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“Trump wraps himself in Christianity, wraps the Constitution inside a Bible, and is persuading supporters to finance his political brand while enriching himself," said one critic.
President Donald Trump has provided "a stunning example of political pandering and exploiting religious faith for personal profit," said a religious freedom advocate on Tuesday after financial disclosure forms revealed one of the latest ways in which the president has profited from the presidency: this time, by licensing his name to the "God Bless the USA" Bible sold by supporter and country music star Lee Greenwood.
The Bible bearing the president's name is being sold for $99.99—as are the "First Lady Edition" and the "Vice Presidential Edition."
According to his latest financial disclosures, the president has earned a total of $1,514,521 from placing his name on the religious text in a package that also includes copies of the US Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, the Pledge of Allegiance, and the handwritten chorus of Greenwood's 1984 song "Good Bless the USA."
About $1.3 million was earned while the president was campaigning ahead of the 2024 election, while about $208,000 flowed to the president in 2025.
Anna Laurie Gaylor, co-president of the Freedom From Religion Foundation (FFRF), said that "Trump wraps himself in Christianity, wraps the Constitution inside a Bible, and is persuading supporters to finance his political brand while enriching himself to the tune of more than $1.5 million."
“As all things are with Trump, this has always been about money,” said Gaylor. "It is a stunning example of political pandering and exploiting religious faith for personal profit.”
Hemant Mehta of The Friendly Atheist noted that the disclosure also showed about $1.4 billion that the president made last year from "crypto-related schemes" and $80 million from lawsuits against media companies including CBS and ABC.
Trump has suggested the Bible venture is closest to his heart, saying in a video promoting the basic version of the "God Bless the USA Bible"—which retails at $59.99—that the religious text is his "favorite book."
"Christians are under siege," he added in the video. "We must protect content that is pro-God. We love God, and we have to protect anything that is pro-God… Our Founding Fathers did a tremendous thing when they built America on Judeo-Christian values."
The notion that the country was founded as a Christian nation has long been a fixation of the far right and has been deeply embedded in the president's celebrations marking the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence—but historians say there is no evidence for the claim.
“The only rules they wrote about religion were ones that keep religion at arm’s length," Princeton University professor Kevin Kruse told The Washington Post as the White House planned an all-day prayer event on National Mall in May. "There’s a difference between saying America is a nation with many Christians in it and that America is a nation dedicated to Christianity and defined by it.”
Both Mehta and FFRF noted that Trump has "struggled to discuss even the most basic aspects of the Bible, declining on multiple occasions to identify a favorite verse or even express a preference between the Old and New Testaments."
"Trump’s Bible enterprise demonstrates how easily religious symbolism can be weaponized to enrich politicians while undermining the constitutional principle of state/church separation that protects believers and nonbelievers alike," said FFRF.
Gaylor added that "religion should never be a marketing strategy."
“Nor should the office of the presidency become a platform for selling religious merchandise," she said. "Americans deserve leaders who respect both religion and government enough to keep them separate—not presidents who see faith as another licensing opportunity.”
As scholars who have studied the Bible for decades, we believe transgender people—just like all people—are our sacred, precious, divinely cherished neighbors.
Far-right leaders in the United States are fighting tooth and nail to eliminate rights for transgender people.
Many couch their claims in language like “protecting children” and “freedom of religion.” But buried beneath these rhetorical flourishes is another pernicious philosophy: that being transgender is a sin, and that the government should punish it.
Case in point: Conservative Christian organizations like the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission (ERLC) and the Liberty Council are pushing the Supreme Court to allow states to ban transgender athletes from women’s sports.
In a press release defending ERLC’s position, interim president Gary Hollingsworth proclaimed: “We serve an infallible God. The same God who made the universe made humanity in His image with intentionality and purpose. He gave humanity two immutable genders, man and woman, as gifts reflecting His own nature.”
There are conflicting, even incompatible interpretations of the Bible. But for us, the consistent messages of love, care, humility, and equity shine brightly.
Meanwhile, at the state level, far-right evangelicals in Colorado recently secured enough signatures to put anti-trans legislation on the ballot. And in Idaho, due to pressure from conservative legislators and organizations, the state is poised to implement one of the most extreme anti-trans bathroom laws in the nation.
If all one read were these stories, it would appear that the Bible is unequivocal in its condemnation of gender expansiveness and that all of Christendom is unflinching in its interpretation of that scripture.
Nothing could be further from the truth. As scholars who have studied the Bible for decades, we believe transgender people—just like all people—are our sacred, precious, divinely cherished neighbors. There’s no reason that one narrow religious interpretation should be able to dictate policy and structure our community.
The author of Genesis writes that “male and female [God] created them” (1.27). While some point to this scripture as confirmation of a gender binary, others identify it as a rhetorical device known as a merism, used frequently throughout the Bible to describe an expansive concept. For example, in Genesis 1:1, the Bible describes making “the heavens and Earth.” But this is widely understood to represent the entire cosmos—stars, comets, planets, and beyond—not just the heavens and Earth. Later in Genesis, the Bible uses both “evening and morning” and “night and day” to represent an entire day—including dawn and dusk. Similarly, male and female do not exhaust the diversity of gender identities and sexualities, all of which God blesses as good.
Moreover, the work of many Biblical scholars such as Dr. Esther Brownsmith, Dr. Joseph Marchal, and Dr. Linn Marie Tonstad has critically improved and expanded Christian theological studies by demonstrating that, as Brownsmith recently said, “We can’t do Biblical scholarship without [transgender people].”
Brownsmith’s scholarship on nonbinary readings of Hebrew Bible figure Mordechai, Marchal’s work on ancient conceptions of gender in Paul’s letters, and Tonstad’s formulation of the Holy Trinity as a framework for considering gender expansively—and vice versa—are just a handful of recent examples in a rapidly expanding discipline of thinkers helping us read scripture in more rigorous ways.
As Christians, we believe that, as the scripture tells us, humanity is created in God’s image. Our glorious variety and multitude is reflective of God’s own limitlessness. Indeed, transgender people’s embodiments and expressions mirror God’s intentional and enduring refutation of definition, binaries, and subjective stability. And they offer us a precious gift—the ability to look beyond strict structures and appreciate humanity in all its diversity and complexity. So, too, as theologian Virginia Mollenkott suggests, because God created humanity in God’s own image, we might well speak of God as gender nonconforming or “omnigender,” the God of all genders and of none.
For some, the Bible mandates a strict gender binary, and that belief guides their participation in public life. However, that interpretation is not the only one—and hardly the only one rooted in history and theological tradition.
As Jesus proposed in the parable of the Good Samaritan, the question we must ask is twofold. First: who is my neighbor, whose rights I am obligated to affirm and defend? Second: Who is the one who proves neighborly, the one who acts in loving, compassionate, and just ways?
There’s no question: There are conflicting, even incompatible interpretations of the Bible. But for us, the consistent messages of love, care, humility, and equity shine brightly. To love the neighbor—including our trans family members, friends, coworkers, and congregants—means to advocate for that neighbor’s right to be; to love and be loved; and to enjoy a healthy, fulfilling life in dignity and safety.
"Israeli soldiers have been posting images of their war crimes and cultural desecration for two and a half years straight without interruption," said one journalist.
The Israel Defense Forces have spent close to two months in Lebanon killing more than 2,100 people, destroying an estimated 1,000 homes—sometimes leveling entire communities—blowing up schools, bombing healthcare infrastructure, and forcibly displacing more than 1 million people, including close to 400,000 children.
But so far, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has spoken out against just one attack on civilian infrastructure—saying on Monday that he condemned "in the strongest terms" an image that went viral over the weekend of an IDF soldier taking a sledgehammer to the head of a statue of Jesus Christ in southern Lebanon.
"Of all the shocking war crimes [Palestinian journalist] Younis Tirawi has exposed, it’s the sledgehammer to a Jesus statue... that finally gets Netanyahu to comment," said Drop Site News co-founder Ryan Grim, referring to the reporter who posted the image on social media.
Tirawi reported that the statue belonged to the Christian town of Debel, which the Catholic Near East Welfare Association said last week is home to 1,700 people who have been "in total isolation" in recent weeks as the Israeli occupation has forced the Lebanese Army to withdraw from the area. CNEWA said an archbishop in the village has tried to get an aid convoy to Debel, where residents earlier this month had no safe drinking water and enough food to last “no more than two days," but the IDF's shelling in the area has forced air trucks to turn back.
"If [Netanyahu] finds this one offensive," said Grim of the photo of the IDF soldier, "I suggest he not scroll the last few years of posts from Younis Tirawi."
Tirawi reported extensively on the IDF's destruction of civilian infrastructure in Gaza. He posted a video on social media on April 11 of the IDF demolishing a United Nations school in the southern part of the exclave, and one on April 10 that showed a double-tap strike that killed 33-year-old Palestinian Man Yousef Mansour in al-Mawasi.
Netanyahu said in an interview with Newsmax last week that Israel "is the only country in the Middle East and one of the few countries in the world who stands up for Christians."
In a statement Monday, the IDF said that it is "operating to dismantle the terrorist infrastructure established by Hezbollah in southern Lebanon, and has no intention of harming civilian infrastructure, including religious buildings or religious symbols."
But the destruction of the Jesus statue in Debel came after a double-tap strike that killed Father Pierre al-Rahi, a Manonite Catholic priest, in another southern Lebanese town last month. Historic Christian churches have also been destroyed by IDF attacks in Gaza.
"The smashing of Christ's statue in Lebanon is latest example of the impunity with which Israeli soldiers have attacked and desecrated religious sites in occupied Palestinian territories," said TRT World.
War correspondent Steve Sweeney, who is based in Beirut, shared footage of a church the IDF destroyed in southern Lebanon in October 2024, in an attack that killed at least eight people.
Sweeney also noted that a month after that attack, Israeli soldiers "desecrated the St. Mema Church in the Christian village of Deir Mimas, southern Lebanon."
The IDF "said the conduct was contrary to its values" at the time, said Sweeney.
Despite officials' expressions of shock on Monday, "Israeli soldiers have been posting images of their war crimes and cultural desecration for two and a half years straight without interruption," said Grim.
UN experts have warned as Israel has carried out its attacks in Lebanon since early March that "deliberately attacking civilians or civilian objects amounts to a war crime."
While the destruction of the Jesus statue drew condemnation Monday from Netanyahu, the IDF, and US Ambassador to Israel Mike Huckabee—who called for "swift, severe, and public consequences"—it was far from the only attack waged by Israel in Lebanon over the weekend.
Despite a ceasefire that was announced Friday and a statement from President Donald Trump that further IDF attacks were "PROHIBITED," Israel continued demolishing infrastructure and shelling areas in southern Lebanon over the weekend, and three people were injured in an Israeli drone strike near the Litani River on Monday.
The Trump administration carries out policy violence that directly contradicts everything that Jesus taught. It’s time to make some noise.
On Palm Sunday, March 29, thousands of Christians across denomination, geography, culture, and race will be out in the streets. We will sing. We will pray. We will march. We will magnify our God in Jesus Christ who came among us to love, liberate, teach, heal, and give us abundant life. We will renounce the death-dealing cruelty, lies, and greed of our federal administration and demand a society that is rooted in love of neighbor—in feeding the hungry, caring for the sick, and welcoming the stranger.
We believe that the time is now to publicly reclaim the heart of our faith with spiritual and moral clarity and with committed, disciplined action. Over these last months, I and my neighbors witnessed firsthand the terror of Operation Metro Surge. We saw constitutional observers harassed, followed, detained, and—in the case of Renee Good and Alex Pretti—killed by Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers. We saw neighbors—children, elders, mothers, fathers—abducted from bus stops, childcare centers, homes, and workplaces. We then heard government officials lie about what we witnessed with our own eyes.
Operation Metro Surge has ended in Minnesota, but our free fall into authoritarianism has not. When our government funds detention centers and war and gives tax breaks to the richest Americans, all the while making devastating cuts to healthcare, food assistance, and other programs that better peoples’ lives, we cannot stay silent. This is policy violence that directly contradicts everything that Jesus taught. It’s time to make some noise.
Our Palm Sunday Faith Actions are inspired by the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem on a donkey, surrounded by crowds who hailed Jesus as Lord and shouted “Hosanna!” meaning, “Save us!” The subversive nature of Jesus’ action here cannot be overstated. In a city under the grip of Roman rule, calling anyone "savior" or "lord" besides Caesar Augustus was dangerous. The imperial cult was the "religion" of the land, requiring submission to Caesar above all. And yet, as Jesus enters Jerusalem, the crowds make a bold public counterclaim with their shouts of “Hosanna.” Jesus is cast as a fulfillment of words spoken by the prophet Zechariah about a humble king of peace:
He will cut off the… war horse from Jerusalem;
and the battle bow shall be cut off,
and he shall command peace to the nations.
(Zechariah 9:10)
Jesus’ entry, then, was no mere parade—it was risky, disruptive, and tension raising. We read in Luke’s account that the Pharisees try to get Jesus to tone it down: “Teacher, order your disciples to stop!” These well-meaning words remind me of the white clergy in Alabama who told Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King that his direct action campaign to desegregate Birmingham was “unwise and untimely.” But like Dr. King in Birmingham, Jesus stays the course with prophetic clarity.
Matthew dramatizes the tension even more: “When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil” (Matthew 21:10). The Greek word here translated as “turmoil” is related to the word seismos, meaning earthquake. This connection helps us see a deeper meaning: Jesus came to bring about a seismic shift in the way we live, love, and perceive God’s work in the world. Jesus came to shake up the very foundations of human society. His way of humble service and self-giving love make the tectonic plates of empire rumble and crack.
If we keep reading in Matthew’s gospel, we find another seismic event—this time, on that early morning when the women come to the tomb that holds Jesus’ crucified body. An earthquake erupts as an angel arrives and rolls the stone away that had sealed the tomb up tight. In this resurrection dawn, we see that what seems solid and fixed in the eyes of empire can be changed, moved, and shattered in the light of God’s love.
This Palm Sunday, we will be part of the turmoil and part of the quaking. We will be part of the crowd, praising Jesus as the one who saves us and seeking to live out his command to love God and neighbor. Together, we will be a surge of love and nonviolence, care and compassion. We hope you will join us in the streets.
Father Pierre al-Rahi stayed in his southern town to help support parishioners who were unable to flee Israeli's attacks.
Pope Leo XIV was among those expressing grief Monday over the killing of Father Pierre al-Rahi, a Maronite Catholic priest, in an Israeli strike in the southern Lebanese town of Qlayaa, days after he had insisted on staying in the region despite evacuation orders, in order to care for residents there.
Agence France-Presse reported that it was unclear why Israel targeted a home where a couple lived in Qlayaa at about 2:00 pm Beirut time on Monday. Up to now, Israeli forces had largely left the community untouched in their attacks on Lebanon in retaliation against Hezbollah, which has launched rockets at Israel in response to the Israeli-US war on Iran in recent days.
After a first strike was launched by a tank, wounding the owners of the house, al-Rahi was among the neighbors who rushed to the scene to help the residents. The priest was injured in a second strike and later died at a hospital from his injuries. Several other civilians were also wounded in the attack.
The pope expressed "profound sorrow for all the victims of the bombings in the Middle East over the last few days—for the many innocent people, including many children, and for those who were providing them with aid, such as Father Pierre El-Rahi, a Maronite priest killed this afternoon in Qlayaa."
Al-Rahi, who was 50, was killed days after speaking publicly in support of Lebanese civilians who are "defending our lands."
"As our forefathers said, we are only defending our land," said al-Rahi of the community members who were staying in the southern town in defiance of Israeli demands that the evacuate. "We are defending ourselves peacefully. None of us carry weapons. We carry nothing but the weapons of peace, goodness, love, prayer, and more prayer."
"That's why we want to preserve the fact that we are here on our land today," said the priest.
Three days ago, Father Pierre Al-Rai, the parish priest in the village of Al-Qlayaa in southern Lebanon, welcomed the Lebanese government’s recent decision declaring that any military or security activity outside the authority of the state is illegal—referring to the government’s… pic.twitter.com/BhxIk1rcGd
— Ihab Hassan (@IhabHassane) March 9, 2026
One Lebanese commentator said al-Rahi was "a priest with prayers. Murdered in broad daylight."
Israel's military has been bombing what it claims are Hezbollah strongholds in southern Lebanon over the past week, and civilians have reported that residential areas are increasingly being targeted.
Qlayaa Mayor Hanna Daherl told Asia News that Israel claimed "there were fighters in the house, but that's not true. These are lies."
"Inside, there were only the residents of the house and people from the village who came to help the wounded," said Daher.
Israel demanded last week that residents of southern Lebanon—where about 200,000 people live—immediately leave and head north of the Litani River, but al-Rahi was among many clergy members who said they would stay to support civilians who couldn't leave their homes.
Aid to the Church in Need International told OSV News that "despite the growing insecurity in southern Lebanon, many priests and religious sisters have chosen to remain with their communities. Many Christian families have also stayed in their villages, unwilling to abandon their homes, land, and livelihoods."
Father Toufic Bou Merhi, a parish priest of two communities in the area, told EWTN News that fleeing the region would mean “living on the street or trying to rent a house, but people can’t afford it.”
He said the killing of al-Rahi has deeply impacted the local Catholic community, whose members are "weeping over the tragedy and, at the same time, are very afraid."
"Until now, people didn’t want to leave their homes in Christian villages, but in this situation, everything has changed,” Bou Merhi told EWTN News.
The French charity L'Oeuvre d'Orient, which supports Christians in the Middle East, condemned "in the strongest possible terms these acts of war, which aim to destabilize all of Lebanon and kill innocent civilians."
"The death of a priest who refused to leave his parish is yet another escalation of senseless violence," said the group. "L'Oeuvre d'Orient also denounces the risk of annexation and the disappearance of villages south of the Litani River, particularly historic Christian villages."
The Lebanese Health Ministry said Sunday that at least 394 people, including 42 women and 83 children, had been killed in Lebanon by Israeli forces since they began retaliating against Hezbollah.
"This year's celebrations carry a message of hope and resilience for our people and a message to the world that the Palestinian people love peace and life."
With Gaza's Christian population decimated by Israeli attacks and forced displacement over the past two years, those who remain are taking part in muted Christmas celebrations this week as the West Bank city of Bethlehem displays its tree and holds festivities for the first time since Israel began attacking both Palestinian territories in October 2023.
Middle East Eye reported that while Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa, the Latin patriarch of Jerusalem, led a Christmas Mass at Holy Family Church in Gaza City on Sunday and baptized the newest young member of the exclave's Christian community, churches in Gaza have been forced this year to keep their celebrations indoors as the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) have continued its attacks despite a "ceasefire" that Israel and Hamas agreed to in October.
"Churches have suspended all celebrations outside their walls because of the conditions Gaza is going through," Youssef Tarazi, a 31-year-old Palestinian Christian, told MEE. "We are marking the birth of Jesus Christ through prayer inside the church only, but our joy remains incomplete."
"This year, we cannot celebrate while we are still grieving for those killed, including during attacks on churches," Tarazi said. "Nothing feels the same anymore. Many members of our community will not be with us this Christmas."
The IDF, Israeli officials, and leaders in the US and other countries that have backed Israel's assault on Gaza have insisted the military has targeted Hamas and its infrastructure, but Christian churches are among the places—along with schools, refugee camps, hospitals, and other civilian buildings—that have been attacked since 2023.
At least 16 people were killed just days into the war when the IDF struck the Church of Saint Porphyrius, one of the oldest churches in the world. In July, Israel attacked the only Catholic church in Gaza, killing two women and injuring several other people.
Palestinian officials say at least 44 Christians are among more than 71,000 Palestinians who have been killed since Israel began its assault in retaliation for a Hamas-led attack. Some have been killed in airstrikes and sniper attacks while others are among those who have died of illnesses and malnutrition as Israel has enforced a blockade that continues to limit food and medical supplies that are allowed into Gaza.
United Nations experts, international and Israeli human rights groups, and Holocaust experts are among those who have called Israel's assault a genocide, and the International Criminal Court issued a warrant last year for the arrest of Israeli officials including Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu for war crimes and crimes against humanity in Gaza.
George Anton, the director of operations for the Latin patriarchate in Gaza, estimated that the number of Christians killed so far is at least 53, with many dying "because we could not reach hospitals or provide medicine, especially elderly people with chronic illnesses."
In the past, Muslims in Gaza have joined Christian neighbors for the annual lighting of Gaza City's Christmas tree and other festivities, and churches have displayed elaborate lights and decorations in their courtyards for the Christmas season.
"We decorated our homes," Anton told MEE. "Now, many homes are gone. We decorated the streets. Even the streets are gone... There is nothing to celebrate."
"We cannot celebrate while Christians and Muslims alike are mourning devastating losses caused by the war," he added. "For us, the war has not ended."
Hilda Ayad, a volunteer who helped decorate Holy Family Church earlier this month, told Al Jazeera that "we don't have the opportunity to do all the things here in the church, but something better than last year because last year, we didn't celebrate."
“We are trying to be happy from inside.”
Palestinian children are decorating Gaza’s only Catholic church for Christmas celebrations for the first time after 2 years of genocide. Pope Francis used to call the Holy Family Church almost every day until his death. pic.twitter.com/dtCdFjcTyo
— AJ+ (@ajplus) December 24, 2025
About 1,000 Christians, who were mainly Greek Orthodox or Catholic, lived in Gaza before Israel's latest escalation in the exclave began in 2023.
Greek Orthodox Church member Elias al-Jilda and Archbishop Atallah Hanna, head of the church's Sebastia diocese in Jerusalem, told the Washington Post that the population has been reduced by almost half. More than 400 Christians have fled Gaza in the last two years. Those who remain have often sheltered in churches, including the ones that have sustained attacks.
Al-Jilda told the Post that this year's celebrations "will not be full of joy, but it is an attempt to renew life."
In Bethlehem in the West Bank, officials have sought to send a message to the world this Christmas that "peace is the only path in the land of Palestine," Mayor Hanna Hanania told Anadolu Agency.
"This year's celebrations carry a message of hope and resilience for our people and a message to the world that the Palestinian people love peace and life," he said.
At Al Jazeera, Palestinian pastor Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac wrote that "celebrating this season does not mean the war, the genocide, or the structures of apartheid have ended."
"People are still being killed. We are still besieged," he wrote. "Instead, our celebration is an act of resilience—a declaration that we are still here, that Bethlehem remains the capital of Christmas, and that the story this town tells must continue."
"This Christmas, our invitation to the global church—and to Western Christians in particular—is to remember where the story began. To remember that Bethlehem is not a myth but a place where people still live," Isaac continued. "If the Christian world is to honor the meaning of Christmas, it must turn its gaze to Bethlehem—not the imagined one, but the real one, a town whose people today still cry out for justice, dignity, and peace."
"Silence is supporting this abuse of these members of God's family," one Chicago pastor told his congregants on Saturday.
As demonstrations against an immigration detention facility in Broadview, Illinois have ramped up in recent weeks, several local priests have joined in the protests to call attention to what they say are affronts to Christian teachings.
Father Larry Dowling, pastor at the St. Agatha Catholic Church in Chicago, wrote a lengthy Facebook post on Saturday in which he described his experience in trying to gain access to the Broadview Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) facility to offer communion services to detainees.
Dowling began his post by praising the work of the Maywood and Broadview Police Departments, as well as the Illinois State Police, who facilitated his and his congregants' procession to the ICE facility on Saturday.
He was far less complimentary, however, about the reception he got after arriving at the ICE facility.
"There were no ICE or federal representatives there," he explained. "When requesting to talk with a representative from Homeland Security and ICE, the state police reached out on our behalf to make the request over the phone. After a brief wait, the answer came back very clearly: No, you cannot bring a hint of compassion and prayer into this place!"
Dowling called this response outrageous, and he encouraged his followers to pray for "the children, for the mothers and fathers who are being treated inhumanely" at the ICE facility.
"Please step up and speak out," he concluded. "Silence is supporting this abuse of these members of God's family."
In an interview with NPR published on Sunday, Rev. Quincy Worthington of Highland Park Presbyterian Church explained why he has become more involved in the ICE facility protests over the past few weeks.
"What I've experienced is that some people feel that God has abandoned Broadview, and they're looking at signs of hope," he told NPR reporter Ayesha Rascoe. "Having a member of clergy there standing with them is a reminder that God stands with them as well."
Rascoe then asked him if he'd witnessed incidents of violence during the demonstrations at Broadview, and he mostly pointed the finger at ICE officials.
"What I've seen every time I've gone is ICE's response to the protests has continually escalated," he said. "At first, they would come out of the gates, shove people to the ground, push people out of the way in order to make room for vehicles to enter and exit the facility. Then it started turning into they would shoot pepper balls at us. And then tear gas started coming out, and then flash-bangs and rubber bullets."
Worthington emphasized that he hadn't seen any actions taken by the demonstrators that "would provoke this response."
Rev. David Black, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Chicago, has also recently been making headlines for participating in demonstrations at the ICE facility, and last week he filed a lawsuit alleging that the government was infringing upon his First Amendment rights by using excessive force in response to his peaceful protests.
"I extended my arms, palms outstretched toward the ICE officers, in a traditional Christian posture of prayer and blessing," he alleged in his complaint. "Without any warning, and without any order or request that I and others disperse, I was suddenly fired upon by ICE officers. In rapid fire, I was hit seven times on my arms, face, and torso with exploding pellets that contained some kind of chemical agent. It was clear to me that the officers were aiming for my head, which they struck twice."
Video of Black getting shot in the head by pepper balls at the Broadview ICE facility went viral last week, he told CNN host Erin Burnett that he could hear ICE agents laughing as they opened fire on him.
"It was deeply disturbing," he said. "We've gotten to witness a few things against these ICE agents operating in Broadview, and really what it has shown us is how disorganized they are and how poorly supervised and trained they are."
The Trump administration and its theological apologists are working overtime, using Jesus’ name and the Bible’s contents in even more devastating rounds of immoral biblical (mis)references.
It was a moment somewhat like this, 30 years ago, that turned me into a biblical scholar. In the lead-up to the passage of the 1996 Welfare Reform Act, political and religious leaders quoted scripture to justify shutting down food programs and kicking mothers and their babies off public assistance. Those leaders, many of them self-described Christians, chose to ignore the majority of passages in the Bible that preached “good news” to the poor and promised freedom to those captive to injustice and oppression. Instead, they put forward unethical and ahistorical (mis)interpretations and (mis)appropriations of biblical texts to prop up American imperial power and punish the poor in the name of a warped morality.
Three decades later, the Trump administration and its theological apologists are working overtime, using Jesus’ name and the Bible’s contents in even more devastating rounds of immoral biblical (mis)references. In July, there was the viral video from the Department of Homeland Security, using the “Here I am, Lord. Send me” quotation from Isaiah—commonly cited when ordaining faith leaders and including explicit references to marginalized communities impacted by displacement and oppression—to recruit new agents for the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency, or ICE, a job that now comes with a $50,000 signing bonus, thanks to US President Donald Trump’s “One Big Beautiful Bill.”
Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth’s former pastor went even further in marrying the Bible to anti-immigrant hatred by saying, “Is the Bible in favor of these ICE raids?… The answer is yes.” He then added: “The Bible does not require wealthy Christian nations to self-immolate for the horrible crime of having a flourishing economy and way of life, all right? The Bible does not permit the civil magistrate to steal money from its citizens to pay for foreign nationals to come destroy our culture.”
A month earlier, during a speech announcing the bombing of Iran, President Trump exhorted God to bless America’s bombs (being dropped on innocent families and children): “And in particular, God, I want to just say, we love you God, and we love our great military. Protect them. God bless the Middle East, God bless Israel, and God bless America. Thank you very much. Thank you.”
And in May, Speaker of the House Mike Johnson (R-La.) and Republican congressional representatives formed a prayer circle on the floor of the House as they prepared to codify the president’s Big Beautiful Bill. Of course, that very bill threatens to cut off millions of Americans from lifesaving food and healthcare. (Consider it a bizarre counterpoint to Jesus’ feeding of the 5,000 and providing free healthcare to lepers.)
And if that weren’t enough twisting of the Bible to bless the rich and admonish the poor, enter tech mogul Peter Thiel, cofounder of Palantir and the man behind the curtain of so much now going on in Washington. Though many Americans may be increasingly familiar with him, his various companies, and his political impact, many of us have missed the centrality of his version of Christianity and the enigmatic “religious” beliefs that go with it.
In Vanity Fair this spring, journalist Zoe Bernard emphasized the central role Thiel has already played in the Christianization of Silicon Valley: “I guarantee you,” one Christian entrepreneur told her, “there are people that are leveraging Christianity to get closer to Peter Thiel.”
Indeed, his theological beliefs grimly complement his political ones. “When you don’t have a transcendent religious belief,” he said, “you end up just looking around at other people. And that is the problem with our atheist liberal world. It is just the madness of crowds.” Remember, this is the same Thiel who, in a 2009 essay, openly questioned the compatibility of democracy and freedom, advocating for a system where power would be concentrated among those with the expertise to drive “progress”—a new version of the survival of the fittest in the information age. Such a worldview couldn’t contrast more strongly with the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus demonstrates his preferential option for the poor and his belief in bottom-up strategies rather than top down ones.
There is never a suggestion, of course, that the rich, who have functionally stolen people’s wages and engorged themselves by denying them healthcare, are in any way to blame.
More recently, Thiel has positioned himself “right” in the middle of the Republican Party. He served as Trump’s liaison to Silicon Valley in his first term. Since then, he has convened and supported a new cohort of conservatives (many of whom also claim a right-wing Christianity), including Vice President JD Vance, Trump’s Director of Policy Planning Michael Anton, AI and crypto czar billionaire David Sacks, and Elon Musk, who spent a quarter of a billion dollars getting Trump elected the second time around. Thiel is also close to Curtis Yarvin, the fellow who “jokingly” claimed that American society no longer needs poor people and believes they should instead be turned into biofuel. (A worldview that simply couldn’t be more incompatible with Christianity’s core tenets.)
Particularly relevant to recent political (and ideological) developments, especially the military occupation of Washington, DC, Thiel is also close to Joe Lonsdale, cofounder of Palantir and founder of the Cicero Institute, a right-wing think tank behind a coordinated attack on the homeless now sweeping the nation. That’s right, there’s a throughline from Peter Thiel to President Donald Trump’s demand that “the homeless have to move out immediately… FAR from the Capital.” In July, Trump produced an executive order facilitating the removal of housing encampments in Washington, a year after the Supreme Court upheld a law making it a crime, if you don’t have a home, to sleep or even breathe outside. And Thiel, Lonsdale, and the Cicero Institute aren’t just responsible for those attacks on unhoused people and “blue cities”; they also bear responsibility for faith leaders being arrested and fined for their support of unhoused communities and their opposition, on religious grounds, to the mistreatment of the poor.
On top of this troubling mix of Christianity and billionaires, however, I find myself particularly chagrined that Thiel is offering an oversold four-part lecture series on the “antichrist” through a nonprofit called ACTS 17 collective that is to start in September in San Francisco. News stories about the ACTS 17 collective tend to focus on Christians organizing in Silicon Valley and the desire to put salvation through Jesus above personal success or charity for the poor. That sounds all too ominous, especially for those of us who take seriously the biblical command to stop depriving the poor of rights, to end poverty on Earth (as it is in heaven), and defend the very people the Bible prioritizes.
For instance, Trae Stephens (who worked at Palantir and is partners with Thiel in a venture capital fund) is the husband of Michelle Stephens, the founder of the ACTS 17 collective. In an interview with Emma Goldberg of the New York Times, Michelle Stephens describes how “we are always taught as Christians to serve the meek, the lowly, the marginalized… I think we’ve realized that, if anything, the rich, the wealthy, the powerful need Jesus just as much.”
In an article at the Denison Forum, she’s even more specific about her biblical and theological interpretation of poverty and the need to care for those with more rather than the poor. She writes, “Those who see Christ’s message to the poor and needy as the central pillar of the gospel make a similar mistake. While social justice movements have done a great deal to point out our society’s longstanding sins and call believers to action, it can be tempting for that message to become more prominent than our innate need for Jesus to save us.” Such a statement reminds me of the decades-long theological pushback I lived through even before the passage of welfare reform and the continued juxtaposition of Jesus and justice since.
Of course, such a battle for the Bible is anything but new in America. It reaches back long before the rise of a new brand of Christianity in Silicon Valley. In the 1700s and 1800s, slaveholders quoted the book of Philemon and lines from St. Paul’s epistles to claim that slavery had been ordained by God, while ripping the pages of Exodus from bibles they gave to the enslaved. During the Gilded Age of the 19th century, churches and politicians alike preached what was called a “prosperity gospel” that extolled the virtues of industrial capitalism. Decades later, segregationists continued to use stray biblical verses to rubber-stamp Jim Crow practices, while the Moral Majority, founded in 1979 by Baptist minister Jerry Falwell, Sr., helped mainstream a new generation of Christian extremists in national politics.
Over the past decades, the use of the Bible to justify what passes for “law and order” (and the punishing of the poor) has only intensified. In Donald Trump’s first term, Attorney General Jeff Sessions defended the administration’s policy of separating immigrant children from their families at the border with a passage from the Apostle Paul’s epistle to the Romans: “I would cite you to the Apostle Paul and his clear and wise command in Romans 13, to obey the laws of the government because God has ordained them for the purpose of order. Orderly and lawful processes are good in themselves and protect the weak and lawful.”
White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders summed up the same idea soon after in this way: “It is very biblical to enforce the law.” And in his first speech as speaker of the House, Mike Johnson told his colleagues, “I believe that Scripture, the Bible, is very clear: that God is the one who raises up those in authority,” an echo of the New Testament’s Epistle to the Romans, in which Paul writes that “the authorities that exist are appointed by God.”
We must build the strength to make a theological and spiritual vision of everybody-in-nobody-out a reality and create the capacity, powered by faith, to make it so.
Over the past several years, Republican politicians and religious leaders have continued to use biblical references to punish the poor, quoting texts to justify cutting people off from healthcare and food assistance. A galling example came when Rep. Jodey Arrington (R-Texas), rebutting a Jewish activist who referenced a commandment in Leviticus to feed the hungry, quoted 2 Thessalonians to justify increasing work requirements for people qualifying for the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP). And that was just one of many Republican attacks on the low-income food assistance program amid myriad attempts to shred the social welfare system in the lead-up to President Trump’s “Big Beautiful Bill,” the largest transfer of wealth from the bottom to the top in American history and a crowning achievement of Russell Vought’s Project 2025. Arrington said: “But there’s also, you know, in the Scripture, tells us in 2 Thessalonians chapter 3:10 he says, uh, ‘For even when we were with you, we gave you this rule: If a man will not work, he shall not eat.’ And then he goes on to say, ‘We hear that some among you are idle’… I think it’s a reasonable expectation that we have work requirements.”
And Arrington has been anything but alone. The same passage, in fact, had already been used by Reps Kevin Cramer (R-N.D.) and Stephen Lee Fincher (R-Tenn.) to justify cutting food stamps during a debate over an earlier farm bill. And Representative Mo Brooks (R-Ala.) used similarly religious language, categorizing people as deserving and undeserving, to argue against a healthcare plan that protects those of us with preexisting conditions. He insisted that only “people who lead good lives” and “have done the things to keep their bodies healthy” should receive reduced costs for healthcare.
Such “Christian” politicians regularly misuse Biblical passages to blame the impoverished for their poverty. There is never a suggestion, of course, that the rich, who have functionally stolen people’s wages and engorged themselves by denying them healthcare, are in any way to blame.
Such interpretations of biblical texts are damaging to everyone’s lives (except, of course, the superrich), but especially the poor. And—though you wouldn’t know it from such Republicans—they are counter to the main themes of the Bible’s texts. The whole of the Christian Bible, starting with Genesis and ending with the Book of Revelation, has an arc of justice to it. The historical equivalents of antipoverty programs run through it all.
That arc starts in the Book of Exodus with manna (bread) that shows up day after day, so no one has too much or too little. This is a likely response to the Egyptian Pharaoh setting up a system where a few religious and political leaders amassed great wealth at the expense of the people. God’s plan, on the other hand, was for society to be organized around meeting the needs of all people, including describing how political and religious leaders are supposed to release slaves, forgive debts, pay people what they deserve, and distribute funds to the needy. The biblical arc of justice then continues through the prophets who insist that the way to love and honor God is to promote programs that uplift the poor and marginalized, while decrying those with power who cloak oppression in religious terms and heretical versions of Christian theology.
My own political and moral roots are in the welfare rights and homeless union survival movements, efforts led by poor and dispossessed people organizing a “new underground railroad” and challenging Christianity to talk the talk and walk the walk of Christ. Such a conviction was captured by Reverend Yvonne Delk at the 1992 “Up and Out of Poverty Survival Summit,” when she declared that society, including the church, must move to the position that “poor people are not sinners, but poverty is a sin against God that could and should be ended.”
Delk’s words echo others from 20 years earlier. In 1972, Beulah Sanders, a leader of the National Welfare Rights Organization, the largest organization of poor people in the 1960s and 1970s, spoke to the National Council of Churches. “I represent all of those poor people who are on welfare and many who are not,” she said, “people who believe in the Christian way of life… people whose nickels and dimes and quarters have built the Christian churches of America. Because we believe in Christianity, we have continued to support the Christian churches… We call upon you… to join with us in the National Welfare Rights Organization. We ask for your moral, personal, and financial support in this battle for bread, dignity, and justice for all of our people. If we fail in our struggle, Christianity will have failed.”
In a Trumpian world, where Christian extremism is becoming the norm, we must not let the words of Beulah Sanders be forgotten or the worst fears of countless prophets and freedom fighters come true. Rather, we must build the strength to make a theological and spiritual vision of everybody-in-nobody-out a reality and create the capacity, powered by faith, to make it so. Now is the time. May we make it so.
There are Christians who are preaching and practicing the ministry of Jesus, the son of God, who himself was unhoused and undocumented and sided with the poor. And then there are Christian nationalists.
Most days, in the heart of Pennsylvania’s Bible Belt, the old sanctuary at Christ Lutheran Church sits empty. Decades ago, it was home to a congregation of 3,000 people. By the late 1990s, that number had dwindled to seven. At the turn of the millennium, Jody Silliker, a young minister fresh out of seminary, was sent to shutter the downtown church, a mile from the state legislature in Harrisburg.
Instead, she immersed herself in the deindustrialized community, meeting unhoused families, the unemployed, migrant workers, sex workers, and other low-wage laborers. Just a few years after welfare reform eviscerated the social safety net and proclaimed the era of “personal responsibility,” Silliker retrofitted the church annex and opened a free medical clinic.
Earlier this spring, we visited Christ Lutheran. We’ve been on the road since April, meeting with leaders from poor and dispossessed communities in this country and sharing notes from our new book, You Only Get What You’re Organized to Take: Lessons from the Movement to End Poverty. As the Trump administration abducts our neighbors off the streets and eviscerates everything from Medicaid to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, we want to better understand what it will take to ignite a democratic awakening in this country. How, in the words of theologian Howard Thurman, the “masses of people, with their backs constantly up against the wall” in Donald Trump’s America, can push back together.
In small towns, as well as cities like Harrisburg, there is an underreported but epic struggle being waged for the hearts and minds of everyday people, with ripple effects for the entire nation. And the church—its pulpit, pews, and survival programs—is a critical staging ground for that struggle. There are Christians who are preaching and practicing the ministry of Jesus, the son of God, who himself was unhoused and undocumented and sided with the poor, the sick, the indebted, the incarcerated, and the immigrant, while decrying the idolatry of tyrants.
And then there are Christian nationalists, whose religion of empire is more akin to the worship of Caesar than the Jesus of the scriptures.
Today, Christian nationalists are attempting to transform our democracy into their dominion and remake (or simply dismantle) the government in the image of Project 2025. Earlier this spring, even before Trump’s disastrous “Big Beautiful Bill” passed Congress, Paul Dans, the architect of Project 2025, marveled that the new administration’s policies were unfurling on a scale and scope beyond his “wildest dreams.” Now, those same Christian nationalists are gutting access to Medicaid, banning reproductive freedom and gender-affirming healthcare, criminalizing the unhoused, and scapegoating immigrant communities in the courts and Congress, even though the scriptures decry such actions. “Woe to you who deprive the rights of the poor, making women and homeless children your prey,” laments the prophet Isaiah.
Thankfully, there are brave faith leaders standing firmly in the breach, refusing to let the Bible and the church be hijacked by extremists. At Christ Lutheran, Jody Silliker’s successor, Pastor Matthew Best, is now following in her footsteps. Just a few miles from Life Center, an evangelical megachurch that hosted Elon Musk late in the 2024 election season, Pastor Best continues to transform his resplendent church into a community mission. On the second floor, volunteer dentists pull rotten teeth and perform root canals, cost-free. In the basement, nurses treat emergencies, mental health crises, and chronic health issues. More than 50 national flags hang from the ceiling, each representing the nationality of a patient. Since 2018, 100,000 people have walked under those flags to receive medical care. Nobody is asked for payment, documentation, or insurance.
In early July, right after Trump signed his Big Beautiful Bill, Pastor Best preached a sermon reminding his multiracial, multilingual, intergenerational, and predominantly poor congregation that they were not alone in feeling like exiles in their own land. As he put it:
Jeremiah 29 is a letter written to people in exile—or about to be. It’s sent to those who have lost everything: their homes, their land, their freedom, their safety. It’s sent to those who feel like strangers in a strange land, people who are trying to make sense of how everything they depended on has fallen apart. At the time of this letter, some of the people of Judah have already been taken into exile in Babylon. They were the first wave—the leaders, artisans, and young people deported when Babylon invaded. They are trying to build a life in a strange land. But back in Jerusalem, others are still there—living in a fragile illusion of normal. The temple still stands. A king still rules. But it won’t last. More exile is coming.
To bring his point home, Pastor Best translated the Bible into what he called “Harrisburg English”:
This is what the Lord says to all of you living in exile—the ones just barely scraping by, the ones pushed to the margins, the ones wondering if God has left.
“I see you. I haven’t abandoned you. Build your homes—even if they’re one-room apartments. Grow food—even if it’s a tomato plant in a pot. Love your families—whatever they look like. Create beauty in the middle of struggle. Pray for your city—even when it feels broken. Don’t check out. Don’t give up. For in its healing, you will find your own. Don’t listen to those who say things are fine. Don’t trust those who profit off your pain. Because I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “Plans for welfare and not for harm. Plans to give you a future and a hope. When you cry out, I will listen. When you search for me with your whole heart, you will find me. Not in the halls of Congress. Not behind gated communities. But in free clinics. In shared meals. In prayers whispered through tears. In justice rolling down like waters. I will gather you. I will bring you home.”
That, beloved, is the gospel in exile.
Pastor Best’s bottom-up ministry is mirrored by others in that area. His friends Tammy Rojas and Matthew Rosing, who have survived homelessness, incarceration, and low wages, are commissioned ministers with the Freedom Church of the Poor, a spiritual home for grassroots organizers founded during the first month of the Covid-19 pandemic. They are also longtime leaders of Put People First PA!, which organizes poor people across the state of Pennsylvania to defend Medicaid and demand universal healthcare.
In 2019, Rojas and Rosing led an effort to stop the corporate capture and closure of St. Joseph Hospital in Lancaster, an hour southwest of Harrisburg. For the couple, the fight couldn’t have been more personal: Rojas had been born at that hospital and Rosing received lifesaving care there on multiple occasions. Ultimately, despite their efforts, St. Joseph was closed.
After that defeat, they redoubled their efforts to organize within the region’s abandoned communities. Today, in the wake of Trump’s historic Medicaid cuts and as Rojas and Rosing anticipate the closure of more hospitals, they continue to recruit new members and allies for their “Healthcare is a Human Right” campaign at feeding programs and free clinics like the one at Christ Lutheran. Around their necks, they all too appropriately wear stoles that read: “Fight Poverty, Not the Poor” and “Jesus Was Homeless.”
Rojas and Rosing face formidable opposition in the region. In Lancaster, where they live, Christian nationalists are working hard to amass power. In recent years, the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR) has set up shop in that historically Anabaptist area. Once a fringe movement of the Christian Right, NAR has quietly built a sophisticated and well-funded national operation over the last couple decades. In 2024, the Southern Poverty Law Center described it as the “greatest threat to American democracy that most people have never heard of.”
NAR churches in Lancaster have proliferated, taking over, or “steeplejacking,” historic and dying churches. On first glance, such local church activity may appear quite benign. NAR leaders provide food and other material and spiritual aid through their ministries, artfully deploying the language of diversity and encouraging people to “come as you are.” Some families attend services just to sing lively renditions of contemporary Christian music. Indeed, many people join those churches, which have become de facto community centers, for the most human of needs: connection and fellowship.
Today, the work of Pastors Best, Rojas, and Rosing in Pennsylvania’s Bible Belt underscores the still-vital role of religion in advancing a more just and vibrant democracy in the Trump era.
Stick around long enough, though, and you’ll discover an institutional pipeline suffused with toxic theology that funnels people toward Christian nationalism. In their churches, food banks, recovery services, and community meetings, local NAR leaders offer individual and highly spiritualized explanations for this country’s systemic crises of poverty, homelessness, hunger, and addiction. The solution to these and other social problems, they insist, is fidelity to a dominionist God and a theology eager to bring Christian nationalism to, and keep it in, power. Forget science, reasonable public policy, or the separation of church and state. In meetings with more dedicated church activists, these same leaders invoke Biblical imagery to proclaim spiritual warfare against “demonic” influences in our government, schools, and family structures (that is, diverse expressions of religious, political, or gender identity).
This far-right movement melds its grassroots activity in south-central Pennsylvania with a broader campaign to influence a new generation of county and state politicians, law enforcement officials, businesspeople, and educators. In the years ahead, Christian nationalists like them, who now command power at the highest reaches of the federal government, will only intensify their activities across the country. Indeed, a number of figures within Trump’s cabinet and his coterie of advisers, as well as congressional leaders like Speaker of the House Mike Johnson (R-La.), have close ties to the Christian nationalist ecosystem. These are the same politicians who championed Trump’s Big Beautiful Bill, including its historic tax cuts for the wealthy, increased military, detention, and immigration enforcement spending, and death-dealing cuts to the social safety net.
To fight back, we need to forge new alliances across racial, religious, geographic, and partisan lines. Certainly, today’s ongoing political crisis should remind concerned Christians that they can’t sit out the battle for the Bible and should remind the rest of us that we can’t concede religion to extremists. Christian nationalists weaponize the Good Book because they believe they have a monopoly on morality and can distort the word of God with impunity.
The policy effects of their theological distortions will continue to be devastating. In early June, for example, the Minnesota state legislature voted to strip healthcare from undocumented immigrants, despite majority control by the Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party. To rationalize his vote, state Rep. Isaac Schultz (R-10B) blithely argued: “The role of the church—the role of people of faith—is to care for our neighbors. Yes… But not in this instance, specifically.”
Clearly, Shultz has not studied the Bible closely enough. If he had, he would have discovered that the Bible’s 2,000 passages about poverty and justice constitute perhaps the most important mass media ever produced that had something good to say about immigrants, the poor, the sick, and otherwise marginalized people. In scripture after scripture, Jesus condemns the violent policies of empire, which enriches itself on the backs of the poor. Instead, he proclaims the Good News of Jubilee: a vision of social and economic emancipation for the entirety of humanity.
In this country, the liberatory heart of Christianity, among other religious traditions, has always been a source of strength for popular social movements. In every previous era, there were people who grounded their freedom struggles in the holy word and spirit of God. Today, the work of Pastors Best, Rojas, and Rosing in Pennsylvania’s Bible Belt underscores the still-vital role of religion in advancing a more just and vibrant democracy in the Trump era. In Harrisburg and Lancaster, these Christians are building a bottom-up and deeply moral movement that recognizes the material, spiritual, and emotional needs of everyday people.
“The church speaks to birth, death, and resurrection,” Pastor Best explained while giving us a tour of Christ Lutheran’s free medical clinic. “This is the resurrection.”
What if we started collectively seeing weeds and discarded plastic straws not as simply an assault on our sense of order—clean sidewalks!—but as minute particles of the living planet?
What does mowing the lawn have to do with world events?
Well, one of my life skills is the ability to make minimal and possibly absurd connections, linking the trivial and the profound. Thus, a few years back (when I still mowed my own lawn), I wrote this poem. It’s called “Buddha’s Lawn”:
I mow the lawn and feel gratitude
my neighbors
haven’t pigeonholed me as a crazy old coot.
I’m stalled in my transition
from a lifestyle and sense of order based on
killing things,
like weeds, mice, whatever,
to one based on reverence for all stuff,
however weird.
It’s a cool day but
I work up a sweat.
On the lawn, I pick up a shred
of burst red balloon, a used napkin,
a transparent plastic juice container.
This stuff is all just litter
and the weeds are still weeds.
If I really let myself
see them differently,
I’d be the crazy neighbor, right?
You know, value everything, including the disposables of life. I guess I’ve always had this wacky inner protest going on, not against order and cleanliness per se, but against the clank of the trash can: “throwing stuff away,” then assuming it’s permanently gone from our universe, rather than floating in a river somewhere or buried in a landfill.
Is it possible, I quietly (secretly) ask myself, to actually value... somehow... trash, weeds, mice, bugs, or anything—everything—else that doesn’t fit into a properly civilized, middle-class universe? This secret question is mixed with confusion, even shame, because, well, I’m sort of a slob, indifferent to dust and disorder and the like, but also, at the same time, a participant in and benefactor of humanity’s exploitation of Planet Earth.
So, I tell myself: Just mow the damn lawn, toss out (or maybe recycle) the litter, and do your best to fit in. I try, I try, but my strange, soul-deep uncertainty persists. And a larger, far more troubling question quickly emerges. Where do we draw the line between valuing and dismissing... whatever?
And my uncertainties turn social. They turn political. I grew up in the Christian church, and heard its values espoused: “Do unto others as you would have them do un o you.” And, oh yeah: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”
Could anything resonate more clearly? This was deep, unyielding: Don’t submit to simplistic anger but dig, when you are hurt and offended, for understanding, for healing. Love is not a simple concept—a sploosh of kumbaya and the problem’s solved. It may well be life’s deepest challenge.
But as Christianity became a world religion, its cross got turned upside down and became a sword. And along came the Crusades. Let’s retake the Holy Land, man! Loving thy enemy apparently meant killing him—and his family, his children. Millions of people died. And the wars rolled on and on. Conquest and dehumanization became fully embedded as the religious values of the powerful. Human ingenuity—scientific progress—mostly fed the urge for war, culminating in the creation, and use, of the atomic bomb. And 12,000 or so nuclear bombs now sit here and there around the planet, continually upgraded, patiently waiting to end the world.
But even as ending the world remains on hold, non-nuclear wars continue, making the news virtually unbearable to read. For instance, over 50,000 Palestinians,—maybe 100,000 or more—have died in Israel’s genocidal assault.
And, as Truthout reports:
Many Palestinians say that the starvation is even worse than Israel’s bombardments, having been starved by varying levels of Israel’s blockade for 19 months and with food costs constantly on the rise. The total aid blockade ushered in the worst conditions of the genocide so far; one Palestinian reporter said in March that children in the region are so hungry that they’re drawing pictures of food in the sand.
...According to an assessment by the United Nations-backed Integrated Food Security Phase Classification, nearly 71,000 children are expected to experience acute malnutrition in the next year due to Israel’s blockade.
This is humanity’s flow of indifference to much—or all?—of life. I can’t let go of it. And I can’t stop noticing it at the miniscule level of “weeds” and “litter” and every other aspect of nature that doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is not, oh gosh, be good to the weeds, be good to the discarded cigarette butts and plastic straws—but rather, notice them and ponder, with deep wonderment, the meaning of nature, the meaning of life.
What if we started collectively seeing that discarded plastic straw not as simply an assault on our sense of order—clean sidewalks!—but as a minute particle of the living planet? How far upward might this awareness flow?