You've probably seen them around the Treasure Valley: the little signs in yards and windows that simply say, "Everyone is Welcome Here." They're about the size of a campaign sign, but they're not campaigning for anything. Not a candidate, not a ballot initiative, not a political party. They're not a protest sign or a piece of propaganda.

They're just a promise. A simple statement of shared human values: decency, hospitality, dignity. And although it's not intended to be a religious message, it is nevertheless a modern-day echo of spiritual teachings in the scriptures of almost every world religion. Welcome the stranger. Love our neighbor. Seek the image of the divine in every human being.

​Apparently, that's too much for some people.

There will be no comfort in saying “this isn’t who we are.”

We’ve said it too many times.

After every tragedy. After every policy that robs the poor to enrich the powerful. After every cruelty justified in the name of security or prosperity. After every moment our elected leaders make a mockery of the gospel – calling good what is evil, and evil what is good.

​We need to get comfortable with this fact: this is who we are. This is who we've always been.

We've reached the midpoint of the year. Perhaps you're as surprised as I am. Some days I find myself thinking that 2025 is painfully slow. Other days, I grieve at the quickening pace of anger, injustice, and outright change.

​Today, on the last day of the first half of this year, I found myself wanting to offer a simple blessing. Maybe you need it. I know I do.

It’s been a while since I last wrote here. Seriously. My last post was July 2024. (Remember how quaint the world was back then?!)

That probably says something already.

Lately I’ve been paying attention to the things that are teaching me... not in a “perfectly curated lesson plan” kind of way, but in the quiet, lopsided, occasionally laugh-out-loud ways that life teaches all of us. Some of these lessons have come through grief. Some through joy. Most through just trying to be a halfway decent human in a time of chaos and pain.

​So, in no particular order, here’s what I’m learning these days:

Our nation’s heated political rhetoric of the past decade has reached a fever pitch, soaring to dangerous new heights with yesterday’s assassination attempt on former President Donald J. Trump. My soul grieves for the space in which we find ourselves, what it says about who we are, and what it says about who we will be in the months and years ahead.

​First, a note about violence (which I hope will come across as "obvious"). I condemn it. It is evil. Full stop. I am mourning this news just as I have mourned the stories of every other mass shooting that has filled our airwaves with fear and anxiety.

​Yet, I also acknowledge that this particular violent act stands apart, indicative of a specific situation in a specific time of our communal life. This mass shooting is not altogether like other mass shootings. In a way, we’ve been living witnesses of a rapid denigration of shared ethical norms… a slide to the bottom that seems to have been leading us to this moment all along.

Last night, there was a big football game on. Incredibly, this was the first year I was actually more excited for the game than I was for the commercials (though admittedly Usher's star-studded halftime show also piqued my interest). It's no secret that I'm not much of a sportsball fan, but all self-respecting Swifties were required to tune in to count how many times the cameras panned to her cheering in the Kelce family suite. It's in our contract. We are also required to enthusiastically join her in rooting for... I'm going to say... the red team?

Anyway, during the game I watched with a mixture of interest, inspiration, and gut-wrenching disgust a one minute advertisement from the "He Gets Us" campaign, featuring images of mismatched individuals -- children of God, all -- washing each other's feet. The concept is Christlike. The execution leaves something to be desired. The motives are more than worthy of questioning.

Everywhere I look, I'm seeing statements about the latest round of war in the Holy Land... faith communities, denominations, non-profits, political leaders... they're all offering a statement, before then turning around and picking apart the statements of others.  Not to mention, everyone on social media has somehow become an expert in peace treaties. And war.

Yet, for whatever reason, the Spirit led me strongly to make a statement of my own today. Not so much to add more static to the noise that's already out there. But to call out yet another example of how binary thinking can get us into trouble.  In this case, I chose to make a vlog... mostly because I wish I were still a hip young person who uses words like vlog.

Being bisexual is a blessing in my life.

Actually, let me pause there for a moment. It’s not lost on me that even my ability to begin a blog post with those words is a profound blessing because, truthfully, it hasn’t always been the case. A few years ago, I likely would’ve named it as a “burden” instead; more on that in a bit. But now, in recognition of Bisexual Visibility Day in the year of our Lord 2023, I’m able to celebrate my bi identity for the blessing it is – personally, vocationally, and spiritually. 
​

Over the past week, my social media feeds have been overwhelmed with a viral article entitled "Departure: Why I Left the Church," authored by the Rev. Alex Lang, a PC(USA) pastor who recently stepped away from parish ministry. Along with the many reposts of that specific blog post, I encountered many, many response posts penned by other clergy friends, colleagues, and acquaintances from across the denominational spectrum. Many of those responses lifted up similar sentiments, in a "me too" vibe. Others served as more of a counter to Rev. Lang's words, with many a post suggesting he had it coming.

Did you know I have a blog? I do! Well… sort of. By that, I mean it exists in the cloud somewhere, but I usually forget it’s there. If you’re a faithful reader, you can be forgiven for wondering if I forgot my login information, considering my last post was published in February.

​Every now and then, my blog reenters my consciousness. This time, it happened when I quoted from Nadia Bolz-Weber’s (far more active, far more popular) blog in a recent sermon.