Hi. I’m Pro-Life but Not Anti-Choice

1-1578136179258Hi.

I’m a father of two, and I consider myself pro-life, even though I’m not anti-choice.

And actually, I view access to safe, legal, and rare abortion as part of women’s healthcare…which is about life.  So I see this all as being very consistent.

What I don’t see as consistent is the idea that being “pro-life” strictly means being “anti-choice.”  That’s not pro-life at all.  That’s pro-fetus.  That’s different.

See, I’m pro-life because I not only trust environmental science and scientists when they tell us the Earth is warming at an alarming rate, I try to do things and support legislation that will slow, if not reverse, that tide.

I’m pro-life because I’m pro universal healthcare.  If we had universal healthcare, you know what?  There would be fewer abortions.  I’m almost certain there would.  Universal healthcare is pro all life.

I’m pro-life because I’m pro public education.  In fact, I’d love more of my tax dollars to head that way.  An educated public is in my best interest, and yours, even if you don’t have any children.  I want my baristas reading Kant, knowing long division, and well-versed in politics.  You should, too.  It makes for a better society.

I’m pro-life because I’m for a social safety net that helps those who are stuck in cycles of poverty and oppression.  I’m pro-life because I’m pro breaking those cycles at every turn. The biggest farce of the traditional so-called “pro-life” movement is their abandonment of those already born in deference for the fetus.  If you force people to have babies, you should be willing to support those children to adulthood.

I’m pro-life because I’m against the death penalty, in all cases.  You might see a contradiction there between not being against abortions but being against the death penalty, but here’s the thing: I know that the person on death row is a living, breathing, human.  It’s unquestionable.  I do not know that a fetus is…none of us do.  But we do know a living, breathing, post-birth person is, regardless of what they’ve done.

I’m pro-life because I’m anti-war.  I’d love to designate the majority of my tax dollars to education and public safety, and give as little as possible to public defense.  Not because I do not enjoy the merits of a free and well-protected society, and not because I do not respect our people in uniform…I certainly do.  But because I believe we have over-compensated in that arena since the days of Eisenhower, and have left our children and our homeless and our hungry and our lonely to get the scraps of our social love.

And what’s more: those who do fight in our endless wars, which are well funded, in too many ways become homeless and hungry and lonely and sick when they return from war.  We fund them while they’re fighting, and abandon them while they’re mentally and physically and emotionally dying. This is duplicitous on our part, and we can do better.

I’m pro-life because I’m pro-immigration.  I don’t believe in open borders, but I certainly don’t believe in walls, either.  And I don’t believe in family separation, no matter if a Democrat does it, or a Republican enforces it.  Anyone who claims to be “pro-life” but wants to build a wall is playing a game of semantics and lying to themselves.  They are not pro-life; they are pro their “way of life.”  That is very, very different.

I’m pro-life because I’m pro female healthcare.  Women can choose what happens to their bodies.  So few abortions happen because a child “isn’t wanted.”  So many happen because a fetus isn’t viable, or there are other risk factors involved, and though I cannot imagine ever counseling someone to end a pregnancy, I do not think it is my right to tell them they have to continue it. You just walk with them, give them the best information available, and support them.

The choice is too personal, and too difficult, to legislate in the negative, so we must protect the legislation of the positive, of choice.

We need a re-definition of pro-life in this nation, and I say this as thousands gather in the “pro-life” march at this moment.  Our popular definition is far too narrow.

Because here’s the thing: I don’t like that abortions happen, but I understand why they do. I don’t think anyone likes that they happen. I don’t think anyone is “pro-abortion.” I cannot, as a man, relate to having to make the choice, but I can empathize for sure. It’s always tough, always sad, always personal, and, as a medical procedure, should always be legal.

Because sometimes difficult things happen in life, which means difficult choices have to be wrestled with.  And the only way to safely wrestle with them is…well…this way.

It’s about safety and healthcare in the end. It is.

You cannot “protect” the fetus in the womb and abandon it the moment the umbilical cord is cut.  That’s not protection at all.  That’s forced abandonment. That’s pro-fetus.

I think you can be pro-life but not anti-choice.

In fact, I would say that’s the most consistent way to be.

The Particular Anxiety of the Local Congregation

let-it-goCommunities have anxiety.  All of them do.

Work communities hold anxiety, especially when rumors of acquisitions, layoffs, and resignations begin to swirl.  This may be what Jesus was referring to when he said that you will hear “wars and rumors of wars.”  Maybe it wasn’t literal wars he was referring to, but the weird wars we play on an uncertain future when given the chance.

Family communities hold anxiety, too.  This usually presents itself in grudges, passive-aggressive phone calls, or over-communication between parties.  You know, so Edna doesn’t bring too much egg salad again to the picnic because no one really likes it, anyway.  And, do you think Brian will bring his boyfriend?  Because grandma can’t handle that yet…

The local congregation, too, holds anxiety, but in my experience, they do it in these really strange, yet predictable, ways.

Way One: the rumor mill.  It starts churning in the parking lot after church.  Or in the Fellowship Hall (really, shouldn’t we call these gossip halls?) during coffee hour.  Or in whispers during the offering after spying that thing in the announcements that you really don’t care for.

Notice how, in this particular way, no one actually goes to the pastor.  Instead, the pastor will hear about these “wars and rumors of wars” being fought in the shadows, and will say the predictable, “Tell them to come talk to me if they have an issue.”  And they have to say this because no one will give up the name of the person with anxiety.  Their name is “some people.”  As in, “some people are talking…”

Pro-tip: If you’re not ready to reveal who “some people” are, or usually, is (mostly always singular), don’t bother saying anything at all.

Way two: the late-night email.  Pastor’s inboxes are these strange depositories for so many people’s anxieties.  And I can’t tell you how many anxious, terse, or even just plain nasty emails, usually emboldened by rumor or fact-less fret, were sent after midnight.  It’s just there, staring at you, the minute you check it the next morning.

The inbox is where we hold a lot of our anxiety, transferring it there for safe keeping.  More often than not, I’d just delete it.  Because they didn’t need the anxiety, and had put it in my inbox.  And guess what?  I didn’t need it either, so the delete folder got it.

Way three: the anonymous note.  In what world do we think these are helpful?  Can we just all agree to put our name on our issues?  Please?  Trust me, you will feel better if you put your name on it.  Why?  Because then the pastor can actually talk to you about it.

But if you don’t want to put your name on it, do yourself a favor and write it out…and then throw it away.  Because that’s where your pastor will put it: in the literal trashcan. Or, at least, they should.  It’s what I coach them to do.

Way four: the grand withholding of funds.  “Until this is changed,” it was said, “I’m not giving another dime.”

This particular tactic isn’t just harmful to the church, by the way, but I truly believe it’s harmful to the giver.  If I agreed with every. single. thing. a place who got my benevolence did, enacted, or invested in, I’d probably never give any of it away.  Which, ironically, is what so many protestants do, as we’re known for giving only around .46% of our income away.

Notice that decimal point.

Leveraging your generosity to get your way on a pet project is probably the definition of bullying, especially for an organization that runs off of generosity.

Times of change and transition are always touchy, no matter our context.  We are animals who say we like adventure, but love to anchor ourselves in routine.  Deviation is not something humans do very well.  Evolutionarily, deviation meant danger…our lizard brains take over and our anxiety can get the best of us.

So what shall we do with our anxiety?  Name it.  Call it out.  Voice our concerns honestly with those who can actually address them.

And then see what happens.

Let them drift down the river of life.

Because our anxieties are just preoccupations with the future that prevent us from being present, and prevent us from being our best-selves.

One of the reasons I always deleted those late-night emails I received was because I knew that the person sending them was not in their right mind…because no one in their right mind sends those off.  And I wanted them to be their best-selves.  None of us need a paper trail of our most anxious moments.

But why bother to name these anxieties anyway?

Because they destroy communities.  They erode trust using half-truths and misinformation.

And they infect a congregation like a virus.  This is how congregations get sick.

The best medicine when you hear of “wars and rumors of wars” is to name the war, name the rumor, offer it up as a sacrifice to both God and anyone who can do something about it, and then, as Elsa would say:

let it go.

The Problem of the Circles

three_circlesSince I left parish ministry, I’ve had many people inquire as to the “real reason.”

Well, when I find out the whole story, I’ll tell you…

There isn’t just one, but rather many. And they’re not good or bad or anything.

They just, well, are.

A new call.  A nudge away.  A pull away.  A new mission.  I mean, all sorts of things.

But after serving in parishes for ten years, I do know a thing or two about what kills professional church workers emotionally, psychologically, and physically.  Parish ministry is, as the saying goes, “death by a thousand duck bites.”  I still, to this day, have a post-traumatic stress relationship with my phone.  When it rings, I react negatively.  Even after six months out of the parish I can’t help but wonder who died, who’s pissed, who’s in crisis, or who needs my attention.

Parish pastors aren’t, of course, the only professionals who have this relationship with their phones.  Chaplains, medical doctors, undertakers, and all sorts of on-call professionals know that dread.

But I’m not writing about that today, actually.  I’m writing about a more acute issue, one that leads to burn-out more quickly than the phone, and most any other, I’d suggest.  I’ve named it, “The Problem of the Circles,” and it literally caused me more dread in my years in the parish than most any other problem.

So, here it goes, some truth:

You have circles you run in.  Everyone does. And they overlap somewhat.

Somewhat.

One is your professional circle, or where you do your work.  It’s how you make your money, how you earn the means to eek out your small existence in this corner of the universe.

Another is your family circle, both biological and chosen.  In this circle you form relationships that sustain you and keep you.

A third is your voluntary circle.  For some this takes the form of hobbies, and for others it takes the form of charity or philanthropic work.  In some lives, those two are combined.

These three circles make up our existence and friend-base, even though not everyone has all of them.  In fact, most of the people I’ve counseled over the years are lacking one of those circles.

They’re stuck in their work, and have neglected their family or hobbies.  Or they only have their family, and have no meaningful vocation or philanthropic outlet.

Or they have a meaningful service opportunity, but work sucks and their family is non-existent.

That’s a problem, of course.  And it can be a problem for pastors, as it can be fore everyone.  In fact, I want you to stop and consider what your three circles are right now.  What do you have?

Ok, moving on…

All of these circles will overlap a bit.

But actually, I think pastors have a unique problem when it comes to the circles.

See, most people have three distinct circles: work, family, and hobbies/philanthropy are separate. They overlap, but aren’t the same. They’re different. Comprised of different people and different foci.

But for a pastor, the circles are all one and the same, or at least, that’s the expectation.  I was expected to pull my work, include my family (and pull my friends), and spend my philanthropic time all in the same circle.

If I didn’t show up for a community event at church, did it even really matter?  The pastor wasn’t there, does it count?  Why wasn’t I there?

And if the pastor isn’t at every social engagement, don’t they really care?  Couldn’t they be bothered to show their support?

Pastors are often expected to pull their work, their friends, and their leisure-time from the same sphere, and it’s just often too much.  Because if M-F is for work, Saturday is for social gatherings (that “chosen” family), and Sunday is for philanthropy, when is the time the pastor gets away?

Away to cultivate a new circle?

And not just a vacation…because vacations won’t do it.  Vacations are where you get away from all circles.  We all need a vacation; certainly.  But even week-to-week, we all need time away.

Away to form other relationships.

I can’t tell you the number of times over the last 10 years I received flack because I didn’t volunteer with this pet cause or that pet cause run by various parishes.  If I gave my time to every pet cause, guess what cause would lose out?

My family. Because it would have been, just about, every night and every weekend. Oh, and why isn’t the pastor’s family here?

In that case, my work and my philanthropy became the same circle.

Or sometimes my hobby of writing would catch flack because, well, why wasn’t I working?!

When do you think I do most of my writing? Here’s a hint: it’s usually after 5pm, and often after midnight.

But when you’re on-call all the time, when is time off?

Here’s the thing: everyone needs three circles.  At least three.

A fourth might be a friend group even outside of all of that (usually that rolls into the hobby/philanthropic circle, but can sometimes be a stand-alone group).

But everyone needs at least three circles.  And you need to be free to have them, no matter your profession.  You need to have them so you don’t become co-dependent on any one of them.

And think that’s not a real thing?  How many parents can’t stop over-parenting, even after their kids are grown?  How many professionals never really give it up, even when they’re technically “retired?”

Too many.  We become co-dependent so easily…

So, Beloved, how are you doing with your circles?

Yeah…it can be a problem.

Cultivate them.  You need them. And let others have them.

An Advent Playlist

CompilationAdvent is necessary.

Even for those who don’t buy into the metaphysics of this season, the need to practice states of being is supremely human.  We need to practice repentance, so that when we truly need to repent we know how to do it.  We need to practice joy, so that when we really need to be joyful, we know how to do it.  We need to practice zeal, so that when the moment to be zealous comes, we’ll get into the mode quickly.  Lent, Christmas, and Pentecost, respectively, help us do these things.

And do them well.

Advent, Beloved, is the season where we practice waiting.  It’s so human.  Because we’re all waiting for something.

For birth. For death. For a new job. For the other shoe to drop. For guests to come over. For love to find us. For illness to abate. For a heart to mend.

We wait, and Advent helps us do it well.  Through the themes of light and shadows, unexpected opportunities, a mixed-bag of saint days, and the onset of the Solstice, Advent helps us to train our bodies into a posture of waiting, so that when it happens, we’ll know how to do it with more patience, less anxiety, more expectation, and a sober heart and mind.

To accompany this waiting, I’ve taken on the discipline of finding Advent music to dot the days.  I promised I’d throw out all the music I’ve compiled, and so here is this year’s list.  Some of these are new additions, and some are long-standing, tried and true pieces that have waited with me many times.

But, to capstone your waiting on this Christmas Eve, I give it to you.

Merry Christmas. The wait is over…for now.

Shine by Collective Soul

Dreams by The Cranberries is a good addition.

Dreams dot the Advent/Christmas landscape. Joseph is told of Mary’s pregnancy in a dream (in the Gospel of Matthew), and the Magi are warned in a dream not to return to Herod (also in Matthew).

Do yourself a favor and add Joshua Radin’s Winter.

Enya’s Stars and Midnight Blue is a good choice.

An unconventional (and, perhaps, unpopular?) choice would be Bette Midler’s From a Distance.

Yeah, I know, but go with me on this for a second.

If Christmas is radical incarnation and embodiment, then the Advent days of preparation are one where we watch for someone who is coming from far off. So if, as Midler says, “God is watching us from a distance,” at Christmas God begins interacting with us from closer proximity…no longer at a distance.

Advent is the time when we prepare for the one coming “from a distance.”

This, and the themes of peace in the lyrics, make it an appropriate Advent song, if not a good one.

Josh Ritter’s Where the Night Goes. You won’t be disappointed.

His themes of “homecoming” and “memories” fits nicely with the Advent themes of “housewarming.”

Your Advent playlist should include The Christmas Song by Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds.

CCR’s Put a Candle in the Window has long been my Advent go-to.  The themes of traveling, homecoming, and light make it a perfect choice.

Gordon Lightfoot’s Song for a Winter’s Night is the original of this oft-recorded song, and the best in my opinion.  Lightfoot’s voice adds the brooding tone to this beauty.

Cue Brandi Carlile’s A Promise to Keep up next.  Advent is about waiting for promises to be kept, after all.

Joni Mitchell’s River is another oft-recorded song that, again, is best in the original.

Advent has a haunting theme behind all the waiting and all the watching. In ancient days they used to tell ghost stories around the fire at night in these winter months. A good addition to your playlist for the season would be this one by the artist Sting, Hounds of Winter.

To Be With You by Sara Groves is perhaps the most Christmas-y of the Advent tunes I’ve chosen, but the lyrics paint such a pretty picture of the gathered family that it deserves a slot.

Lumineer’s Stubborn Love is great for an Advent playlist.  God shows a stubborn love in the themes of this season.

This year may, indeed, be better than the last…so Counting Crows’ A Long December should be on the list.

To add some funk to your Advent playlist, throw Jamiroquai’s Starchild on there and give it a spin.

And then look up the lyrics and you’ll see why it fits.

Toward the end of December, after the “Ember Days” of the middle of the month, when you’re sure the light will give out, the church starts naming the historic names of The Messiah to make the promise a sort of daily mantra.

On December 17th it begins with O Wisdom. Wisdom is the muse of creation…an inspiring force to change the world.

An Advent song that encompasses this theme might be: You’re the Inspiration by Chicago

On the occasion of O Adonai (My Lord), the 18th of December, a good addition would be the beautiful and enigmatic My Sweet Lord by George Harrison.

On the O Antiphon where we honor O Root of Jesse (Radix Jesse), December 19th, try Iron and Wine’s Tree By the River.

It’s about memories and roots deeply planted that, though long dead, still live on…

On December 20th when we remember the Key of David, Take a listen to the Mumford and Sons song Winter Winds.

On December 21st the O Antiphon is “O Dayspring.”

An unconventional, but lyrically fascinating, offering would be Soundgarden’s Black Hole Sun.

Seriously, listen to the lyrics. It fits your Advent playlist.

The O Antiphon for the 22nd is O King of Glory.

A good addition to your Advent playlist today would be The Hand Song by Nickel Creek.

A song about love and sacrifice and scars: the marks of a king according to the Messiah account.

Throw on Dear Evan Hansen’s You Will Be Found as the song for the 23rd’s O Antiphon: O Emmanuel.

God with us.

You will be found.

And finally, for Christmas Eve, do yourself a favor and throw on this song by Tracy Chapman which, I think, is a modern rendition of the Magnificat: Talkin’ Bout a Revolution.

“Yes, finally the tables are starting to turn…”

Enjoy, Beloved.

Okayness and Gayness

s-l1000“Hey Mark,” I said outside the church on a bright day.  He had grocery bags in each hand.

Of course, Mark isn’t his real name…

“Hey Pastor Tim,” he said a little sheepishly.  “How are you?”

“Good, good, how’s the new addition to the family?” I said, putting my hands in my pockets.

“Ha.  We’re all tired, but surviving the transition…” he smiled.

Mark and his wife had just welcomed a new child, a son, into the world.  I remember seeing the posts about it on social media.

“I suppose you noticed we haven’t been in church a lot lately…” he went on.

“Well, new babies disrupt schedules.  That’s just true.” I nodded.  Even though I didn’t have children at that point in my life, I knew it was just plain truth. Babies mess up your world in all sorts of ways.

“There is that,” he went on, averting my eyes, “but I’m not sure we’ll be coming anymore. At least not here.” He was honest and frank and seemed embarrassed about it all.

“Okay…” I responded, “is everything alright?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, “but I’m not sure we can raise a kid in this church.”

“Really? Why?” I was genuinely curious.  In the ministry you learn not to take these things personally…well, you try not to.

“It’s not you,” he said, “or anyone.  Everyone here is great.  It’s just, well, we had a boy…” his voice trailing off as if I should know what was implied here.

“Yes…?” I said.  I was hoping he wasn’t meaning what I think he was meaning.

“And, well, your church teaches that it’s okay for people to be gay.  And we don’t want him hearing that. Especially because we have a boy.”  He looked down.

“Wait,” I said, “but what if he is gay?  I mean I’m not sure what having a boy has to do with it, but what if he is a sexual minority of some sort?  Don’t you want him to hear that he’s loved and accepted and alright?”

Mark just looked down.

“It’s just harder because it’s a boy,” he repeated.

I’m not sure how the conversation, or the situation, would have turned out had they had a girl.  I mean, I can’t conceive of how that would make a difference. But I also know that traditional conceptions of masculinity is something still prized in many corners of modern America.

“I mean, I don’t think I have a problem with it, but Sharon…” he said, voice trailing off again.

The conversation was full of lots incomplete sentences, almost like if the sentences were completed, the foolishness of the statement would be too boldfaced to take.  We often avoid saying the thing because to utter the thoughts of our hearts would actually embarress us.

“I’m not sure I understand,” I said.  “I don’t think being open and welcoming is harmful to children.  I think it’s helpful. Necessary, even.”

“I know.  But if he hears it’s okay to be gay, he might become gay,” he said.

“I don’t think the biology works like that, ” I smiled.  I tried to diffuse the obviously uncomfortable situation.

“We’re just not okay with it,” he said finally.  “And we don’t want him to be okay with it. But I hope to see you around the neighborhood.”

“Sure, Mark.  And if you all ever want to talk about this, just let me know.  Happy to keep the conversation going.” 

I waved as he walked away.

 

“How Cool That You Get To Disbelieve White Privilege…”

File this under “Things I wanted to say, but couldn’t because I was a pastor of a parish.”

But, actually, now being out of a parish, I wonder if it should really be filed under “Things you need to say as a pastor of a parish.”

The title is sarcastic, by the way.

Because it’s not “cool,” right, or what have you to be able to pretend white privilege is not a thing. It’s actually a…wait for it…sign of privilege. That very privilege you’re trying to pretend isn’t real is what allows you to pretend, with some ignorant success, it isn’t real.

We were sitting at a bar. The meeting had been called because I’d been saying things from the pulpit that caused him to squirm.

He bought the first beer, which I was grateful for. And I genuinely did like him, and continue to, despite the conversation.

“You’ve used this term recently,” he said three sips in, “‘white privilege.’ What is that?”

He looked at me as he took another sip.

“Well, it’s the inconvenient truth that you, as a white person, and a white male in particular, were born with a certain backpack of goods that set you up for success in life, not by your own doing, because our culture is biased toward people who look like you and me.”

It was the Cliff’s Notes version, but I had yet to take a sip and knew we’d probably need another round. I stopped and took a drink.

“I don’t buy that,” he said. “I was born poor. I worked hard for my money. I was the first in my family to go to college. I don’t think I had a very good backpack,” he said.

“Well, you certainly had obstacles. White privilege doesn’t mean that white people, especially economically depressed white people, don’t have obstacles. It just means that, despite your obstacles, you had a leg up.” I took a big drink.

“Nope,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “Tell me, when you apply to a job, what does the application say your name is?”

<he said his name>

“Now,” I said, “did you know that your name, as compared to a name that is more non-traditional…a name distinctly not white by culture <looking at you Karen and Chad>, is more likely to be read and full and hired? Just by the name. That’s white privilege.”

“My boys,” he said brushing past my example, “had <he looks around and lowers his voice> black friends all through school. They’d come over to our house. They were the same; no difference.”

Pro-tip: if you lower your voice when speaking about a different ethnicity or culture, you’re probably participating in subconscious racism.

Ok, back to the story…

“Did you ever ask them?” I inquired.

“What?”

“Did you ever ask them about their experience? Or is this just what you observed? Did you ever ask them how many times they’ve been pulled over? Or followed in a store? Or passed over for a promotion? Or had athletics shoved in their face because it was lifted as the only legit way they’d get into a school? Did you ever ask them?”

Well, no…” he said honestly.

“Then I don’t think you really know about their experience. You get the privilege of pretending their experience is the same as yours because your frame is the one all other pictures have to fit in. That’s white privilege. And yes, you had some challenges, and your whiteness helped you overcome them. They don’t have that leg up. It’s just true.”

Beer was gone. I ordered the next.

“I still don’t buy it…”

“When I was teaching in Chicago, a lot of my kid’s parents drove very nice cars. They had little money, but nice cars with huge lease payments. Know what one of them told me about that? They said they did that so that people like me would take them seriously. Now, know what I drove? A beat up Honda with two missing hubcaps that I never replaced because, why bother? I never once thought I’d have to do anything to be taken seriously. And I never thought that because my status as a white male just afforded me that luxury no matter what car I drove…”

“They didn’t have to do that,” he said. “That’s irresponsible.”

“Easy for you to say,” I said, emboldened a bit by the beer, “because you’ve never had to fight for legitimacy on an uneven playing field.”

He shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

“My Philosophy teacher in college once said, after a long discussion, ‘Tim…I cant force you to see the truth.'” I smiled.

He laughed.

But I was serious.

“I’m going to keep talking about it,” I said.

He nodded, though I knew he wouldn’t stay in the pews if I did.

I did. And he didn’t. And there we are.

I guess it’s part of the privilege to just go somewhere else and not have to be reminded of it.

Herod’s Bargain: Evangelicals are the Herodians in the Trump Era

You read the scriptures, especially the Gospels, and you come across these little sects of religious folk that Jesus keeps running into.

There are the Pharisees, of course. They’re probably the most well known because they’re often the foil for Jesus in these little narrative episodes, especially in John’s Gospel. What we forget, of course, is that Jesus was of the Pharisaic tradition himself…which is probably why he hung out with them so much.

The Pharisees believed in a mass resurrection of the dead when the Messiah arrived, and awaited the Messiah fervently.

There were smaller subgroups within the Pharisees: those who followed Rabbi Shammai, who believed all the laws had to be followed to a jot and tittle, and those who followed Hillel (Jesus’ tradition), who claimed you could follow all the necessary laws while standing on one foot. And other small divisions in the Pharisees; too many dogmatic points to enumerate, but you get the picture.

Then there are the Sadducees, another sect that was at odds with the Pharisees. They didn’t believe in the resurrection of the dead, and this was one of their big beefs with Jesus. It’s why they asked him, “In the resurrection, whose wife is the woman who was married multiple times?”

They didn’t ask out of curiosity, but with a wink and a smile.

Jesus tells them it’s a stupid question…

And then there is this other group, the Herodians. The Herodians are the religious people close to Herod. They are largely wealthy, or attracted to wealth, and are largely powerful, or attracted to power.

They abandoned their religious convictions for the sake of political expediency and power consolidation at every turn. Herod, the puppet king of Rome, was known as a ruthless ruler, betraying his religion in order to be in bed with power.

And here’s the thing: Herod knew Rome was using him to keep control, and Rome knew Herod didn’t care about Rome at all, but just was using Rome to keep power.

And here’s my point: modern conservative evangelicals (and their leaders like Graham, Falwell, and…name one), are the Herodians of the modern age.

They know Trump isn’t a Christian; no more a Christian than Caesar was a Jew. But they don’t care; he gets them what they want: power and appointments.

Likewise, Trump couldn’t care less about evangelical principles (really? He once read from “Two Corinthians”…the man has never cracked a Bible), but uses them to get control.

And here’s the dirty, emperor-has-no-clothes truth: they both know they are using each other, and don’t care.

They don’t care!

Their deceit is whispered behind doors, but it’s plain as day, and the rest of the world suffers over this Herod’s Bargain. Power is gained as ethics, principles, and morals are sacrificed like a lamb on the altar of the world’s stage.

When we read these Gospel stories, it’s important to find yourself there. I’m usually with the doubters and the skeptics. But the modern evangelical?

Well, read Mark 3:6.