The following blog post was originally posted on my blog, “Letters to the Jaded Evangelical”. The blog is geared towards those who have become discouraged by the church’s intermingling with conservative politics and American ideology and who seek a purer faith. There is another way forward – and we’ll find it by focusing on Jesus. You can read more at: Blog | The Jaded Evangelical (webador.com) or on Substack: The Jaded Evangelical | SM Reed | Substack.

Anyone else have picky eaters in their house? My oldest has been a continual challenge. When he was around five, there were only about five things he would eat. Anything else would make him gag or we would have to fight over, and it just wasn’t worth it to me. I figured we could be patient in introducing new things little by little. 

That has worked… some. He eats more than five things now, but he’s still very picky about his food. For example, his food cannot touch in any shape or form. There can’t be any kind of sauce or juice or gravy. He doesn’t like food mixed together, so no pasta dishes or casseroles or even tacos – everything has to be separated and in its own place.  

Vegetables have been particularly difficult. Fruit he loves, but veggies? Nope. Until we discovered a little trick.

The key to our trick? 

Salt. 

Carrots? No, disgusting! Carrots with salt? Oh, yeah! Cooked broccoli? No, gross! Cooked broccoli with salt? Cool! Avocado? Ewww! Avocado with salt? Yummy!

It amuses me to no end. We have even gotten him to eat boiled eggs this way. Such a small thing makes a big difference.

What is it about salt that makes things taste better? What is it about salt that makes something otherwise undesirable now appealing? Who among us would eat potato chips if they weren’t covered in salt? Or French fries? Or popcorn? These beloved treats just aren’t the same without a whole bunch of salt. 

Salt is a mineral and a naturally formed compound. There is tons more salt in the world than we need for human consumption. That’s why it’s so cheap to buy in the grocery store. 

Salt is essential for human health. In any given time, we have about 250 grams of sodium running through the fluids of our bodies.

It is one of the oldest food seasonings in the world. When added to the food we eat, it can bring out the flavor. It also helps as a preservative, to keep food from spoiling so quickly. 

They had salt back in Jesus’ day, too. It was used much as we use it now, though it was more expensive back then. Sometimes Roman soldiers would be paid in salt. Which makes sense, if you know these famous words of Jesus: “You are the salt of the earth” (Matthew 5:13a). 

Interesting. We are the salt of the earth? Not God? Not the gospel? No. We are. 

What does it mean to be the salt of the Earth? 

The gospel to unbelievers can sometimes seem rather… unpalatable. The idea that we are sinners and held accountable to God. The idea that we are in need of a savior when so many of us pride ourselves on being self-sufficient. The idea that one day we will have to give account for everything we’ve done before our Creator. The idea that those who reject God and live for themselves, have chosen hell. These may be hard pills to swallow. 

Perhaps we are the salt of the Earth because it is our job to make the gospel more tasty. Not by watering it down or covering over the bad parts or changing the message. But by showering it in love, mercy, and compassion. By showing and living the positive difference it can make in one’s life and in the world. 

I fear many times our message, instead of making the gospel more desirable, has made it less so. Instead of flavoring the gospel with our love, we poison it with politics and nationalism and white supremacy, with hate and commercialism and privilege. We add a whole lot that doesn’t belong in there, making the gospel truth seem more like a lie.

It’s no wonder others are not convinced by or interested in our message. I wouldn’t want to stomach something sprinkled in cyanide, either. 

How many of us know the second part of verse 13, where Jesus says, “But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”

What causes salt to lose its saltiness? Impurities. When other things get mixed in with the salt, it no longer has its flavor. It no longer serves as a preservative. It’s worthless.

When our message is polluted by the things of this world, it loses its saltiness. It loses its truth. It’s worthless. It’s unpalatable. Worthy only to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.

The salt of the gospel should be about giving life: a better life here now, as well as life everlasting. The gospel should be about love. Love is not mere lip service and a few dollars thrown in an offering plate. Love is caring about someone’s well-being and promoting good in their life. Love is caring about those who are suffering in unjust systems. As Cornell West has said, “Justice is what love looks like in public.” The gospel should look and sound like Jesus.

We have so much to do to reclaim our message. I believe the Evangelical Church in America – those who truly believe in following Jesus Christ, needs to come together and make a very coherent and very public statement against Christian nationalism, fascism, white supremacy, and all the other things that have been associated with us because of our intermixing with conservative politics. We need to be clear to all the world – this is not who we are. This is not who Jesus is. We need to repent and turn back to the way of Jesus. 

But also, I think each and every person who claims to follow Jesus, needs to actually do just that and follow Jesus. Follow the way He loved and the way He cared for people. Follow His words to bring His kingdom come on Earth through meeting needs and establishing a more just society. 

If each of us were to do that, we would be the salt within our own circles. And, eventually, that salt would spread. The ripples of influence would grow. 

Until we truly were the salt of the Earth.

Everyone searched frantically, but nobody found their balloon. 

The teacher told all the students to pick up a balloon and hand it to the person whose name was written on it. Within 5 minutes, everyone had their own balloon. 

After they all settled down, the teacher said, “These balloons are like happiness. We will never find it if everyone is just looking for their own. But if we care about other people’s happiness, we’ll find ours too.”

Too much of Christian history has been us as individuals focusing on ourselves. 

Our own “Personal Salvation.” 

God is always trying to move us beyond that. 

To pay attention to the whole. 

To pay attention to the collective. 

In Exodus 3:7, God says to Moses

“I’ve clearly seen my people oppressed in Egypt. I’ve heard their cry of injustice because of their slave masters. I know about their pain. I’ve come down to rescue them.”

God shows up because God has “heard their cry of injustice.”

The Myth

There is a myth out there that people who are strong don’t complain. 

They don’t complain about the things that are wrong. 

They just grin and bear it.

Now, nobody wants to be around someone who is just complaining all the time and never does anything to try and change things. 

But being silent about issues, injustices, and things that are wrong also doesn’t change them. 

Sometimes people have a rule – “Don’t bring me a complaint unless you also bring me a solution.”

That may be the right move in some situations. 

But most of the time, the solution only comes because of the cries of injustice. 

And we’re in a culture that doesn’t want to hear it. 

It’s embedded in all kinds of little comments we make. Like the comment, “You can’t complain if you didn’t vote.” 

The sentiment behind that comment is that if you want to make change, voting is a good way to do it. 

Except, that phrase is typically geared toward one group of people…people who are left out and ignored. Usually, people who are poor, low-income, and minority groups. 

Even though people are trying to inspire other to vote with comments like that, what they actually do is silence people. 

I know countless people who do not vote because they aren’t feeling heard and nobody cares about them. 

They complain hoping somebody will listen to the injustice and harm they are experiencing. 

Actually, I lied. I don’t know “countless people.” We know the number of people who don’t vote. 

“Forty-seven percent of the voters are poor or low-wage workers.” (1) They have the lowest turnout of all groups of voters because nobody is talking about the issues and struggles they are dealing with. (The turnout among low-wage and low-income voters today is 20-22% below the average turnout).

Nobody is listening to them. Instead, in subtle, and sometimes unintentional ways, (but also in very intentional ways) they are silenced and told to not complain. 

But the very reason God shows up to rescue the Israelites from slavery in Egypt is because people who are suffering, oppressed, and in unjust situations cry out about it. 

Things change because we cry out. 

This is even true in our immediate relationships. Two people tend to have a lot more conflict when they don’t share their complaints or the ways they feel slighted or wronged. How would someone ever fix that? How would change ever come about if those things aren’t voiced? How will people ever see what’s going on?

Those things matter. 

Zora Neale Hurston was an author, documentary filmmaker and a central figure in the 1920 & 30s Harlem Renaissance (this was an explosion of African-American art, literature, music, and nightlife in NYC that was sparked when many Black people from the south fled up north).

She focused on the African-American experience and her struggles as an African-American woman. 

She said, “If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.”

Staying silent is a myth. 

God “comes down” when people cry out.

But God doesn’t show up and start hurling lightning bolts down from heaven or show up and automatically set things right.  

God comes down and gets involved by sending Moses. 

A person.

When God wants to get involved, God sends people. 

And if people are going to be sent, then people have to know that something is happening. 

We need the protests. We need the cries of injustice. We need the videos and tweets, sermons and newspaper articles. 

God is going to send people, but only if we continue to cry out about the injustice, oppression, and harm being done. 

Crying Out

My own tradition, United Methodism, calls this “Social Holiness.” We take a stand on issues of injustice and oppression, and invite people to work to better these situations. 

We literally write down and call out injustice like lack of clean water, gun violence, hunger, poverty, the death penalty, the importance of a living wage, responsible lending practices by institutions, national budgets, education reform, and the disarming nuclear weapons.

We even call out the injustice of Israel and Palestine. 

We don’t always know the answers for how to fix things…but we know that if we don’t speak about it – nothing will change.

The students protesting on college campuses are crying out about the injustice, knowing that this is how things will change. 

If we don’t say something, how will people know God is calling them?

If we don’t say something, how will people know God is sending them?

Archbishop Desmund Tutu was a Christian leader in South Africa during the time of Apartheid – when Black people were oppressed in South Africa. He helped lead the work for justice.

I love this statement that’s attributed to him: “Every church should be able to get a letter of recommendation from the poor in their community.”

Are we paying attention to the cries? Are we crying out ourselves? 

It’s easy to ignore this stuff. But we are all connected. All of these issues matter and impact all of us. 

We rise and we fall together. 

God’s Representative

Sometimes I find that being God’s representative is difficult, not because I don’t care…but because I don’t know what to do.

It all seems too complicated and more than I can handle, take on, or have the understanding for…

But a lot of times that’s because I’m trying to take on a role that isn’t mine. 

College students across the country have been protesting on their campus to call on the U.S. and their schools to stop funding Israel’s war on the Palestinian people. Thousands of innocent children, women, and civilians have been killed and are being killed. 

The students are paying attention to what they can do. They’re crying out about it and crying for change to happen, for this slaughter to stop. 

They have heard the cries and they know this is a way they can respond. 

It may not be the whole answer. 

But they know they are called to this role at this time. 

Conclusion

We can’t stay silent. 

This is the way God “comes down.” 

This is how the Kingdom of God shows up. 

It’s not a “Personal Salvation Project.”

It is about all of us being saved together. 

So may we cry out and trust God will “come down” to save us all.  

(1) https://www.commondreams.org/news/poor-people-s-campaign

You don’t need me to tell you that Mother’s Day is complicated for many. A two-second pause to contemplate the people in your life for whom the holiday might be painful would yield evidence enough that the day (and the church-backed events that it often brings) can be tricky. Instead, maybe we can ask why is that so?

My hunch is that the labyrinth of emotions accompanying this holiday has to do with the elevation and highlighting of a very specific relationship. And relationships are layered, sometimes strained, always unique. They are formed between people, and no two people are alike. A day to “celebrate mothers” feels not altogether different from declaring a day to “celebrate health.” Can you imagine? The pain that would come from those whose bodies have received diagnoses? From those who have learned from their faith communities to not trust their physical selves? From those trapped inside of addiction, or those raging against the institutions that compromise our wellness, or those who have been traumatized by diet culture? Health is complicated because it has to do with a relationship between a person and their body. “Celebrating health” would be an oversimplification of such a complex human experience.

So too with mothers.

Here’s a Mother’s Day litany that is also simplified for such vastly different connections and experiences that surround us. But, I hope it makes a little more room for a few more people.

 *****************************************************************

Needed: A candle and lighter, something to represent bread and wine for communion (a cracker and juice, toast and milk, etc), and a little cup of dirt (plus a seed, if available). If reading with people, one voice will read all unbolded sections while the group joins in for the bolded sections.

“If ever there is a tomorrow when we’re not together, there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we are apart, I will always be with you.” –Winnie the Pooh

ONE: Right now, we push aside all the feelings we “should” have and people we “should” be, and we open wide our doors to what is

ALL: Welcome, old grief; 

Welcome, new reality; 

Welcome, fear; 

Welcome, worry; 

Welcome, exactly who we are right now

ONE: As we light this candle, we declare this space for remembering and honoring the children and parents we miss during Mother’s (and/or Father’s) day(s)

ALL: Be with us, saints; 

Be with us, Spirit

Song: Let It Be

ONE: For children who had to say goodbye to parents when they should have had so much more time

ALL: We hold you now: (name any names aloud)

ONE: For children who have watched the minds and bodies of parents deteriorate, no longer able to recognize or remember

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children whose parents were unable to offer their presence or resources, children who ached to know a different kind of paternal or maternal love

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children who have lost parents to suicide, disease, estrangement

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children who wrestle with the complexities of their birth parents, adoptive parents, and foster parents

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children who are navigating the milestones of life without their mothers or fathers there to call for recipes and family histories and old stories that have faded with years

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For LGBTQIA+ children who do not have homes to which they can return

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children who were abused in a multitude of ways:

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For children who dread the holidays because of their voids

ALL: We hold you now:

Scripture: Matthew 5:1-12

ONE: For parents who birthed babies straight into the arms of God

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For parents who have lost young children to disasters that make this life seem too unfair for the human heart

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For parents who have raised their grandchildren or other relatives because of a lost life or reality

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For parents who have lost children to suicide, disease, estrangement

ALL: We hold you now: 

ONE: For parents whose children were unable to offer their presence or connection, parents who ached to know a different kind of familial love

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For parents who have received a gutting diagnosis

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For parents who are raising children, and working jobs, and running households by themselves

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For birth parents who wrestle with the complexities of hard decisions and limited resources

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For adoptive and foster parents who wrestle with the complexities of hard questions, identity narratives, and ethics

ALL: We hold you now:

ONE: For migrant and refugee parents who are risking everything (even separation) for a better life for their children

ALL: We hold you now:

“If I had lost a leg—I would tell them—instead of a boy, no one would ever ask me if I was ‘over’ it. They would ask me how I was doing learning to walk without my leg. I was learning to walk and to breathe and to live without Wade. And what I was learning is that it was never going to be the life I had before.” –Elizabeth Edwards

ONE: To those who are not biological parents, but who step in to mother and father so many around them

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To those who chose not to be parents in a culture that so often pressures otherwise

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To those who would choose to be parents, or parents again, but who grieve the loss of a dream

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To those who have redefined family to go past lines of biology, nationality, and economics

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To those who did the best they could with what they had when they had it

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To those versions of ourselves that we never turned into, and the versions of ourselves that we did

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To the voices we wish we could hear say “Happy Mother’s and Father’s Day”

ALL: We honor you now:

ONE: To the ears to which we wish we could say “Happy Mother’s and Father’s Day”

ALL: We honor you now:

Scripture: John 1:5

“Sorry, but you don’t really get a choice—you keep waking up and you keep breathing and your heart keeps on beating. And because your blood hasn’t stopped moving through your body, your stomach gets hungry, and then your mouth eats. This is how it goes. Your sad little heart becomes a force of nature. Despite the depth of its wounds, it just keeps going and then the rest of your body has to follow. You eat. You sleep. You sit, and stand, and walk. You smile. Eventually, you laugh. It’s like your heart knows that if it keeps going, so will you. And your heart hasn’t forgotten how good it is to be in the world, so it pushes on, propelling you along to the fridge, the shower, a family dinner, coffee with a friend. In doing these things, your spirit catches up with what your heart already knows; it’s pretty good to be alive. I guess what I’m getting at is that if you too are mired in the early days of unimaginable loss, the only thing to do is follow your heart. Then listen to your body. And keep…going.” –Jamie Wright 

Song: Great is Thy Faithfulness

ONE: Hear our words to those we miss

ALL: Meet us in our celebration and in our grief 

Communion

ONE: The body of Mary’s son, broken for us

The blood of God’s son, poured out for the world

ALL: Thank you Jesus for the bigger picture of resurrection

ONE: God’s family table is open to all who wish to partake, in your homes, on these screens, though separated we are one.

(Participants hold cup of soil—and a seed if possible—in their hands.)

Remind us, God, that our faith makes room for death, that our faith can hold endings, though they are excruciating and devastating.

(Participants push seeds into dirt.)

Remind us that in a backwards kingdom, end is beginning, last is first, and burial is birth…eventually.

ALL: Thank you for love that was, is, and is to come. Amen.

Go now in the peace that passes our understanding.

I am not a Catholic. In fact, I was raised in the charismatic, protestant church in Scotland. A faith tradition which taught us that, “praying to saints” (especially Mary) was idolatry. 

This morning however, just after my husband read me the news about the escalating situation of war in Israel, Gaza, and Iran, I found myself praying with, and even to, Mary the mother of Jesus. 

For some years now, beginning in a time of deep grief, God has been “turning up” for me … with me … in me … beside me … as my Mother. The tender, loving, yet incredibly fierce and creative Life Force, which birthed our universe and our existence. An Eternal Womb in which I’m always held. This has been a wonderful “widening out” in my understanding of God and has brought great healing to my deepest wounds; in a way which only incredible intimacy can. 

But, unlike many others – who are also currently discovering the Divine Feminine Presence of God – I’ve honestly never given much thought to Mary of Nazareth, the earthly mother of Jesus. 

That was, until recently, when I spent some extended time in Mexico and found myself entranced – and frankly enchanted – by the incredibly abundant images, literally everywhere (murals, graffitied walls, bumper stickers, tattoos) of Our Lady of Guadalupe. 

For those of us without much knowledge of Catholic faith traditions, Our Lady of Guadalupe is a “Marian” apparition. That is, an appearance of Mary, the mother of Jesus, who came to an indigenous man, San Juan Diego (Cuauhtlatoatzin – Talking Eagle – was his indigenous name) in Mexico, 1531. 

The story tells us that after several divine meetings between the two: San Juan and Guadalupe. Meetings which took place over a period of several days. Meetings in which she beckoned, encouraged and instructed him; Guadalupe’s image was miraculously imprinted on this ordinary man’s cloak. This miraculous “painting” is still with us today and is available to view at the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, in modern day Mexico City.

Here’s the thing … I, as a good protestant girl, wasn’t raised to be intoxicated by the smells and bells of Catholic “superstition”.  I was taught, not to use saints as intermediaries, but to address the Divine directly and on my own behalf. In the faith tradition of my childhood, we weren’t permitted to pray to an image, nor worship idols … but, suddenly here I was, surrounded by endless, almost omnipresent, images of this Mexican-indigenous “Mary” and I found myself enamored by her. 

I snapped photos of her on every walk and at every stop sign, until my phone and Instagram account were full. I found myself sketching her over and over in my journals; researching the meanings hidden in the symbols of her dress, her pose and her face. What could this alluring … comforting … almost protecting image possibly mean!? Why did it strike me so much? How had it inspired such incredible devotion in the people of Mexico? 

As I began to allow myself to surrender to the call, I found that in drawing her … piece by piece … again and again … I was sketching out a map of God.

Much like my ancestors – the ancient Celts – with their “three leafed” Celtic knot describing the mystery of the Trinity, I discovered that the people of Mexico had also been given a symbol to aid them in their understanding of the Infinite. This map came to them through an image of Mary … a poor, brown, pregnant, unwed, teenage, praying girl.   

Of course, my firmly western, pragmatic, protestant brain could hardly handle this kind of mystery! Mary was a human girl … like me. Not God. Not the Divine one. Not even the Holy Spirit, who I had come to know, so tenderly, as Mother. I wrestled with the “either – or” of the whole situation and rubbed my eyes again and again in frustration at this new vision of oneness that God was so kindly showing me about Herself and her saints; her dearly loved ones. 

During the last couple years this oneness has sunk into my heart, where my brain couldn’t receive it. I have begun to let go and trust. Christ is the Vine and I am one of the branches. I cannot find the line where God ends and I begin, so why should I feel such a desperate need to draw that line anywhere else? 

This morning, as we listened to the news coming out of the Middle East: that war may escalate and more  mothers will be torn from their children, more husbands may lose their wives, more babies may be blown up, orphaned  and abandoned, I found the words of the Hail Mary prayer … a prayer which I learned accidentally, growing up  surrounded by Catholic neighbors in a nation which was fiercely divided by religion … I found the words of Hail Mary, tumbling through my mind and out my mouth. 

Mary, that most Middle Eastern of mamas. She who knows the terror of occupation, the constant threat of murder. She, who watched her dearest child be ripped from her life by political mob violence. 

Mary, this Mary, who still dared to call herself “blessed” in spite of it all. Mary, who trusted in the resurrection long enough to see the crucifixion through. 

I found myself praying to Mary, with Mary, through Mary and with the Holy Spirit which binds us both together as children of God … praying for the mothers who are caught in this awful war. 

“Hail Mary”   

Mary … my heart salutes you, my heart salutes your heart … and through your heart I acknowledge and  listen … to God, who is our Deepest Mother. 

“full of grace” 

Through you I see the grace that is ours 

You who said, “let it be” 

You who opened yourself wide, in deep trust 

who gave your “yes” to God

Your yes to pain, your yes to joy, your yes to life and your yes to death … even the death of your own son 

“Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus” 

This part of the prayer makes me choke with tears, 

because you are a human woman, a mother, a fruitful womb 

just like me, just like our sisters 

a woman who lived under the fierce violence of Occupation 

an Occupation which killed children and tore babies from their mothers 

You, like so many, had to flee to save your child’s life, 

to save him from a deadly force, breathing out violence against you, 

threatening to take his life – his tiny, precious life – away. 

We look at the horror unfolding in your homeland, and we wonder, “How could anyone slaughter children?” Oh Mary 

Oh dear Mother-God 

You know the fear and terror the mothers of Gaza and Israel face 

And yet still, 

still you called yourself, “Blessed”! 

You, whose very name, Miriam, means “sea of bitter tears”. 

You, whose son was murdered by mob-violence 

by an absurd system, calling itself just! 

You who knew agony as deep as the sea 

You named yourself, “Blessed”. 

You even foretold that we would call you “Blessed”. 

By doing this, you teach us 

To call ourselves 

To call all mothers … 

To call all children, fruit of our wombs 

“Blessed” 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God” 

You, who carried God in your womb 

who, like all of us, carried the Divine within you 

who, like all mothers, grew and bore, loved and raised, a child of the Creator. 

“Pray for us, now and at the hour of our death” 

Pray for us …now and in all our deaths 

our daily deaths and losses 

our minute-to-minute worsening griefs 

too deep for words 

pray for us. 

Holy Spirit pray for us … within us … around us … over us. 

Your hand is always on our eyes – to light the way 

Your hand is always on our hearts – to still the storm of panic   

Your hand is always at our backs – to catch us as we fall 

You, Spirit, Mother of all mothers, hold us, carry our wounds. 

shed our tears and grieve our deepest grief   

Pray for us Mother, 

As we pray with and for the mothers, the sisters, the daughters, in Israel and Gaza, who are all your children. They are all us

We are all them 

within your holy love 

Amen. 

Let it be. 

In closing, please allow me to share with you why I feel it is such an incredible gift for me, as someone raised protestant, to feel invited by the Spirit to meditate on the words of the “Hail Mary” prayer.  

The place in which I was raised, the west of Scotland, was incredibly divided for generations – politically,  socially and religiously – between Catholic and Protestant. As you likely know, Northern Ireland, just thirty miles across  the sea from us, experienced decades of life-wrecking violence. After generations of hatred and loss – peace,  reconciliation, understanding – these things just seemed impossible. Yet in recent decades they have miraculously arrived.  

This Easter Sunday, just a few weeks ago, my parents sent me pictures of their Easter gathering in Scotland.  Starting at the local Catholic church, members from various denominations walked together from church to church,  singing, sharing and celebrating the resurrection together.  

It’s not just that it’s easier, or more pleasant, or a better life for all, when we have peace – but to feel actively  encouraged by the Spirit to engage in and understand one another’s prayers, surely this can bring us one step closer to  seeing an answer to Jesus’ own prayer for the human race: that we might one day, be one, and find ourselves empowered  to truly love one another.  

This must be our prayer too, not just for Israel and Palestine, but for the whole world. 

Another evangelical acquaintance asked where in the scriptures are Christians called to be humanized and reported a quick Google search showed “humanising” being not a particularly Christian thing. Perhaps the Google algorithms found more examples of fundamentalist, evangelical Christianity’s record of dehumanizing the gospel even though admirable pockets of evangelicalism still engage in humanitarian enterprises. The challenge to expose the humanizing motif in the Christian scriptures prompted me to review my post-evangelical journey of thirty-plus years with the figure of Jesus.

The lack of explicit references to the humanizing focus of the gospel in the Christian scriptures is not unique when it comes to claims of scriptural support for beliefs in the Christian faith tradition. There are many things those who claim the identity of Christian do that are not explicitly called for in the scriptures. For example, there is no call for Christians to construct buildings and call them churches and plant them all over the planet. But it is something of an obsession in the Christian tradition. It grew from seeing adherents of other religious traditions erecting places of worship and Christians wanting to compete (despite fairly strong hints in the early New Testament writings for followers of Jesus to not create communities of faith dependent on man made artefacts as the focus of the worshipping community). But, churches in buildings have a history of doing much good so the tradition continues. More confounding are the many things that are explicitly called for in the scriptures that Christians do not do – like communities of faith sharing their resources to ensure all members enjoy prosperity and do not experience poverty.

When it comes to the claim that the gospel presented by Jesus was mostly about humanising people, I start at the beginning of the Jewish and Christian scriptures. The creation story consistently emphasises that humans are made in the image of the creator. The humans created were judged by the creator to be the perfect expression of humanity due to their unimpeded relationship with their creator. The story of the fall is a description of the perfect humans being seduced into believing independent, self-preservation was the point of life (the serpent’s tantalising offer) rather than the communal care of all people to enable them to experience the humanity with which the creator imbued them.

Over the next few thousand years, according to the Old Testament scriptures, people identified as prophets continually called those who claimed to follow Yahweh to return to treating all people as human and stop treating some (or many) of them like animals to be used and abused for personal gain and preservation. In other words, the call was to humanise others to enable people to have an experience as close as possible to that of the first humans before the fall.

When the prophet project manifestly failed to bring people back to the creator’s vision of humanity, the New Testament scriptures announce a new strategy. The use of the terms “new creation,” “new Adam,” “son of God,” and “oneness of Father and Son” indicate the presentation of a repeat, perfect expression of humanity from the creator. This expression provided a perfect example of humanity for people to follow through his uninterrupted communion with the creator. Moreover, it included the ability to lead all humans to be engaged in becoming better expressions of perfect humanity and helping others become the same through entering into closer communion with the creator.

When we read the stories about Jesus’ sayings and actions in the gospels in this light, we see him explicitly and deliberately opposing the beliefs and acts of the Judaist religious tradition the prophets had called out that had dehumanised many in their communities through deprivation, exclusion, marginalisation, and dogmatism. The theme of Jesus’ words and actions shows a strong commitment to provision, inclusion, incorporation, and openness to other perspectives on previously non-negotiable beliefs. One of the strongest calls for followers of Jesus to be engaged in the enterprise of humanising others and themselves is in Matthew 25:31-46. Here Jesus as the judge is portrayed as excluding from eternity in the presence of the creator those who simply believed the right things but dehumanised others. Even those who appeared not to believe the right things but manifestly engaged in Jesus’ humanising enterprise were welcomed into eternity.

The lack of results in a Google search on “humanizing and Christianity” is bewildering. There is a reasonable body of literature that argues somewhat compellingly that authentic following of Jesus produces the truest form of humanism founded on an understanding of a creator whose desire was to create perfect humans with whom to have a meaningful relationship. However, this is one perspective on what the gospel is and there are many more that make sense also. I prefer this perspective but accept that it does not make sense for everyone who claims the identity of Christian. They are welcome to whatever perspective enables them to explain why they call themselves Christian. I no longer claim the identity of Christian and prefer to identify as a humanizing follower of Jesus – but that is just what makes sense to me.

(RNS) — It is easy to despair over the Holy Land. For almost 80 years it has been a festering sore, and today, after decades of peace efforts, there is no end in sight.

After the genocide inflicted on Jews by the Nazis during World War II, Jews wanted a homeland where they could be self-governing and safe. Returning to Israel, their original homeland until the destruction of the Jewish state by the Roman Empire, was a longed-for hope.

For a variety of reasons (guilt, sympathy, geopolitical gamesmanship and even antisemitism), the West supported a Jewish homeland. Worries about the Palestinians currently living in what had been ancient Israel were put aside.

From a nation of refugees surrounded by enemies, Israel has grown into an economic and military powerhouse. A democratic ally to the United States, it has come to be seen as a bulwark against Iran.

But the Palestinian question remains. Many were pushed as refugees into Jordan. Others live under dire circumstances in the West Bank and Gaza. Angry at the loss of their land and independence, many have turned to violence. In a search for its own security, Israel has responded to violence with even more violence in an endless cycle that has no foreseeable conclusion.

International experts, including those in the Vatican, have insisted on a two-state solution where Palestinians gain sovereignty over the West Bank and Gaza in return for long-term peace for the Israelis. After previous steps toward the two-state solution have faltered, Israeli settlers have now occupied so much Palestinian territory as to make this impossible without their removal.

The terrorist actions of some settlers toward Palestinians have made peace more remote, while the Israeli government, turning a blind eye to settler attacks, severely punishes teenage Palestinians who throw rocks.

Corruption and incompetence among Palestinian politicians have made the two-state solution more difficult. Disillusioned, Palestinians in Gaza turned years ago to Hamas leaders who seek the destruction of Israel through terrorism and violence.

The latest war in Gaza was begun by Hamas, which attacked Israel, slaughtered civilians and kidnapped hostages. Israel’s military response went far past the usual retaliatory attacks, aimed at vanquishing Hamas once and for all. Tens of thousands of civilians have been killed, cities leveled. Women and children are now starving as refugees in the south of Gaza. Almost all food and other supplies are being held up at the border. One war crime (taking of civilian hostages) does not legitimate another (the starving of civilians).

The United States continues to call for a two-state solution while supplying Israel with billions of dollars in weapons and ammunition. Some Palestinians, meanwhile, have taken up the slogan “from the river to the sea,” even as some Israelis advocate pushing the remaining Palestinians from Gaza into Egypt and establishing a “Greater Israel,” its own version of “from the river to the sea.”

It is time for the United States to limit military aid to Israel to defensive weapons — continuing to supply Israel with anti-missile protection but preventing the use of our 500-pound bombs in Gaza, where they have resulted in widespread destruction and numerous civilian casualties.

Though it may have little impact on the war, such limits would send a signal that Israel must be more careful to avoid civilian casualties. We must insist that Israel allow food aid into Gaza.

American presidents have long failed to bring peace to the area, though a few, Jimmy Carter most of all, made incremental progress. But the land is at a tipping point. If Israel attacks the Gaza city of Rafah, where almost half of Gaza’s 2.3 million population have sought refuge, it will be a humanitarian catastrophe. If it results in pushing the remaining Palestinians into Egypt, which does not want them, such an attack will destabilize Egypt and provide another place for cross-border attacks on Israel.

Though a desire to destroy Hamas is understandable, Israel should remember that the United States felt the same way about al-Qaida. After it was destroyed, ISIS took its place. Destroying Hamas will not bring peace to Israel. Though Israel doesn’t want to negotiate with Hamas, it needs to remember that you negotiate with your enemies, not your friends.

Israel has squandered the sympathy of the world by its excessive use of force in Gaza. In the United States, 55% of the American people disapprove of Israel’s actions in Gaza, according to Gallup, while only 36% approve. Students are demonstrating against the war on college campuses, mostly nonviolently, but with some excesses we have come to expect from students.

It would be easy to give up on our own ability to talk about the Holy Land. Having lived through the protests against the Vietnam War, I am saddened that today’s college administrators, students and media are making the same mistakes as those of an earlier era.

Demonstrators need to police themselves so that the extremists who speak loudest do not appear to speak for all. They should do more singing and less shouting. They should express love, not hate. They should not alienate their fellow students by interrupting classes or graduation. The goal is to win people over to their side, not merely to vent anger.

Administrators should avoid calling the police, and instead encourage dialogue and discussion. They should encourage faculty to debate the issues. They should defend free speech but oppose violence.

And the media need to focus on the big picture, not the few excesses. They need to interview real students and campus leaders, not just the loudmouths. Sadly, it is still true that “If it bleeds, it leads.”

History gives us little reason to hope. Older Americans remember the disaster that was the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago. Its anti-war demonstrations and police violence led to the defeat of Hubert Humphrey by Richard Nixon, who continued the war until 1975.

Now, 56 years later, the Democrats are meeting in Chicago again. Chaos at this year’s convention could kill President Joe Biden’s chances of reelection and ensure victory for Donald Trump, who has promised to let Israel do whatever it wants.

So far, Biden has had little success in getting Benjamin Netanyahu to stop making war on Palestinian civilians. There is a glimmer of light in that Israel has allowed a few more aid trucks into Gaza and Hamas leaders have arrived in Egypt for talks. We have to persevere and have hope because the alternative is too terrible to imagine.

I was – and still am – inspired by the idea of building God’s kingdom and working for him. However, I always found work at the missionary organisation hard, even though I loved the people I worked with and believed in what we were doing. But towards the end of my time there, the responsibilities of my role got exceptionally tough. I couldn’t manage the day-to-day tasks, let alone the long-term ones, and it was having a hugely negative effect on my health. I rationalised it to myself, telling myself that God had called me to the organisation, and that the pain and difficulty I was feeling were part of the necessary sacrifice to follow his call. I needed to ‘take up my cross’; I just needed to push through this next bit of difficulty. Jesus hadn’t promised me an easy life, right?

Burnout is increasingly common in our society, particularly in the aftermath of the COVID pandemic. It’s defined by the World Health Organisation as ‘a syndrome […] resulting from chronic workplace stress that has not been successfully managed. It is characterised by three dimensions: feelings of energy depletion or exhaustion; increased mental distance from one’s job, or feelings of negativism or cynicism related to one’s job; and a sense of ineffectiveness and lack of accomplishment.’ (1)

What would Jesus say about burnout? How does the reality of burnout sit with the Bible’s call to be ‘living sacrifices’, and the reality of Jesus coming so that we could ‘have life, and have it to the full’?

I think there are three aspects to this:

1. our worldview: the narratives we tell ourselves about who we are and why we’re here
2. Our praxis, in other words, how we put into practice what we believe 
3. The community that we do that with

1. Worldview

I spoke to Jan de Villiers – the founder of youth charity e:merge and the social enterprise Futurekraft, which has helped incubate and develop more than 150 justice projects – about this. He is no stranger to burnout:

‘As a young man, I was quite a zealot to “go and proclaim the gospel in all the world”. For me, there was a real physical element to sacrifice: I gave up all that I had, jacked in my job, went into missions. I trusted God like in the scripture where Jesus sends out his disciples without a purse, just with the clothes on their back. That was the kind of sacrifice that meant something to me.’

‘Right now though, my view of sacrifice is this: I think all of us have been called, and all of us have purpose. I’m called to work in inner-city deprived areas for example.  We are learning about our purpose along this journey in life. God does the inner work in us. We each fill a space that is unique to us. Sacrifice in that context is knowing your calling, your purpose, and being true to that.’

Jan highlights the importance of understanding our specific calling – the difference between the view that we must do the maximum to ‘bring God’s Kingdom’, and the view that we should be faithful to the specific role that God has given us. This makes a big difference. It seems obvious, but sometimes we forget that we can never meet all the need we see around us. Instead, our role is to be faithful to the calling God has given us: to become the person He has made us to be.

This realisation entails a recognition that, in Jan’s words ‘it’s not all about the stuff that we do, it’s about being: being in this world, being transformed on a daily basis. That’s the calling. That’s how we become light to the world.’ When we are on this journey of becoming, we are able to challenge injustice both through what we do and who we are, and we are also more resilient to burnout. We need to be open to this growth and change, to find the freedom in being who God made us to be.  

To what extent do you think who you become is more important than what you do?  These beliefs have tangible impacts on how we live. They also affect how we handle struggle and difficulty. It’s unusual to be an activist, or indeed a human being, without experiencing failure to some degree! And if we think that what we do is by far the most important thing, then failure has few redeeming qualities. However, if we are focused on becoming, failure can be part of our journey of becoming – the uncomfortable furnace in which godly character is formed. 

2. Praxis

Often, our lives don’t match up with our beliefs! Paul talks about this in Romans: ‘what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do’.(2) When it comes to outworking our worldview, it’s helpful to have a set of rhythms and practices to follow – like a trellis or set of garden canes that guide and support us as we grow into the person God has made us to be. These practices will look different for each of us, because we’re all different! However, there may be a few things we have in common. 

Perhaps the most important practice of all is setting good boundaries. The research professor, social worker and author Brene Brown said that one of the most shocking findings from her research was that ‘the most compassionate people… were also the most boundaried’. (3) Setting good boundaries – saying no to things, prioritising space to connect with God, yourself, those close to you; making time for life-giving activities; deciding what is ‘too much’, all these things are deeply connected with maintaining our ability to be compassionate. 

Boundaries are the natural outworking of the recognition that, as Jan says ‘ultimately it is more about becoming our true selves than about what we do’. 

3. Community

It took months of me getting steadily more fragile before some good friends said over a pub lunch, “Rach, I don’t think it’s meant to be this painful and hard to just go to work. We don’t think this is what God has for you.” Somehow, though others had been concerned, it was their words that hit home.

Sometimes those closest to us see what is going on with us clearer than we can ourselves. Community can keep us accountable. And, living and working in community gives us extra resources and wisdom to draw on when things get hard. When I asked Shane Claiborne about this, he illustrated it this way: ‘The way that you put out a fire, a campfire, is you scatter the coals. And the way that you keep a fire alive is by stoking those coals. That’s why community and movement are so essential. If you’re just a little candle, you can be blown out by the wind, but a fire is actually fueled by the wind. When the winds come, it only makes the fire stronger.’

Who is your community? Do you have trusted friends that can challenge and keep you accountable? In my case, following this challenge from my friends, I took a step back and spent a while asking God if he was really wanting me to make this type of sacrifice to build his kingdom. Turns out, he wasn’t – and I handed in my notice shortly after that, stepping into the unknown to find out what he did want me to do.

Even today I am still figuring this out but using this ‘transformation triangle’ (worldview/praxis/community) is helping me work through how changes in my worldview are supported by a trellis of rhythms and practices, and by a community, so that they lead to wider change in my life.

(1) https://icd.who.int/browse/2024-01/mms/en#129180281
(2) Romans 7:15.
(3) Brené Brown, ‘Boundaries, Empathy, and Compassion’, https://youtu.be/xATF5uYVRkM 

Rachel Walker is a co-author, together with Rich Gower, of The Hopeful Activist: Discovering the vital change you were made to bring, published in May 2024 by SPCK. She is also part of the team behind the Hopeful Activists’ Podcast, alongside Abi Thomas, Rich Gower and Beth Saunders.

On April 9, 2024, a group of Christian leaders and theologians from across the Global North and South, issued the following response. I am honored to join this statement of confession, repentance and solidarity. It does not aim to repent on behalf of “the Western church.” Rather, this response was issued on our own behalf.

Since April 9, the State of Israel and the U.S. have erased more than 1000 Palestinian images of God. 1000 more were injured. This brings the current total killed, maimed or missing under the rubble to nearly 119,000.

We invite you to read this response and consider how your story intersects with the story of Christian thought formation concerning Israel/Palestine. If you find resonance with this letter, please join us in confession, repentance, and solidarity by writing your own confessions, repentance and pledges of solidarity in the RLC social media comments. – Shane

Beloved followers of Jesus Christ in Palestine, Israel, and the Palestinian Diaspora,

As we write, the death toll in Gaza has surpassed 33,000 images of God, including more than 13,800 children and 8,400 women. Nearly 76,000 people have been maimed and more than 8,000 are still missing under the rubble. Thus, nearly 117,000 Palestinians in Gaza have been killed, maimed, or buried under rubble since October 7, 2023. On that day, 1,139 Israeli images of God were killed and a further 130 Israelis are still held hostage by Hamas inside Gaza, at least 34 of whom are presumed dead. In the West Bank, 457 images of God have been killed. Every life is equally precious in the sight of God. We are broken by this destruction of lives, families, and communities.

Six months after Netanyahu ordered a blockade on all food, water, and electricity going into Gaza, 100% of the 2.2 million Palestinians in Gaza now face starvation, with half of the population (1.1 million) on the brink of forced famine, which experts predict will hit the population by May. We are broken by this destruction of lives, families, and communities.

The International Court of Justice has ruled Israel’s acts a plausible genocide. In addition, the United Nations Special Rapporteur on Human Rights recently reported: “There are reasonable grounds to believe the threshold indicating the commission of the crime of genocide…has been met.”

In this context, we, the undersigned, followers of Jesus from around the world, reflect on your letter with profound sorrow and grief. We are distressed by the loss of innocent lives, now ten times greater than at your initial writing. We are aware of the regional and global significance of what is occurring in Palestine and Israel, especially from your vantage point and from the perspective of human rights and humanitarian law. We acknowledge that complicity in this war is found not only in the West but in the Church around the globe.

While we cannot represent the “Western Church” today, we humbly receive and affirm your call for Western Christian leaders and theologians to repent of our biased disregard towards Palestinians and your unjust and devastating suffering as well as of all theological articulations that promote or justify it.

We hear your cry that we must see, hear, value, and trust your witness to the brutal suffering imposed by the State of Israel and strongly enabled by the military support of Western Countries led by the United States of America.

Collectively, we confess that at various points in our Christian journey, we have been influenced by, actively supported, and/or helped promote Zionist theologies.

We confess that we have failed to recognize the ways we have operated according to the logics of white supremacy; accepting the false narrative that Palestinian and Arab people are our inherent enemies.

We confess we have valued Palestinian and Arab lives less than others.

We confess that we have equated the State of Israel with the Israel of the Old Testament.

We confess that we have been afraid. Fearful of what others may say or think if we speak up, fearful of consequences to us – without thinking too deeply of the costs that you have paid.

We confess that we have let the sense of being so dwarfed by the powers of Israel/Palestine, the pervasive influence in America of dispensational eschatology, and the elephant of American militarism, that we have chosen silence rather than courage.

We confess that we have accepted the forced displacement of Palestinians from their homes and ancestral lands.

We confess that we have failed to speak up for a just settlement that allows all to live in peace and security.

We confess that we have done far too little to counter the dominant theology that supports the Israeli occupation and violence against those made in the image of God.

We confess that all too often particular theological perspectives have fueled blind support for the State of Israel and its actions. We recognize and accept Israel’s existence as a nation-state. Theologically, however, we do not believe that the modern state of Israel is the same as ancient Israel portrayed in Scripture, nor do we envision the modern state as a harbinger of Christ’s return. We reject all theological perspectives that promote Christian Zionism and justify Israel’s oppressive policies and practices towards Palestinians.

We repent. Repentance is a process. For some of us, this repentance journey began decades ago. For others, the journey began six months ago. Regardless of when our journey began, we commit ourselves today to sit together for mutual learning and dialogue, debate, and rigorous examination of biblical, theological, and political issues. We long for our assumptions and biases to be exposed, for teachability and deep love, in order to act out of deeper/ more faithful convictions. We want to learn and to listen to you, so you might help us be freed from our silence, paralysis, and unrecognized prejudice. As we all do our work in varied lands and contexts, we hold in common the reality of the love, mercy, and justice of God in Jesus Christ that is with us now and always.

We repent of our feeble advocacy, ignorance, and/or silence about this war, and about the underlying oppression of Palestinians. This leads us to humble dependence on God’s mercy. In the light of the suffering, resurrected Lord who laid down his life to defeat all the powers of death, vengeance, hostility, and oppression and rose again so that we can live reconciled to God and each other, we repent of all theologies and practical support that justifies oppression, hostility, vengeance, erasure, and death in the name of Christ.

We stand in solidarity with, and in compassion for, all who are suffering the death of loved ones, the daily violence and brutal injustices, and the oppressive forces that are erasing hope. Many of us have expressed our solidarity with such statements as that from INFEMIT, from the Archdiocese of South Africa, from Churches for Middle East Peace and from the global Gaza Ceasefire Pilgrimage, but we here now express our further solidarity.

We call for an immediate and sustained ceasefire, the unconditional end to the genocide in Gaza, ethnic cleansing in the West Bank, and an end to Israeli Occupation. We support a solution that leads to the restoration of political and social rights, self-governance, and the right of all Palestinians to self-determination.

Finally, sisters and brothers, we recognize that you have stood –and continue to stand– as faithful and courageous followers of Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ, amidst the long and daily horror of Gaza and the West Bank since Nakba, and even more intensively since October 2023. Though we have been inadequate in our solidarity with you, we now join you in faith and hope in the God who is seeking to remake our narratives for the thriving of all peoples in Palestine and Israel and beyond, and for the well-being of the entire creation. With you, we plead: Lord, have mercy on us!

With Love and Respect,
(in alphabetical order)

Rev. René August
Theologian and Priest,
Anglican Church of Southern Africa

Rev. Dr. M. Craig Barnes
Pastor

Dr. Michael Barram
Professor of Theology & Religious Studies (Biblical Studies)
Saint Mary’s College of California

Rev. Dr. Gary M. Burge
Theologian, Author, Educator
Emeritus Professor New Testament, Wheaton College

Rev. Dr. Mae Elise Cannon
Executive Director
Churches for Middle East Peace (CMEP)

Shane Claiborne
Author and Activist
Executive Director, Red Letter Christians

Rev. Dr. David M. Crump
Emeritus Professor of New Testament, Calvin University

Seblewengel Daniel PhD
Theologian and part-time Lecturer at the Ethiopian Graduate School of Theology

Dr. Bruce N. Fisk
Professor of New Testament, Westmont College (ret.)

Dr. Paul Bendor-Samuel
Physician and Mission Theologian

Dr. Ruth Padilla DeBorst
Theologian, Associate Professor at Western Theological Seminary
Coordinator, International Fellowship for Mission as Transformation (INFEMIT)

Lisa Sharon Harper
Theologian, Writer, Speaker
President and Founder, FreedomRoad.us

Amanda Kaminski, PhD
Assistant Professor of Theology
Texas Lutheran University, Seguin, Texas

Rev. Dr. Mark Labberton
Theologian, Pastor, Educator, and Author

Prof. Dr. Habil. Marcel Måcelaru,
Professor, Aurel Vlaicu University
Arad, Romania

Rev. Michael A. Mata
Educator

Jarrod McKenna
Nonviolent Social Change Educator,
Pastor and Theologian

Rt. Rev. Dr. David Zac Niringiye
Theologian, Author, and Bishop in the Church of Uganda (Anglican)

Dr. Soong-Chan Rah
Munger Professor of Evangelism
Fuller Theological Seminary

Dr. Vinoth Ramachandra
Author, Lecturer, and former Secretary for
Dialogue and Social Engagement for the
International Fellowship of Evangelical Students

Lisa Rodriguez-Watson
National Director, Missio Alliance

Rev. Dr. Brenda Salter McNeil
Speaker, Author, & Professor of Reconciliation Studies
Associate Pastor of Preaching & Reconciliation

Dr. Jer Swigart
Executive Director, Global Immersion

Nikki Toyama-Szeto
Executive Director
Christians for Social Action

Rev. Dr. Al Tizon
Lead Pastor, Grace Fellowship
San Francisco.

Rev. Dr. J. Ross Wagner
Theologian, Author, and Educator

Veena O’Sullivan
International Activist, Speaker

(Attributions are solely for identification purposes and do not necessarily represent the position of the institutions.)

For months, community members and grassroots organizers had been protesting the genocide occurring in Gaza and the complicit role played by the U.S government in it. They employed various tactics, ranging from galvanizing elected officials and staging street protests to attending presidential events to maintain pressure on President Biden to listen to the demands of the people. 

However, it seemed that their voices were being disregarded by the President and large swaths of congress. It was then that the strategy of mobilizing community members to vote ‘Uncommitted’ was initiated. 

History teaches us that the strategic tactic of voting ‘Uncommitted’ was utilized previously in 2008 when former President Barack Obama was initially excluded from the ballot in Michigan during the democratic presidential primary. His supporters voted Uncommitted as a form of protest, with 40% of voters in Michigan casting their ballots in this manner, many of whom were Black and young voters. Numerous African American leaders, many who were also leaders of faith communities, encouraged community members to vote Uncommitted as a protest gesture. 

The cries of the people would not be stifled, and Obama would go on to win Michigan in November by a margin unheard of since Lyndon B Johnson ran for office. History teaches us that when we fight, we win; it might take time, energy, sacrifices and consistency but when we fight, we, the collective people, win. 

Throughout history, Christian protest and voting have served as disciplined avenues for expressing both lament and prophetic imagination. Grieving over the current reality while actively praying with our feet for a resurrected one. Echoing the call from God in Micah 6:8 to embrace faithful love, do justice, and walk humbly. This passage compels us to ask, What does faithful love look like in the face of militarism? When more than 30,000 people have died and U.S tax dollars are sacrificing the innocent on the altar of militarism and settler-colonialism.

Christian protest and collective voting power emerge as potent manifestations of faith, love, and hope, reminding us that our neighbor is us. Compelling us to remember that what happens to one person in the world, happens to all of us. Many of us are engulfed in grief due to our government’s emphasis on funding militarism and violence in Gaza. While at the same time many of us are advocating for a ceasefire, the release of all hostages, and an end to settler-colonialism in Gaza. It is in this liminal space that Christian protest embodies the proclamation that the principalities of militarism will not have the final word, that we believe that love can and will win.

Once again, we are confronted by the evils of militarism, settler-colonialism, and capitalism intertwined like a nightmarish orchestra playing a piece all too familiar in our bones and country’s history. These systems thrive on fear and silence, nourished by complicity and a commitment to the status quo, persisting as the current reality unfortunately under the guise of it being ” too complicated”.

Throughout history, moments of crisis have often catalyzed the prophetic Christian imagination in protest and solidarity. In the 60’s when many faith leaders and civil rights activists fought for civil rights and expanded voting rights, we saw the mobilization of the faith community in action, the voices of those most impacted by the evils of the time leading followers of Jesus and the wider country into contending for their beloved neighbor. Again, in the 70’s when many faith leaders—famously including Dr. King—were opposed to the ongoing investments in militarism and the ongoing war in Vietnam.

Protest beckons us, intimately connected to one another, to unite in personal and collective grief, remembering one another in everyday political acts of solidarity.

It is a communal prayer through action, propelling us to advance collectively while providing mutual support in shared sorrow. This movement guides us away from a scarcity mindset, leading us towards the abundance found in collective solidarity and mutuality.

The Uncommitted movement at the ballot box is a forceful and intentional rejection of the trinity of evils: militarism, racism, and poverty. It is an act of prophetic imagination that shifts us from scarcity to solidarity, from fear to embrace, and from complicity to action. It invites us as followers of Jesus to respond to Jesus’ call in Luke 4, to participate in our collective liberation and the freeing of those held captive by militarism’s chains.

This movement is an invitation for the American church to embrace solidarity with our Palestinian siblings, as well as with those impacted by war around the world. It is an opportunity for the American church to reject militarism and the ways that it manifests in our common collective body both domestically and internationally.

We are being invited to turn our swords into plowshares and begin co-creating a new world, a world where militarism breathes its last breath, and our infants safely can breathe their first. 

Co-creating a world where the sacred ordinary of life and love, safety and security can be experienced by all rather than a privileged few. We are the leaders of faith that we have been waiting for, the people of faith who will pray with their feet in a prophetic response to the principalities of militarism, capitalism and settler-colonialism actively harming our fellow beloveds. 

The world is watching, and the question remains: How will we, as the American church, respond in this moment?

A simple answer comes quickly, like a response whispered back to my doubts: I’m here to live a life of community, prayer, and service. I want my life centered around those three things. With community, prayer, and service at the center of my life, I might grow into a better version of myself, a better Christian and disciple of Jesus. These are the quick answers, in this inner conversation I go through every week or so.

I daydream about how it could work. Maybe I could gather a group of my friends and we could get a place together, then let people who are homeless live with us too. We could offer meals around our table and host prayer and workshops about social justice for the public. I guess what I want is a life like how Catholic Workers I know live. Would the Catholic Worker lifestyle fit me better? Would it feel more natural to live in a Catholic Worker house than hanging out in these old buildings, between these institutional walls?

Some friends have been sending messages, asking me if I’ve read The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical, by Shane Claiborne. Once I do, I weep as I take in Shane’s story and learn about the “new monastics.” I’m enamored by the description of how Shane and his friends live in an intentional community in one of the poorest neighborhoods in Philadelphia and serve their neighbors. I want to live simply with other Christians. I want to serve the marginalized too. That’s what Jesus modeled for us. I want to be close to the poor, close to Jesus. How is being a novice helping me to become a more radical Christian?

How could the structures, expectations and traditions of the Franciscan Sisters offer me freedom to serve the poor and radically follow Jesus like Shane and his friends are doing? I feel stuck and confused as I try to think it through, try to imagine how being a Sister will free me.

Sitting in the silent adoration chapel, I muse about my confusion and bob my head in prayer. Then, one afternoon, something happens inside me: I can only describe it as a widening in my heart. It feels like an opening, a gap that allows some light to soften the doubts tangled inside. This is where I am. I’m here with these good women. I’m lucky to be with them. They’re amazing! In the rays of light falling into me, a cavern is created for the Spirit to whisper. As quickly as I wondered why I haven’t yet left, I know why I’m here.

It’s the mothers. The spiritual mothers. The roots, the depth, the way that this form of religious life means I’m now in a beautiful web of connection, tradition.  The spiritual mothers are the women I’m interacting with daily. They are the gray-haired and stooping ones, who embrace me with their hugs, prayer, and notes of encouragement and love.

Then my mind flips through timelines and zooms to the spiritual mothers of the Middle Ages. It is St. Clare of Assisi and her Poor Ladies, in San Damiano. The mystics, and bold voices who spoke to power and advocated for reforms. Go back to Rome, St. Catherine of Siena told the pope who was lingering at Avignon! St. Teresa of Avila, outgoing (like me), and deep and intense, who was sought after for her spiritual wisdom, for her Interior Castle.

Being part of the Franciscan Sisters means I’m amazingly part of this lineage too.

These holy women are my mothers, my church, they are the reason I stay. Somehow, they help me know that I belong to this mystery, this communion. Somehow all of them are mine. I stare at the altar, the Blessed Sacrament gleaming behind the glass of the monstrance and I know: I’m their daughter, a little restless and weak, but I’m here for them, ready to learn.

Several years ago, I wrote Shane Claiborne and thanked him for writing The Irresistible Revolution. He wrote back, on the back side of a piece of scrap paper a hand-written response:

January Something 2009
Sister Julia —
Your letter warmed my heart. Thank you.
Sorry for the delay, it seems I stay behind on letters, but love writing—after all,
it’s an important Christian past time.
I admire your hope and discontentment—and certainly the Church needs both—it
is a beautiful thing to hear in your words the fiery passion of Francis and Clare—and the
humility to submit and seek the wisdom of elders. I’m also on an unfolding journey of
spiritual direction and discernment as I seek our Lover Jesus. Our communities and “new
monasticism” has its charm and fresh charism it also has its challenges and
vulnerabilities—and I think stability and supporting celibate singles, formation…are all
things we still are figuring out. So pray for us—I certainly will keep you in my prayers as
you continue the work of Francis and Clare “repairing the ruins of the Church.” You are
a gift to the FSPA. Send my love to all the saints and sinners there. May we continue to
become the Church we dream of.
Your brother—Shane Claiborne

Tucked inside the envelope I find a prayer card—with the classic peace prayer of St. Francis printed on one side and an image of Francis on the other—a tiny little plastic baggie filled with about a teaspoon of sand, and a rectangle of white paper with words printed on it: “This dirt is from outside San Damiano in Assisi, where little brother Francis heard God whisper: ‘Repair my Church which is in ruins.’” And he started working. May the repairs continue in us.

I want to scream with joy, to run around and tell all the neighbors about my mail. But I sit still, reading the letter over and over, soaking in its message of encouragement along with the affirmation of what I’ve been praying about: I’m here, I’m a Franciscan Sister, not because the community or the Church is perfect, but because, somehow, it is home. In this home, I get to serve. I give of myself and try to help the suffering parts of Christ’s body be healed, repaired. I hope I do; I hope I can.

Excerpt from For Love of the Broken Body: A Spiritual Memoir, by Julia Walsh. Rhinebeck, NY: Monkfish Publishing, March 2024. Used by permission of the publisher.