work. It’s waking us up to what is broken and what is real. It’s disrupting the “peace” so we can be liberated to the peace of our common humanity.

When those impacted by broken systems protest, those of us often insulated from their plight must listen in. We are being given the gift to wake up to what is broken and participate in fixing it—beginning with what’s broken within us. If we don’t, we are not only perpetuating the problem, we are missing an opportunity for the Spirit to guide us on the path toward healing.

NOTE: This is not a post on the ethics and practices of HOW to protest, but simply a reflection on WHY we need to learn from it when it happens.

In the meantime, my kids went back to school this morning and tonight we’ll host a prayer vigil in our neighborhood with other people of faith pleading with God to heal our broken world. No doubt, my kids will hear about the escalating violence at school, and they’ll stand with us in prayers for peace this evening.

Which means it’s time we talk with them about war.

Here’s what I’ll tell them…

I’ll tell them that both of my grandfathers fought in a war (WWII) and while we admire their courage, we lament the trauma and the pain they carried with them for the rest of their lives.

I’ll tell them I remember being their age and watching CNN at a friend’s house as the U.S. bombs dropped on Iraq during the Gulf War. We celebrated the destruction of cities and precious human beings as if we were watching an action movie with a bucket of popcorn. We talked about it being “God’s plan” that the U.S. was called to carry out.

I’ll tell them that war is not something to celebrate and that it is very ugly. That God is not guiding our missiles to destroy our “enemies,” but instead is weeping with the children (just like them) who lost mommies and daddies because of our bombs. We don’t cheer on war just because it is on the other side of the world; we cry that it’s a reality in our world and do anything we can to stop it before it starts.

I’ll tell them that a few months after watching these bombs drop on CNN, I’ll never forget waving goodbye to my dad (their grandfather) after he was activated for active duty in that war. Grampy (as they call him) was very courageous, but so was Grammy as she cared for us kids when Grampy was gone with an uncertain future. I’ll tell them I cried all the time missing my dad just like kids are crying right now missing their mommies and daddies who are being sent to the Middle East. We will pray for comfort, peace, and safety for those families.

I’ll tell them that Iranian people aren’t our enemies, and we will never use language that makes them sound any less than people loved by God…just like us. We’ll pray for the comfort, peace, and safety for the kids and families in Iran who are going to bed in fear that they may be hurt by war.

I’ll tell them that just because a few people with a lot of power start wars, it doesn’t make them right. And that it’s usually the people without the power (or money) who end up being hurt. Both in the U.S. and countries like Iran.

I’ll tell them that there are people all over the world who make bad choices (including from our own country) that hurt people, and international conflicts between countries are very complex, and it’s hard to always know exactly what is true and how to make the right decisions. But that no matter how complex things are for countries and governments, we personally don’t get even — we get creative in love.

I’ll tell them that it’s ok to feel scared, but we don’t have to let our fear control us. We live in love and hope that God is restoring ALL THINGS and that we get to be part of making it real in our world. From their school playgrounds to the other side of the world.

I’ll tell them that we follow Jesus, and he chose the path of peace when faced with violence. He didn’t run from conflict…he ran toward it! But instead of using the weapons of war, he used tools to heal. And, for Jesus, it cost him everything. It might cost us something too. Because peacemakers aren’t wimps. They are heroes who can’t hide behind the weapons of war or mean words. They are people like our friends Daoud and Milad and Manar and Alejandra and Yolanda and Chris and Dorothy Day and Martin Luther King, Jr., and on and on and on. Jesus even said, “Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called children of God.”

I’ll tell them that they are loved again and again and again. And it is because of that love that our family will also love. No matter what and no matter who, Jesus told us to love and pray for our enemies — not to kill them.

I’ll tell them it’s actually all way more complex than this, because we haven’t yet excavated the nuances of theodicy, ontology, just war, and pacifism.

Just kidding.

And then I’ll give them a kiss and go get Slurpees.

This article originally appeared on Jon Huckins’ blog.

It’s made me wrestle with the role of religion in our world. Religious people continue getting massacred in their sacred spaces of worship — often by other “religious” people:

Muslims in ChristChurch.
Christians in Sri Lanka.
Jews in San Diego.

These are all human beings who bear the image of God and, according to their shared tradition, have the blood of a common father flowing through them (Abraham).

So where does religion fit in all this? If I’m honest, I often find myself thinking we should pursue peace outside religion. It often brings more pain and division than it does good. But as soon as I start going down that road, I’m reminded of my Jewish, Muslim, and Christian friends working for peace (in extremely volatile conflicts) and how it is their religious conviction that drives their practice of peace. They would say that “religion is at the core of humanity…it’s not even practical to consider a path toward peace outside religion!”

The answer isn’t less religion — it’s better religion.

A religion that moves us toward one another in understanding rather than away from each other in fear.

As these attacks increase in frequency and severity, we have to ask what could lead someone to so much hate of their religious other? No doubt the answer includes racism, white supremacy, xenophobia, fear, ideological manipulation, and on and on and on.

That said, at least in part, it’s a lack of proximity. We don’t KNOW each other.

If our “religion” isn’t moving us toward one another and around a common table, we need to leave it behind.

For Christians, if our “religion” doesn’t look like Jesus, then start over. Jesus collapsed every boundary between “us” and “them.” Cared more about being faithful than being safe. Spent no time seeking the approval of the religious gatekeepers because he was too busy reminding those on the “outside” that they were actually on the “inside.”

In a world of religious violence, I’m still hanging on to what I’ve seen and learned from my Jewish, Muslim, and Christians friends who reflect the very best of their faith. Each tradition has a deep well of resources that remain largely untapped. Resources that not only could stop the bleeding, but build a future we’d want for our kids.

I’ll never forget standing in the center of a conflict zone learning from a Jewish Rabbi who was giving his life to building bridges of understanding in a region of war. I ask him if we should work for peace outside religion because it had made such a mess of things. His response was a quote from the late Rabbi Menachem Froman: “Religion must be the solution in a region steeped in religion. God can be someone who divides us or one who unites us.”

May we live lives that reflect the latter.

I understand the fear. Of course we need to protect our children. I get that we have limited resources. Yes, migrants have to enter the country legally. But I don’t think these concerns are near as connected to this migrant caravan as they are to our collective enslavement to fear and misinformation. Rather than be moved by a commitment to understand and care for the “least and the last” we are being stirred into a frenzy of self-protection that is compromising our collective soul. It’s sad. But we can be healed.

The fact that our administration is threatening these countries by taking away funding is short sighted and will only perpetuate the instability. We have to become students who ask the story behind the story behind the story. We have to get close to those in crisis. We need to be in proximity. We need to share tables and stories. And, in a country filled with immigrants, we can. We just have to choose love over fear and curiosity over critique.

As the story continues to unfold, I’d like to pose a challenging theological question with tangible implications for how we show up in this moment — specifically related to the migrant caravan.

1. The Context

   The migrant caravan is made up primarily of people with deep Christian convictions and traditions. As they move north, they are holding vigil and praying for God’s guidance and protection for ultimate liberation. Mommas are pushing strollers as they pray for their children’s future and pleading with God to deliver them toward safety and new life.

   Here in the U.S., many people with deep Christian convictions and traditions are praying for the migrant caravan to turn around (at best) or to be violently resisted/restrained (at worst). Parents are fearful that this caravan could threaten the safety and future of their children and are pleading with God to protect them from the “invading enemy.”

2. The Question

   How and where does God act in a moment like this? Whose prayers are “heard?” I trust that all the concerns raised by both groups are real to them. (Although, in some cases, I’d disagree on their objective reality). All are praying with fervor for God to “show up.” One group for safety. Another for liberation.

3. The Reflection

   I’m convinced one of the greatest obstacles to following Jesus in the United States is HOW we read the Bible. Namely, how we often read ourselves (specifically dominant culture U.S. Americans) into the story as the “favored protagonist” who has a corner on the market of God’s blessing.

Some thoughts…

The Bible is the story of an occupied and oppressed people trusting that God will guide them toward liberation. The main characters who modeled faithfulness most often were those OUTSIDE of power. Many of us have been taught (albeit subconsciously) to read ourselves into the biblical story as the protagonist when in reality — whether we like it or not — we have more in common with the antagonist.

We live in one of the most powerful and wealthy countries in human history. We don’t need to be ashamed of that, but we do need to be honest about it. And, if we are honest, we have more in common with Pharaoh than with Moses. With Pilot than with Jesus. With those on the side of empire extinguishing the good news of the kingdom. As my friend Tony Campolo says, “We may live in the best Babylon in the world, but it’s still Babylon.”

We misread the story when we use the Bible as a tool to support our retaining and maintaining of power when the reality is that it is a story of God working among oppressed people to disrupt and dismantle oppressive power. We misread the story when we read the text to justify and support systems that maintain the status quo (comfort, power, and privilege) when the reality is that the Bible is the story of God subverting power (economic, political, racial, patriarchal, social, etc).

God does not give up on those in power, but does require them to repent of their addiction to power.

Tangibly, this incomplete reading allows us to interpret our world as though God is with “us,” and “they” are the ones who are coming as a threat (in this case, migrants, refugees, or asylum seekers), when in reality it was among those communities where God was seeking to deliver all of us in bondage to systems and structures that oppress. Maybe those in the migrant caravan are coming to deliver us back to God in the way Moses delivered Egypt (although painfully) from their addiction to power, safety, and comfort. Maybe we are being delivered from our addiction to safety that frees us to be faithful. Maybe we are being delivered from a mentality of scarcity to a celebration of abundance.

Jesus’ message was good news to those on the underside of power. The captives, the oppressed, the hurting, the diseased. It wasn’t good news for the systems and structures that oppressed them. But it was good news to the oppressor. It was liberating for EVERYONE if only they had eyes to see and ears to hear.

For many of us, it’s going to take a long, confessional journey to read the Bible through the lens of its original context and community, but it is a journey worth taking. It will require people like me to listen, learn, and be mentored by people around the world (and on our streets) who are faithfully following God on the underside of empire — our sisters and brothers who aren’t in the halls of power, politics, and religious bureaucracy; those who have been beaten down, displaced, and enslaved.

We are being invited to new life. To have our sight healed and our wounds repaired so we stop spreading our disease and start spreading the good news.

If this requires a confession booth, I’ll be the first in line.

This article was adapted from Jon Huckins’ blog.

As followers of Jesus and citizens of a nation state, we have a dual allegiance to the kingdom of God and to the United States. Reality is, the values of the kingdom of God as were embodied in Jesus (last will be first and first will be last, love and pray for your enemy, money is the root of all evil, etc) often come in sharp contrast to the values of the United States (success = winning, keep out or kill your enemy, money is a sign of blessing, etc). There is no doubt we have a responsibly to both, BUT the question has to be, “Which has our PRIMARY allegiance?”

We have to embrace a conflicted allegiance.
On the one hand, we need to engage the United States as participants in creating a society that leads to the flourishing of everyone. As participants in a democracy, we (thankfully!) have that option. On the other, we need to always place our primary hope and be submitted to the rule and reign of the kingdom of God — even if that runs in contrast to the values of a nation state.

Throughout history, we have seen the implications of Christians giving their primary allegiance to a political institution over and beyond the kingdom of God, and it’s not pretty. Whether Rome under Constantine, the Crusades, the Inquisition, or even Manifest Destiny, we have found ways to invert our allegiance and place God’s “blessing” on our desire for power, wealth, and expansion at the cost of human life.

This inverted allegiance is idolatry.

Jesus and the early church modeled this conflicted allegiance all throughout the pages of the gospels and Acts. Jesus tells his followers to “render to Caesar what is Caesar’s” — not as a way to affirm Caesar’s authority, but to remind his followers that the economy of the kingdom is COMPLETELY different than the economy of the empire. Paul, as a Roman citizen, was uncompromising in his kingdom allegiance to the point of regular imprisonment, as was the case for many early followers of Jesus. (Our Christian story literally stands on the shoulders of the incarcerated.) He didn’t reject his Roman citizenship; he leveraged it for the flourishing of those without his inherited privilege and continually gave his primary allegiance to the kingdom.

What does this mean?
When we live a conflicted allegiance, it liberates us to unapologetically give our lives to the values of the kingdom of God, while continually discerning our constructive engagement/support/participation in the United States. For our family, it means we stand with and care for the people fleeing violence on our border, because that’s a mandate of the kingdom of God. AND we leverage our influence/allegiance to the United States to help fix broken systems that are breaking our neighbors. It means we look our neighbors on the streets in the eye to honor their humanity, AND we stand in city council meetings advocating for systems to support their healing.

This stuff isn’t easy, but I’m convinced it’s the necessary way to find and follow Jesus in the midst of living in a culture so partisan, political, and polarized.

Today, our family will celebrate our conflicted allegiance.

This article originally appeared on Jon’s blog.

As a proud resident of San Diego — a dynamic and diverse border city — and a faith leader who follows Jesus, I’m deeply saddened that the president’s visit to my city isn’t to spend time with the people, but with prototypes. 

I’m not writing to stoke partisan politics. That’s not helpful, inspiring, or reflective of where I put my hope and allegiance. I am writing as one who is more concerned with the wellbeing of the people in our city than the height of a prototype.

A people who don’t see the border as a burden to bear, but a gift to embrace. 

A people reflecting the beautiful diversity of our country and God’s global kingdom. 

A people deeply committed to the flourishing of our communities and those within them. 

A people who need to be heard and to lead the way in discerning what is best of our city and bi-national reality. 

We can disagree on policy, but at the very least, we have to understand the implications of our policy on real people. I have found that unless we have looked into the eyes of those impacted, it is impossible to understand. 

So, President Trump, I personally invite you to come down to the borderlands with me in Tijuana and San Diego and meet the people directly impacted by the stroke of your pen.

I am the Cofounding Director of the Global Immersion Project — and one of our primary organizational initiatives involves having cross-sector leaders from around the country come to the border to see the human face of immigration and build a set of tools for how to better care for the “stranger among us,” as my sacred text (the Bible) mandates.

Whether you realize it or not, your rhetoric is dehumanizing, stokes fear, and leads to a misunderstanding that compromises the safety of the people you’ve sworn to protect. Once you’ve looked into the eyes of those caught in the wake of our broken systems, heard their stories, and confronted the facts on the ground, I trust your compassion will grow and your decisions will be shaped by factual reality.

You will see and experience the people and places that rarely make the headlines, but that are intimately impacted by the polarizing rhetoric and misunderstanding infecting the collective soul of our nation.

Real people. 

Real stories. 

Real pain. 

Faith. Hope. Love.

Meet Maria. A 20-year old DACA recipient with big dreams, who is making them come true by walking with the underserved of our city. With the expiration of DACA comes the expiration of her dreams, actions, and presence as an active member of our community. 

Meet Ingrid. A widowed mother of three who has been fleeing gang violence in Central America and now sits in a migrant shelter in Tijuana as she pleads for the U.S. government to offer her family asylum. 

Meet Hector. A United States military veteran who has since been deported and separated from his family. 

Meet Dermot. A Catholic priest from Ireland who regularly crosses the border to serve as the chaplain to communities in San Diego and Tijuana. 

As a privileged, white, Christian, straight man, it’s easy for me to be insulated from the pain and uncertainty of my neighbors impacted by your pen. Whether I admit it or not, I have been taught to see certain people and taught not to see others. Having done the personal work to confront my inherited biases, opened my heart to new relationships, and leaned into my core Christian convictions, I can say with 100 percent certainty that we are all better with the Maria’s and Hector’s of the world on our streets, in our homes, and leading our businesses, churches, and nonprofits. 

I’m offering you the opportunity to look behind the veil of hostile rhetoric and into the eyes of women and men created in the image of God. Jesus once said that it’s in the eyes of the stranger that we see God (Matthew 25). Women and men who, every day, are making America great. 

In the meantime, we’ll be in the streets, parks, and pulpits telling the story of our beautifully diverse border city. 

Join me?

We don’t have to look far into the global plight of women to see the truth to this statement.

He goes on to say that religion (and the misuse of it) is a major contributor in perpetuating oppression, rather than leading to liberation and healing. For those of us in the Christian tradition, we aren’t absolved from this critique. 

Influential Church Fathers such as Tertullian have said things like “women are the devil’s gateway.” Others have argued that women don’t inherit the image of God in the same way men do. Perspectives like these have subtly built themselves into theological constructs and church structure. 

While the Church has often gotten it wrong, Jesus models what is right. 

Jesus’ life and message is one of liberating women into their sacred vocation as equal participants in God’s mission of reconciliation. Further, throughout the gospels, women are continually portrayed as the ones who actually understood Jesus’ message while the disciples struggled to keep up. They were the first to know the good news (birth and resurrection), and the ones entrusted to share it with the world.

How might a renewed understanding of our sacred text (the Bible), Jesus’ life and teachings, and the history of the Church help us understand women — not as second-class citizens in the kingdom, but as equals who often lead us to a full understanding of God and the gospel in today’s world?

The reality is that women are the source of life in the world. They are the primary conduits of God’s continuing story of new life and rebirth. They are the ones most in tune with the flourishing of others at their own expense, rather than the ones who often pursue their own flourishing (men) at the expense of others. They are willing to bleed so others find life.

As part of their morning prayers, ancient rabbis (and some modern ones) would pray, “Thank God I’m not a woman.” On this International Women’s Day, we pray, “THANK GOD FOR WOMEN.”

As a father of three girls and a husband to a woman I’d follow to the ends of the earth, I couldn’t be more grateful. We named our youngest daughter Lou (renowned warrior) Sojourner (abolitionist who gave her life for racial equality).

May Lou (and all girls/women/femmes) live in and contribute to a world where she is free to lead us in abolishing inequality and remind us of the beauty, strength, and leadership of women.  

1. We can’t let our political paralysis keep us from speaking up and out against hateful racism when we hear it. Oftentimes, in the name of “not getting political,” good intentioned people (who are deeply disturbed by the language coming out of the White House) remain silent. I get it. There are implications to saying stuff that may be interpreted as “political” or as jumping off the party line, but that’s no excuse to passively perpetuate hateful rhetoric and action at the expense of those on the receiving end of it. If we’re honest, that paralysis is a fear rooted in an assumption that our political allegiance is more important than our kingdom allegiance. Let’s choose the latter EVERY time. After all, the king of our kingdom came from Nazareth…a “sh*thole” town that wasn’t supposed to have anything good come from it.

2. There is always more to the story, and we have to become students of the nuance — not the soundbites. For example, if we did a collective study on the story of these sh*thole countries, we’d need to pay attention to the way U.S. foreign policy and militarism is marbled into their destabilization. It’s easy to point fingers as if we aren’t part of the problem. It’s much harder to become students of conflict and ask necessary questions of our contribution or perpetuation of it. Speaking specifically of Central America, it’s important we remember that U.S. policy/violence in ‘80s led to refugees coming to the U.S. without support…which led to gangs…which led to their deportation back to Central America…which led to civil war…which then led to current crisis. This information isn’t hidden in a vault; we just have to be willing to dig into the discomfort.

3. I have four little kids who we are giving our lives to invite into the generous, compassionate, faithful, and countercultural way of Jesus. Because the language and actions of our president, my very young kids are being exposed to words and realities at a pace we can’t control. Even if they don’t read the tweets or hear the interviews, it still makes its way to them at school or by overhearing our adult discussion or walking down the street. On one hand, I lament that in any given moment, I can never expose my kids to the words of the president without fear of what they may hear. On the other, this is a dynamic moment in history that can be used an opportunity to form our children into a generation with tools of discernment, actions of justice, and a healthy distrust of the assumed integrity of those in leadership. Rather than isolating our kiddos from our societal brokenness, let’s expose them to it in a way that invites them to be part of its healing. For us, it’ll start by taking our kids down to Mexico to spend some time in a migrant shelter to hang out with the beautiful, brave, and heroic Central American mothers and kids on the move.

4. In this moment, what are creative ways we can celebrate the humanity, dignity, and image of God in our sisters and brothers from Africa, Haiti, and Central America? Let’s not get even by lowering ourselves to the same game of name calling, but get creative in love by building uncommon friendships and partnership across borders.

On the journey together may we go…

Jan immediately said, “I’ll toss the kids in the car, and you get dressed. We’re going.”

Chicano Park is not only brimming with life and culture, its huge art murals commemorate the history of this land and its people. A history — often darkened by European Imperialism — that is honest, haunting, beautiful, and true. The murals are painted on pillars that hold up the highway that divided the park after the local residents had been promised a park for their community to gather. It’s the place no tourist to San Diego will ever see unless they choose to learn the stories behind the “story” posted on billboards, magazines, and advertisements proclaiming “America’s Finest City.”

As soon as the police caught wind of thiswhite supremacist group and their plan to destroy these sacred murals in Chicano Park, they reached out to our local clergy organizing network asking us to show up in mass to stand in the way of potential violence. They had reason to believe the group would be armed and willing to use force.

An hour before the white supremacist were scheduled to take action, and with police lining every street, hundreds of us from the community gathered to discuss the strategy of nonviolence we’d employ to protect this place and all it represents. In the wake of Charlottesville, there was an anxious energy about the potential costs of our shared commitment to nonviolence and also a palpable conviction to remain true to its witness.

As clergy representing dozens of different congregations and organizations across our city, it was an incredible honor to stand alongside and follow our Latino, Black, and First Nations friends in a united witness for peace.

Because of the massive turn out of nonviolent protectors, only a handful of people from the white supremacist group showed up and were so overwhelmed that they almost instantly withdrew. Nonviolent resistance requires a unanimous commitment of participants or the witness is broken, and the cycle of violence continues. It was a strong witness that day.

The making of peace requires at least as much strategy and commitment as the making of war.

Finally, the conversations we had with our kids on the way home about racism and our call toward peace were some of the most constructive and formational we’ve ever had. The classroom of peacemaking in the way of Jesus is so extremely tangible when we free ourselves from the idol of safety and embrace our common call to move toward conflict with creative love. And when we bring our kids along for the learning, we directly impact the contours of our shared future.

As a united presence, may we stand in front of every bulldozer that is flattening people and mend the divides of our conflicted world.