Monthly Archives: July 2026

Pleading the Fifth. Oh, the Irony.

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As you can see, this message—which I normally write and send on Sunday morning—is arriving a few days early. I’m leaving for the west side of Michigan tomorrow morning and won’t be back until Sunday evening. For anyone who cares, Jen and I plan to attend worship at Our Savior Lutheran Church in Grand Rapids. Maybe we’ll see you there. By the way, it’s not like I won’t have internet access. I will. It’s just that I’m not one to log into my online accounts using hotel Wi-Fi. So, I figured I’d just send something along today.

I suppose the obvious thing worth talking about is the Fauci hearing that happened yesterday. Did you watch any of it? I had it on while I was in my office. But I mostly listened to it while I was out and around. Admittedly, I found myself becoming uncomfortably angry, more so while watching than listening. And why? Because there Fauci sat beneath the Senate hearing room’s lights, confronted with this exhibit and that exhibit—all the facts—the documents, diary entries, prior testimony, and obvious contradictions in the record. Through all of it, Fauci remained relatively stoic, offering the same answer over and over again:

“On the advice of counsel, I respectfully decline to answer based upon my rights under the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution.”

Apart from being sworn in, this was the only thing he said throughout the entire hearing. It was his answer to every question, even those intended to expose the absurdity of his refusal, such as what day it was or what color the floor was. Interestingly, Fauci told CNN during an interview back in 2022 he would be “very happy to testify before any congressional oversight committee.” He insisted that he had “nothing to hide,” could “explain and validate everything” he had done, and would “cooperate fully.” Apparently, that willingness expired yesterday. I read that he invoked the Fifth Amendment 111 times. It felt more like a thousand to me.

Now, before I go any further, I’m going to offer the only qualifying statement I think Dr. Anthony Fauci deserves. (Eh-hem. That’s me clearing my throat.) Invoking the Fifth Amendment is not legal proof of guilt. The right against self-incrimination belongs to every American. It belongs to the innocent. It also belongs to the guilty.

There. Now to the obvious.

Yes, the Fifth Amendment is a shield against compelled self-incrimination. But I appreciate what Senator Rand Paul pointed out at the beginning of the hearing. The Fifth Amendment doesn’t erase facts. It doesn’t erase recorded testimony. It doesn’t erase the exhibits sitting on the table right in front of Fauci during the hearing. I would add that it also doesn’t certify a man’s level of honesty. It most certainly doesn’t require any onlooking American to pretend they cannot see what they’re seeing. It doesn’t require us to ignore why the Fifth Amendment shield is being raised. That’s because it also doesn’t erase common sense or basic human discernment.

Quite simply, to any normal human being, a man who repeatedly refuses to reconcile documentary evidence with countless statements he’s already previously made under oath doesn’t imply innocence. It suggests guilt. Again, any normal, thinking human being knows this. The logic plainly suggests that when Fauci won’t even acknowledge what he has already confidently acknowledged in the past, the visual here becomes that he was lying before, and now, he fears where admitting to what he previously said might lead.

Unfortunately for Fauci, with each invocation, the spectacle only got worse. And regardless of the Democrat committee members who attempted to run a block for Fauci by misdirecting the hearing’s aim with wild tangents, all the normal people watching knew that while Fauci kept silent, the evidence was talking. The documents were talking. His diary was talking. His previous testimony was talking.

Now, add the pardon to the calculus. Biden (purportedly) gave Fauci an unprecedented presidential pardon. It’s unprecedented because it was extraordinarily broad, covering all offenses related to anything he did between January 1, 2014, and January 19, 2025. It’s also unprecedented because it was preemptive. By definition, the word “pardon” requires an offense that needs forgiving. And so, pardons are ordinarily given after someone has been convicted. But Fauci was never charged for anything, much less convicted. So, why did he need a pardon?

That makes all of this look even worse.

Personally, I think Fauci made a mistake by accepting the pardon. Whatever legal protection it provided, it also created the unmistakable impression that he needed protection from something. Now, with the documentary record already contradicting so much of what he has said, every substantive answer risks exposing him further. And so, all he can really do is drone on and on from behind the Fifth Amendment to keep from colliding with evidence that already suggests conduct serious enough to warrant presidential pardon-level protection.

But regardless of Fauci’s tap dancing, I’m guessing most Americans can see right through it. Most Christians I know certainly can. But then again, Saint Paul instructs us to “test everything” and “hold fast what is good” (1 Thessalonians 5:21). That means, innately, we’re not required to surrender our God-given reasoning merely because an authority pleads the Fifth confidently. In the end, when testimony contradicts documents, and today’s claims contradict yesterday’s, recognizing the contradiction is not uncharitable. It’s Godly discernment. Discernment already knows that Fauci’s unprecedented pardon cannot protect him from perjury committed during a Senate hearing held on July 29, 2026. Fauci knows this, too. He knows Wednesday’s words create Wednesday’s liability. And so, he’s pleading the Fifth Amendment to keep from being convicted for previous lies spoken under oath.

It angers me to see him use the law to get away with all this. But until someone offers a lawful workaround, I’m more interested in the glaring irony hovering like a fog above all of this.

Set aside everything else that was said in the hearing and remember that no one present argued against Fauci being the architect for the COVID response. The Republicans criticized him for it. The Democrats praised him, calling him a hero. And yet, both agreed he was responsible for the framework that ultimately suspended the constitutional rights of hundreds of millions of Americans.

Of course, he didn’t design every community’s procedure. He didn’t need to sign every closure order. He didn’t need to lock every church door personally. The architect doesn’t need to swing the hammers on the job site. There were plenty in government in every community ready to swing hammers for him. The point is that his pronouncements and nearly omnipresent authority in all things COVID-related supplied the moral, scientific, and governmental cover for those people to do what they did.

2020 wasn’t that long ago. I remember all of it. I remember even the littlest things—like being shamed by a church member for posting a video showing how smoke particles, which are bigger than COVID, moved right through the masks Fauci was demanding we wear. I remember when I heard about a surfer in California, the only guy on the beach, who was arrested for being out on the waves during the lockdowns—and the horror!—he was on his board at an empty beach without a mask! I remember how Parks Departments around the country put makeshift wooden caps on outdoor basketball hoops to keep anyone from using them. I remember how so many businesses here in Michigan went bankrupt while establishments that performed abortions, sold liquor and lottery tickets, or in some way kept state revenue flowing were deemed essential. I remember how the government strangled religious liberty. I remember how unelected officials appointed to health department boards somehow presumed to decide that the preaching of God’s Word, the reception of the Sacrament, and the consolation of fellow believers was non-essential. I remember how churches were labeled super-spreaders and how Christians were forbidden from gathering for public worship. I remember how countless clergy stood in empty naves and sanctuaries preaching into cameras.

Unfortunately, I also remember how easily so many pastors and churches went along with this nonsense. I remember how more than a year past the lockdowns, at least 40% of Michigan’s churches were still closed, and how for many that were open, they still refused to admit Christians to worship without a mask. No mask, no entry. I remember how they called this love for the neighbor. Candidly, it deserved, and still deserves, another name: heresy. Any church that imposed a human rule barring believers from the in-person preaching of God’s Word and the reception of His gifts crossed an uncrossable line. They obstructed the First Table of God’s Law—the command to love God with all one’s heart, soul, mind, and strength (Commandments 1 through 3)—while pretending to uphold the Second Table’s command to love the neighbor (Commandments 4 through 10).

But Romans 13! But Dr. Fauci and the CDC!

Despicable heresy.

Beyond even these dreadfulnesses, don’t forget that Fauci’s framework and influence also kept families from elderly parents and grandparents dying in nursing homes. Forbidden from entering, they could only press their hands against windows while their loved ones died without familiar voices, a pastor’s prayers, or the touch of someone who loved them. And then those same families were obliterated by ideology. They argued over masks, vaccines, travel, holidays, and whether grandparents could hold their grandchildren. Here in Michigan, Governor Whitmer offered incentives that encouraged neighbors to report one another. We were “loving thy neighbor” when we regarded one another as biological threats and reported those not wearing masks or sitting within six feet of others at Thanksgiving dinner.

And have we forgotten Fauci’s recommendations for schools? Have we forgotten the generation of children who spent their formative years behind masks, never once receiving a hug from their teacher or seeing that same teacher smile? Countless struggled through remote classrooms well into the 2020-21 school year while school administrators pretended that a glowing rectangle was an adequate substitute for human presence. In our school here at Our Savior in Hartland, we kept the masks off, preserved the classroom as a place of genuine human contact, and refused to teach children that every face, breath, and touch was a threat. Interestingly, we were fine. No one got sick. And no one died. Of course, we had to deal with threats from local health officials on occasion. Still, the gratitude of our parents was overwhelming. Again and again, they thanked us for allowing their children to remain children.

Unfortunately for too many school communities around us, anxiety and depression only deepened. It’s also no surprise that suicide rates went through the roof nationally. The children were taught to fear everything—faces, voices, touch, singing, playgrounds, classrooms, and one another. Then the adults who taught them these things acted surprised when loneliness and despair flourished.

I could go on and on about everything I remember. I certainly did back when it was all happening. In the meantime, the point here is that Fauci openly and regularly defended stripping so many rights away, and he did so with the language of necessity. America’s constitutional rights had to yield. Questions had to wait. Dissent was dangerous, and opposing speech was villainized and punished. But obedience was called compassion. All the while, those being crushed beneath the rules were expected to accept that Fauci and his experts were doing what was best because they simply knew better. “Trust the science” gradually began to exclude a person’s right to examine the evidence, and instead began to mean, “Do what you’re told.”

The irony here is that now, suddenly, Anthony Fauci is quite fond of the Constitution’s protections. Now he wants its shelter from those in power sitting before him in the hearing. He wants the Fifth Amendment’s centuries-old insistence that the state may not compel a man to furnish his own harm. He wants precisely the kind of constitutional protection that the rest of us—the ordinary Americans—were told was reckless, selfish, and uncaring.

Fauci is entitled to invoke the Fifth Amendment. But he and his lawyer are fooling themselves if they think the revoltingly obvious disparity is going unnoticed. When Americans pleaded for their constitutional rights, Fauci’s answer was effectively, “Obey.” But when Anthony Fauci fears for his untouchable status, his answer is immediately, “I have rights.” The Constitution, it seems, was negotiable when it stood between the government and ordinary folks. It became sacred the moment Anthony Fauci needed it personally.

I’ve already gone on long enough, which I freely admit happens sometimes. I suppose I’ll simply return to where I started. I began by saying the more Fauci repeated his Fifth Amendment statement, the angrier I got. But here’s the thing. It’s okay to be angry. Saint Paul says pretty plainly, “Be angry” (Ephesians 4:26). Of course, the whole verse is, “Be angry and do not sin.” That means we can be angry, but we ought not let the anger steer us, dominating our every action or emotion, even when it seems like the villain is getting away with murder. Our anger must lead us into faithfulness. That means speaking the truth, maybe even disobeying the government sometimes to resist evil, seeking justice, and praying for an evil doer’s repentance. It may even mean trusting that when Fauci ultimately gets off scot-free—which he probably will—the One who comes again in glory to judge both the living and the dead, Jesus Christ, will do so in perfect righteousness.

Men may conceal the truth, governments may abuse their authority, and earthly justice may arrive slowly or not at all. Nevertheless, Christ is still in charge. Nothing is hidden from Him. The Constitution may or may not actually restrain rulers. Strangely, in this circumstance, it may even protect someone who appears worthy of what happened at Nuremberg. But in the end, it’s Christ—not Fauci, not the government, and not the spirit of the age—who will have the last word. I’m counting on it. I hope you are, too.

Politics = Unavoidable

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The 69th Regular Convention of The Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod gathered in downtown Phoenix last week. Delegates worshiped, elected officers, considered resolutions, debated amendments, called questions, cast votes, and did all sorts of parliamentary things you’d expect at a convention.

I did not attend. I watched closely from afar. Very closely. And I stayed in close contact with various folks on the floor. Quite a few, in fact. So many, I spent most of last week doing things I absolutely despise: texting and private messaging.

That said, and regardless of anyone’s relationship with my denomination, I suppose what I want to say this morning crosses all denominational lines. Essentially, even as so many of the usual suspects did all they could to insist that the LCMS’s churchly proceedings were somehow above or insulated from the politics of the civil realm, I can promise you that the event was political from the moment the first delegate arrived.

I know right away that using the word “politics” makes some Christians, especially Lutherans, uncomfortable. Politics has become a word that people use when they want to end a conversation. A pastor—or even a pew-sitting Christian—addresses abortion, marriage, education, sexuality, religious liberty, crime, or whatever from the Christian perspective and someone complains that they’re “getting too political.” Even some Christians are quick to respond in this way. I heard pastors actually say that kind of stuff from the convention’s floor microphones.

It’s no wonder that after my online commentary concerning an amendment that would add Charlie Kirk’s name to a resolution—an amendment that was voted down—I received no small number of Lutherans telling me that the Church and politics must never mix. Like, at all. Some, just to stick the knife a little deeper into the apparent loss, expressed a sarcastic sadness that the Charlie Kirk amendment was only voted down by a slim margin rather than unanimously rejected by all. Others spoke out, saying that if the LCMS ever started speaking directly into the political sphere, they’d leave the fellowship.

Curiously, a handful of the objections came pre-wrapped in assurances that the speakers appreciated Charlie and even agreed with much of his politics. They simply did not want the Church to say his name.

For the record, all of these responses are typical of the “absolute separationist” personality. An absolute separationist believes the Church should remain entirely removed from political questions and public affairs, leaving such matters entirely to civil institutions. Of course, these folks tend to insulate their real reasoning with statements like, “A Church engaged in politics is in jeopardy of losing its actual mission.”

That certainly sounds virtuous—that is, until you actually try to live beneath absolute separationism’s maxim.

By definition, politics is the ordering of our common life in this world. It concerns authority, law, justice, public responsibility, institutions, and the decisions that determine how people exist in community together. If politics is entirely removed from the Church’s calculations (as absolute separationism hopes to achieve), then the Church makes a dangerous assumption about Christian life in a world whose hostility toward the Gospel is hardly theoretical. A Church operating beneath that assumption pretends that laws, institutions, and public decisions exert no pressure upon her mission or determine how openly she may carry it out.

And so, I return to what I said at the beginning, which was that the LCMS convention last week stood in politics’ shadow before anyone stepped to a microphone, whether the separationists are willing to admit it or not.

For starters, the convention met in the Phoenix Convention Center, a facility operated as part of the government of the City of Phoenix and supported by public tax dollars. In fact, I learned on Friday morning that the city maintains an actual convention-center department. It negotiates contracts and regulates the building’s usage. And beyond the facility itself, don’t forget everything else the local government provided. Police and emergency personnel stood ready. Roads, airports, public transportation, utilities, parking structures, and all kinds of civil mechanisms carried anyone and everyone associated with the event into and through to its conclusion.

All of this is political stuff, and it made the LCMS convention possible.

But what if different political winds were blowing and no Christians were present in the public square to represent the Church? What if all Christians suddenly embraced the absolute separationist ideology that the Church ought not mingle in politics or represent its concerns there? A local government could become overtly hostile to Christianity and refuse the rental contract. It could prohibit the Synod’s teaching about marriage or human sexuality. It could declare portions of God’s Word discriminatory. It could censor convention publications, arrest speakers, restrict travel, seize property, or surround the building with armed men.

“That’s ridiculous, Reverend,” you say. Tell that to Päivi Räsänen. Finland’s Supreme Court convicted her over the continued publication of a church pamphlet addressing marriage and sexual ethics. I just read last week how she’s prohibited from even visiting certain countries. Political hostility to Christian teaching is hardly a hypothetical exercise.

“But the Church can continue with or without a convention or a convention center.”

Yes, Christ has promised that much. And yet, the point is relatively simple. Good or bad, politics is, in truth, an “unavoidable” that determines a great many things. In a way, the LCMS acknowledged the unavoidable nature of politics when it adopted the resolution titled “To Condemn Political Violence and Encourage Participation in Public Life.”

So many wanted Charlie’s name erased from the resolution lest the LCMS dabble in politics. Even as I might have cried, I laughed instead. The title itself tells you everything you need to know. Its thrust is toward and into politics. It announces that politics has the potential for truly dreadful behavior. And while the LCMS initially embarrassed itself by voting down a relatively microscopic amendment to at least name the man who inspired the resolution—Charlie Kirk—still, whatever reasons the nays may have offered, their votes could not erase what the resolution itself admitted. They unwittingly acknowledged that evil politics—politics left unchecked against God’s established moral order—empowers the wicked. It creates widows. It creates orphans. It creates fearful communities.

Thankfully, Charlie Kirk understood that Christians cannot abandon the public square. He spent his life urging believers to speak, organize, vote, persuade, and refuse the lie that separationism leading to political silence is somehow a higher form of faithfulness to Christ. It isn’t. And a voting delegate who refuses to admit this, especially when it comes to what happened to Charlie, has already somehow missed the fact that the Fifth Commandment just walked into the room. Martyrdom or not, God forbids murder, including the assassination of people because of their political views. And yet, who enforces the restriction? The Church? The Church names the sin and forms the conscience. But the magistrate restrains the murderer and bears the sword. The same commandment lives in both spheres of Church and state.

The same is true of nearly every modern political question. Before any of them became political, they were already Christological. Life, marriage, authority, justice, truth, mercy—they all belong to Christ before any legislature, court, party, or candidate could take them up. Christ owns the whole world, and His people have no reason to surrender any part of it as though it were outside His authority or beyond the reach of Christian vocation.

I’ve said it a thousand times, and I’ll keep on saying it: Caesar doesn’t somehow take ownership of something just by placing it on a ballot or talking about it during a legislative session.

And one more quick thing.

Lutherans should know this better than anyone else because Lutherans already possess a theological vocabulary capable of handling it. We are inheritors of Luther’s Two Kingdoms doctrine, which, of course, he lifted straight from God’s Word. We own the church-and-state framework that even the Founding Fathers commended as the best extrapolation of the concept.

As Lutherans, we confess that God rules through two kingdoms. Through the right-hand kingdom, He establishes and ordains His Church to preach and teach the Gospel, forgive sins, gather His people, and create faith. Through the left-hand kingdom, God establishes and ordains earthly government to restrain evil, preserve order, punish wrongdoing, and protect earthly life. The distinction preserves the Gospel from coercion. It also prevents civil government from pretending it plays a role in saving souls.

But nowhere in this biblical distinction is Christianity removed from public life. Rather, the Bible, and therefore the Two Kingdoms doctrine, teaches that Christians live under both kingdoms at the same time. It also teaches that they often interact with one another, accommodating and upholding each other in certain ways, each helping the other maintain its divinely ordained purpose.

I already pointed out the convention itself was an example of how the left-hand kingdom touches the right-hand kingdom. In other words, the Church cannot avoid dealing in political things. But even with that example, I don’t just mean that she must deal in legal contracts and pay taxes for this or that. I don’t even mean she must occasionally push back when laws threaten life, redefine marriage, corrupt children, punish Christian confession, or reward wickedness. I mean she must already be active in holding the civil government to its ordination. She must already have a hand in shaping the entirety of the political landscape. She doesn’t do this to make the government a theocracy. We are not Dominionists. Ultimately, she does it to preserve a society that supports her purpose. She must be allowed to preach and teach the Gospel unhindered.

To do this, at a minimum, the Church must carry political things to her people. She must teach her people about the issues and how to engage faithfully with them in the civil realm.

For as much as the absolute separationists would hope, the two kingdoms are never completely sealed away from one another. And to believe otherwise—to pretend politics does not intersect with the Church or that it is someone else’s or another institution’s sole concern—is to miss the fact that politics has already entered the sanctuary, the home, the school, and the lives of God’s people. And a pastor’s silence relative to politics doesn’t safeguard the Christians in his care. It simply allows Christians to receive their teaching from another source. And trust me. The world has a truckload of catechists vying for the opportunity. The world is more than happy to teach Christians what they should believe about life, gender, morality, justice, freedom, and all kinds of other topics deemed too political by some.

Now, I’ve already gone on long enough. But before I finish, no, the Church must never become an auxiliary of a political party. I’m not arguing for that, and I don’t know any confessional Lutherans who are. Admittedly, too many in mainstream evangelicalism do drift wildly in that direction. But regardless of what you’ve heard about Charlie Kirk, I know for a fact that was not his argument. He did not believe that the Church should surrender her doctrine, worship, or mission to a political party. He simply urged Christians to bring their faith into public life, and then he demonstrated it.

I suppose I’m compelled to clarify this, not only because I knew Charlie, but because the warnings raised against naming him at my own denomination’s convention—that doing so might make the LCMS look as though it officially endorsed one party over another—were wildly misinformed opinions likely learned from very bad sources. In short, they pinned Charlie to a position he didn’t hold.

Actually, I guess maybe I’m not done yet. Forget about the Dominionists in mainstream evangelicalism for a second. I know plenty in the LCMS who go in the extreme opposite direction, treating political withdrawal as though it were the quintessential mark of confessional purity. Interestingly, some of the delegates who resisted naming him seemed to think they had insulated themselves from this criticism by first offering a testimonial. They appreciated Charlie Kirk. They agreed with much of his politics. Some even admired his courage. Then came the ecclesiastical disclaimer: his name still had no place in the Church’s mouth. It was the familiar rhetorical maneuver by which someone cites a favorable association as proof that the conduct now under examination cannot possibly mean what it plainly means.

Yes, the Church’s proclamation belongs to Christ alone. Her sacraments belong to Christ. Her hope rests in the resurrection of Christ. But you’ll never convince me that politics exists beyond the Church’s concern, especially when her members still live in cities, counties, states, and nations. Laws govern them. Their children attend schools shaped by elected boards. Their livelihoods are affected by public policy. Their church properties depend upon civil protections. Their unborn children live or die under political decisions. Their freedom to confess Christ publicly can expand or contract according to the people elected to office.

As I told someone very plainly yesterday on the phone, no, politics will never save the Church. But only a fool would believe that the Church’s absolute retreat from politics doesn’t somehow give the state the room to build the machinery by which the Church is persecuted.

The Furnace

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Actor Neal McDonough will speak at our “The Body of Christ and the Public Square” conference this fall. I must say I’m genuinely excited to welcome someone who has spent decades working successfully in Hollywood without compromising his Christian faith or his conservative convictions.

Folks closest to me know I have long wanted our conference to feature someone active in the entertainment industry who can speak honestly about what it means to remain faithful while immersed in a world that, for the most part, is opposed to Christianity. I’ve said before that when it comes to persecuting the Christian faith, Hollywood shares a lot in common with Nebuchadnezzar’s fiery furnace.

So far, as a writer who has bumped into Hollywood, my experience has been relatively good. That said, I’ve also learned from those in the know that it’ll take very little of my confessional Lutheranism or conservative leanings to see it come undone. The furnace’s flames are definitely there. They come through contracts, casting decisions, lost opportunities, ridicule, and the quiet warning that life would be easier if one would simply stop being so serious about what he believes. Interestingly, it seems the pressure is rarely presented as a demand to deny Christ outright. More often, it’s an invitation to sacrifice just enough to remain welcome.

That’s what makes Neal McDonough’s story so valuable. Of course, like everyone else in the world, he’s had his troubles. If I recall correctly, he struggled with alcoholism. However, unlike so many others in Hollywood, Neal hasn’t moved from marriage to marriage. He’s been married to his wife, Ruvé, for nearly twenty-three years. A strong marriage was essential to his survival. When he struggled, she was there. And he was there for her. With that, they’ve raised five children together, and he has been remarkably public about the boundaries he maintains to protect his marriage. Among them is his longstanding refusal to kiss another woman on screen who isn’t Ruvé, let alone participate in sex scenes.

Compared to so many others in Hollywood, he holds a hard line on things like that. One would think he’d be considered honorable for it. And yet, the decision has cost him.

Watch one of his interviews. Or read some of the articles about him—especially the ones that lean toward ridiculing him. You’ll learn that he has, indeed, been pushed aside, ultimately losing work, because he wouldn’t cross the lines his Christian conscience has drawn. He has also acknowledged that his personal restrictions probably explain why he has so often been cast as a villain rather than a leading man. It’s not that he couldn’t fit the role. It’s just that Hollywood doesn’t really care if the villain gets a leading lady. The villain is there for the audience to hate. The villain is only there to challenge the seemingly better man, the one who saves the girl, and then, as a reward, gets to sleep with her. Although I suspect most moviegoers don’t even pick up on that distinction. Most audiences have been conditioned beyond the ability to imagine a leading man who believes that sexual fidelity is as important as stopping the villain.

Now, think about that.

In an industry that celebrates nearly every imaginable boundary being broken, one of the truly rebellious acts by comparison is a husband refusing to pretend that his wedding vows have an “except while filming” clause.

Neal is probably right about such convictions having cost him roles, a whole lot of money, and the professional standing that comes with all of it. Still, he pushed through and remained in the industry. He didn’t retreat into silence. He certainly didn’t accept the premise that success required surrender. He found ways to work within his convictions, and the Lord has blessed him with A-list success.

Considering our forthcoming conference, that’s precisely the kind of encouragement our attendees need as we consider our own levels of engagement with the world around us.

For Neal—a man working in one of the most challenging fields for Christians—the answer has not been withdrawal. It hasn’t been accommodation, either. Thankfully, he knew the dangers of those actions early on. He knew that faithfulness often meant being called to enter difficult places without allowing those places to enter him. As it meets with our efforts, Neal will be a great addition to our lineup because our primary purpose is to teach that the public square doesn’t need Christians who have mastered the art of blending in. It needs Christians who know how to be who they are in Christ while holding the line.

Neal can help us understand what that looks like in a unique way, one that deals with real-world consequences. He can speak from the position of his career being at stake. He can talk about what it means to protect a marriage in a culture increasingly hostile to marital fidelity.

Again, Nebuchadnezzar’s fiery furnace comes to mind. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego didn’t survive the heat because they found a way to compromise with it. They survived because, while refusing to bow to Nebuchadnezzar’s lies, the God in whom they’d placed all their trust preserved them. They didn’t know if He would act to preserve their earthly lives. They said as much before the guards threw them into the flames. Still, they knew God was faithful and that He would keep them for eternity. Trusting Him, they refused to compromise.

I often say that the Good Samaritan story is the account of our age. Perhaps the account of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego is a better fit. Of course, most folks reading this will never stand on a Hollywood set. Most will never face a studio executive or watch opportunities disappear because of Christian or conservative conviction. As I said, I’m a little closer to these things lately, and at the same time, I’m fully prepared for it to unravel.  So far, so good. In the meantime, most of our furnaces look more like classrooms, businesses, courtrooms, congregations, family gatherings, and a host of other settings.

But the thing is, no matter the setting, the challenge and its temptations remain. Bow just a little. Keep your head down. Stay quiet. Chalk it up as wisdom when you compromise this or that part of the Christian faith. Convince yourself there’ll be time for faithfulness soon enough. Until then, let the danger pass.

I admire Neal. I’m glad he’ll be with us. He’s a crisp example that you don’t have to win the rooms you’re in. But faithfulness is essential while you’re in them.

As we prepare for this fall’s conference on October 3, my hope is that Neal’s words will encourage everyone in attendance to enter everyday life with courage. As it meets with Christian conviction, I can assure you that the world doesn’t need a quieter Church. It certainly doesn’t need a Church that spends itself to blend in, doing everything it can to look and act like the world around it.

The world needs a Church that’s holy—set apart and standing out as immovably distinct. Simply put, it needs the faithful Bride of Christ, a body of believers who know all too well that the furnace is already burning, and yet, regardless of the world’s threats, they have no intention of bending the knee in adoration to anyone but the divine Groom, Jesus Christ.

God Bless America

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I’ll start by saying the same thing I say every year when I return from vacation. I love vacations, but it’s good to be home, even if only to sleep in my own bed.

As you may already know, the Thoma family has been in Florida for the last two weeks. Every year, we rent a home just a little southwest of Orlando. For the most part, we go to the same place every year. And even though we’re about 15 miles from everything “Disney,” we never go to the parks. Perhaps we might, if Disney could only return to what it once was before it bought into the viral delusion. There’s nothing creepier than being greeted at a theme park’s entrance by a bearded Cinderella.

We also don’t do a lot of sightseeing, either. The main point of our getaway is to do just that. To get away. And so, we swim, eat, play games, and shop. That’s pretty much it. Well, add to the list that we spend a day hunting for shark teeth in the Gulf.

We were in Florida on July 4th. With this year being America’s 250th birthday, we decided that rather than going to a local event, we wanted to see a fireworks display worth remembering. Jen looked online and found a list of the must-see opportunities. We chose the display at SeaWorld, and it was by no means disappointing.

For starters, the amphitheater where we planted ourselves was packed. People were shoulder to shoulder, filling every available space. I’m no fan of crowds, especially sweaty ones. However, I’ll admit it was nice to see so many wearing their patriotism so openly. For once, in the strange way a crowd can become one from many—truly “E pluribus unum”—everyone seemed caught up in the same spirit of gratitude and celebration for this great country.

The last time I experienced that kind of national unity was just after the events of September 11. Except then, it wasn’t celebratory. It was something else entirely.

Anyway, SeaWorld’s fireworks display was extraordinary. The sky lit up. The music swelled. Everyone cheered.

I should mention that before the fireworks began, a DJ orchestrated a dance party on the stage at the front. The rest of us—the ones who preferred to stay and protect our seats for the forthcoming fireworks—we all sang along to the familiar tunes. It’s funny how you know the Michiganders in the crowd when Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” plays. My daughters were sure to play their part. Of course, being from Illinois, when the line about being born and raised in South Detroit lands, I give my wife a wink before the very next line, which is one that reminds everyone singing he wanted on the next midnight train to anywhere but Michigan.

But then came something I absolutely did not expect.

Near the end of the fireworks, there was an incredibly moving rendition of “God Bless America.” It is no understatement to say I was shocked to hear it. America knows the song. But it seems she’s been more interested in keeping everything the song delivers tucked away quietly.

But there it was. And no one was looking around at others concerned. No one was apologizing for it. People took off their hats. I certainly removed mine. And I sang, even if only quietly. I’m pretty sure the man sitting on the stairs beside me with his daughter and her light-up hat was singing, too.

I don’t know the artist who sang that particular version—a female country singer, I think—but whoever she was, she nearly brought me to tears. My lip certainly quivered a few times.

I’m guessing this happened because in the current climate of our country, where almost anything openly patriotic, let alone Christian, is treated as divisive—and often embarrassing—the familiar song was being offered so openly and received so warmly.

I did see a few folks get up and leave. But for the most part, no one seemed offended. No one actually melted under the weight of the words “God” or “America.” In fact, most appeared moved by them.

But here’s something that came to mind the very next morning while driving my family to church.

It sure seems as though America still knows how to call on God when the fireworks are overhead. But then it seems she readily forgets how to kneel before Him when the show is over.

As I said, this thought came to me the next morning—Sunday—while driving to church. We traveled there using the same roads that had been congested almost every day of our vacation so far. Except that morning, they were, for the most part, bare.

I should add that the church lots we passed on the way, at least ten, told the same story. They were relatively deserted. The church we attended was reasonably attended, and I was grateful for that. Still, the difference between Saturday night’s patriotic celebration and Sunday morning was incredibly hard to miss.

Just the night before, thousands stood together while “God Bless America” filled the air. The next morning, many could not find their way to the God they had just asked to bless and preserve them into the future.

I was nearly moved to tears the night before. I felt the same sensation on Sunday morning, but for an altogether different reason.

Just so you know, I’m not sharing this to bring you down from any patriotic high you may be experiencing because of the gravity of this year’s Fourth of July celebration. But I should at least be honest and admit it’s written from a place of grief.

I learned that most Americans are likely still okay with God. Just not all of Him. Sunday morning reminded me that they prefer He keep to the anthem. I suppose it’s okay for most when He stops by to bless the nation, protect the troops, or sanctify a national holiday. I suppose folks are fine with Him giving moral weight to the things we already love.

I suppose what I mean is this.

Be sure to celebrate, but as you do, keep in mind that God is not a patriotic accessory. He’s far more than a line in the Pledge of Allegiance or “God Bless America.” He’s not limited to your mood at the end of a moving fireworks show.

I had another thought while driving.

If we are prepared to sing “God Bless America,” then we should also be prepared for the harder roads God often uses to deliver those blessings. We should be ready for Him to knock us to our knees. And when He does, we should be ready to repent.

I think that’s the part most prefer to skip.

We want God to stand respectfully behind the American flag and the freedoms it symbolizes, but we don’t want Him standing there in judgment over our pitifully self-centered hearts. We want God to bless us even as we somehow twist the word “liberty” to mean we are free to murder unborn babies. We want his nod of acceptance while we do the same with “the pursuit of happiness,” using it to justify confusing His natural law.

In the end, too many simply want Him to smile and wave at us from a distance—a distance we certify when we avoid time in worship with Him.

All of that said, the God who hears a nation singing “God Bless America” is also the God who looks to those seeking faithfulness to Him when there is no crowd, no spectacle, no music swelling over fireworks, and no patriotic feeling to carry the fast-fleeting moment.

Sunday, July 5th, told me a truth that Saturday night tried to hide.

Again, I was glad “God Bless America” was sung. I was glad people joined in. I was glad that a massive, and typically left-leaning organization like SeaWorld, actually inserted God into the evening rather than erasing Him. Whether or not they did it on purpose, it was a moment for Americans to remember, even imperfectly, that our blessings do not come from ourselves. They don’t even come from the brilliance of our Founding Fathers. They come from God.

People who know that—and actually believe it by faith—are the ones who know that the truest way to sing “God Bless America” on Saturday night is to do so planning to be with Him in His house on Sunday morning.

Everyone else is not really asking God to bless America. He’s just one more guest they’ve invited to the fireworks display. And like all the other invited guests, they expect Him to leave when it’s over.