A Simple Definition

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I shared something yesterday about Christian Nationalism. It was an attempt to describe what it actually is, rather than what some would prefer it to be. I stand by what I wrote because it was, essentially, a comparison that boiled the premise down to its mineral elements.

It did not take long, however, for the predictable distortions to appear. I’ve seen plenty more today. That, in itself, is revealing. It is a perpetual reminder that American Christendom has a longstanding weakness. It has the strange tendency to allow the surrounding culture to define the terms of its beliefs. Of course, the result is almost always misrepresentation that immediately becomes an assumed standard. In this case, it seems the world was allowed to frame the argument before the Christians really even knew what they were talking about.

Admittedly, when the Church engages the world, this tension is inevitable. The world does not approach the Church as a neutral observer. It reshapes and deliberately misrepresents what it sees. That is simply the nature of the relationship. The world isn’t hoping for the success of godliness. It wants its demise.

In this particular case, the world has placed Christian Nationalism beneath its own assumption. The assumption is that racism is an inherent characteristic of Christian Nationalism. But again, that assumption is imposed rather than demonstrated. It’s a stigma applied from the outside, and then treated as if it were part of the thing itself.

Again, I repeat, my brief explanation of Christian Nationalism stands, especially my reply to one post that it’s morally incoherent to defend Christianity as the highest or most humane moral ethic for governance while at the same time attempting to justify racism in any form. That’s because, even as an ethic for governance, Christianity cannot be apart from itself as some civilizational artifact. It’s an unbroken schematic that makes unalterable claims. One of its claims concerns the nature of the human person. All have fallen short of the glory of God. None is lesser or greater than another. All need a Savior. Christ is that Savior, and He gives life to all who believe in Him, regardless of tribe or nation. Racism stands in direct contradiction to this basic affirmation of Christianity.

But since it has already been brought up pretty much everywhere, there’s something Christians should probably be talking about, if only to secure the term’s proper definition. There are the Nick Fuenteses and the Corey Mahlers of the world. Everything has its fringe. And the fringe elements are rarely hard to explain. In this case, I’ll simply say that guys like Mahler and Fuentes have gained followings in part because they speak into a very real sense of dislocation, particularly among young white men. That concern shouldn’t be set aside lightly. But no one should assume that the racist result is built on moral credibility. The fact that a listener is wounded doesn’t mean that the diagnosis being offered to him is good, or that the remedy is even remotely Christian.

I think part of what we are witnessing is a failure of catechesis to meet with a genuine cultural disorder. I wrote in a reply yesterday that “many young men have been catechized for years to see themselves as the problem. They’ve been told by so many that they carry inherited guilt. And the only acceptable reconciliation so far has been that they apologize for existing, and that they confess their own Christian traditions as uniquely toxic. Eventually, some of them snap in the opposite direction. When every moral narrative tells you to hate yourself, the temptation is to find one that tells you to justify yourself at any cost, even if that narrative is crude, racialized, or overtly unchristian.”

Writing this, I was thinking of how almost every straight white man/husband in most commercials is a dunce. Conversely, wives are shown as having to endure their idiocy. Even further, all other races and creeds are framed with elegance and respect. This is just a sample among countless, all cultivating self-contempt among white men. And worst of all, it does this without any possibility of parole. There’s no escape. Ever. When relief is nowhere to be found in a cultural framework, it makes sense that some men would devolve into despair or defiance.

But here’s what Fuentes and Mahler get wrong, especially when they try to apply their racist views to Christianity. The Christian Faith isn’t designed to terminate in shame. It’s aimed toward forgiveness, restoration, and ultimately, a community—the body of Christ.

Now, lest we pile on these two alone, don’t forget that CRT and DEI do the same corrosive things, just from the other side. The problem isn’t even with calling out injustice or drawing attention to historical wrongs. There’s plenty of that in every nation’s history to go around. And that’s not something that the Christian ethic misses. The problem is that things like CRT and DEI redefine the person in the same way that godless Marxism does purposely. It categorizes in terms of group identity and inherited moral status, ultimately assigning guilt collectively rather than personally. When that happens, even if repentance were possible (which it isn’t in Marxism), it would be meaningless. That’s because forgiveness has already been replaced with perpetual reckoning, and reconciliation becomes impossible because the categories themselves are considered unalterable.

So, on one hand, one set of ideals is telling young men that they are permanently and inherently unforgivable because they are white and Christian. The other tells them that their resentment is a justifiable response to people who are doing what they’re doing because they’re somehow racially inferior. One condemns incessantly without mercy. The other vindicates an ungodly response. But neither offers a path back to a shared human community.

But again, the mineral definition of Christian Nationalism has nothing to do with any of this. For those in the Confessional Lutheran sphere keeping score, the following is my working definition. It’s my wording, yes. But it’s not necessarily my definition. It’s a summary of what emerged very early in Christian thought.

In short, Christian Nationalism, in its most basic sense, is the belief that a nation is best governed according to the moral ethic of Christianity, recognizing that public life is never morally neutral and that the Christian moral tradition has uniquely upheld human dignity, ordered liberty, and the common good without requiring the Church to rule the state or imposing a theocracy.

That’s it. You’ll see there’s no theory of race. There’s no call to justify resentment. There’s none of that. Because none of it belongs.

And so, I suppose the tragedy in all this is that some very loud voices at the extremes, for whatever reason, continue trying their hardest to make it nearly impossible to understand what Christian Nationalism is. Personally, after listening to Reverend David Ramirez discuss the issue on “The Gottestdienst Crowd,” I prefer where he lands. He’s no slouch concerning its deepest history, and so, he proves he understands it. And he should be commended for it. That said, so many in Christian, namely Lutheran, circles continue to define Christian Nationalism by its worst caricatures, while at the same time, the fringes insist on supplying those caricatures in abundance. Between those two things, clarity is lost, and what could be a fruitful discussion about something real collapses into arguments about things that have nothing to do with the premise itself.

If By That You Mean…

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If by Christian Nationalism you actually mean dominionism—the belief that the Church should seize the machinery of the state because only Christians are called by God to rule in the civil sphere—then yes, you’re right. Christian Nationalism is bad, and it should be resisted. History proves this.

But if by Christian Nationalism you mean an ideology fixed on the premise that the best ethic for governing is the Christian one—because it is already more than proven by the moral architecture of Western civilization its better concern for human dignity, true equality before the law, the sanctity of life, religious and civil liberty—then no, Christian Nationalism is not the problem. In your unfortunate grappling with bad definitions, you are the problem.

By opposing Christian Nationalism, you think you’re opposing theocratic rule. At least that’s what people standing against Christian Nationalism want their listeners and readers to believe. Certainly sounds virtuous. It sounds like concern for preserving pluralism. E pluribus unum, and all that. But it’s actually selective secularism, which is soft tyranny, just with better branding.

I explained this in a roundabout way during my Sunday morning adult Bible study this past weekend. I don’t remember how (because we were talking about something else entirely), but the discussion drifted into America’s founding documents. I explained that the kind of opposition described above doesn’t actually remove moral authority from public life. It merely replaces the moral tradition at the heart of the documents with another, all while pretending to be neutral. The inevitable result is always to baptize its own ideology as better while treating the Christian claim as dangerous to pluralism. For them, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness get shackled if the Christian ethic is the truest heart of America’s founding. It means a man claiming to be a woman is unacceptable. It means traditional marriage—the foundation of family—remains the real building block of society. It means killing babies in the womb is to be despised rather than heralded as a right. Quite simply, it means a person cannot be or do anything they want without consequence, if only because there is a very real morality behind life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

In the end, genuine Christian Nationalism is the defense of a sacred inheritance that makes life better, not worse. To oppose it is to oppose people who refuse to apologize for their nation’s foundations, people like me who will not stand idly by as America is scrubbed clean of Christian moral influence.

So, in short, America needs more Christian Nationalism, not less. You’ll certainly read as much in my new book from Fidelis Publishing, Christ Before Caesar: Faithful Public Witness in an Age of Retreat.

You can purchase the book at https://www.amazon.com/Christ-Before-Caesar-Faithful-Witness/dp/B0FFRGNHYQ/.

Will the Modern American Church Survive?

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It’s becoming harder to pretend that things out there aren’t coming apart at the seams. I mean, people are no longer joking about civil war. Some commentators and podcasters have already jumped ahead to predicting how such a war would end. Of course, the media continues doing its part to up the ante.

CNN admitted last week that it adjusted Alex Pretti’s image to make him look more attractive in order to stir sympathy for his death. CNN also had to backtrack after leaving out that Pretti had initiated a violent interaction with ICE a week earlier, resulting in broken ribs. In other words, federal agents already knew Pretti. They knew he was dangerous. And so, when he leaned into the officers that day, when he pushed into them, when he spit on them as they tried to get away from him and into their vehicles (as the videos show), and when he ultimately died in the scuffle, which was unfortunate—but it was no surprise to the agents that he was carrying a loaded weapon with two additional magazines. But the thing is, CNN knew all this stuff, too. And yet, they reported everything but these details. And CNN’s original narrative is still out there, gaining traction. All wars have their martyrs.

Other media outlets carried the “ICE is detaining children” headline as far as they could before eventually retracting it. And yet, it turns out the child in the widely circulated image had been abandoned by his illegal father, and his mother refused to claim him. Rather than simply sending the child back into the world alone—a world in which kids like him are almost always trafficked—he was kept in federal custody. He wasn’t locked in a cage. He was being protected, which is most certainly the government’s job when it comes to little ones left to a world of wolves. But again, the thing is, the news outlets knew this, and yet they elected to foster a completely different narrative, stoking embers and adding kindling to an already blue-hot climate. Add to this the irony of a progressive left that would butcher children in the womb while weeping over a child rescued from the wolves, but only because the rescuer wore an ICE uniform rather than an abortionist’s surgical gown.

And so, again, “civil war” is a term showing up in my feed more than I’d prefer. But what should any of us expect? So many are actively laboring to make the climate perfect for one.

Having said all this, civil war is not necessarily my chief concern. Yes, what’s happening culturally and politically is troubling. Still, I’m thinking ecclesially. I’m wondering if American Christianity would even survive such a thing, especially a conflict in which Christianity is a primary target for the opposition. The progressive left is already doing everything it can to snuff the faith (John 15:18-19). What would happen if that side were to win an armed conflict? I guess I’m just wondering out loud if anything in the modern faith is still fixed enough to be confessed in a way that would survive through such an event.

For the record, this weekly message goes out in various forms to about 7,000 folks worldwide. I don’t pretend to have a comprehensive map of global Christianity, and so, I don’t necessarily know the liturgical practices of most of the churches and people who may be reading this. But I do know my own church. And I know what kind of Christianity formed it.

Our Savior Evangelical Lutheran Church in Hartland, Michigan, and the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod with which we maintain fellowship, is creedal in nature. Creedal Christianity did not emerge from comfort. It was forged under pressure. It survived being surrounded by hostile empires, wars, internal heresies, and, most importantly, competing visions of who Jesus was allowed to be. Creedal Christianity is a faith maintained by precise statements—what we believe and what we don’t, why we do what we do, why we’re distinctly different from the world around us. Regardless of what the more fashionable Christian influencers may have told you, these things are not relics of an overly philosophical age. They are the Church’s collective memory, crystallized at the very points in history where the fires were hottest, where the culture was hell-bent on consuming and assimilating us, and where losing our identity would have meant losing Christ altogether.

While studying the Church’s creeds with the kids in confirmation over the years, I’ve often told them that confessional statements like the ecumenical creeds (the Apostles’, Nicene, and Athanasian Creeds) are very important guardrails that protect our inheritance. What I mean is that by these confessional statements, the Church was essentially saying to the world, “We heard what you’ve said about Jesus, and we’re banning that interpretation from our midst forever.” They didn’t do that because the Church is allergic to questions, but because some interpretations—some answers to very important questions about God—can kill the faith (Galatians 1:6-9). The creeds exist precisely because the Church learned, often through blood, that not every version of Jesus is compatible with the Gospel.

For example, Arius, a bishop in Alexandria, came along offering a Jesus who was inspirational but not eternal. He insisted that Jesus was not God from eternity, but rather the first and greatest of God’s created beings. To be exalted, yes. But by no means divine in the sense that He is of the same substance as the Father. In reply, the Council of Nicaea (A.D. 325) gave birth to the Nicene Creed, which said, essentially, “Um, no. He is the only-begotten Son of God, begotten of His Father before all worlds, God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten, not made, being of one substance with the Father, by whom all things were made….”

This response was not a modern branding exercise. It certainly didn’t come from thin air. It came from God’s Word (John 1:1-3, Colossians 2:9, and countless others). It was an important clarification made to preserve the one true faith that saves. I mean, what’s the point of confessing faith in Jesus—even being willing to die for Him—if the Jesus you confess is false? Creeds are in place precisely for this reason—to preserve a right confession of faith (1 John 2:22-23).

Even better, creedal Christianity never just remained on paper. Creedal Christianity was always ritualized Christianity. What the Church confessed with her mouth, she inevitably enacted with her body. I should pause here for a moment and admit that resistance to rites and ceremonies has always struck me as weird. Enacting what we believe is natural. We already do this instinctively in ordinary life. When people love one another, they don’t merely say it. They demonstrate it. They show up, they make vows, they give gifts, they mark anniversaries. When a nation believes in its sovereignty, it doesn’t just write a constitution, and then that’s it. It raises flags, sings anthems, swears oaths, and builds monuments that enshrine it. Belief naturally seeks embodiment. It inevitably embraces postures and practices that make the invisible visible. In the same way, the rites and ceremonies that emerged were the Church’s way of training the faithful to live inside the truth they confessed, week after week, year after year. It was a very natural way for the body and mind to remain in stride with what the heart confessed to be true (James 2:17).

When this kind of synchronization happens, the Christian faith becomes incredibly resistant to drift. Without them, almost anything can influence direction.

I suppose the thrust of my concern is that this is precisely what much of contemporary church culture has abandoned. Mainstream American Christendom seems to thrive on elasticity—on keeping Jesus just vague enough not to offend anyone and flexible enough to serve every demographic.

The irony in this is that it’s meant to promote growth. And yet, the American Church has been in free fall for decades. This free-floating, syrupy, confessionless, “deeds not creeds” landscape has not resulted in growth. It has resulted in massive erosion. But that’s what happens when your Jesus is more life coach than the eternal Son of God who comes again in glory to judge both the living and the dead (Acts 17:31).

Interestingly, even as creedal Christianity isn’t so much about growth as it is continuity, the early Church did grow—and quite rapidly. Why? Could it be because it refused what American Christianity is all too eager to embrace? The early Church did not survive persecution by becoming more appealing to Roman tastes. It survived by becoming more precise—more dogmatic, more confessional, and in my humble opinion, more liturgical. By its faith, life, and practices, it told the surrounding empires in no uncertain terms, in effect, “We will not adjust Christ to fit your world. You will have to adjust your world to Christ.”

Creedal Christianity can speak this way because it’s anchored in otherworldly things. It is, therefore, by design, capable of surviving this world’s storms. It doesn’t roll over when the challenges come. It can and does remain fixed in place even as everything else tries to pull it apart.

I know I’ve already gone on long enough. I’m guessing the skimmers left five minutes ago. For those who stayed to the end, I suppose I’ll circle back to where I started.

I’ll just say, again, that civil war is not my chief concern. Empires rise and fall. Cultures always burn themselves out eventually. Still, the real danger is not whether America fractures entirely. I’m just wondering if the American Church still possesses a faith sturdy enough to remain standing through it.

I don’t have this concern for creedal Christianity. It’ll survive. History has already more than proven that when and where the pressure mounted, a Church built on crisp confession remained immovable. Our Savior in Hartland is an heir to this hope-filled reality, and so, we enjoy that future. This is true because Christ did not promise His Church an easy path, but He did promise that the gates of hell would not prevail against the fixed Gospel confession that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God (Matthew 16:16-18). That’s a creedal statement, and where such confessions remain, so does the Church and the Lord who preserves her.

No Room For Public Relations Language

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Things are messy out there. I just read some news that, for me, is the grossest kind of all.

I just learned that Rev. Michael Mohr, the Central Illinois District President of the LCMS, has been arrested by federal agents on allegations involving the production of child pornography. At this stage, the facts are still coming out, and, of course, allegations are not convictions. Due process will occur. I have no doubt. The courts will do their work.

Still, an allegation like this, true or untrue, is profoundly dreadful. All I can say is that there are some sins that strike at the very heart of trust itself. And this, my friends, is one of them. If you’ve read my new novel, then you’ll know my darker senses in this regard. In other words, when it comes to anyone hurting the vulnerable while wearing a disguise of righteousness… well… “there’s a man goin’ ’round takin’ names.” The character Rev. Daniel Michaels is a conjured cry for someone to do something, anything… please.

But beyond the emotional response, it must be said plainly that the Church exists to protect and serve the vulnerable, not to exploit them, not to engage in their destruction. And so, when accusations like this surface, especially involving a man entrusted with spiritual oversight, the scandal is way more than institutional. It is so incredibly pastoral. It runs a blade through real people. And perhaps worst of all, it shakes the confidence of ordinary Christians who assume, rightly, that their pastors are safe—that they do in fact stand in the stead and by the command of Christ for their good, not their harm. Things like this can make that wobbly for many.

With this in mind, let there be no question among LCMS leadership concerning the path forward. For one, God’s Word does not permit the Church to respond with public relations language. There is no managing the optics of evil. There is only truth, repentance, and ultimately, justice (Ephesians 5:11, Proverbs 28:13). If these allegations are proven, then the man must be removed, disciplined, and held fully accountable under both Church and civil authority (1 Corinthians 5:11-13, 1 Timothy 5:19-20, Romans 13:1-14). The Church does not exist to shield predators. We turn on the lights. We expose darkness with the light of truth, calling things what they are, regardless of the worldly consequences (John 3:20-21).

For those watching from the sidelines with broken hearts, this isn’t a moment for panic. It’s a moment calling for sober-mindedness. People will prop up their excuses for staying away from the Church because of things like this. And yet, Christianity doesn’t collapse when a leader falls. It never has. That’s because the Christian Faith rests on Jesus, not on people. That said, let’s be very clear. God’s Word does demand that leaders in the Church be judged more strictly, not less (James 3:1, Hebrews 13:17). In a practical sense, the higher the office, the more severe the breach. Let the reader understand. If the allegations are true, there is no spin that’ll make this better. There is no framing that’ll make this “understandably regrettable,” as some will be inclined to say from a position of sensitivity. If the charges are true, this is, quite simply, wickedness. And wickedness must be named as such and then thoroughly punished (Romans 12:9).

Thoroughly.

On the other hand, if innocence is proven, then we must serve and protect in ways that shield an unjustly accused man from an unforgiving world (Isaiah 50:8-9). The Church cannot leave him to suffer alone.

But until and after any of these things are known with certainty, we follow the way of truth, and we petition our God to have mercy on us all.

*Update: The formal charges are found at the link below.

https://www.justice.gov/usao-edmo/pr/illinois-reverend-arrested-accused-producing-child-pornography

Live and Let Live?

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Unsurprisingly, what I wrote about last Sunday played out similarly this past week when protestors stormed a church in Minneapolis, demanding that the Christians within embrace their obnoxious crusade against ICE. And when they didn’t, they were shouted down and shamed. Like rainbow armbands in sports—an ideological symbol being imposed in this or that form, all with the threat of punishment if refused—the demands placed on the Christians in that church followed the exact same pattern.

I hope New York’s new mayor, Zohran Mamdani, is watching this stuff. These two scenarios—the athletes refusing to comply and the Christians in Minneapolis doing the same—while different on the surface, reveal the same underlying dynamic. The shunning common to both betrays collectivism’s innermost spirit. Mamdani did say he intended to replace the frigidity of rugged individualism with the warmth of collectivism. Well, we’re watching historic Marxist collectivism being paraded in real time.

Essentially, forcing anyone under threat of punishment to submit to ideologies and their symbols is a distinctly Marxist, and therefore a readily socialist, impulse. Mamdani is an avowed socialist. He believes that the “warmth of collectivism” is the subordination of the individual conscience to the demands of the collective, and it must be enforced not by persuasion but by institutional pressure. Marxist warmth, in practice, always comes with enforcement, because collectivism only works when dissent is treated as a problem to be punished.

Taking this a step further, what I’m really thinking about right now is the symbols themselves. What’s the harm in wearing a rainbow patch on your jersey? What’s the trouble with a church’s pastor raising a fist alongside protestors to stem trouble? What’s the trouble with driving a company car with a BLM or an ICE-out sticker on its bumper?

Well, for starters, the first thing I’ll say is that every movement in history revealed its true ambitions not first through laws, but through symbols. In that sense, symbols are rarely neutral. You know as well as I do that they train the eye and discipline the conscience. Symbols have a way of testing allegiance long before force is ever required. That’s why armbands, flags, and gestures matter, even before they are compulsory. They are never just a thing.

Since I’ve already sort of wandered near to what I was concerned about last Sunday, you’ll remember that rainbow armbands, jerseys, and other such things have been forced into soccer, basketball, volleyball, football, and so many other sports. When I say forced, I mean it. They’re always framed as harmless signs of “tolerance.” And yet, the countless stories of athlete after athlete being shunned or punished for refusing to wear one expose the deeper truth. Tolerance, by definition, allows dissent. But what we’ve witnessed is enforcement against dissent. Participation is no longer optional. If a person refuses, he or she becomes an example of moral failure and must be shamed accordingly. The only way forward for such a reprobate is total annihilation in the form of cancellation.

History teaches us to pay attention when ideological movements do this—especially when they migrate from persuasion to enforced uniformity. The comparison to past regimes is uncomfortable, but symbols worn on the arm (or, thinking back to COVID, maybe on one’s face) have long functioned as tools of social sorting. Everyone is identifiable. The ones wearing the symbols of compliance are safe. The ones without it are suspect. Again, the purpose is not merely expression but visibility.

But I think it gets even worse still.

I’ve long thought that the LGBTQ, Inc. movement’s use of a flag was bad news. The same goes for the BLM flag. This is true because flags never really originated as tools of personal expression. They were militaristic. They began as tribal identifiers—markers of people, allegiance, and territorial claim. They were carried by nations and armies not just to establish sovereignty, but often to impose that sovereignty’s will on others. Historically, when a flag was raised where another flag once flew, it signaled conquest—one culture replacing another, one authority displacing a rival. When I saw that Minnesota had changed its state flag, making it eerily similar to Somalia’s flag a few years ago, I wondered about displacement. When I started to hear about the billions in fraud orchestrated by the Somali community, to which the Minnesota government largely turned a blind eye, the flag’s redesign made a little more sense. It was a quiet announcement of who’s now in charge in the state.

Of course, in the modern age, flags have been repurposed for everything from corporations to clubs, but that does not erase their original meaning. A flag still signals a collective identity that believes its vision and mission, good or bad, must be announced and then carried into the world, and maybe in ways that will assure it finds a footing as the governing one. Even General Motors would love to see its flag being flown at a Ford building.

But what if it suddenly became a cultural expectation that Ford must fly GM’s flag? That would be extremely telling.

When a group’s flag moves from voluntary display to institutional expectation—on school walls, corporate labels, in movie and TV scripts, on government buildings and athletic uniforms, or wherever and whatever—it stops functioning as a gesture of tolerance and becomes an advancing army’s sovereign demand for submission instead. I spoke in terms of war in last week’s note. Indeed, when what I described starts happening, you know a very real conflict is underway. It’s no longer a debate, but instead, warfare is underway, and territories are being taken. The occupying nation now marks its seized lands. In these territories, dissent can only be treated as resistance.

I think this is a crucial distinction often obscured in public debate. And so, again, I think one of the best forms of resistance is to refuse to display the LGBTQ Inc. flag, which more and more people are choosing to do, especially among the youth—most assuredly among young men. In one sense, I think that’s happening because common sense is making somewhat of a comeback. On the other hand, “Not the Bee,” the Babylon Bee’s source for non-satirical news, reported a study suggesting Americans are pretty much sick of the LGBTQ, Inc. agenda. America has grown tired of the stuff being shoved down our throats day in and day out. The study noted that most Americans seem to have realized it was never about “live and let live.” It was always about something more. One line in the article stood out. It said, “[Young people] have been told they are ‘bigots’ if they believe [unnatural sexual relations are not okay] … but even if they tried not to be ‘bigots,’ they were told they were bigots anyway…” Maybe another way to think of this is to say, as I already did, that common sense is making a comeback. Common sense knows that a person can affirm human dignity while also rejecting ideological compulsion. The former is humane. The latter is totalitarian and dehumanizing.

From another perspective, I should return to that “live and let live” thought. It sure seems most ideologies seeking dominance began by insisting they merely wanted to be left alone, when that’s not at all what they really wanted. The eventual enforcement of their imposed symbols made it clear.

And so, I suppose the question before us is no longer about tolerance and treating people with respect. The question is whether any movement, however well-intentioned it claims to be, has the right to force individuals and institutions to accept its ideology publicly. The Minneapolis church and the shunned athletes sure seem to suggest that this question is no longer theoretical but is already being answered in practice. The moment you are required to display allegiance before you’re allowed to belong, you are no longer living in a free society. You are living under occupation.

A Temporary Disruption, Not A Pattern

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This weekend’s forecast is shaping up to be one for the record books. The temperatures are, right now, in the negatives, and we’ll remain in this state-sized walk-in freezer well into next week. That’s not an inviting thought. And some people wonder why I long for Florida. I was just joking with Jennifer about how the sky is an unobstructed blue today, adding that even the clouds have finally given up and gone south to the coast. The kind of cold we get here in Michigan makes a guy like me question every decision that requires opening the front door, let alone climbing into a car and driving just about anywhere.

That said, Our Savior Evangelical Lutheran Church in Hartland has never once in its 71 years canceled a scheduled worship service. In my 27 years in this place, I’ve seen some pretty dreadful weather, resulting in attendance challenges in worship. During the snowpocalypse back in 2014 (at least, I think that was the year), there were a few services with only four or five of us in a nave that seats 500. Still, the doors were open, the lights were on, the heat was cranked, and the pulpit, lectern, and altar were occupied. Indeed, where two or three are gathered, the Lord said.

You should know that the anti-cancelation precedent was set long before me. And to the credit of Pastor Pies senior and Pastor Pies junior, it came well before heated garages, remote starters, and online everything. When I was called as the congregation’s pastor, I committed to maintaining the standard. It is a good practice. Nothing will get in the way of worship, so long as I’m here. Not even protestors (wink-wink).

Of course, this instinct is far older than Our Savior in Hartland. For two thousand years, Christians somehow managed to fill houses of worship in every imaginable climate, condition, and challenge. That’s because God’s people gather in His house, just as He mandates. And so, by the power of the Holy Spirit at work for faith, the Christians first instinct isn’t to ask, “What’s the minimum requirement for faithfulness?” We want to go. And we’re bothered when we can’t.

With that in mind, it is entirely understandable that church members, for one reason or another, may not always be able to make it to worship. When it comes to what we’re enduring right now, for the elderly, if they have no one to help them through the wintry mess, it may mean risking a slip-and-fall. For families with young children, it may mean battling the latest seasonal illness rampaging through the house. For those who serve in the civil sphere, it may mean being on duty precisely when the rest of us are free to gather. These are all real situations, not excuses.

But once again, we should also be honest about the cultural air we breathe. We live in an age that trains people to look for reasons not to show up—reasons to stay home, opt out, postpone, or substitute convenience for commitment. What once required devoted sacrifice is now measured against the comforts we might lose if we go. Over time, this forms some really bad habits that feel justified, and maybe even, in some cases, virtuous. COVID was an example. People felt they were being godly by mandating barriers between God and His people, even suggesting that those who stayed home from worship were the better, more loving Christians. What nonsense.

Now, before I stray from my original thought this frigid Friday afternoon, just know that faithfulness remains possible, even when there are genuine challenges that can keep us away—and this is precisely why the earlier point matters. The real danger is not necessarily that people sometimes cannot come. It’s that, over time, they forget how to be Christians who are genuinely bothered when they can’t come. They learn to see attendance as negligible.

So, how do we fight this forgetfulness?

Well, I say, when you cannot be here, have a plan for being faithful right where you are. For the LCMS Lutherans reading this, that doesn’t necessarily require online streaming. If you have your hymnal, you have pretty much everything you need. For example, just grab your Lutheran Service Book, gather the family in the living room—sickos and all—and open up to page 219, the Office of Matins. If your child attends our school, then I can promise they already know the service by heart. Even the preschoolers can sing through it, leading the way. And what joy it will be! It is a wonderful service just oozing with God’s Word. And that’s the point—to be fed, to receive the Word, to pray, to give thanks to God for His abundant mercies. What’s more, if you’re not participating in online giving, you can still set aside this week’s offering and place it in the plate next week, along with next week’s offering. In every way possible, let the absence be exactly what it is: temporary. Let it be a momentary disruption, not a new pattern.

I guess what I’m saying is that faith, by its very nature, has a goal. It longs to be with Jesus more, not less. And so, when a legitimate reason keeps it away, it abides in God’s promises nonetheless, all the while longing to return to the place where Christ has elected to administer His gifts of forgiveness, life, and salvation through the verbal and visible Word—His wonderful Means of Grace!

I know it’s going to be really cold on Sunday. Still, I hope that if you’re going to venture out for anything this weekend, it’ll be to join your Christian family in worship.

A Strange But Obvious Imbalance

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This past Thursday morning, since our school was closed due to the snow, leaving both the church and school offices vacant for most of the morning, I sat in my office and did a little reading. I found myself chewing on a few stories about professional athletes in various parts of the world who’ve refused to wear team-sponsored rainbow armbands, jerseys, and such before, during, or after competition. The articles mentioned situations going back to 2018. Some of the athletes named gave no particular reason for refusing. Others insisted that competition should be about the sport, not political ideologies. Several noted religious objections.

Interestingly, one hundred percent of the Christians who refused, no matter the country, were reprimanded by their teams and ultimately labeled as bigots by activist organizations. The Muslims who refused, however, experienced no such reaction. In particular, two relatively recent stories stood out.

Back in 2024, Sam Morsy, the captain of Ipswich Town, a professional soccer team in England, refused to wear a rainbow armband. He cited Islam’s prohibition. Team leadership supported his position. LGBTQ Inc. did not push back. In that same year, Noussair Mazraoui, a player for Manchester United, refused to wear a team jacket specifically designed to show support for the LGBTQ community. Like Morsy, he cited Islam’s prohibition. The club ultimately scrapped the jackets entirely, so no one on the team had to wear one. Again, the usual suspects were relatively quiet in reply.

I suppose the first thing I’m inclined to say to the athletes who refused to comply is, “Bravo.” I say this regardless of their reasons. What they did required courage, if only because they gambled their own futures based on principle. Still, the obvious remains. Why were the Muslims able to escape public shaming, and the Christians were not? How is it that the Muslim players suffered very little harm to their careers, while the Christian athletes took significant hits?

Interesting, isn’t it, because what unfolded in most cases seemed to be a selective application of moral pressure. If you were a Christian, you were attacked. If you were a Muslim, you were left alone.

I don’t know about you, but the disparity exposes something altogether troubling to me. What appears to be being enforced is not some sort of universal moral standard, but it’s more of a power calculus. Christian beliefs are manhandled. Muslim beliefs, by contrast, are probed with gentleness. I doubt it’s because of some newfound respect for religion. It’s because of something else entirely.

At a minimum, it’s the fear of being considered Islamophobic. At most, it’s risk management. It’s an unspoken acknowledgement of the potential for violent extremism. I can only imagine what would happen if a crowd of LGBTQ activists went screeching through one of the more balkanized Muslim neighborhoods in London, calling out the religious community as shameful and unloving. You can get away with such things in Christian communities. But that’s because Christians don’t have a history of driving trucks through gatherings or blowing themselves up in the middle of crowds. And so, to demonize Christian athletes for their religious apprehensions but not the Muslim athletes has an air of risk management.

The irony in all of this, of course, is that such selective outrage undermines the very claims of diversity and tolerance and acceptance and fairness and inclusion and all the other buzz words that LGBTQ Inc. claims it desires. And yet, if conscience is only respected when it belongs to some and not others, then the movement isn’t being honest about its real agenda.

What all of this suggests—uncomfortably, but plainly—is that Christianity itself is the real target. But why? Because, in the end, as my friend Charlie Kirk so often insisted, the issue is not necessarily cultural or political but spiritual. In principle, there’s no need for LGBTQ Inc. to attack Islam. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Seen through that lens, the pattern starts to make a little more sense.

In any war, effort is always concentrated where the real enemy exists. You don’t waste resources battering positions that want the same things you do. You certainly don’t provoke like-minded forces that are stronger than you for fear they might fire back. You focus instead on the fronts that can open into the lands you want to conquer. Christianity occupies that space.

That’s why Christian conviction draws the real fire. It really is the last major moral framework in the West that openly challenges the reigning cultural orthodoxy while refusing to play by its rules of power and intimidation. And perhaps what makes it so appetizing is that Christianity has no doctrine that encourages or glorifies violence, insisting that by killing others, the divine is pleased enough to reward the killer.

That said, violence is sometimes thrust upon Christians. When it is, we have every right to self-defense, which could lead to a persecutor’s messy end. Still, we do not seek it out. We do not believe God rewards us when we kill others. We live as Saint Paul insisted: “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” (Romans 12:18). Knowing this about us marks us as relatively low risk but potentially high reward. And so, from there, the assumption is that once the Christian front collapses, the rest of the cultural terrain will fall into line on its own. Beyond that, what replaces Christianity is almost beside the point. Who cares, so long as Christ and His followers are crushed. That’s a spiritual agenda, more so than anything else.

But here’s the thing. The Lord wondered rhetorically, “When the Son of Man returns, will He find faith on the earth?” (Luke 18:8). And yet, even as the Church might not grow but shrink, Christ promised that the Gospel would never be conquered, and the gates of hell would never prevail against the Church (Matthew 16:18). Christianity will stand to the End of Days. Those promises reframe everything. They remind us that the pressures being applied right now are by no means new, nor are they unexpected. The Bible has not hidden from believers that faithfulness would be costly, that allegiance to Christ would eventually put us at odds with whatever spirit happens to rule the present age. That said, what is new is the packaging. Right now, it seems the ruling spirit looks like activists jackbooting to the tune of tolerance and inclusion while finding every conceivable way to justify Christian exclusion and moral coercion.

Nevertheless, whatever the persecution—regardless of its form or the generation in which it’s being exacted—none of it changes the Christian trajectory. The Christian response is not panic or retreat. It’s certainly not bitterness or rage. It’s courage—quiet, steady, and unyielding courage—rooted in the confidence that Christ will have the last word, whether the persecuting crowd approves of that word or not.

Faithfulness has never meant safety. But it has always meant trust. Empowered by the Holy Spirit for such trust, we can go into any challenge with the otherworldly capability to confess Christ clearly and without hatred. What’s more, we can do this without fear because we know to whom we belong, and that He is worth the cost—or as the sign in front of our church here in Hartland reads at this very moment: “Christ is worth more than what you fear losing because of Him.”

Let Life Sound Like Life

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I did something unusual on the drive to my office this morning. After a minute or two of familiar music, I turned it off and drove the remaining twenty-three minutes in silence. Not necessarily quiet, but silence.

Actually, my actions may not have been entirely accidental. Yesterday, two things happened. First, a friend wrote a post about leaving social media. It made perfect sense to me because I have the same feelings fairly regularly. Second, as I always do, I led my congregation’s monthly Ladies Guild Bible study group here at Our Savior. It’s a fantastic group of ladies who are devoted to Christ and His Word. The topic of the study was peace—what it is, what it isn’t, and how, from a Christian perspective, it has little if anything to do with our circumstances. Admittedly, the study’s conversations stayed with me, too. And so, here’s what I mean.

I drive a black two-door Jeep Wrangler. I’ve driven several Wranglers in my lifetime. The one I have now has a hard top. It’s slightly lifted by about two inches. The tires are also a bit larger than stock. Anyone who’s driven a Jeep Wrangler knows they’re not necessarily serene vehicles. Put a soft top on it, which I’ve owned before, and “not necessarily serene” becomes a massive understatement. They become wind tunnels. Maybe the newer models aren’t so bad. But the ones I’ve known were never quiet. Even with a hard top, wind slips through where it can. The road hums. Things creak. At seventy miles an hour—at least that’s the pace I’m going to admit—the whole thing speaks in resonance and vibrations.

And yet, for one reason or another, this morning’s ride was rather peaceful by comparison to most.

Usually, all my Wrangler’s sounds are buried beneath something else—music, podcasts, and news clips from various sources. Apparently, I’m inclined to drown out the natural sound every day, and to do so as a matter of habit. But not this morning. Today was wind, asphalt, engine, motion, a Buick in the passing lane slowing everyone else’s pace, a truck hauling who knows what to who knows where, the rhythm of rain (that would eventually become snow) tapping against the windshield and being sent away for a few seconds by the wipers before returning. All of this was happening.

I don’t want to get too philosophical here. However, there is a lesson to be learned. There’s a lesson in everything, if only we’re willing to consider the possibility.

Concerning my morning drive, I wondered how much of life we miss because we’re always piping something else into it. We insulate ourselves from the ordinary textures of being alive. I get why we do it. Real life isn’t polished, and perhaps worse, it doesn’t flatter us. In that sense, the real world is noisy in ways we’d never willingly choose. I mean, who wants a life that rattles and hums, whether literally or figuratively? And so, for one reason or another, we do what we can to cover it up, choosing instead to curate our surroundings. I listen to music and such while driving to pass the time. But is passing the time always best? Well, when someone or something else is thinking for me, maybe not. But regardless of the reason, I suppose one of my concerns is that, when we pipe so much extra stuff into our lives, we risk losing our bearings. In other words, we risk forgetting where we are, what we’re supposed to be doing, and maybe even who we’re with because we’re always somewhere else listening to that somewhere else’s noise.

Does that make sense? Maybe not. Again, I don’t want to be too philosophical. In the end, I’ll simply say that sometimes it’s good to turn things off and unplug—not because the anticipated silence will be actual quiet, but because it’ll be an opportunity to let life sound like life. And by the way, regardless of how some might ultimately define peace, only Christians know what peace truly is when life is making a racket. But again, even in a superficial, everyday sense, even mortal peace doesn’t always come from hearing what we prefer. Sometimes it comes from hearing what’s been there all along. I suppose a Jeep Wrangler, absent all artificial sound, traveling noisily down US23, is sometimes just the place to learn that lesson.

The Author Always Knows

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I’m guessing a teacher or professor can assign a book and ask questions about it in class or on a test to determine whether students actually read the material. Unfortunately, a teacher can do this and still get duped because students often learn to answer in generalities, maybe even formulating summaries based on context clues from the surrounding class discussion. I know students do this not only because I’m a teacher but also because I’ve done it as a student.

But imagine if the book’s author stepped into the room and started asking the questions. I can promise you he wouldn’t be so easily duped.

By contrast, the author knows the inner logic of the work better than anyone else—the themes, the turns of thought, the intentional elements, the moments that simply cannot be paraphrased because they require precise items from the characters’ lives and details from the story’s landscape. The teacher might have a grasp of it. But the author created and knows it. It is of and from him.

With that in mind, and as I read reviews and participate in interviews, I must confess that an author always knows when an interviewer or reviewer has actually read the book. In a sense, the author is not necessarily looking for information, but rather a spirit of encounter—of an immersion in the world he has created.

And so again, what inevitably emerges from a review or interview reveals whether someone has inhabited the text, absorbing what’s there (even if it isn’t entirely understood), or has merely skimmed its surface. Unfortunately, both possibilities occur in the world of books. Literary inhabitants and skimmers labor side by side to detail a book’s good or bad qualities for others.

So far, the reviews for “Ashes to Ashes” have all been complimentary. I’m glad for that. Still, I should add that not all have come from genuine encounters. Some are the work of skimmers. How do I know? Because the author always knows.

Take Care You Aren’t the Bad Guy

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I am under no obligation to pretend Renee Good was morally virtuous. By all accounts, she lived in ways entirely contrary to what I believe actually is virtuous. I also get the sense that she and her “wife” delighted in provocation, which is why they said and did the things they did in the place they were. As such, I think such behavior played a role in the dreadful situation our nation is currently enduring. But even so, as a human being—as a Christian—regardless of any disagreements I might’ve had with Good had I known her personally, I would never want or cheer for her death. Why? Because Christians do not traffic in such things. We pursue life—even for those we believe are squandering it, even for those we don’t know, even for those with whom we disagree.

Indeed, what happened is terrible. That said, if you’re glad she died, if your first thought was, “Good riddance,” or perhaps more, you’re rooting for other protestors to die, then you are missing the mark entirely, and you’re playing right into the hands of those who actually do want things to get worse. What’s more, you’re pushing the ideological continents further apart, and you’re giving those on the other shore a very good reason to point the finger and say, “See! This is what your convictions produce!”

Stand against what you will. Side with whomever. But at least do so with integrity. Repent and resist the temptation to be glad about someone else’s harm (Matthew 5:44). It fosters devilry, brings only despair, and is one sure way to mark you as the bad guy, even if your position is the better one.