Here are the three tools that my family is going to utilize this year, not only to help us navigate our politically charged Thanksgiving tables, but also, to invite our families and friends to join us as we join God in remaking the world.

(1) Embrace Belovedness. There’s a beautiful truth that goes like this: every one of us, despite levels of melanin, partisan allegiance, sexual orientation, faith background, economic level, and documentation status, is a beloved image bearer of God.  You are the beloved! And if that’s true, then so are your friends, your neighbors, your enemies, and, yes, even your family members.

As we head toward our Thanksgiving tables this year, may we believe in our shared belovedness. May we choose to see the image of the divine in those with whom we disagree. May we think generously of them.  May we listen long to the stories and perspectives of our table mates and engage them with gentleness and kindness.

(2) Preemptively Invite Stories of Hope. It’s likely that many of us are coming to the table this Thanksgiving deeply troubled.  Some of us feel duped. Lots of us are confused about the way forward. And some of us have found ourselves more deeply invested in the pursuit of our own understanding of the common good.  Despite how we’re drawing near the table, all of us have likely lived at least one story in which we’ve found ourselves joining God in making all things new.  Perhaps it was a long walk and conversation with a friend through which a broken relationship was restored.  Maybe it was joining a local network that was focused on justice for an oppressed people group. It could have been a moment of courageous hospitality in your neighborhood or an opportunity to do Congressional visits on Capitol Hill.

As we approach Thanksgiving this year, we encourage you to send out an email to those who will be joining you at the table and invite them to bring with them an object that represents a story of hope, healing, or restoration that they experienced over the past year. During the meal, encourage each person to show their object and share their story. As you go around, pay attention to what is being restored in you and in those around your table.  Conclude by asking your table mates to share what the experience was like.

(3) Prepare a Local Immersion.  Over the years, our team has been privileged to listen in as people who span the political and theological spectrums express their desire to be a part of remaking the world.  While it’s always inspiring, one common deficit emerges: most of us don’t know how to bridge the divide between good intentions and solidarity. So many of us want to be a part of restoration, but we’re not sure how to begin.

Chances are, you’re familiar with this tension and have made decisions over the past year that are moving you in the direction of solidarity.  Maybe you’ve found yourself accepting invitations to volunteer with a local organization that places you alongside those whose life experiences are dissimilar to your own.  Perhaps you’ve become aware of the vulnerable people groups in your context and have begun forming relationships with the influencers who are contending for restoration. It’s possible that, as you’ve linked good intentions to actual presence this year, you’ve found yourself forging real, mutually beneficial, co-creating friendships.

As you prepare to draw near your Thanksgiving table this year, we encourage you to identify an upcoming local opportunity for you and for your table mates that will help you all move toward the beloved image bearers in your context that are being silenced.  It might be an educational forum, a documentary screening, or a volunteer opportunity. Whatever it is, vet the experience to ensure that it will provide the opportunities for learning and relationship. We encourage you to set the date and invite as many of your table mates as possible to join you in the upcoming experience.  For those who accept your invitation, we recommend that you send them an email with a couple of brief resources that will proactively prepare them to enter the immersion with some common knowledge. After the immersion, we encourage you to facilitate a debrief that offers each person the opportunity to unpack what they observed & learned, explore where emotion surfaced, and vocalize the loudest question that they’re now asking.

Friends, would you join us in dreaming of ways that our Thanksgiving tables can catalyze the restoration of broken relationships and unjust systems. Wouldn’t it be something if families across the country pointed to the Thanksgiving Table of 2018 as the moment they began to realized their potential as instruments of peace in our divided world?

For those who are asking similar questions and are refusing to let this massacre be just another in a long litany of forgotten tragedies, I asked David to write to you.  Here is the gift that he gave.

~~

Greetings, friends.

I am a rabbi in the Boston area and teach Jewish applied ethics. My professional life has been dedicated to the well-being of the Jewish community and promoting interfaith alliances.  While no one Jew can speak for the diversity of our community I can share with you my perspective based on 25 years of communal leadership and what I’m hearing from Jews around the country right now.

Many Jews are in pain right now.  We feel angry and scared about the attack.  Jews make up only about 2% of the U.S. population so many of us either know people who are part of the community that was attacked or are one degree of separation away from the victims. This feels very personal.

The silver lining of this terrorist attack lies in the outpouring of support many Jews received from their Gentile allies over the past week. The attack is a kind of stress test that showed the strength of these alliances.  It is more clear than ever to many Jews that we are not alone.

I have three suggestions for Christian allies who want to be in solidarity with Jews right now:

1. Let your Jewish friends know that you are thinking about them and care about them. Jer texted me moments after the shooting in Pittsburgh.  While reaching out in this way may not seem like a big deal, it means a lot to your Jewish friends. Isolation is a core part of Anti-Semitism, so your texts, calls, emails and visits let us know that we are not alone.
2. Learn as much as you can about the dynamics of Anti-Semitism. Anti-Semitism is often misunderstood because it functions differently than other social oppressions like racism. Anti-Semitism is cyclical in nature.  For a certain amount of time it can seem like there is no Anti-Semitism and then the cycle turns and Jews are visibly targeted and subjected to violent attack.  Anti-Semitism is part of class oppression and Jews are often set up as the scapegoat when working class and poor people suffer economic hardship, like right now in the US.  Stoking fears about an “invasion” by brown people from Central America and then blaming this “invasion” on a visible Jew (George Soros) is a classic example of how Anti-Semitism works.  Anti-Semitism is a key piece of White Nationalism and needs to be understood and confronted.  The best resource I know for understanding the dynamics of Anti-Semitism is a booklet called, “Anti-Semitism: Why Is It Everyone’s Concern?” by my teacher Cherie Brown.  You can purchase the booklet here. I strongly encourage our Christian allies to form study groups and discuss the booklet over the coming weeks and months.  It will give you a solid grounding for supporting your Jewish friends and neighbors.
3. We need you to speak up about your support for Jews and actively challenge Anti-Semitism when you encounter it. For example, a Christian friend of mine changed her Facebook profile picture to include a large Jewish star with the words, “ending Anti-Semitism.”  I realize doing this will make you feel vulnerable, yet we need our Christian allies to take these risks. Not doing so is taking advantage of your privilege as the dominant religious group in our society.  I encourage you to start with just noticing the Anti-Semitism you hear and then telling a friend about it. Build up to being able to call out friends and relatives who use Anti-Semitic slurs.

The cycle is turning and there will probably be more visible Anti-Semitism in the coming months and years.  This is the perfect time to educate yourselves about this ancient social oppression. This is the perfect time to take risks, try things out and, above all, reach for your Jewish friends and neighbors.  Solidarity with Jews to end Anti-Semitism is a great step towards putting your faith into action and defeating the White Nationalism and racism that plague our entire society.

~~

Rabbi David Jaffe is the author of Changing the World from the Inside Out: A Jewish Approach to Personal and Social Change, winner of the National Jewish Book Award. He leads the Inside Out Wisdom and Action Project, which brings Jewish spiritual wisdom to bear as a resource for social transformation and healing in our increasingly polarized world. He blogs at rabbidavidjaffe.com

This blog originally appeared on The Global Immersion Project’s blog: www.globalimmerse.org

1.  Chronology Matters :: Rather than our faith being informed by our partisan preferences, our politics must be shaped by Jesus.  Far from looking like us, the Jesus of history was a dark-skinned Palestinian Jew who lived on the underside of the power structures.  Because of his deep commitment to restoration, Jesus actively disrupted oppressive political and religious systems, disturbed the power brokers, and ushered in a better way.  He did so through acts of courageous compassion and creative non-violence.  His life displayed the extravagant, inclusive love of an enemy loving, others-embracing, oppressed-pursuing, cross-wearing God and his teachings invite us to live, love, and, yes, even vote likewise.  As an expression of creative resistance, may the others-oriented values of a faith informed by this kind of Jesus shape our ballots more so than the self-absorbed values of a particular party.  With our ballots, may we declare that chronology matters: we are followers of Jesus first and citizens of the U.S. second.
2. Powerlessness was Jesus’ Politic :: Being that the United States is a nation state whose survival is dependent upon accumulating power, wealth, and safety, we cannot expect the US government to lead in a way that is informed by nor conformed to the teachings of Jesus.  America does not, cannot, and will not reflect the life and teachings of Jesus and no partisan influence will ever help us get closer to such a reality.  Why?  Because Jesus lived and taught that powerlessness made evident in self-sacrifice is the most powerful power and the only way that equity, justice, and restoration will spring to life.  If that’s true, then there is no candidate, party, nor measure on our ballots today, two years ago, or in the history (and future) of voting in this country that has nor will accurately represent the Jesus way of life, love, leadership, and liberty.  Therefore, may we release our misguided notions that a particular party will make our country “Christian” and may we vote in ways that represent our commitment to Jesus’ way of powerlessness on behalf of every human being.
3. Vote to Protect the Sanctity All Life :: As card carrying members of this particular nation state, we can and should affirm the role of the US government to discern and make decisions that prioritize national security.  That said, our faith in the Jesus mentioned above compels us to ensure that every decision protects the dignity, rights, safety, and future of every image-bearer of God on the planet.  May we vote in a way that demonstrates our belief that pro-life means all life and may we commit to working toward a future where every image bearer is secure, resourced, and included.
4. Language has Shaped “Reality” :: It’s likely that non-credible, biased sound bites have informed our perspectives and politics more so than Scripture and human relationships.  Thus, rather than moving toward our other with compassion and curiosity as is modeled by Jesus, we’ve become fueled by the latest talking point to sprint toward our own corners.  Once there, we’ve conspired with those who are like us against those we’ve demonized as our enemies.  We’ve even selected our own set of convenient “truths” from our sacred text to defend our platforms, politics, and perspectives. Our growing expertise in widening the gaps is carrying us dangerously far from the vocation of restoration that we’ve been saved into.  Simply put, we’ve become a joke…and so has the God that we claim to follow.  Because we’ve given language more power than Scripture, discernment, and relationship, may we acknowledge that our ballots, the ones in our past and, perhaps, the one in our hands, have been more informed by convenient non-truths than reality.  May we experience the conviction of that sad truth, lament for how we’ve allowed ourselves to be lulled, even bullied, into expanding rather than mending the divides, and may we repent by choosing to listen to the cries of the oppressed rather than for the applause of those in our corners.
5. Embrace the Ballot as an Opportunity for Self-Assessment :: As we live in a political milieu, there are issues and their champions that we’ve all been passionately for and against. The presence of a new ballot in front us presents an incredible opportunity for self-assessment.  Rather than simply coloring in the bubbles on our ballots, what if we got curious with ourselves and leveraged our voting as an opportunity for transformation?  Here are some prompts to guide the way:
   1. In the past two years, how have I gotten closer to this issue by growing an understanding of my own context, discovering the conflicts and injustices that plague my city, and pursuing relationships with the human beings who have been traumatized as a result?
   2. In the past two years, how many times have I critiqued or spoken truth to the power brokers who reflect my partisan preference when they make decisions that negatively impact the already oppressed & marginalized?  How many times have I thanked them (and those in an “opposing” party) when they make a costly decision that promotes the dignity of every human being in my community?
   3. As it pertains to each candidate and measure on my ballot, am I in relationship with anyone who is or would be negatively impacted by this platform or measure?
   4. If I were to vote like I always have, how much of my ballot would be informed by accumulating and/or protecting my understanding of power, abundance, and safety?
   5. What candidates or measures am I voting for and/or staying away from because of fear?  Where did that fear come from?  Is it legitimate or has it been fabricated for me?  If love (not voting) casts out fear, then what is the act of love that the Spirit is inviting me to embody in order to render the fear obsolete?
   6. Throughout this political season, have I allowed the doubts and questions I have about my partisan allegiance come to the surface?
6. The Bottom Line :: Christian faithfulness always looks like sacrifice and the promotion of the other over and above the self.  It takes the shape of solidarity especially with the oppressed, lonely, impoverished, and traumatized.  It reflects a Jesus who stands on neither side of the partisan divide, but instead, stands enthusiastically for restoration and diametrically opposed to any and every system that crushes human beings. The Jesus of our faith declares himself found among those whose lives we so frequently used as political bargaining chips. Voting is important and I hope that you vote.  But, if we want to be found & formed by Jesus, our ballot won’t get us there. Our solidarity with the oppressed will.

As women & children, young men and boys make their way north in the migrant caravan, another Global Immersion crew just went south to listen, learn, train, and walk in solidarity. What we learned is changing my life.

We met with a border patrol agent who refused to use dehumanizing language, regrets the unjust policies that she must enforce, and longs for more just & humanizing policy.

We met with immigrant justice advocates who reminded us of the power of uncommon friendships and that relationships take years.

We were challenged by a Mexican theologian to consider how, in the name of an illegitimate Jesus, we are refusing the Jesus who is found among the migrant caravan.

We met with bi-national neighborhood organizers who pushed us to examine our interior walls so that we can better understand and then dismantle the physical walls in our world.

We met with migrant psychologists working with our relatives on the move who revealed that behind every single migrant, without exception, there is a story of severe trauma.

We met with political refugees hoping to seek asylum in the U.S. for opposing corrupt politicians and who were told that if they continued, they would die.

We met women with their babies, every one of them recently widowed, from previous caravans who are still waiting in line to present themselves for asylum and who have no plan if they can’t get in.

We were challenged by a Mexican peacemaking urban farmer to consider our relationship with power and to determine if are using it to consume or to bring about new life.

We met with a Dreamer who demanded that we expand our discipleship from leaning “about” to learning “from” and urged us to stop talking at and start showing up.

We met with a faith-based legal advocate who helped us understand how at risk our migrant neighbors, documented and undocumented, are.

As we listened, and walked, and shared tables, and exchanged stories, we were found and formed by God.

Friends. In these polarizing, violent times, may we daily choose to move beyond partisan allegiances and into the lives of one another. May we reject dehumanizing language and convenient untruths. May we pursue solidarity with the foreigner, not merely because it’s a good idea, but because it’s the very best expression of our faith. In so doing, we will find ourselves joining God in remaking the world.

It’s the confidence that comes from consistently surfing the edges of what seems safe, knowing that the true adventure lies not at the precipice, but in the weightlessness of the free fall.

It’s the understanding that safety is not a desirable destination.

What you see in his eyes is what I saw in the eyes of Amy, the Pastor of Justice and Mission at an evangelical church in Bend, OR, as we conspired a community-wide conversation about faith and politics.

As a practitioner, she’s spent the last several years following Jesus away from the seductiveness of safety and closer to a fuller, more alive and restorative way of life. It’s a journey that’s required her to interrogate her evangelical theology, get acquainted with her privilege, diversify her learning channels, intentionally displace herself, and get proximate to the pain in her own neighborhood.  Along the way, she’s discovered that Christian faithfulness requires solidarity and that solidarity demands that she rebel against the idol of safety.

Because she’s built a habit of precipice surfing and free-falling into the restorative adventure, the things that once would have required severe courage are becoming second nature and urgent.

It was courage that initiated our conversation and her invitation to help her community imagine Christian faithfulness within our current, politically polarized milieu.

With the look worn only by those who choose bravery over safety, she imagined with me an afternoon with her faith community that would explore immigration as a central theme of the Scriptures, a history of racism in the state of Oregon, and a measure on this November’s mid-term ballot that, if passed, carries devastating implications for both communities of color and law enforcement.

I was inspired…and, with ever a mischievous grin, I reminded her that evangelicals typically “don’t get political.”

The roll of her eyes said enough.  She was ready to expose the hypocrisy of that sentiment, challenge her community’s allegiance to partisan politics, and initiate the kinds of learning journeys that would equip and mobilize them to engage our divided world in restorative ways.

Days later, the room filled with white evangelicals.  They were Democrats and Republicans. Wealthy and poor.  Activistic and apathetic.

All of them had different looks in their eyes.  Anxiety.  Wonder.  Bravery.  Cynicism.  Fear.  Hope.

The opening invitation was to identify ones partisan allegiance and then to audit it next to Paul’s challenge to the Philippian community not to embrace dual citizenship (Heaven and Rome), but to live as Kingdom citizens within the context of the Roman Empire. We wondered aloud about what would happen if, for 90 minutes, we each suspended our partisan preferences and imagined a world where the life and teachings of Jesus actually set our course.

We identified the Bible as a migrant manual written by a migrant people and then, we explored immigration through the lenses of the cross and across the meta narrative of the Scriptures.  In so doing, we discovered the realities that we’re all foreigners, that power convinces us all to forget our migrant experiences, and that hospitality to the foreigner is not merely a moral decision…but a defining mark of the covenant people.

From there, we entered into a history lesson of Oregon and recognized that, from its very inception, our nation’s 33rd state has been a great experiment in white supremacy.  From before the formal establishment of Oregon, Euro-Americans, under the “Christian” promise of “Manifest Destiny,” through the ruts of the Oregon Trail, and behind the bullets of military might, stole land from our indigenous relatives, outlawed peoples of color from living within our boundaries, interned Japanese American citizens, and used, incarcerated, and then, ultimately, deported migrant labor.

The oppression of communities of color crescendo’d until 1987 when a bi-partisan law was passed outlawing racial profiling by law enforcement.  No longer could our local police and sheriffs harass peoples of color because of the level of melanin in their skin.  No longer could they collaborate with federal immigration officials in sweeping deportation raids of migrant neighborhoods.

For 30 years, this law has dramatically curbed racial profiling, better empowered local police to do the work of serving and protecting all inhabitants of Oregon, and paved the way for a fragile trust to begin building between communities of color and law enforcement. On Oregon’s current ballot, Measure 105 seeks not to improve this law, but to remove it all together.  If passed, Oregon returns to its legislated habits of racism, bigotry, and xenophobia that it was founded upon.

The room suddenly found itself in a “political” conversation.

Through theological rather than partisan lenses, we were engaging in real talk about the history of legislated oppression, bi-partisan policy-making, the role of law enforcement, and faith as political activism.  Because we had just explored a Jesus who stood and stands diametrically opposed to any and every system that crushed people, anxious evangelicals become agitated toward justice.

And that’s when the real training began.

Everyday peacemakers aren’t merely invited to agitation…we’re called to become non-violent disruptors of the pseudo peace of the status quo.  Like Jesus, our work involves interrupting, renovating, and replacing power systems that benefit a few at the expense of many.  You see, while November 6th is on it’s way…and there is work to be done on November 6th…so is November 7^th .

The question posed to a room of agitated evangelicals that afternoon and that I now pose to you is this: How will you move from disconnected proximity to solidarity in your city come November 7th?

What I saw in the eyes of those in the room in that moment reflected what I had observed in Amy’s just days before.  If this group of white evangelicals dares to follow Jesus beyond the precipices of safety and good intentions, then heaven and earth will be woven together just a bit more in my city.

Listen carefully.

Their voices are no longer contained to education’s hallways.

Now, their chant “Never Again!” echoes throughout the nation.

Wearing bulletproof backpacks, they raise their anthem of lament,

And face indifferent politicians with ageless determination.

Will their adolescent demand for a gun-free future

Drown the deafening silence of the grown-ups?

The silence of the power-hoarding grown-ups.

Their grown-up silence:

A form of violence.

It’s been bought by death’s innovators.

Their willful silence to terrorism by white mass-shooters,

It all but guarantees their job security.

But wait…

They’re not that silent.

Remember.

They offer their “thoughts and prayers.”

Their thoughts and prayers.

Are they empty platitudes that remain unanswered?

Or, could it be that their prayers are answered?

For they pray not to the God we see in Jesus;

They pray to the gods of nationalism, war, and greed.

Their thoughts and prayers are heard indeed

By their preferred deities.

Blood stained classrooms are evidence of their worship.

Blood stained classrooms are their answered prayers.

Blood stained classrooms…

…under the red, white, and blue banner that protects our freedom to bear death machines.

It’s the banner of their religion:

“One nation Under Mars.”

One nation oppressed and intoxicated by violence.

Our nation, profiting from the very tools that kill our kids.

Where is your allegiance?

To a god who wields weapons?

Or to a God who wore one?

Your silence exposes your preference.

As it always does, it began with a Facebook post.

We’re in a particularly unhelpful season with regard to white, male, evangelical commentary.  If you recall, a few weeks back, Tony Perkins suggested in THIS interview that conservative evangelical Republicans only have so many cheeks to turn and that once each cheek has been offered and slapped (referencing his understanding of Jesus’ teachings on the humanizing and equalizing implications of non-violent direct action found in Matthew 5:28-42), one has permission to adjust one’s strategy toward violence in an effort to attain a more desirable outcome. This was the same conversation in which he suggested that Trump deserves a “mulligan” for consistent character gaffes because he’s such a “new Christian.”

Then, Jerry Falwell Jr. came to the quick defense of Trump’s integrity in THIS interview after allegations surfaced of an alleged affair between Trump and a porn star.  Falwell Jr. emphasized Trump’s newness to the Christian faith and the evangelical value of unlimited forgiveness as reasons to be especially gracious.

Finally, John Piper wrote THIS article in which he (again) condemned women preachers and pastors and then took it a step further to assert that women who teach in seminaries should also be disqualified from positions of authority. For, as his argument goes, if they can’t be pastors, then they shouldn’t be allowed to teach aspiring pastors.

With shaking head, I jumped on Twitter to see how some of my friends, women in particular, were interacting with the latest.  That’s when I discovered that Falwell Jr. had blocked me from his Twitter account.  I imagine it has something to do with THIS open letter that I wrote in the wake of his celebration of revenge, his commitment to arm the students of Liberty University against Muslims, and his intention to train them for efficient kills.

So, I re-posted my open letter on FB with some commentary in which I identified the comments of Perkins, Falwell Jr., and Piper as the latest spread of non-helpful, divisive, and dehumanizing lunacy and invited them toward the hopeful alternative that is offered by a Jesus who looks nothing like us.

Because the FB algorithms are designed to channel my posts toward those who would likely agree with my analysis, the comment thread was relatively affirming.

And then, days later, I received a thoughtful comment in which a friend challenged my use of the word “lunacy,” identifying it as an attack and wondering if I actually thought that the commentary of these three was “insane.”  I responded with this:

From my perspective, the ongoing endorsement, even blatant celebration, of violence, racism, nationalism, and oppression under the banner of Jesus/Christianity for one’s own benefit is lunacy.

My friend continued with another thoughtful challenge followed by his appreciation for how he’d personally benefited from the teachings of John Piper.  An actual dialogue was taking place in a public space and I was gaining perspective.  It was good. In particular, we had a very worthwhile back-and-forth about oppressive theologies and their impact on women that I encourage you to read.

Yet, there was one thing that he offered as he described his appreciation of Piper that caught my eye and that I’ve been stewing on ever since.  He said this:

From his (Piper’s) teaching, I came to realize that I did not need to perform good works to keep God happy, but that through my faith in Christ, God was pleased with me, and I was at peace with him. If Piper’s biblical-based thinking is what you deem lunacy, I’m eternally indebted to his insanity.

God’s approval and how we seduce it seemed to be the central theme of my friend’s comment.

He indicates that, before benefiting from Piper’s theology, my friend believed that his experience of God’s approval was directly connected to his ability to prove himself worthy of God’s affection.  Now, having encountered Piper’s teaching, his mind has changed.  Rather than believing that God’s approval can be attained through external morality, he now believes that it is attained through his faith in Christ.

As I’ve reflected on his journey, I’ve realized that he’s identified a portion of my own.  At surface level, our movement from “action” to “faith” as the primary cause of God’s affection seems like a massive shift. Yet, just a tiny bit of excavation reveals that very little has actually changed.  Whether we believe that God’s approval comes by way of our actions or by our faith in Jesus, both options place us as the primary character who must consistently (via behavior or faith) prove ourselves to God and, in so doing, seduce God’s affection.  Worse yet, both perspectives paint God into a distant, woo-able deity who selectively peddles favor based on human performance.

Let me suggest a third way, a hopeful alternative, to our experience of God’s approval that we can discover in Jesus.

According to the Scriptures, God’s approval cannot be seduced by our performance nor by our faithfulness but is already declared over us because of the faithfulness of Christ (Rom 4:25, 5:1; Galatians 2:16; Ephesians 2:8-10).  That is, in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, we discover an approval-wielding God encased in a physical declaration of our intrinsic worth.  Because Jesus was faithful, the shalom that we shattered has been restored and we are the eternal recipients of God’s affection.

If that’s true, then the implications are massive.

1. We no longer have to waste our time wondering what God thinks about us and enacting futile attempts at divine seduction.
2. With confidence, we get to embrace the beautiful reality that through the faithfulness of Christ we already are God’s beloved.
3. Our daily work is to allow the Spirit to permeate every fabric of our being with the knowledge of our belovedness.
4. We get to live boldly and humbly out of our belovedness in Jesus-looking ways that compel others toward the One who loves us so.

This, friends, is good news…and it’s a journey worth taking.

Pick up a copy of Jer’s latest book, Mending the Divides: Creative Love in a Conflicted World, in which he delves deeper into the liberating, world-changing implications of living out of our identity as God’s beloved image bearers.

My name is Antonia Alvarez.  I’m an undocumented mother of Dreamer children and I’m here to talk about what that’s like.

Because they’ve dared to believe that restoration is the mission of God, Genesis Covenant Church in Minneapolis, MN is on a dangerous journey.  They’re becoming an instrument of peace that not only creates space for stories like Antonia’s to be heard, but they’re allowing themselves to be changed by what they’re hearing.

The journey they’re on is why I knew that they could handle her story.

Antonia and I met, very briefly, in D.C. on a cold December day.  I was there on invitation of The National Immigration Forum representing the Central Oregon faith community who is awakening to the vulnerability of our Dreamer neighbors.  She was there advocating for her three Dreamer children.  My action involved meetings within Congressional offices.  Her action was a 10-day fast outside the Congressional complexes.  My request was for a timely, just, permanent legislative solution on behalf of our nation’s Dreamers.  Her request was for Congress to see the humanity, dignity, and image of God in her children.

What caught my eye was the sign she was holding.  It read, “I stand with Dreamers.”

There was a magnetic force that drew me to her that I soon discovered was the maternal desperation that had brought her to D.C. from Minnesota.  Listening to her story, I recognized that her desperation had long ago converted into the kind of courage that I had only ever experienced deep in the trenches of the marginalized.  Here she was, broadcasting her lack of status and risking her own safety in order to gain a listening ear with national power-brokers.

She stood there for ten days, either unseen or ignored by the very women and men who could change the uncertainty that traumatized her dreaming children.

So moved was I by our brief interaction that Antonia and I exchanged information and intentions to remain in touch. With so many friends and allies in Minnesota, I immediately began conspiring links that could result in dynamic alliances in the Twin Cities.  Because of the journey that Genesis Covenant is taking, that church and its influencers was on the very top of my list.

Did you catch that?  Because of the peacemaking journey they’re on, a dominant culture, suburban, evangelical church had become a top candidate for alliance with an undocumented mother of Dreamer children.

In the days that led up to my time with Genesis, the pastors reached out with a request:

We’re used to hearing from white males. Will you help us learn how to learn from the marginalized?

This question represents a moment of deepest significance for dominant culture leaders and churches.  It means we’re waking up to the possibility that our perspective is not 20/20 vision, that a constant diet of white, male teaching and leadership has become counter-productive, and that, in order to be found and formed by God, we need to learn how to learn from folks who are not like us.

Because of the trust we share and the confidence I have in Genesis’ capacity for generous hospitality, I sent Antonia an email.  I included a picture of the two of us that I had taken in D.C. to jog her memory of who I was and indicated that there was no reason for her to trust me.  Nonetheless, I hedged my bet that the same courage that drove her to D.C. would compel her to an unfamiliar platform. So I invited her to join me in a moment of storytelling in front of a group of people who, statistically, were most against the very story that she would share.

On Sunday, I began by reminding the community that if we follow Jesus rather than simply admire him, then our shared life will become marked by a love that transcends boundaries, borders, orientations, and even documentation statuses.  I shared a bit of my own journey of recognizing my blindness and how, in relationship with the marginalized, Jesus had been healing my sight.  I recounted the story of the brief interaction Antonia and I shared in D.C. and expressed to her the gift that her presence was to us.

That’s when, to the sound of extended, enthusiastic applause, she joined me on the stage.

The community was ready for her opening lines, but they weren’t prepared for the unfiltered, raw, unscripted, authentic, emotional telling of her story.  She described the experience of being extorted by the cartels in Mexico, an attempt on her life, and the harrowing journey she took to cross the border.  She revealed what it was like to go from an oncology nurse in Mexico to a house cleaner in the suburbs of the Twin Cities.  She described the jubilation of DACA and what it meant for her kids.  That’s when she looked at me and said, “I’m going to stand up now.”

When all four feet and two inches of her stood up we realized that we were in the presence of a giant.  With tears streaming down her cheeks, she recounted the moment when she received news that DACA would expire.  She screamed on the stage like she did in the living room that she was vacuuming:

Why God? Why my kids? I’ve done everything I can do for 18 years.  Will you please protect my kids?

After sharing her experience (listen to the message ‘A Boundary Crossing Love’ 2/11/18 HERE) of what it’s like feeling hunted again, she invited a room filled with dominant culture, suburban evangelicals to join her in a barefoot walk from her home to Minnesota’s state capitol on March 5th, the very day that DACA expires.

Her invitation to take a 20-mile pilgrimage, barefoot, on cold pavement has provided an opportunity for Genesis not to offer charity, but to walk in solidarity.

I have no doubt that some of what Antonia offered last Sunday was met with resistance.  She was deeply critical of the current administration, got political, and offered some risky historic comparisons.  But one thing cannot be argued: the gift that Antonia gave us was the telling of her authentically lived experience.

If the extended, enthusiastic applause that escorted her off the stage revealed anything, it’s that a dominant culture, suburban, evangelical church sees more clearly today because she contended for us.

I wonder how many of them will take their shoes off on March 5th.

Wondering how you can walk in solidarity with Dreamers between now and March 5th? Access Global Immersion’s guide HERE. To take your next steps in learning how to learn from the marginalized, pick up a copy of the award-winning book, Mending the Divides: Creative Love in a Conflicted World.

It was well planned, completely non-violent, and successful in broadcasting their message to both the NFL and to the city of Minneapolis that profit at the cost of marginalized lives is unjust and intolerable.

From Oregon, I accessed the action on Facebook where I joined thousands of others in viewing the act of civil disobedience live.  As I watched the “Breaking News” coverage, three faces of dear friends and peacemaking allies suddenly filled the screen.  Two of them wore the familiar clergy collar and the third wore a look of determination.  Together, they stood in front of a train, its conductor obviously perplexed by the calm presence of the track-straddling pastors.

That’s when the vitriol began in the comment section.  Yes, folks were outraged at the inconvenience created by the action.  Yes, they were critical of Black Lives Matter and very obviously misunderstood BLM’s motivations and message.  But it was the presence of white clergy that set off an atomic melee of comments.

Why would clergy stand in front of a train?!

Get back in the church!

BLM is anti-Christ! Why do these pastors support them?

I hope they arrest and then defrock those priests!

Why is our clergy protesting with BLM?!

While there is a book’s worth of unpacking and theologizing that could be written out of those five comments alone, it’s the last one that I want to work through here. As a faith leader who frequently finds myself in the streets, in the sanctuaries, and in the hallowed halls of political power, I’ve discovered that confusion reigns regarding the connection between the Christian faith and civil disobedience.

Most dominant culture American Christians value safety above all else and, therefore, seem perplexed by people of faith involving themselves in unsafe, disruptive protests.  Some quote Romans 13:1-2, 1 Peter 2:13-15, and/or Titus 3:1-2, offer confusing commentary on how these passages require absolute Christian obedience to the government, and, therefore, condemn Christian involvement in protests of any kind as a disqualifying act of outright infidelity.  Very few see a direct line from the life and teachings of Jesus to the practice of civil disobedience in the contemporary streets.

So, to uncover that line, let’s start with a definition:

Civil disobedience is the thoughtful, well-planned, peaceful disruption of the unjust status quo. Successful actions always have a clear message, usually involve the intentional violation of the law, frequently inconvenience those who benefit from the unjust system, and often result in arrest.

Under that definition, images of historic heroine and heroes most likely flood our minds: Chief Joseph, Gandhi, Manal al-Sharif, Oskar Schindler, Rosa Parks, Rigoberta Menchu, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Aung San Suu Kyi to name a few.  The passing of time has done this crowd a favor as, in their day, they were seen as the thugs and hooligans who disrupted the status quo. Today, rather than assigning dehumanizing titles to them, we refer to them as the godparents of human rights and live as benefactors of their work.  While they are a Who’s Who of nonviolent civil disobeyers, they are not the founders of the movement.  Most of them gave credit to a first century, Northern Galilean systems disruptor by the name of Jesus.

Jesus?! A systems disruptor who stood in front of the trains of his day?! As a prominent theologian recently wrote me, “I just simply don’t see it.”  Well, if our heroes did “see it” then perhaps it’s there and worth uncovering.

Let’s start with that time when Jesus was in the temple along with the merchants who were ripping off the poor (John 2). There was a religious/political system in play and upheld by the powerful that preyed upon a common misunderstanding of the kind of worship that God was interested in (blood sacrifices vs. mercy & compassion).  The power brokers capitalized on pilgrims’ need for livestock for sacrifices by selling animals on the temple grounds at ridiculous mark ups.  The impoverished travelers were gouged by the injustice.

When Jesus saw the system of religion for profit, he literally shut down the marketplace in a calculated act of civil disobedience. He knew that the physicality of the action was necessary in order to expose both the injustice of the system and the depravity of the religious/political structure. He also knew that this action would bring him to the attention of not only the Jewish elite, but also, the occupying Roman authority. Jesus knew that this moment of civil disobedience would be an effective inauguration and that it would eventually cost him his life.

From that point forward, Jesus stood diametrically opposed to any and every system that oppressed God’s image bearers.  And while he was often engaged in the healing of souls and bodies, Jesus regularly stood in front of the trains of ludicrous, unjust religious/political systems such as the oppression and subjection of women (John 4), criminal taxation (Luke 11), capital punishment (John 8), and institutional racism (Luke 10).

Ultimately, civil disobedience along with his demonstration of a hopeful alternative resulted in a successful bi-national campaign for his state-sanctioned execution…

…and so much more.

Upon Jesus’ resurrection, his followers continued the tradition of civil disobedience for the sake of restoration. Take, for example, the moment in Acts 4 when Peter and John were commanded by the Sanhedrin not to teach nor speak in the name of Jesus.  They, and the rest of the community, were faced with a decision: obedience to the system through silence or obedience to God through civil disobedience. Thanks be to God, they chose the later.

For hundreds of years after that decision, being a Christian was itself a violation of law throughout the Roman Empire, making everyday life an act of civil disobedience for those who claimed to follow Jesus. For centuries, their refusal to obey what they perceived to be unjust laws resulted in imprisonment, slavery, torture, and death.

So why did they do it?  Because Jesus told them (Mark 13:9-11) that this restorative way of life marked by creative, costly, dignifying love would so upset the systems that they would find themselves in tension with the authorities.  He told them that their faithfulness to God would require disobedience to the system. They were clear that following Jesus for the sake of human flourishing would place them in uncomfortable scenarios and painful predicaments.  Yet, they trusted that in those moments, the Spirit would give them the words to say and actions to take that would both expose and reveal corruption as well as redeem, restore, and liberate.

Sadly, once Constantine endorsed Christianity as the central religion (311A.D.), Christian experience of civil disobedience shifted from a participation in faithfulness to undesirable. For, if your religion is now married to the system and sits in the seat of power, then, the system is understood as just, even “Christian.”  And if our system is “Christian,” then civil disobedience is unnecessary and those who shut down train tracks on Super Bowl Sunday are infidels, thugs, and hooligans who must be silenced…even if they’re wearing the collar of the clergy.

So why is our (white) clergy protesting with BLM? It’s because they’re doing the work to understand the corruption of the system and how they’ve benefited from it.  It’s because they’re discovering the discrepancy between the Christianity of the system and peacemaking way of life offered by Jesus.  It’s because they are becoming motivated by the restoration of systems as well as souls. It’s because they’re finding themselves a bit more proximate to the pain of the marginalized and, therefore, are being honored with invitations into the protest.

In light of how central the practice of civil disobedience for the sake of restoration is for Jesus and his community, perhaps a better, more important question is, “Why are so few of our clergy protesting with BLM?!”

Pick up a copy of Jer’s latest book, Mending the Divides: Creative Love in a Conflicted World, to discover more about how we become the women and men who dare to stand in front of the contemporary trains of injustice.

The room was a mixture of tension, fatigue, and distrust.  Our international colleagues had been in the country for seven days on a State Department-sponsored leadership & democracy tour. They had spent hours in meetings with political leaders who offered them a steady diet of uninspiring platitudes and predictable party lines.

As introductions made their way around, it became clear that our global guests were disinterested in talk about immigration. What they wanted was an honest, unfiltered conversation about the surge in Islamophobia and its connection to our seemingly Christian government’s rhetoric on Islam, terrorism, and Jerusalem.

The panel began with our friend, a local Muslim Imam whose leadership is setting the tone for collaboration and compassionate, faith-informed activism in San Diego.  As he spoke to them in Arabic, Jon and I listened through translation and were inspired by the integration of Imam Taha’s faith and practice.  Because he spoke to them in their own language, they eagerly received his input.

The interactions that followed exposed both their frustration and curiosity. Muslim bans, the declaration of Jerusalem as Israel’s eternal capital, and the ongoing location of “terror” upon Arab Muslims by our administration had further destabilized their people.

As the panel progressed from the Muslim Imam to local Christian leaders, the distrust returned to the room.  Our Christian colleagues stuck with their talking points on immigrant justice and how faith is fueling uncommon friendships and renovating local policies. It was excellent content, but the room continued to freeze over.

The conversation eventually made its way to our end of the table where Jon and I were discerning the same hunch: it’s likely that our Muslim colleagues viewed us as classic white evangelicals and appeared to be bracing themselves for the non-generous, aggressive platitudes of American Christianity that make their lives a living hell.

Rather than speaking to immigrant justice, we both pivoted to what we thought our global relatives wanted to explore.

We began by lamenting how twisted the collective white American Christian soul had become.  We offered our perspective on how this has happened, how we’ve experienced, first-hand, the tragic implications of our supremacist theology, how this theology has shaped American politics, and how we’ve benefited from it.

Jon and I spoke openly about how this administration’s Muslim ban and the Jerusalem declaration had nothing to do with international diplomacy and everything to do with seducing the accolades of its base: a radicalized religious right who live with a fabled theology informed by white supremacy and are fueled by power and fear toward a convenient, self-serving conclusion.

We articulated our regret over Christian support for Trump’s ongoing ignorance, racism, and hatred and spoke to the hopeful alternative to contemporary white Christianity that Global Immersion is seeking to live and narrate…an alternative that is oriented around Jesus the Nazarene rather than his Americanized & suburbanized counterfeit.  We spoke of this way of life that is marked by creative love, uncommon friendships, and restorative nonviolent action.

As we critiqued our own story, the room began to thaw.  When we asked for their forgiveness, we were met with a stunned silence.

That’s when a Palestinian sister, a strategic planner in the Ministry of the Interior, spoke up:

Until this moment, I have been devastated by what I’ve heard from Americans. I came here hoping that the destabilizing vile & vulgar influence was limited to one person. Sadly, I have heard nothing but widespread support for his perspective and policies…until now. This is the first time in seven days that I’ve heard thoughtful resistance. And that it came from the most unlikely voices on the panel grows my hope.

With her words, suspicion turned into embrace. In that moment, friendship was born.

In the wake of that experience, three key discoveries have surfaced that inform how we live the hopeful alternative within today’s divided world:

Homogeneity is an expression of our idolatry of safety that is killing all of us.

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Our ability to critique our own story is the key that unlocks uncommon friendships and unlikely collaborations.

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Jesus, more so than justice, inspires the imaginations in all of us.

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