Huh?

I was so confused and went to delete the email, but my curiosity and righteous indignation took over. My initial thought was, “The audacity!” But, I was willing to give the benefit of the doubt. Maybe this was some deep analysis that detailed how what we call social justice failed to live up to the life-giving justice described in the Biblical scriptures. Wrong! What I came across was anything but that.

I have not nor will I ever read the book, however, in doing research on this particular author, I stumbled upon an article on the book and an interview with the author. From the interview, he is quoted as saying social justice is an “ideology” that has come into the “Bible-believing or evangelical church.” This means that he identifies with what is commonly referred to as an “evangelical.” I say what is commonly referred to as “evangelical” because what we commonly refer to as “evangelical” is a particular group of people all over the United States, but particularly in the Bible Belt states (combination of southeastern, southwestern, and some midwest states), that have a particular theology of the Bible and share a very conservative (and republican) political ideology. This is a perversion of what it means to be “evangelical,” which is not about a certain theological and political viewpoint upheld by the interests of an overwhelmingly white and conservative republican movement.

There was one line, however, that really prompted me to write a response to this uninspired, morally reprehensible, gaslighting of a book. It was when Allen says, “What I wanted to do in the book is not just critique social justice. I wanted people to understand it clearly as I could convey. This is not an academic book, it’s for lay Christians who are trying to get their heads around this. It’s so prominent in the culture. I tried to lay out what this worldview of social justice is but wanted to do it by comparing to biblical understandings of justice. I believe what you are dealing with here is a counterfeit justice.”

Y’all, I can’t make this stuff up!
Let’s dive into it…’

One of the things that is so backwards about the author’s logic begins with his definition of “justice” itself. The author, who is honestly representing the sentiments of the “white evangelical” world (generally speaking), expresses an ignorance about the Bible and justice. He takes the term social justice and uses it to create a false divide. First things first, all justice is social.

There is no such thing as justice outside of community. There would be no need for it. It wouldn’t exist. The sin that is injustice can’t be done in isolation. We don’t sin in abstract ways. We sin by going against the will of God but the effects are experienced by others as well as ourselves.

In the interview the author says, “Social justice comes out of a school of thought that is largely theistic, it comes out of idealism. It’s a school of thought that arose in the 1700s. People are probably familiar with Hegel and Nietzsche and some of these folks. So, it has starting points from that. But biblical justice I define this way, its “conformity to God’s moral standard as revealed in the 10 commandments, in the royal law in the New Testament which says love your neighbor as yourself.” Social justice has to do with deconstructing traditional systems and structures that are deemed to be oppressive and redistributing power and resources from oppressors to their victims in the pursuit of an equality of outcome. You can see from those two simple definitions how different these two concepts are even though they use the same word: justice.” He is basically arguing that what we know as social justice comes from a decidedly non-God or even anti-God perspective. This author and “evangelical” perspectives like his never address what the prophets of the Old Testament were called by God to preach to the people. Some examples of this are below:

Micah 6:8, “He has told you human one, what is good and what the Lord requires from you: to do justice, embrace faithful love, and walk humbly with your God.” (CEB)

Isaiah 1:17, “… learn to do good. Seek justice: help the oppressed; defend the orphan; plead for the widow.” (CEB)

Amos 5:24, “But let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” (CEB)

Jeremiah 22:3, “The Lord proclaims: Do what is just and right; rescue the oppressed from the power of the oppressor. Don’t exploit or mistreat the refugee, the orphan, and the widow. Don’t spill the blood of the innocent in this place.” (CEB)

I’m not trying to cherrypick scripture either. The truth is that these are just a few examples, but the scripture passages in Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and many of the other prophets are too much to just write in one blog post. And, I encourage you, as is a practice of mine, to read what comes before and what comes after to fully understand what is being said in these singular verses. Nevertheless, each of these verses comes after the prophets share God’s disgust with the centers of power and the people’s performance of religion and faithfulness to “Him.” The festivals and offerings do not please God when the oppression of the most vulnerable people in society (i.e. widows, orphans, refugees, etc.) or the outright disregard for them as human beings is the norm.

This is an excerpt from a blog post that originally appeared in “In My Ancestors’ Dreams”. 

In the vintage Denver neighborhood of Capitol Hill we wedged the van into the only empty space for blocks—a zone clearly marked “no parking.” Fortunately, their twenty-something friends hustled all the heavy boxes out of the building and loaded us up in short order. We were ready for the road. In the midst of this somewhat controlled chaos, I asked my son for directions since we would be leaving before they did.

I wish I had listened better. It wasn’t his fault. He and his wife had driven this route countless times. All we had to do was stay on the same road for 208 miles before making our first turn.

And it could have been simple. After breaking free of the city, we climbed through the almost total wilderness for about two hours, finally reaching the tiny town of Fairplay. At around 10,000 feet in elevation, Fairplay lies atop a grassland basin in a windswept no-man’s land.  Once you leave town, there’s nothing for miles. No people. No cell service. No internet. No buildings. There aren’t even any trees. And unlike civilized areas, very few signs. We came upon what looked like a fork in the road. And for probably the first time in my hyper-vigilant life, I had missed the only sign.

“Bear left,” I said confidently.

Since I’ve been navigating our travels for forty years, Kevin just went ahead and turned left. Compulsively over-prepared and occasionally accused of ‘overthinking’ things, rarely have I pointed us in the wrong direction.

So we continued to cruise through the middle of nowhere for about twenty minutes, seeing only the occasional car.

Finally, we saw a tiny blue sign that said, “9.” Just “9.” If only it had said, “Eventually you are going to end up in Colorado Springs, you nitwit”- that would have been helpful.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Kevin asked.

“I don’t know what 9 means. Let me look.”

I reached into the glove box for a map.

“Where are your maps?’”

“This is my work truck. I don’t need any maps.”

They were all in our car, tucked safely away in our garage back home. I fired up my phone and tried to pull up directions. No signal. I tried to call my son. No service. Meanwhile, the occasional tumbleweed somersaulted across the road ahead of us as the miles rolled by.

“Should we turn around?”

READ: Money and Activism: Faith-Fueled Investing to Fight Climate Change

“I don’t know. What if we’re going in the right direction? It’s quite a ways back to Fairplay. Let’s keep going for a while. We’re bound to run into someone eventually. A gas station. Something.”

So we kept our eyes open for signs of civilization, possibly hidden in the tall grass that sways perpetually in the endless wind.

Do you know what maps do? They take the guesswork out of travel. One of the things I loved about the Evangelical life was the structure; it seemed like a map to wholeness. I was raised in chaos. My father was an abusive, bipolar alcoholic and my mother worked two jobs to support us all. There was no reliable structure to our lives. Each morning brought a fresh dread that kept us ever-vigilant. Over time, my brothers and I fell into patterns of self-destruction. Finding marijuana at fifteen actually saved my sanity for a few years.  Predictably though, better living through anesthesia leads to addled living through addiction. And no one hates addiction more than the addict herself.

Addiction eventually dead-ends in hopelessness, no matter which map you follow.

By the grace of God and a miracle of God’s power, Jesus reached out to me through a friend. For seven years, she prayed. Occasionally, she told me about her savior. Not often, not overbearingly, not threateningly, not shaming me. Just loving me. And one day, thirty-five years ago, I said yes.

I fell into Jesus’ arms through the folks at an Evangelical Church. They taught me how to love the Bible. They taught me that I could trust God. And they did this by inviting me to join them in the living structure that is the church: getting involved. Participating in Bible studies. Volunteering to serve others. Showing up on Sunday mornings. And on one of those Sundays, I heard the voice of God thunder through my chest telling me that this day, January 15, 1989, was the day God wanted me to get sober. God said that on this day, the Spirit would help me. And if I didn’t, God would have to get my attention.

I may not have been sure of much, but I was dead-on certain that I did not want to force God to get my attention.

So I found an additional community of kind souls, and their road map for recovery was even clearer than the church’s opportunities for spiritual growth. Between the two of them, I started to get well. Life got better. And I learned how to live without the dread of abuse, without the need for hyper-vigilance, and without the soul-deadening anesthesia of drugs and alcohol.

I found freedom within the healthy boundaries of a community; I found a roadmap for life. And it worked so very well until November 8, 2016.

I’ve written quite a lot about that day. My own people, Evangelical Christians, voted Donald Trump into office. It’s been five years, and I think I’ve finally grasped the depth of my loss from that event. Rather than rehash the pain, I’ve begun to think about the path ahead. I’ve just been reacting to the loss. Now it’s time to proactively start charting a course for the future.

There’s only one problem. No map.

For someone who thrives on order and stability, drawing my own map is more than navigating uncharted territory. It’s calling me to trust myself, trust God, and believe that the journey towards my own healing is worth the effort.

That I am worth the effort.

That I will eventually find my way.

Long into the afternoon of moving day,  Kevin and I came upon a log cabin/gas station/hunting supply store, all by itself in the middle of nowhere. With a smile (possibly a smirk), the proprietor pointed us toward Podunk Cutoff, saving us further embarrassment and even more miles headed in the wrong direction. When we finally arrived in Creede, our kids were relieved to see us, and even more relieved that we hadn’t absconded with their belongings.

As I search for a new direction in this post-evangelical world, I don’t have to be afraid of making mistakes. I do have to rely on the lessons I’ve already learned. I do have to continue to read the Gospels, pray, and trust God.

But I’ve got a big sketch pad, my tattered old Bible, an abundance of resources, a collection of colored markers,a handful of like-minded Ex-vangelical friends online, a database of organizations devoted to following the teachings of Jesus, a terrific family, an amazing Savior, a lot of faith, a soft heart, and the ability to write. I’m going to draw my own map.

As authors published by Zondervan, a division of HarperCollins Christian Publishing known for its NIV Bibles, and activists against Christian nationalism, we were alarmed at this news, first reported by Religion Unplugged. We’re delighted today that Zondervan announced it will not support this Bible.

The growing specter of Christian nationalism

From our screens, we watched the rioters on Jan. 6 storm the Capitol. We can’t unsee the Jesus signs next to Trump signs, the Confederate flag paraded, the broken windows, injured bodies and officers assaulted. What some of us remember most are the prayers rioters prayed in the Senate chamber “in the name of Jesus,” including the now recognizable QAnon shaman who wore Viking headgear and publicly thanked God for helping rioters take over the Capitol.

After that day, hundreds of evangelicals, pastors, authors and faith leaders began to mobilize.  We started texting and calling everyone we could, especially friends who transcend partisan politics and are committed to Jesus and the common good.  We jumped on Zoom calls with some of the most influential evangelicals in the country.

Before long we had a movement of evangelical Christians denouncing what happened on Jan. 6 – as well as, and this is important, the conditions and theology that led up to the events on Jan. 6.  Over 5,000 pastors, faith leaders, bishops and authors signed on.  And that was just the beginning.  The momentum has continued to build, as evidenced in new websites like www.SayNoToChristianNationalism.org and www.LamentingChristianNationalism.org.

Last week, some three months after the original petition launched, six different organizations, all led by people of color, organized a week of action to respond to White supremacy and “Christian” nationalism… and the ways that racism tries to camouflage itself as Christianity.

It was during this week of action that we learned about the “God Bless the USA Bible.”  It’s advertised as: “The ultimate American Bible. The Bible and the founding documents of America. Now . . . together in one very unique Bible.”

As Christians around the country organized to address “Christian” nationalism, we heard about this new Bible, with the American flag on the front cover.  It features the text of the U.S. Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Declaration of Independence, the Pledge of Allegiance and the words to the song, “God Bless the USA.”  It’s available for pre-sale on their website for $49.99 and releases in September, the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.

There are many versions of the Bible and many translations. There is the “Justice” Bible and the “Green” Bible that emphasize the consistent themes in the text that we are to care for the poor and for the earth. There is even a military edition of the Bible, wrapped in camouflage. This is not the first time there has been an attempt to fuse American nationalism with the holy book – in fact Thomas Nelson released “The American Patriot’s Bible” over a decade ago, which was a very similar project.

But what is new is a growing awareness of how dangerous nationalism is when coupled with faith.

American nationalism is its own civil religion, where America rather than Jesus is the center of attention.  Instead of Jesus and the Church being the light of the world and the hope for humanity, America becomes the Messianic force in the world.  Like any religion it has its own liturgy, saints and holidays.  These symbols are on full display in this new Bible – the eagle, the flag, the red, white and blue.  America’s civil religion has its own creeds too in the new Bible – “We hold these truths to be self-evident…” It has its own “worship” songs – like “God Bless the USA” and “I’m Proud to be an American,” both by Lee Greenwood.  It has its own theology – manifest destiny, the doctrine of discovery and American exceptionalism.  And this is precisely why it is dangerous to mesh patriotism with orthodox Christian faith.

After all, the Bible does not say “God bless America.” It says, “God so loved the world.”  The national anthem should not be in the church hymnal, and the Pledge of Allegiance to the United States should not be in the Bible.

There are 66 books in the Bible.  Some streams of Christian faith include 14 others, known as the “apocrypha.”  But no version of orthodox faith has an American apocrypha.  Including the founding documents of America and the theology of American nationalism in the Bible is offensive.  We do not need an “American apocrypha.”  (And there is a verse in the book of Revelation that says: “I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this scroll: If anyone adds anything to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this scroll.”)

The bombshell article by Meagan Clark at Religion Unplugged that broke the news on this custom Bible had some deeply disturbing quotes from Hugh Kirkpatrick, the creator and driving force behind the “God Bless the USA Bible.” Here’s what he said as the visionary behind it:

 “We noticed the divide in the public where some people started seeing pro-American images like the flag, the bald eagle, the statue of liberty as weaponized tools of the Republican party, and we didn’t understand that… We started seeing statutes coming down and we started seeing history for good or bad trying to be erased…  That’s when we started thinking, okay how far does this erasing of history go? Love it or hate it, it’s history. But how far does it go?… We’ve never heard of anyone throwing a Bible away. It’s always prominent somewhere in the house, it’s either on the coffee table, it’s somewhere that’s accessible. So if the Bible contained holy scripture but it also contained these documents it would be a one-stop shop for people to learn the basics of why the founders built into those documents divine providence.”

This customized Bible is a reminder that the “Christian industry” must do better to stand against the heretical and deadly “Christian” nationalism that we saw on full display on Jan. 6.  It is like a spiritual virus, infecting our churches, homes and social institutions.  Just as we take intentional actions to stop the spread of COVID, like wearing masks and staying six feet apart, we must take concrete steps to stop the spread of this theological virus.

How can we better guard the Bible?

As authors who have written multiple books for Zondervan, we reached out to the people we know and love at the publishing house.  Some of our contacts at Zondervan did not know about the new Bible at all until last week.  Others explained how difficult it is to micromanage every project that wants to print the NIV version of the Bible.  It is a common if not well known practice for publishers who hold the rights to Bible translations to print customized versions of the Bible for organizations and special projects.

We recognize that it is a daunting responsibility to be the guardians of the Bible or to hold a copyright to the “Word of God.”  It is also a daunting responsibility to steward money made from over 450 million copies of the NIV sold worldwide.  The business of Bibles raises questions about how corporate America collides with the revolutionary movement of Jesus of Nazareth.  After all, Rupert Murdoch now owns HarperCollins, Zondervan and as of 2012, Thomas Nelson, which published the so-called Patriot’s Bible in 2009 that is still available at many retailers. For many of us, learning the fact that the man who owns Fox News also owns the company that is the gatekeeper to one of the most popular translations of the Bible is a bit shocking, even concerning.  But that fact is beyond the scope of this article.

We are authors, but we are also activists.  So when we heard about the “God Bless the USA Bible” and the potential it has to fuel the already hot flames of Christian nationalism, we couldn’t help but respond.  We also wanted to do that in a way that is respectful, not just reactionary, and in a way that might actually make a difference.

We are delighted to hear that Zondervan has released a statement today that affirmed this Bible is not their product. They will not be publishing, manufacturing or selling the Bible. They were approached with the product, but it was not something they decided to support. All the marketing on the “God Bless the USA Bible” website was premature. It is entirely possible that the folks crafting this Bible will find another translation with another publishing house, but for now it is on hold, and we rejoice. We hope that future projects like this one will be reconsidered as well.

We don’t need to add anything to the Bible. We just need to live out what it already says.

And if we are to be good Christians, we may not always be the best Americans.  The beatitudes of Jesus where he blesses the poor, the meek, the merciful, the peacemakers – can feel very different from the “beatitudes” of America.  Our money may say in God we trust, but our economy often looks like the seven deadly sins.  For Christians, our loyalty is to Jesus.  That is who we pledge allegiance to.  As the old hymn goes – “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness/ On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.”  Our hope is not in the donkey of the Democrats or the elephant of the GOP . . . or even in America.

Our hope is in the Lamb.  The light of the world is not America. It is Christ.

This piece first appeared at Religion Unplugged. 

If William Styron’s definition is correct, then I found Jesus and John Wayne to be one for the ages. Not for its escapism, nor glorious transportation to another place and time. Rather, it lifted a layer of secrecy off of the history I’ve lived through, leaving me feeling as though I’d been punched in the gut and needed a shower. Not exactly a glowing recommendation. It did, however, finally answer a question that’s been dogging me for five years.

Aside from the quest for social and political power, why did Evangelicals betray the teachings of Jesus to endorse Donald Trump for president?

If you’ve been reading my blog, you know I’ve been actively searching for the answer since September of 2019. My book page lists several resources that detail the rise of the Religious Right, far more of a political juggernaut than a movement of the faithful.  But at the core of my discontent was my longing to understand the betrayal of our faith. These had been my people. They introduced me to Jesus Christ. Through the Evangelical Church I learned how to love, and I blindly assumed that we all shared a devotion to our Savior as He is revealed in the Gospels.  I never found a satisfactory answer. Until now.

The short answer, according to Dr. Kristin Kobes Du Mez, is that a man like Donald Trump is exactly whom they were expecting. Nothing like Jesus. But a lot like John Wayne.

He was the one-and-only Duke. White America’s hero of the silver screen strutted across our collective cinematic consciousness for over forty years. He was larger than life in every way. At 6’4, chiseled and arguably handsome, people wanted him or wanted to be him. Almost every role he played cast him as a champion of our times; Superman versus all of America’s perceived enemies.

And just like the rest of us, he was a mixed bag. Most biographers tend to treat him kindly, giving him the benefit of the doubt since he inevitably played the good guy. He passed away in 1979, long before there was any accountability for his less-than-stellar personal behaviors. His politics were solidly conservative, but taken to public extremes in matters of anti-Communism, white supremacy, aggressive militarism, and utter contempt for non-heterosexual identities.

He also won an absurd number of awards, including (but hardly limited to) the Oscar for Best Actor, the Congressional Gold Medal, and the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Whether on or off-screen, when the Big Man spoke, American’s enemies were cued to quiver in fear.

So how did this character- part real person, part Hollywood creation- become the blueprint for the Republican candidate for President of the United States? Not to mention the poster boy for the Religious Right’s quest for the throne?

That, my friends, is the sordid story researched and reported by Dr. Du Mez in Jesus and John Wayne. At this point, you alone must decide if you want to read the book.  My purpose here is not promotion but to share what I have learned and decide what I will do with the information. Far more than a history lesson, Professor Du Mez discovered the design for the Evangelical Church’s patriarchal stranglehold on their members.

I have faith in her process. Kristin Kobes Du Mez received her PhD in History from Notre Dame University and currently serves as a professor at Calvin University. She spent years painstakingly researching and documenting her findings. This well-written book weaves a spell-binding narrative that introduces a seemingly innocent precept: “There’s more to Evangelicalism than theology.” But that ‘more’ sprawls across decades of abuse: of power, money, position, fame, and sexual domination by a staggering number of famous names in modern Christianity. Any connection to Jesus Christ is a very long stretch of the imagination.  But finally, we have an explanation for the meteoric rise of Donald Trump.

Evangelical names that you would recognize used John Wayne’s influence and persona, beginning the process of creating a white American male prototype in order to secure and maintain social and political power. It worked for them then, and it’s working for them still.

READ: Come to Me All You Who Are Angry

Trump wasn’t a long-awaited spiritual savior, as some Evangelicals still believe. He was the fulfillment of their machinations. This excerpt from page 253 of 356 in Jesus and John Wayne captures the essence of their cause:

“But in truth, Evangelical leaders had been perfecting this pitch for nearly fifty years. Evangelicals were looking for a protector, an aggressive, heroic, manly man, someone who wasn’t restrained by political correctness or feminine virtues, someone who would break the rules for the right cause. Try as they might- and they did- no other candidate could stand up to Donald Trump when it comes to flaunting an aggressive, militant masculinity. He became, in the words of religious biographers, “the ultimate fighting champion for evangelicals.”

So for four years the entire planet suffered through the reign of Donald Trump, culminating when he tried everything in his power to throw the election. When that failed, the world watched on January 6, 2021, as Trump’s “aggressive, militant masculinity” resulted in an attempted coup to overthrow the government of the United States.

Thankfully, he failed. But the movement continues. Some Evangelicals still subscribe to the false conspiracy theories that surround him like a razor-wire fortress. Many prominent pastors still straddle that divide, trying to keep one foot on each side of the fence. Sounds painful. And therein lies the sorrow of this entire debacle: Ex-vangelicals like myself face a fork in the road as we decide what to do with this newfound and disturbing information.

A recent Gallup Poll revealed that, for the first time since they started keeping records in 1937, church membership in the United States has fallen below 50% of the population. Further examination of this data reveals several possible causes. But we who walked away from Evangelical Christianity are not at all surprised. At first we were adrift, almost certain we were alone in an isolation compounded by the COVID epidemic. Slowly but surely, however, we are finding each other.

So again I ask the question that comes up on a regular basis: where do we go from here? For me, Jesus and John Wayne only seems to affirm my decision to change my religious affiliation from Christian to Jesus-follower, from Evangelical to Ex-vangelical. Rather than tackling any ecumenical challenges, I’ve chosen to focus on my website and provide resources to those of us who wander in the wilderness. I encourage all of us who call Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior to prayerfully consider how we will use our resources and gifts, whether within the sanctuary walls or without. Despite the heartache this betrayal has brought, we are not here to waste away. In paraphrasing Ephesians 2:10, we are STILL God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

Even John Wayne couldn’t do better than that.

Seats shift.

Arms cross.

Eyes look down. 

A few make nervous jokes.

Some voices are affirming. Others are not.

“Weird.” 

“I don’t get it.”

“Not natural.” 

“Love the sinner; hate the sin.” 

This last one is perhaps the most dangerous. It allows one to accuse another of sin while at the same time telling one’s self and others they are being loving. The youth pastor attempts to provide a sincere explanation that “their” same sex attraction is no different than “our” desire for other sexual sin. 

Meanwhile the kid’s eyes search for the closest exit, having now inferred that they aren’t included in God’s kingdom. 

This kid has no agenda. They have no part in the Christian culture wars of the last few decades. They are not trying to stir the pot or rebel. Most of these students are not even sexually active. This is not an “out of control lust.” They just know they have an attraction for whom they have an attraction. They’re figuring out who they are. 

Their attraction and identity is hugely complicated, and multiple studies have confirmed that it’s not a “lifestyle” or “choice” any more than heterosexuality is a lifestyle. 

What room is there for the gay kid?

I posed this question to a youth pastor last year. We were discussing the very practical issue of LGBTQ+ kids that attend youth groups at church. How do we welcome them? How do we love them? Though we didn’t completely agree, it was a respectful and needed conversation. It’s a complicated issue and very sensitive for many. In past decades, most kids who would identify as LGBTQ+ would stay in the closet at least until they left for college. Nowadays, coming out is happening earlier and earlier. For some, there is no closet.

This reality is not going anywhere, and the modern evangelical church is not handling it well.

Many church leaders have the conviction that the Bible teaches that all homosexual acts are sinful, even in marriage. Their resulting policies are varied. Some are transparent about their objection in an attempt to abate the “rising threat of sexual impurity” among believers and in our culture. 

Most are more passive, hoping the subject doesn’t come up and that gay believers stay quiet, asexual, or perhaps don’t show up to church at all. Thankfully, it is now widely acknowledged that efforts to change sexual orientation through “therapy” or “praying the gay away” is destructive. The now infamous Exodus International organization whose president, Alan Chambers renounced the efforts to convert homosexuals, now sees these efforts as fruitless and even harmful. Studies show that lesbian, gay, and bisexual teens are twice as likely to have attempted suicide than their heterosexual peers.

Some faith leaders want to minister to gay believers and help them find peace with their sexuality and God through celibacy. Although some LGBTQ+ people have the conviction to practice celibacy (just as some straight-identifying people do), that conviction is far from a mandate that all LGBTQ+ people must be celibate. Some pastors are hesitant to reveal this view, because it drives away members that don’t share this conviction. Again, many pastors believe that the LGBQT identity doesn’t exist or is something to be put away; many believe it’s simply a sexual predilection that’s part of their “brokenness.”

READ: Good Fruit and Where We’ve Gotten it Wrong

Let’s widen the question a bit.

A gay man has been coming to church for years, keeping his personal life quiet and hidden from the rest of the congregation, fearing rejection. Some ask him, “When are you going to get married?”

A transgender man visits church just once. Few talk to him. He receives the unspoken message from the church: “We don’t know what to do with you. Please leave.”

A lesbian woman has embraced her sexuality and has the conviction to stay celibate. The few with whom she has shared this never bring the subject up again. She struggles daily, and seeks others with whom she can share this struggle. She doesn’t feel there’s a place in the church for her.

For all of these individuals, they are keenly aware that who they are is objected to, at least by some in the church. And so, they drift from the faith community and perhaps from God. 

This is not the case of all churches, but a majority of mainstream, evangelical churches are in denial about this reality.

I am a child of God, a follower of Jesus. This is my most important identity. My LGBTQ Christian neighbors are fellow children of God and siblings in Christ. This is where our unity lies.

But I’m also a white, heterosexual man. When I became a believer, I didn’t stop being a white, hetero man. I just prioritized those identities in light of my identity in Christ. Even though I became a new creation, I didn’t ignore other aspects of who I am. I submitted them to my identity in Christ. My sexuality shouldn’t rule me, but our sexuality is a part of who we are. It’s not the center of my identity, but it’s definitely a part of it. 

Ironically, the church is over-focused on sexuality as much as the LGBTQ community has been accused of over-focusing on sexuality. Sexuality is a secondary issue compared to the central issues — the persons of God and the means of salvation. By secondary, I don’t mean unimportant. Many churches have made the LGBTQ conversation a litmus test for being a believer. In effect, they have unwittingly added to the gospel and have placed a burden on believers that God did not create.

But there is hope.

What if we, wherever we land in this discussion, embraced each other as Jesus modeled for us? What would it look like if we focused on the person and work of Christ — his life, death, and resurrection — versus seeking who should be left out of God’s kingdom? What if we loved each other as Christ commanded? What if we didn’t cut off relationships from those that disagree, and rather talked about it. Instead of ignoring the topic or creating a hard policy of complementarianism, what if we humbly came to the scripture, acknowledging that different believers have different Biblical convictions. Talk about it from the pulpit, in small groups, and in classes, presenting reasonable, Biblical arguments on both sides. Invite people with opposing views to reasonably discuss the issue, modeling Christ’s love and acceptance. Sadly, this is unlikely to happen in today’s climate, but it is something for which to strive. There is power when believers can unite in Christ, in spite of differing on this issue, but not ignoring it.

What if we engaged?

Perhaps 60% of anyone at your church has a close friend or family member that identifies as LGBTQ+. That means you probably know someone in the LGBTQ+ community. At the very least, we need to be careful with our comments, examining our hearts and prejudices. Please know LGBTQ+ people don’t need your correction or judgment. Like all humans, they need your unqualified love. 

There are kids, teens, and adults at your church that are LGBTQ+. They’re wondering if there’s a place for them. And more will be coming. Or maybe they won’t. Not because they aren’t seeking Christ, community, and Biblical truth, but because they’re tired of being rejected. They’re tired of looking for the exit. 

How will we do this better?

As I reflected on the Gallup findings and on the many conversations I have had with my now adult friends about why they left the church, I was reminded of my youth group days in evangelicalism. One of my major take-aways from that time was that leaving the church, even leaving the denomination, was one of the worst sins you could commit as a Christian. When I was in youth group, I would attend city-wide youth conventions in these massive sports arenas, and the head of the denomination’s youth sector would speak to all in attendance. Over a loudspeaker with concert-type lighting and instrumental music filling the space, he would talk to us seriously about how so many people were leaving the denomination and the church. They would go off to college or become adults, and the faith they cared so passionately about in their youth apparently did not matter anymore. He implored us to stay the course, to stay committed, and basically told us not to become another Gallup statistic. His tone was not exactly inviting. It felt like a reprimand from a parent, only he was reprimanding the wrong people. We were the ones that stayed; the prodigal was not in the arena.

I did end up leaving. In fact, you could say I ran out of that denomination the second I could. It did begin my first week of college, so the speaker in my youth had something right. I remember it distinctly. I knew a friend from my youth group days who lived in the same city as my college, so she offered me a ride to a church service. I went, and halfway through the sermon, I regretted doing so. The preacher kept going on and on about how I did not need to understand my faith, I just needed to believe. I see an importance for faith in the Christian journey, but in that moment, as a first-year college student, I needed some understanding. I was away from home from the first time. I was trying to create my understanding of self beyond my parents, my upbringing, and my hometown surroundings. My faith too needed to break away and become its own.

READ: Welcome to Wilderness Church: Where Stubborn Faith Makes Resurrection Possible

As I look back, though, the real reason I left that denomination was not the constant reprimands. Rather, as I pictured life in that church as an adult, there really was no place for someone like me. From a very early age, I have always loved having a voice, taking charge, and filling a leadership role. While the denomination in which I grew up affirmed women in ministry, it was so rare to see them. The church board only had ever had two women serve. (When my mom became the third, she convinced them to do something daring and bring on a second woman to serve while she was still serving.) If you were not married or didn’t have children, there really wasn’t a whole lot of opportunity for leadership or ministry. You would also hear sermon after sermon where almost every anecdote consisted of a nuclear family. If I stayed, I believe I would have been in a holding pattern until I had a family and even then, my chances for leadership were few and far between. But by the time I graduated college, I had no interest in sticking around. I look back now and realize that I worshipped in a church that was white with so very few exceptions when I didn’t live in an all white town. I also realized that while that church would have very happily married me to my future spouse, it would have rejected my younger brother for wanting to marry a man.

I am grateful I did not leave the church entirely, however. I found a church early on in adulthood that celebrates all gifts and all people. I kept being amazed any time I got the chance to do something I never saw in the church growing up. I received training as a lay preacher, and week after week, I got to hear sermons from women and members of the LGBTQ and BIPOC communities. I was asked to serve on the church council, even being single and under the age of 45. I was then asked to lead the church council, as a woman and a millennial. In all these spaces of leadership, I would always feel this immense amount of gratitude for the support to use gifts of leadership, writing, and speaking in service to something I have always loved so dearly. Despite her flaws, the Church has been such an important space for me in my life.

As an adult, I would visit the church I grew up in with my parents when I came home for holidays. The pastor made small talk with me one Sunday, asking about my life in Pittsburgh, the city I moved to for grad school. I told him I was doing well and that I had found a church. He asked about it and when I told him about it, he said very succinctly, “Well the mainline church is dying.” I was somewhat taken aback. I hadn’t left the church. I had just found a church where I felt like home. But in his mind, I’d gone. He couldn’t celebrate with me the joy I had found somewhere else. I can’t speak to whether any denomination or category of churches is dying or not. But I do know I love the home that I have found; and that as a member of my church, I want to do what I can to help it thrive.

I wish though I could go back to that young girl, sitting in that big arena with all its grandeur. I wish I could invite her to a quiet, less intense space, and tell her she may leave the church, but it will never mean she left the faith. Faith can and will evolve. The church can fail us, and we can choose to leave it and that does not make us spiritual failures. I would tell her God’s love is deep and wide, like the children’s song tells us. God’s love reaches out to me with a love and a peace that pushes me forward, instead of pressuring me to stay where I am if it is not the right place for me. I had to leave, so that I could stay.

The emphasis on “purity culture” that came out of the American Church in the latter half of the last century not only produced generations of suppressed heterosexual prudes, it oppressed people with same-sex attractions, gender dysphoria, and abandoned unwed women who became pregnant—arguably when both the woman and the child she carries are at their most vulnerable.

So it’s no wonder that a recent Gallup Poll found that for the first time in our country’s history, less than half of American adults say that they belong to a church, synagogue, mosque or other place of worship. Who can blame them? This “Christian Nation” has time and again demonstrated that its loyalty to its congregants is conditioned on how well they conform to their puritanical standards. It’s a story all too familiar to me because I was one of those who walked away from a church that appeared more interested in policing culture than showing Christ-like love toward it.

READ: Love Your Neighbor: Use Their Preferred Pronouns

But while I walked away from the church, I never lost my faith. In fact, the more I learned about psychology, sociology and other social studies about what it takes for humans to thrive, the more I saw familiarities in what I learned about how Jesus treated people.

Jesus of the Bible was always drawing boundaries around expectations people had of him and he rigidly enforced those boundaries. He was constantly being told what he could or could not do by the religious leaders of his day, and he just as often bucked those standards. Not only did Jesus protect his own identity, but he also regularly stepped between throngs of people trying to enforce conformity on others, allowing them to get away from their tyrannical accusers.

It’s disheartening to me, then, to see so many of my fellow Christians fall into the very same behavior that Jesus combatted when he walked the earth. Can you imagine Jesus reacting the way Conservative commentators did this week in response to Lil Nas X’s latest song and video, “Montero (Call Me by Your Name)”?

Ben Shapiro, Matt Walsh and other Christian conservatives have suggested that the video encourages Satanism and devil worship and other worldly temptations. Sure, the video is provocative. Throughout the video the “Old Town Road” star doesn’t wear a whole lot outside of his wigs and makeup, and there are scenes where Lil Nas X dances suggestively on Satan’s lap.

The whole song, however, is a criticism of that very Christian culture that said Lil Nas X and others in the LGBTQ+ community would be condemned to hell if they acted on their sexual proclivities. And rather than sit back, create space, and actually listen to what Lil Nas X is trying to communicate through his art, Conservatives took the bait and played the same old record on repeat by attempting to condemn, er, cancel the rapper.

I’m not saying that breaking that mold is easy. As recently as 2013, you could catch me making Christian apologetic arguments against same-sex marriage. But the more I’ve consumed content by artists like Lil Nas X, the more I realize the church and some of the puritanical standards I parroted end up creating a special kind of hell on earth for those on the receiving end of that condemnation. And for that I am sorry.

As Christians, we have an opportunity to change that story, though, for ourselves and future generations. Jesus showed what kind of transformation in people’s lives was possible when you nurtured and created space for them to show up just as they are.

We don’t have to look at Gallup Polls to know something is amiss. It’s time we stop fighting Lil Nas X for standing in his power and time we start walking in our own.

Apparently my decision is part of a larger exodus of generations leaving the church. One google search populates articles analyzing the demographics and reasons many are leaving their church of origin. But, though many of us are leaving at the same time, we are not leaving together. It is a mass exodus of individuals. And it is a lonely exodus. Not only have I lost the community I once had, I found myself without a community to enter. And yet there was one thing I couldn’t leave behind: a Stubborn Faith that refused to be ignored or abandoned. 

Certainly for me, deconstruction from evangelicalism became inevitable when the unholy trinity (so called by Rachel Held Evans), religious nationalism, patriarchy, and white supremacy, was embraced by the church in the Trump presidency era. To be fair, the pastor of my church was unique in that he did not communicate the political denomination talking points either directly or indirectly. Nonetheless, even an apolitical stance proved to be political, and the divisions in the church were palpable. Some parishioners stayed; others, like me, left. 

After the leaving, comes the grieving. But then what? The thing is, I’ve always been a church girl at heart. Sunday School, youth group, study groups, coffee and bagel fellowship, nursery duty, and just sitting next to my parents in my “assigned pew” every Sunday: these aspects have been markers of my identity.

The pandemic lockdown conveniently granted a sabbatical that delayed the inevitably final, sad, yet amicable, meeting with my pastor.  Even in our last prayer together, he had the grace to pray that my leaving would “give space for my faith to grow.” He must have recognized that Stubborn Faith as well. Leaving did give me the opportunity to expand my church experience. I sampled a few streamed services that I never would have been able to visit pre-Zoom era. Unfortunately, the communal experience did not translate through the internet. I could sense the spirit, but not share in it. I walked out again; this time, literally. 

My new church was what my son and I called Beach Church. I became a “blue domer,” a term traced to 19th century Romantic poet Percey Shelley that evolved to refer to those who eschewed church to worship in nature, under the “blue dome” of the sky. Just two miles from my Jersey Shore home was a sanctuary where seagulls sang in the choir, the ocean preached the sermon, and the sun’s warmth blessed me with divine love. Here I was, worshipping in God’s original temple of creation with fellow parishioners like Emily Dickinson, whose poetry, written in hymn meter, can be sung to the tune of Amazing Grace:

“Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –

I keep it, staying at Home –

With a Bobolink for a Chorister –

And an Orchard, for a Dome –

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –

I, just wear my Wings –

And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,

Our little Sexton – sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman –

And the sermon is never long,

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –

I’m going, all along.”

I developed my own Lectio Divina, a daily spiritual practice of reading, prayer meditation, and journaling. The daily meditations of Father Richard Rohr helped to reframe the myopic indoctrination I was detaching from. I studied under contemporary mystics Cynthia Bourgeault and James Finley through online education at Center Action and Contemplation. I adapted ancient gnostic practices of Mary Magdalene and Teresa of Avila. I practiced breath prayer with the mantra “Be still and know that I am God.”  Wherever my worship took place, and whatever it looked like, Psalm 46:10 became the through-line prayer of my Stubborn Faith.

I discovered new voices of faith who all pastored me through the global pandemic lockdown and my own private quarantine from evangelical toxic theology. These prophets and teachers and poets and healers ushered me out of the confines of a sharply defined dogmatic God into the wilderness of the expansive divine love of the Holy Spirit. Many of these voices spoke at Evolving Faith, a conference that centers “the wilderness” as its faith metaphor. Sarah Bessey, Jeff Chu, Nadia Bolz-Weber, Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes, Pádraig Ó Tuama, Jen Hatmaker, Tanya Marlow, Kate Bowler, Barbara Brown Taylor, and others are central to this experience. The globally mandated and self regulated exile became a freedom walk into what turned out to be a rather populated wilderness.  

I fortified my InstaGram feed with the cerebral faith art of Scott Erickson and the satiric comics of David Hayward, aka Naked Pastor (and own pieces of both). I joined the Live Kitchen Table Talk of activist  Lisa Sharon Harper on Friday nights. I contemplated the meditations of Laura Jean Truman and Sarah Bessey. I discovered the unbridled feminist voice of Julianna Zobrist who invited voices of female deconstruction to share on her feed.  When I heard Jules read my story, it was a “welcome to the wilderness” moment for me. And just for down-home levity, I listened to Travis Howard’s Sunday Songs and Stories. I’m not even a country music lover, but Travis converted me every Sunday at noon with his blend of hymns, popular songs, and gosh darn charm.  

READ: Easter Encouragement for the Spiritually Homeless

I discovered podcasts that embraced the full imagination, intelligence, and soul of faith such as Richard Rohr’s Another Name for Everything and Brian McLaren and Rev. Dr. Jacqui Lewis’ Learning How to See, Tony Caldwell and Audrey Assad’s Jungian approach to faith Archetypal, and Michael Gungor’s The Liturgists.  The Liturgists, is not only a podcast, but a community which has recently shifted focus from deconstruction to reconstruction. Gungor has articulated a vision that reimagines the church without abandoning the church. Season 7 is worth a listen and something to keep an eye on.

I discovered the world of true faith social justice activism in the work of Red Letter Christians and others like Freedom Road. These organizations, as well as local charities, gave me a place to redirect my tithe money. When I saw Shane Claiborne and his crew protesting federal executions in below freezing weather broadcasting live from Terre Haute, Indiana, I knew this community which embodied Christ-like passion for justice and was worth my financial support. 

In the recent Red Letter Christians book club interview, Kristin Du Mez, author of Jesus and John Wayne, suggested we may be at the end of institutional faith and at the beginning of individual faith. Her observation that faith isn’t being deconstructed, but rather “the cultural baggage that has corrupted the faith” certainly describes my own experience of faith reconstruction. I have been fortunate to find real connections–okay, fellowship–through several online writing groups with souls who share both my love for the written word and the ability to wrestle with Stubborn Faith. These cannot be hyperlinked for good reason: these fellow wanderers were found through the serendipity of divine guidance. There is no hyperlink shortcut for that.  

Of course, all of this didn’t stop me from visiting a local chapel to reconnect with human communion. Like I said, hopeless church girl, here. And it’s nice to hear the human voice unfiltered by technology, the real time hymns, the occasional interruption of a baby’s coo, and the Holy Spirit’s whisper amid the pleasant distractions of stained glass and semi-comfortable pews. It also doesn’t hurt that it’s two blocks from my other sanctuary, Beach Church.  

Easter Sunday is a time when many churches become Blue Domers at least once a year, holding sunrise services to honor the resurrection of Christ. But of course, it more profoundly honors Christ’s power to resurrect our own battered, distorted, dogmatic faith. Perhaps “stubborn” is a divine trait that makes resurrection possible. Stubborn Faith is resurrection faith. 

Wherever you are–in church, in the process of leaving, or out–it is possible to keep your faith and find your community. I did. It is out there.  It just will look and feel a lot different than what you are used to. All you need is the spirit of inquiry championed by Jesus himself: 

“Ask, and it shall be given you; 

seek, and ye shall find; 

knock, and it shall be opened unto you: 

For every one that asketh receiveth; 

and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.” Matthew 7:7-8

Asking, seeking, knocking: This spirit of inquiry is the very character of Stubborn Faith–a faith that helped me discover ancient wisdom, new pastors, provocative artists, and fellow parishioners in online community groups. In short, Stubborn Faith helped me find that church can be found just about anywhere. I just had to leave church, to find out just how big it is. 

Those were the days before cell phones, but still, Kevin should have known better. After all, this was his family. Had I known more about their history, I would have at least put some clothes on.

And I wouldn’t have been shocked when the car pulled up out front, encrusted in frozen slush and honking the horn at 10:00 am sharp. Nothing says embarrassment like being caught in your nightgown by your new in-laws. Never in their lives were they late to church on Easter, and they weren’t about to start now.

My husband was raised in a rather strict Protestant sect, and their lives revolved around church. By the time we met, he had walked away from the church and his faith, with good reason. I was raised with no belief system whatsoever. In our lives as young marrieds, church was not something we did. Easter, maybe. Christmas Eve: absolutely. After all, we weren’t heathens! Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that church would become the loving family I never had. With all its ups and downs, personalities and peculiarities, weaknesses and strengths, I loved being part of a church. We changed a few times due to our kids’ needs and the seasons of our lives, but I always felt as though I had a home as long as we were part of The Body of Christ.

READ: Choosing Love at Belonging’s Expense and Wondering What Now

Easter was no longer about the bunny, or baskets with plastic green grass and marshmallow eggs. When I asked Jesus into my heart, the most sacred of seasons filled me with a joy I had never known. The tragedy of Good Friday was transcended by the joy of Resurrection Sunday. Now we had friends with whom to celebrate, and for the first time in my life sacrifice had meaning and passion had purpose. And I-the real me- was loved, and I knew it. Even with the stresses of parenting young children and trying to make ends meet, I had found a level of peace that transcended understanding.

We never intended to become as involved in church as we did; it just happened. We wanted to raise our children to know Jesus. We wanted to be part of a community. Far from our families of origin, we needed love and support to wrap their arms around us and our kids. We found friendships with other parents when we volunteered to teach Sunday School. We created bonds with all kinds of folks when we hosted Bible Studies. No longer did we have to eat holiday meals alone- there was always someone willing to come over.  Many kind people hosted us as well. Together we raised our children, figured out how to stay married to our spouses, prayed for each other’s families, shared cribs and bikes and baby clothes, and grieved when the worst happened. No matter what, we were never alone.

I’ve written quite a lot about my despair over the Evangelical Church’s devotion to Donald Trump. There’s no point in rehashing the heartache. Sadly, most of the people we have known over the years have fallen prey to the Religious Right’s political movement. That, in and of itself, is tragedy enough. But add in false conspiracy theorists who now occupy the pews on Sunday morning, and we no longer trust what we always believed to be true: that the primary mission we share as a church is obeying the teachings of Jesus Christ.

This will be the first Easter for just the two of us. Our kids have gone on ahead- one to Heaven; the other, with his wife and kids, to teach in Norway. We moved to a small town three years ago that is overwhelmingly Christian and overwhelmingly MAGA. We did join a church when we arrived, only to find out the leadership was very partial to Donald. Though the congregation welcomed us with open arms, it was absolutely assumed everyone was Republican. The Stars and Stripes onstage spoke silently but clearly about American nationalism. We  communicated our concerns to the leadership, and they politely blew us off. Then COVID hit town, and we were able to make a graceful exit.

There’s probably a church out there somewhere waiting for us; a place where they stand up to MAGA thinking and white supremacy. Where the teachings of Jesus are not just preached but acted upon. Where the LGBTQ children of God are as welcome as everyone else. Where women are not relegated solely to the kitchen and the nursery, but also encouraged to use the gifts given them by the Holy Spirit for teaching and preaching. Where the congregation believes that Black Lives actually do Matter, and are willing to take a public stand to that effect. I’ve got to say, it’s probably not in this little town, but I’m not going to let that take Easter from my heart.

The tragedy of Good Friday has still been transcended by the joy of Resurrection Sunday. Christ’s sacrifice still holds the ultimate meaning of love,  and his passion’s purpose saved me. I am still loved by God, and I know it.  Even with the stresses of politics, the COVID pandemic,  the betrayal of the Religious Right, Evangelical leaders selling their souls for presidential favor, and QAnons occupying the pews, I can at least aim for a level of peace that transcends understanding. “Christ The Lord is Risen Today” will surely be available on YouTube. The Gospel accounts of that first Easter morning will still bring tears to my eyes. I may have to cook up a ham dinner with scalloped potatoes and asparagus, and hustle down to the supermarket for a bunny cake. While the expression of our Christian faith may not look exactly like my husband’s childhood experience, we endeavor to live the life Christ called us to. We still pray without ceasing. We do our best to love our neighbors. When it comes to forgiveness, we give it our best shot, we thank God for forgiving us, and we trust God will make all things beautiful in time.

Happy Easter to all, especially to the spiritually homeless. This present darkness will not last forever.

“But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you . . . ” – Jesus Christ

Never mind Jesus’ words. White American Christians know it’s just fine to hate, as long as you hate the right people.

Hate has brought more people to white American Christian churches in America than love has.

Hate spawned whole new white denominations: the Southern Baptist Church, formed to keep Black people enslaved.

More recently, the North American Lutheran Church, formed in 2010 to prevent LGBTQ people from being pastors or being married in the church.

Christians have fundraised on hatred, explicitly or implicitly, suggesting that we could “love and welcome all,” but Jesus, well, he definitely was a white American guy who liked flags and guns.

Now, eight more people are dead in Georgia.

The suspect, a 21-year-old White man named Robert Aaron Long, of Woodstock, Ga., said the shootings weren’t racially motivated, even though six of his victims were Asian-American women, and white conservatives have spent the last year blaming AAPI people for the COVID-19 virus, calling it KungFlu or the China Virus, and leading to a documented rise in incidents of violence against Asian Americans, according to NPR.

Long said he suffered from sexual addiction, and according to the Cherokee (Ga.) Sheriff’s Office, he “blames the massage parlors for providing an outlet for his addiction to sex.”

At age 21, living in an unincorporated section of a Georgia County not far from one of America’s hubs of thriving Black culture, Atlanta, in a state where Democrats won two Senate runoffs in January, tilting the balance of power in the U.S. Senate away from Republicans, Long straddles the lines of two Americas. His America: male, conservative, white, Christian, and Southern — is losing.

The Washington Post’s Sarah Pulliam Bailey wrote an extensive article about Long’s ties to the Southern Baptist Church, specifically an ultra traditionalist and conservative offshoot called Founders Ministries, which lists the church where Long was baptized as one of its member congregations. Pulliam Bailey interviewed Long’s former youth minister, Brett Cottrell, who said Long’s father was “considered an important lay leader in the church,” and the family attended morning and evening activities on Sundays, as well as meetings on Wednesday evenings and mission trips.

Were these the tools of Long’s radicalization? Building blocks and indoctrination of the hatred that would lead him to go on a killing spree?

Once we would have thought that these past church activities only added to the shock. How could it be that this good, “church boy,” would turn into a killer? We would call him a “lone wolf.” We’d wonder about mental illness, about family trouble. We’d tell Long’s story as an individual, rather than explore his place in a pantheon of angry, white, male, conservative, Christian mass shooters.

Maybe it’s something about the “culture.” A parenting issue. We don’t say that when the accused is White.

But the sheriff’s office said it wasn’t a hate crime. Cottrell said Crabapple First Baptist Church in Milton, Ga., had several non-white members. The pastors never preached about racism.

They didn’t have to. A message got through loud and clear that preached the supremacy of whiteness: who was good and worthy of forgiveness, a place in God’s Kingdom. Always KINGdom. Because God is a powerful white American man. Rich, too.

The Washington Post captured a video of the sermon preached by the Rev. Jerry Dockery at Crabapple Baptist this past Sunday. Dockery told his congregation the apocalypse was near. He suggested America had “45 presidents in our brief history.”

READ: Asian American Christian Collaborative Statement on the Atlanta Massacre & Ongoing Anti-Asian Hate

Joe Biden is the 46th President of the United States, but many conservatives, including conservative White Evangelicals, deny that Biden was legitimately elected, a line of messaging promoted by former President Donald Trump.

The sermon talked about Christ waging war. About a dragon deceiver thrown into eternal torment.

The Revised Common Lectionary, a set of Bible readings used by the Roman Catholic Church and most American mainline denominations, had an assigned Gospel reading this past Sunday that included this line from Jesus, “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him,” – John 3:17.

But that type of Jesus: inclusive, universal, loving, forgiving; was nowhere to be found at Crabapple First Baptist.

And so Long learned to hate.

He learned to hate the non-white Americans whom his denomination originally decreed should be kept in chains.

He learned to hate women, whom Southern Baptist doctrine deemed were under the “headship” of their husbands, and unfit to preach or lead men in Bible studies, or serve on leadership boards at church.

He learned to hate himself, when for whatever reason, his relationships didn’t conform to the pattern his church had taught him they should: a domineering man and a willing woman. He sought out that sexual satisfaction and dominance, not intimacy, at the hands of vulnerable Asian women, in massage parlors across Atlanta.

His brain was hopped up on hatred. His church told him he was dirty, impure. His church told him they were destroying the America his family of White men had built and dominated for generations. He chafed under COVID restrictions. He sought comfort in his faith. His faith told him Jesus was calling him to wage war, to take up weapons, to force women and non-white Americans to submit to him, or pay the price.

And of course he knew how to obtain and fire a gun. Because guns, more than love or forgiveness, are sacrosanct among too many White American Christians. We are like those in the crowd who shouted: Crucify Him! We prefer killing to life itself, even though we are approaching our High Holy Day, when we supposedly claim that Jesus’ greatest victory was the triumph of life over death.

Instead we glory in killing machines and slaughter ourselves in the process.

Where is that triumph today in America? O Death thy sting … it hurts. We are gathered at the tomb but we are denying our own death, so that we cannot be resurrected.

For white Christians, our so-called faith rings hollow.

Perhaps Long will not be prosecuted under a hate crime statute. Prosecutors and law enforcement officials say those cases are notoriously difficult to prove.

But I ask this of all those who claim the name of a Savior who commanded us to love: how much hate does it take to make a hate crime?

In Georgia. In America. We have blood on our hands.

This piece first appeared at ChurchAnew.org.