Tag Archives: proposal 3

It Will Never Happen

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I had an interesting conversation with the 7th and 8th graders in religion class this past Monday. With Advent on the very near horizon, the season that will inevitably carry us to Christmas, we wrestled with whether or not Herod’s slaughtering of the infants in Bethlehem was a part of God’s plan. It’s a good question to ask, especially following Michigan’s recent election, one that enshrined infanticide in Michigan’s Constitution. In utter disbelief, people are asking, “Why would God do this?”

This, too, is a worthwhile question, primarily because Saint Matthew shows God’s engagement throughout the Christmas events by quoting from the Old Testament four times. Doing this, the Gospel writer stirs a sense of divine orchestration, especially as he remembers certain things revealed to God’s prophets. The slaughter of the innocents is one of them. Matthew tells of Herod’s troops storming Bethlehem, and as he does, he points to Jeremiah’s description of the scene six hundred years prior. It’s a dreadful one describing torrential tears, the piercing sounds of unrestrained wailing, and in between each gasping cry, a mother—Rachel—pushing back against any human words of consolation (Matthew 2:17-18).

In other words, Jeremiah knew a moment would come when the sound of inconsolable mothers would haunt a city and its surrounding hillsides. Matthew stakes the claim that this disturbing vision was relative to Christ’s birth and fulfilled in the slaughter at Bethlehem. But because God revealed this to Jeremiah so long ago, does that mean God planned and enacted it?

The answer is no. I’ll get to the reason in a moment.

The current effort in my religion class is the study of hermeneutics—the “how” of interpretation. As you can imagine, hermeneutics is taking us anywhere and everywhere in the Scriptures. It’s also taking us into what we read and hear in our culture. I do this with the students because language matters. Narratives matter. The intentions inherent to these things matter. They must be interpreted. When the broader horizon of genre, speaker/writer, context, history, and so on can be thoroughly examined, a person is better equipped for discernment leading to genuine wisdom. Simply applying hermeneutical principles to Proposal 3, its dreadfulness was easily detected. Teaching the students to do this is essential. The children who can do this as adults will be the ones worth trusting with critical things.

As far as the answer to the question, again, it’s no. God neither designed nor intended for all those children to die. It happened because that’s how things work in our appallingly corrupted world. Sin has a blast radius, and no one—innocent or guilty, good or bad, believer or unbeliever—is beyond its temporal effects. Therein is the interpretive key to the question’s answer, as well as the key to its relevance for us today.

Forget God’s foreknowledge for a second. While you’re at it, stop ascribing to Him authorship of everything that happens. Instead, remember what He said at the very beginning. His words to Eve and the serpent communicate His direct action. To Adam, however, His tone changes. He speaks in a resultant way, saying that because of what Adam has done, the ground is now cursed (Genesis 3:17). In other words, from now on, life will be harder, and bad things will happen. That’s the way it works in a world infected by Sin. Did God want this for His creation? No. Did He plan it? No. Matthew expresses this same theology through each clause before the four Old Testament quotations. Essentially, he uses two kinds—a purpose clause and a temporal clause. Before the reminder from Hosea 11:1 that the Messiah would come out of Egypt, Matthew uses a purpose clause (ἵνα πληρωθῇ), which comes to us as “This was to fulfill…” (Matthew 2:15). This is to say God acted in this instance. He planned it this way. Before Jeremiah’s foretelling of the Bethlehem tragedy, Matthew uses a temporal clause (τότε ἐπληρώθη), resulting in, “Then was fulfilled…” (Matthew 2:17). While the time in Egypt was divinely orchestrated, the events of Bethlehem happened because the world is now corrupt. Because of what we’ve done, this world will now produce Herod-like devils—people like Gretchen Whitmer and Dana Nessel who rejoice at the death of children, telling all to “celebrate December 23rd” because that’s the day abortion will officially be written into the Michigan Constitution. These are the kinds of celebrations Sin produces.

By the way, I find it interesting that the amendment birthed by Proposal 3 will be added to our state’s founding document the day before Christmas Eve. The devil is good at spitting in your eye right before poking it out.

Still, God knows all of this. By His omniscience, He sees these things coming. Did He ordain them? No. Again, Genesis 3:17 nudges us toward recalling that we’re responsible for letting these monsters loose in Bethlehem. The blame for Sin’s insatiable appetite for misery rests squarely with us, not God. Of course, we don’t like to hear that. And why? Because we are ones who, as Shakespeare mused, “make guilty of our own disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars.” In other words, we’re inclined to blame anything and anyone, even God, rather than accept the simple truth that tragedy’s guilt is ours alone to claim.

The only real blame we can genuinely lay at God’s feet is best placed at the foot of the cross. We can blame Him for doing what was necessary to fix the Sin problem. The death of Jesus is God’s beautiful crime—the absolute innocent One being sentenced to death for the dreadfully guilty.

So, what do we do now?

By the Holy Spirit’s power, we believe this Gospel. Recreated by this Gospel, we continue to stand against Herod while at the same time doing everything within our power to rescue the little ones from his bloodthirsty troops. I was recently asked on three separate occasions what this “standing” might look like in a future Michigan. The first thing that came to mind in each was something I’ve experienced before.

A few years ago, I happened to be visiting my friend, Pastor Stephen Long (now with the Lord), in the emergency room. A few stalls away from us was a robustly pregnant girl—a brave teenager who’d long ago chosen to keep her child. We didn’t know the details of her visit to the ER, but everything we heard through the curtains—the shuffling and crying and confusion—all of it communicated something traumatic. The sounds also reminded us just how overwhelming the terror inherent to any harrowing moment could be. It affects our emotions. It can shatter our wits. We can react in ways we might regret later. Listening in, Stephen and I prayed for the girl and her unborn child.

Now, let’s imagine that scene in today’s Michigan. Let’s say the trauma the girl experienced resulted in her healthy child being born prematurely. Let’s say it also resulted in the terrified and confused girl changing her mind. According to Michigan’s Constitution, if, in the middle of the traumatic scene, the young girl sees the child and decides she cannot be a mother—that she doesn’t have the mental or emotional fortitude required to raise the child—regardless of the stage of pregnancy, and also because the child likely needs extraordinary medical attention to survive, the newest constitutional amendment leaves room for the mother and the physician to choose to let the otherwise healthy child die. Let’s say I’m listening through the curtain to the terrible events unfolding. Let’s also say that I hear and understand what’s about to happen to the child, that she will be left for dead. Make no mistake. It would be time to take a stand. In my case, I would unhesitatingly walk into that stall, take the child into my arms, and walk out. If need be, I’d fight off security guards, nurses, or anyone intent on obeying the new amendment. I assure you I’d do this, ultimately letting the chips of my legal future fall where they may. I would not let that child die, no matter the legal boundaries of the situation.

Plenty of folks say these types of scenarios won’t occur. Well, whatever. Many people said the Supreme Court would never cement same-sex marriage. And yet, here we are, five years beyond the cement’s pouring. Here we are expecting the U.S. Congress to pass the “Respect for Marriage Act,” which will pour a permanent layer of concrete onto what “will never happen.”

Heaping condescension, ridicule, and disbelief upon those concerned for these things is almost always proven foolish.

As far as the Emergency Room scene I described, MLive published an article on November 11 entitled “The abortion rights and potential legal fights coming after Michigan’s Prop 3 won.” In it, Robert Sedler, a law professor at Wayne State and an avowed abortion advocate, mocked the pro-life movement’s concerns about such possibilities. He called them “nonsense.” And yet, the article’s equally progressive author, Ben Orner, commented that the “amendment allows lawmakers to regulate after ‘fetal viability,’ according to its text, when the attending physician believes ‘there is a significant likelihood of the fetus’s sustained survival outside the uterus without the application of extraordinary medical measures.” In other words, protection laws only apply if the doctor determines the child can survive without assistance. Orner caps this by quoting Sedler, again, writing, “The idea is that abortion is only prohibited when a doctor determines that the fetus is viable, capable of living outside of the uterus.”

Three things. Firstly, before taking action to preserve a healthy child’s life, the doctor must affirm that the child can survive outside the womb without extraordinary medical help. What does this mean? What are the boundaries? My 13-year-old daughter has Type 1 diabetes. She cannot survive without extraordinary medical care. Secondly, “when the attending physician believes” is a subjective statement. For every physician who believes one thing, five others believe something different. But objectively, even rationally, a physician’s oath is to do no harm—to provide treatment to the ailing, to preserve life rather than end it. Thirdly, I agree with Sedler, who said the amendment’s language isn’t complicated. It’s deliberately open-ended to allow for as much “reproductive freedom” as the state can provide. The law’s subjectivity is intentional. Now, will most humans in our midst choose to abandon the helpless child I described? Hopefully not. But remember, the ground is cursed. It produces Herods—monsters who write laws providing opportunities to those who’d be happy to let the child perish.

“Nonsense. It will never happen.” Those are the most notorious of all last words. It has happened. Now it will happen beneath the protective banner of the law.

I didn’t share this particular MLive article with the 7th and 8th graders during religion. But I do share articles like it. Maybe I’ll share this one. Either way, we apply hermeneutical principles to what we read. Relative to Matthew 2:13-18, these principles helped the students to dig deeply in search of objective truth. They learned where and when God acts, what He ordains, how He operates in and through His Word, the difference between His revealed and hidden wills, and so much more. In one sense, it was a refreshing discussion for me, especially as I continue to wrestle with accepting whatever God is allowing to occur in America. In another sense, and considering the answers given by the students along the way, the conversation was proof that the 7th and 8th graders at Our Savior are becoming capable of navigating America’s shaky future. Again, the recent elections in Michigan resulted in quite a few Herod-like individuals taking office and arming their troops for grim ungodliness. Was God behind this? Mindful of God’s Word, knowing what I know, you’ll never convince me that He was, not even by pointing to God’s employment of ungodly rulers in the Old Testament or by dropping Romans 13 in my lap. God did not and does not purposely establish or license authorities to exist in contradiction with His will for governance. He does not ordain for governments to murder their citizens. Human beings are the ones who scribe and sign such licenses.

The students are learning to discern these things. God willing, they’re also learning they need to step up and be what God has created them to be, if only for the sake of their children. I believe they’re on their way to being this, and in that sense, I leave class comforted, knowing God will use them—deliberately—for His good purposes.

Burning the Candle at Both Ends

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Birthdays are something, aren’t they? Some have gravity that others do not. Our daughter, Evelyn, turned thirteen at the beginning of October. Going from twelve to thirteen is a big deal for a young person. The teenage years have a prospective orbit that the previous years did not. I turned fifty last Wednesday. That felt a little like making a jump into lightspeed and arriving at a completely different solar system altogether. I still feel like I’m in my twenties. Jennifer tells me I sometimes act like it.

Well, whatever. Sometimes a guy just has to dress like a stormtrooper before going to Walmart. It’s the way of things for someone who, for a good part of his life, has been unwilling to let the world around him do the steering—a guy who has an inkling of how bright-eyed an exhausted mom and her two kids can become after crossing paths with a Star Wars character in the cereal aisle.

I like that. And while they can’t see my face, they know I’m smiling, too.

I suppose any birthday brings an opportunity for introspection. Certainly, the older I get, the more I reflect. I’m guessing you do, too. I had one online friend, someone who cares, reminding me to slow down—to make the most of the days, reminding me not to burn the candle at both ends. He knows me well.

Interestingly, he used the phrase, “burn the candle at both ends.”

Do you know where that saying comes from? It’s from a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay. How do I know this? Because she died on my birthday. At some point, I remember learning she died back in 1950 on October 19. I don’t recall how I became aware of it; probably one of those radio segments talking about events in history. One of Millay’s claims to poetry fame was the lyric entitled “First Fig.” In it, she wrote:

My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—It gives a lovely light!

Millay had a Dickinson way about her—crisp and melodic with her words, all arranged in the best order and bearing something profound. Even this little verse speaks volumes.

For one, it reminds the reader of life’s transience. No matter the pace at which one’s candle wax is consumed, each day will end, as will the candle keeping the evening vigil. Interestingly, while her words are typically used to describe being overworked, that’s not necessarily her intention. In a simple sense, she means to say that she has a life and intends to do the most she can with it. She already knows she won’t live forever. Still, she plans for her light to burn as brightly as possible, producing a lovely light before both friend and foe.

I suppose birthdays are fertile moments to ask pragmatically, “Will any among us last the entirety of life’s night?” If the one asking the question is honest, his or her answer will be no. As the day ends, so will the night. And so, the lesson here? Give your utmost diligence to each of the clock’s ticks. Life is progressing. Its wax is being consumed. Live accordingly before your candle’s flame goes out.

This reminds me of something the Lord said to His onlooking disciples in John 9. It’s not exactly the same image, but it is somewhat similar. Before stopping and healing a blind beggar, the Lord said to His disciples, “We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming, when no one can work.” (v. 4).

Firstly, I think it’s interesting that Jesus used the word “we” instead of “I” when describing who would be involved in accomplishing the works of the Father in this world. It’s not as though God can’t do these things Himself—as if He actually needs any help. The Lord is also not saying that anyone will have any active part in the work required for salvation. Jesus will accomplish all of that. He will live perfectly under the Law. He will suffer and die for the sins of the world. He will rise again as Victor over sin, death, and Satan. On the other side of these things, He uses “we” to show He is including His disciples in the efforts of faithfulness born from His work. His disciples are believers, people recreated by the Lord’s sacrifice. Believers produce the fruits of faith, often taking the form of both witness and service. They are vessels—carriages—sent out to extend the message of what Jesus has done. They do this by both word and deed. In short, they live out the Gospel in the world around them in recognizable ways.

Admittedly, the Christian life is often passively unaware. In other words, faith so often creates fruits in us we don’t even realize are being produced (Matthew 25:37-40). On the other hand, the Christian life is actively aware, too (Matthew 24:45-46; 25:29; Luke 10:25-37; 1 Peter 3:15; James 2:18-19, 26). It stands at attention. It’s ready and willing to engage in service when required. Jesus demonstrates this by stopping and taking time to heal the blind man. He could have passed by. He certainly had other cosmic-scale things to do. Still, He stopped. He helped. Sometimes, Christianity requires that we stop and help.

I suppose, secondly, the fact that Jesus crams this Christological point into the image of a single day implies not only the urgency and determination He has for situating His Christians in the world in this way but also the divine stamina He knows we’ll need for suiting up and doing what needs to be done. Life is busy. It’s often experienced in a flurry. I can confirm this, and it’s likely you can, too. Therefore, the Lord reminds His listeners in the very next verse that so long as He is present—and He has promised He will be—we’ll have access to a light that empowers our labors (John 9:5). Even when darkness falls, He will be the fuel that keeps the flame burning at both ends, giving a lovely light through us to both friend and foe.

Knowing these things changes the trajectory of our earthly orbits in some pretty incredible ways. We know we can’t earn our way to heaven, but we also know we can’t sit idly by when a blind man needs our help, or a wearied mother in the cereal aisle could benefit from some cheer, or an unborn child needs an advocate for life. If we are not burning the candle at both ends—ever vigilant in our awareness and willingness to embrace each moment for faithfulness to Christ—we’re living a dimly lit life.

Lots of folks around the world receive this eNews each Sunday morning. The ones in Michigan know where I must go next.

Proposal 3, a ballot proposition that will enshrine abortion (and other atrocities) in the Michigan Constitution, is on the verge of passing. Barbara Listing, the president of Right to Life of Michigan, mentioned a few nights ago that other executive leaders for Right to Life in surrounding states are saying Proposal 3 can’t be defeated. They’re urging that Right to Life of Michigan change course, that we give up on fighting the proposal and begin putting all the coffer’s coins toward the campaign needs of pro-life candidates. In other words, the onlookers have already consigned Michigan to the title “Unrestricted Abortion Capital of the World.” But Barbara told her wobbly counterparts she wasn’t going to give up. She’s going to continue leaning into the fight, giving it everything she’s got. She’s going to burn her candle at both ends. I’m with her. I’m going to burn my candle this way, too. I will continue to do everything I can to see Proposal 3 defeated. I have a life, and here at this particular moment on the timeline, an opportunity to live that life to its brightest has appeared. Regardless of the outcome, I will light both wicks and burn my candle. I’m not going to live forever. And so, I will do everything I can with every breath I’m given to act—to stop and help the unborn who cannot help themselves. I’m going to fight for the preservation of parental consent laws, for religious objection laws, and for all the other Godly things Proposal 3 is designed to erase with a single solitary dot on a ballot’s page.

You need to be engaged against this devilry, too. You must vote “no” on Proposal 3, and on the same ballot, you should choose candidates who are committed to doing the same. To do otherwise is to be in contradiction with one’s own Christian identity, thereby living a dimly lit life. Now is not the time to be dimly lit. Let friends and foes alike see your flame of faith. It will be harder for some than others. Still, as a Christian, it’s a must. Let the flame of your faith beam brightly, burning at both ends, and with an unapproachable heat. Let it be a beacon in the darkness to those who would find it, and I dare say, let it be a forewarning of your resolve to those in opposition who’d dare try snuffing it out.

Churchills and Chamberlains

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Like many of you, I do a lot of reading. Although, because of time constraints, I suppose more and more people are reading through their ears. I’ve not been one for audiobooks. I tried it a time or two, but it didn’t seem to work for me. I once tried listening to The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, a collection of short stories featuring Doyle’s famous detective. Stephen Fry narrated the collection. Fry was equal to the task, and he was equal to the task. But after a little while, I hoped to hear someone else. When one person reads and interprets the whole text, carrying each character with only his or her voice, a longing emerges for what the imagination might do with those same words. Would Holmes really sound like that? Would Watson’s voice be pitched in that way?

But that’s just me. I invest in imagination, so I prefer to read the text myself. This is probably why I’m rarely impressed by films based on books. They never quite meet with what I experienced in my mind.

I also read a lot of speeches. I memorize them, too. Just ask my kids. I can readily perform Winston Churchill’s material. Reading a speech is different than reading a book. A public address is meant to be heard, so as I read along, I find myself preferring to hear the speaker’s voice. Listening lets in more than just the information the speaker intended to share but also the deeper, more personal things he or she wants you to feel in your guts. These things arrive in the carriages of tenor, tone, and many other rhetorical devices, all meant to bring the listener into the speaker’s world. Sometimes, this world reveals more than the speaker envisioned.

Since I mentioned Winston Churchill, a great example of this can be seen between Churchill and his predecessor, Neville Chamberlain.

A pompous man, Chamberlain will forever be remembered as the English Prime Minister who appeased the Nazis. In his “Peace for Our Time” speech in 1938, he gives the impression that following his meetings with Adolf Hitler, he alone brought peace to Europe. It is a short speech. The language is high, distinguished, and well-delivered, not flowery or cumbersome. However, it carries along with an egocentric and aristocratic fervor, the kind of self-importance that drove him to say so foolishly later:

“My good friends, for the second time in our history, a British Prime Minister has returned from Germany bringing peace with honor. I believe it is peace for our time. Go home and get a quiet sleep.”

Though subtle in textual form, Chamberlain’s self-absorption is easily heard in the speech’s audio recording. It’s amplified when you learn that later that next year—1938—Hitler completely disregarded Chamberlain and invaded Poland.

In contrast, Winston Churchill’s “Blood, Toil, Tears, and Sweat” speech before the House of Commons on May 13, 1940, rings differently. Like Chamberlain, Churchill speaks in a way that shows his aptitude for language. But as he speaks, the listener realizes something about him personally. They can hear his skill, but they can tell he is using his skill in service to them, not himself. He’s not on a mission to build a fan base as the new Prime Minister, but instead to crisply explain a dire situation to a nation he loves. His language is colorful—dreadfully so—as he depicts the depths of a dirty and inescapable predicament that he intends to empty himself into completely. As he speaks, he includes the listener. He brings them along, making sure they feel as he feels and believe as he believes—which, in the end, is that if Great Britain is to survive, the whole nation will be required to fight.

Interestingly, even though he speaks again and again in the first person singular, which is something self-absorbed people tend to do, the audible care with his words rescues his message, making it clear by his tones that he does not believe himself to be the savior of the British Empire. He believes, firstly, that God will be their deliverer because the cause is just; and secondly, God will do this through the might and muscle of a committed British people. He believes God will move them to stand together and face “an ordeal of the most grievous kind….” And so again, even as he uses “I” repeatedly throughout the speech, the words “our” and “us” resonate with far greater intensity:

“You ask, what is our policy? I will say it is to wage war by sea, land, and air—with all our might and with all the strength God has given us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny never surpassed in the dark and lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: victory—victory at all costs; victory in spite of all terror; victory however long and hard the road may be. For without victory, there is no survival. Let that be realized.”

When the people heard Churchill speak these words, they were not distracted by anything about him, not even his raspy lisp. Instead, as he poured his entire self into communicating the immensity of the need, they took his message into themselves and were inspired to fight. More importantly, Churchill inspired them to endure, not necessarily knowing the outcome, but being aware of the price for victory and being found willing to do what was needed to pay it.

I suppose I find myself thinking about all these things this morning—how we receive words, as well as the noteworthy people who write or speak them—because, over the last seven or eight years, I’ve found myself brushing shoulders with some fairly high profile folks who do this for a living. I’ve discovered among them what appears to be two camps: glory hounds and genuine servants; Chamberlains and Churchills. The Chamberlains know their own importance and, as a result, have little time for a backwater clergyman ushered to the chair beside them—that is, unless he can help further their importance. The Churchills, on the other hand, no matter who is beside them, want to know what makes their new compatriot tick. They want to converse together. They want to learn. They want to know where others stand on things, and without saying as much, they want to assure their counterparts they’re not in the game for the earthly rewards but the wellbeing of real people. They want to win the war, and they know if that’s going to happen, they need the people beside them, no matter who that might be, to be in it with them. And so, they use their God-given platforms to embrace and inspire their listeners, being sure to empty themselves before the crowds in ways that show they’re all in for the triumph.

By the way, I think good preachers do this, too. A good preacher is a genuinely committed one—someone devoted whole-heartedly to the task; someone the pew sitters are convinced has a deep care for the content preached and the listeners receiving it. They believe that he believes the message, too, and that he would die before letting it go silent.

Now, before I wander off in a tangential direction on preaching, there’s another speech I’ve read that comes to mind this morning. General Douglas MacArthur gave it. A brilliant strategist, MacArthur is one of those speakers you should read rather than hear. I say that because he’s a bit of an enigma. He’s a fine orator, but like Chamberlain, self-importance shines through in his voice. However, as an inspiring warrior, he’s a Churchill. He would give everything of himself to convince his troops to follow him into battle and give everything of himself in that battle to win. He spoke in 1952, saying, “It is fatal to enter any war without the will to win it.” He was right, and the sentiment of his words travel alongside folks like George Orwell, who said with great seriousness, “The quickest way of ending a war is to lose it.”

Together, these points remind us that if a person isn’t genuinely invested in the fight—that he or she is only laboring out of concern for self—he or she is already destined to lose. That loss will have begun much sooner than the person may even realize. For these reasons, loss is a Chamberlain’s destiny. Churchills are more likely to win because they know they need the muscle and might of others to help move the mountains. With that, they work harder to convince and inspire.

Right now, we need Churchills.

We’re at war here in Michigan. Plenty are talking about Proposal 3—which, as any pro-life person paying attention to Michigan will know, is a demonic attempt to memorialize in the state’s Constitution an individual’s right to have an abortion up to, and in some cases, after birth. The pro-life ranks are filled with Chamberlains and Churchills. Some are saying and doing just enough to remain relevant, giving the impression they care, but only to get elected or re-elected. Others are pouring themselves into the fight because their very fiber won’t allow them to do anything else. They’re talking to others, not necessarily with eloquence but with knowledge and passion. They’re getting the word out. They’re recruiting others to the cause. They’re doing this because they care about others. This care has helped reveal to them the guts of Proposal 3. They know it more than enshrines murder in a way that will be nearly impossible to reverse and that it reaches into countless other arenas, ultimately negating laws that protect parental consent and religious objection. Perhaps most importantly, the people fighting the hardest know the blast radius of their efforts is large. They know the rest of the nation is watching—friend and foe alike. What happens in Michigan will be repeated.

In closing, I encourage you to be a Churchill, not a Chamberlain. The enemy is at the gates as never before. Set aside your own safety or self-interest. Step outside what keeps you comfortable, and do what you can to rally the troops. Talk to your family, friends, and neighbors. Send them an email. Call them. Give them literature that enunciates the concern. Let them experience your passion for the unborn, not in an imposing way, but in a way that shows you genuinely believe what you’re saying and doing. Implore them to vote no on Proposal 3 on November 8.

I know some might disagree with me when I say a Christian is duty-bound to do this. Feel free to disagree. Just know you’re wrong, and I’d go to the mat to prove it. What you believe is made complete by what you do (James 2:22). So, get up and do. Proposal 3 deals in Christological things. God owns all its topics. If, as God’s people, we remain quietly inactive, resulting in Proposal 3’s passing, the devil will mock our Chamberlain-like foolishness during his government-sanctioned invasion of Michigan on November 9.

Don’t let that happen. Speak out. Fight. Rally others. Stand at the gates and stop Proposal 3. Do everything you can to fight this “monstrous tyranny never surpassed in the dark and lamentable catalogue of human crime.” As a citizen, you can. As a Christian, you must.