PILGRIM NOTES

I've come to wonder whether we have sometimes built the walls around our belief systems so high that agreement has become a condition of belonging. And if that's true, listening to God becomes more costly than we might imagine. Because what happens if I really ask God to correct me—and he does? What happens if the people I love don't change with me? What happens if I no longer fit comfortably among the people who helped give me my identity?

Somewhere along the way I learned to call certain experiences in my own life “kairos moments.” Have you ever had what you might call a mountaintop experience—a moment when your ordinary awareness of time seemed to fade and something profoundly touched you? In those moments, the distance between Heaven and Earth can seem razor thin. But perhaps I've even been thinking about that backward. Maybe we simply become more aware of how close Heaven is.

It makes me sad when I think about the sacrifices our parents’ generation made to leave a better life to us. We should not so easily accept the way things are. There is a moral difference between recognizing that inequality has always existed—and probably always will—and deciding that nothing could—or should—be done about it. Why are we so quick to accept systemic economic inequality as a permanent reality rather than a problem we can address together—or at least weaken its i

Can we dream together? What might it look like if Jesus’ prayer really began shaping how Christians practiced citizenship? Not a Christian government. Not Christians controlling the government. But Christians actually praying—and living— “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” What would it look like if Christians became known as the people who lowered the temperature in a room rather than raised it?

Communion reminds us God's deepest desire has always been to dwell with his people. We leave the Table not merely having remembered Christ, but carrying his presence into the world. God no longer asks people to come to sacred space. He makes his people the sacred space. What does this mean? It means God's purpose has never changed. From Genesis onward, God has desired to dwell with humanity and accomplish his work through humanity.

Looking back, I realize my civic conscience—love for God, love for neighbor, and gratitude for the privilege of living in a free society—was being developed at home, at school, and at church. Long before I had the right to vote, I had the freedom to ask questions, debate ideas, and discover that citizenship requires participation, not merely observation. I'm deeply thankful for the people who taught me that.

When fear searches for an explanation, simple stories become attractive. Some point to immigration, religious pluralism, ethnic groups, or political opponents. Whether these explanations contain elements of truth or not, they often reduce a complicated cultural transformation to a single villain. Fear rarely tolerates complexity. It searches for someone to blame. And once fear has identified an enemy, taking back political control begins to look like the obvious solution.

As a Christian, I believe that when we use the terms faith and faithfulness, we are talking about promising to God, and to one another, that we will do our best with what we have been given. When, out of self-interest, greed, or a lust for power, people seek to dominate others, they corrupt this sacred trust and oppression inevitably follows.

We are created for connection by a communal God, so walls do profound damage, both to our democracy and to our souls.