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. 
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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. 

Every Wednesday at noon throughout the Idaho state legislative session, you can find me on the steps of the Capitol building, standing still and praying silently. The silence of my thoughts is interrupted only by the occasional sniffle, as my nose angrily protests the bitter cold I’ve subjected it to.

​I don’t stand alone, but rather alongside colleagues representing the Interfaith Equality Coalition – pastors, ministry leaders, and faithful members of a variety of faith traditions gathering to bear witness to the all-inclusive love and justice of God in the context of a state (and a world) that seems hellbent on ushering in hatred and injustice instead.

It’s February, which means if you haven’t done so already, it’s time to make your way to the store to purchase an overpriced Hallmark card for your spouse/partner, children, or grandchildren. Don’t forget to pick up valentines for everyone in your child’s classroom, and a Dutch Bros gift card for their overworked/under-paid teacher. While you’re at it, you may as well throw in some heart-shaped sugar cookies and dark chocolate as a gift for yourself, too.

"Jesus was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell. The third day he rose again from the dead."  These words from the ancient Apostles' Creed form a foundation for Christian faith.

They’re a part of what we believe, and a part of who we are.

Jesus was murdered as voices of hatred shouted out in thunderous support. He died. He descended into the darkest places of existence. Then, he rose from the dead to be with God, with death having lost its sting.

Humankind is made in the Imago Dei – the image of God. This, first noted in the very first chapter of Genesis, is a part of the foundation of our faith, too. The face of each person bears the face of God, simply by virtue of having been created by God.

This, too, is what we believe, and who we are.
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The uncomfortable truth, then, is this:

​We can't speak of the Crucifixion of Christ as if it were in the past tense.
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