Imagine two men hiring a woman to be impregnated through artificial insemination, to carry the baby to term, then to give the child up to be raised by the two “fathers” who essentially rented her womb for nine months.

That is what Guy Benson and Adam Wise have done, not once but twice.

Predictably, most establishment figures in Conservative, Inc. have issued public statements of congratulation to the “couple” as they have most recently “welcomed” their second child. Others, who don’t rely on multi-billion-dollar media corporations for their paychecks, have not held back their disdain for such a vile practice.

“Intentionally depriving a child of her mother is one of the most depraved things imaginable,” writes Matt Walsh. “The entire surrogacy industry should be forcibly shut down. It is pure barbarism.”

“Benson is an incisive pundit,” writes Megan Basham. “But there is nothing conservative about deliberately creating motherless children. I pray Benson and those like him on the Right would consider what they are telling the world about how unnecessary they believe mothers (or if we’re talking about two women, fathers) are to the needs of children. Because that is what they’re declaring when they create these children through the surrogacy process. That mothers and fathers serve no specific purpose.”

I won’t dignify the petty and vulgar response to Basham’s statement that was made by Fox personality Kennedy, other than to say it is all too typical of Benson’s media allies who have exposed themselves as neither conservative nor libertarian (the term Kennedy prefers for herself) but, rather, nihilists and moral anarchists who care nothing for the preservation of the fundamental unit of society, namely, the family. To celebrate what Benson and Wise have done is to be complicit in human trafficking and the egregious exploitation of women and children.

Then again, none of this should be all that surprising within the wider context of a “conservatism” that is becoming increasingly detached from biblical or even generic Christian principles. A media company platforming a “gay conservative” because he is, well, “gay” and “conservative” is itself a form of exploitation. Guy Benson, for his part, doesn’t seem to mind the notoriety he gains from such exploitation. Once you understand that about him, you understand, also, why he is so tragically blind to the hideous exploitation inherent in his perverse parody of parenthood.

The late Richard John Neuhaus offered one of the clearest modern critiques of the tension between religion and contemporary culture. His insight into what he called the fate of “optional orthodoxy” remains especially sharp.

Neuhaus argued that when orthodoxy is treated as optional, it will eventually be pushed aside altogether. In his view, orthodox belief inevitably claims that some things are true and others false; some things right and others wrong. A culture committed above all to tolerance may permit such belief only on the condition that it remain private, modest, and nonbinding on anyone else.

That tolerance, however, is unstable. It allows orthodoxy to exist only so long as orthodox believers do not present their convictions as normative. Once they do, what was supposedly accepted becomes unacceptable.

When tolerance is valued above truth in Christian conversation, conflict with orthodoxy is almost inevitable. Defending traditional teaching in the face of newer theological claims can require a directness that sounds harsh to modern ears.

Consider the charge, recently leveled during the acrimonious episcopal election process in the ACNA’s Diocese of the Western Gulf Coast (DWGC), that one of the candidates for bishop was “illegitimizing women” because he affirmed the view that women may not preach in a eucharistic assembly. That teaching has been regarded as orthodox for two millennia. To dismiss it as misogynistic, as the candidate’s inquisitor clearly did, is ignorant, uncharitable, and insufferably smug.

At its core, such self-serving rejection of a clearly articulated, biblically grounded principle is indicative of a spiritual attitude that needs pastoral guidance. True pastoral care should focus less on preserving short-term comfort and more on caring for eternal well-being. In a church that truly values orthodoxy, this would be taken for granted. Yet more and more, the ACNA seems to be moving in the opposite direction. Christian orthodoxy—described in the well-known Vincentian Canon as “what was believed everywhere, always, and by all”—is becoming just one choice among many under the broad umbrella of “integrities” and “streams” that somehow define 21st century Anglicanism. This makes the ACNA’s struggle seem bleak and renders its goal of restoring a biblical, orthodox Anglicanism in North America ultimately pointless.

Institutional defenders will likely push back against this view, claiming the ACNA is a genuine refuge for orthodox Anglicans and that any disputes are merely over “second order” issues. But this perspective is narrow, overlooking the fact that what one person sees as a minor issue might be another’s standard for orthodoxy. The real disagreements aren’t about secondary matters at all, but about who decides what counts as “second order” and what defines a strong, authentic orthodox faith.

The decline of The Episcopal Church, and mainline Protestantism more broadly, into unrestrained sexual permissiveness was a major catalyst in the formation of the ACNA, as various renewal and realignment movements came together. But as recent challenges with our disciplinary canons have shown, holding firmly to tradition in one area doesn’t guarantee a full orbed orthodoxy or a healthy orthopraxy. The mainline’s dismissal of Christian teaching on sexual morality may have been the breaking point, but it certainly wasn’t the starting point. John Pike was gone long before figures like John Shelby Spong and Gene Robinson were even on the scene. Reforming the church requires taking the long view, reconnecting with a heritage that stretches back to Augustine, Irenaeus, Paul, Peter, James, John, and ultimately Jesus himself.

The ACNA is struggling right now largely because it began on ground that was already shaky. Optional orthodoxy will not make it more solid. A genuine Reformation requires reaching further back than the already deeply compromised Episcopal Church of the mid-1970s.

I will confess that, as a priest in the Anglican Church in North Ameria (ACNA), I have felt quite discouraged in recent weeks. Church discipline has never been our strong suit, and that has been painfully obvious during the on again/off again trial of Bishop Stewart Ruch (now thankfully concluded with a verdict to be delivered within 60 days) and the ongoing drama involving the Special Jurisdiction of the Armed Forces and Chaplaincy (JAFC). The news that the pretender Sarah Mullally had been appointed Archbishop of Canterbury seemed neither surprising nor consequential at first. The ACNA is not in communion with the Church of England and does not wish to be. Elevating a woman cosplaying as a bishop to the Chair of St. Augustine was just another laugh out loud sight gag from an ecclesial body that seems to be taking its cues more from Monty Python than from the Bible. So, I was pleasantly surprised when this latest absurdity from across the pond seemed, at first, to be the catalyst for the primates of the Global Anglican Future Conference (GAFCON) finally taking the decisive action many believe they should have taken long ago.

The communique from Archbishop Laurent Mbanda, chairman of the GAFCON Primates Council, arrived in my inbox yesterday morning. Before I could even finish reading it, it was already lighting up my social media feeds. Archbishop Mbanda and several other GAFCON primates, along with a handful of ACNA bishops, had issued moderately worded statements in response to the Mullally appointment, but none came close to the decisive language of yesterday’s communique.

To our dear Anglican brothers and sisters in Christ.

Grace and peace to you in the name of our risen Lord Jesus Christ, on the Commemoration of the martyrdom of Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley.

The first Global Anglican Future Conference (GAFCON) gathered in 2008 in Jerusalem to prayerfully respond to the abandonment of the Scriptures by some of the most senior leaders of the Anglican Communion, and to seek their repentance.

In the absence of such repentance, we have been prayerfully advancing towards a future for faithful Anglicans, where the Bible is restored to the heart of the Communion.

Today, that future has arrived.

Our Gafcon Primates gathered this hour to fulfil our mandate to reform the Anglican Communion, as expressed in the Jerusalem Statement of 2008.

We resolved to reorder the Anglican Communion as follows:

1. We declare that the Anglican Communion will be reordered, with only one foundation of communion, namely the Holy Bible, “translated, read, preached, taught and obeyed in its plain and canonical sense, respectful of the church’s historic and consensual reading” (Jerusalem Declaration, Article II), which reflects Article VI of the 39 Articles of Religion.

2. We reject the so-called Instruments of Communion, namely the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Lambeth Conference, the Anglican Consultative Council (ACC), and the Primates Meeting, which have failed to uphold the doctrine and discipline of the Anglican Communion.

3. We cannot continue to have communion with those who advocate the revisionist agenda, which has abandoned the inerrant word of God as the final authority and overturned Resolution I.10, of the 1998 Lambeth Conference.

4. Therefore, Gafcon has re-ordered the Anglican Communion by restoring its original structure as a fellowship of autonomous provinces bound together by the Formularies of the Reformation, as reflected at the first Lambeth Conference in 1867, and we are now the Global Anglican Communion.

5. Provinces of the Global Anglican Communion shall not participate in meetings called by the Archbishop of Canterbury, including the ACC, and shall not make any monetary contribution to the ACC, nor receive any monetary contribution from the ACC or its networks.

6. Provinces, which have yet to do so, are encouraged to amend their constitution to remove any reference to being in communion with the See of Canterbury and the Church of England.

7. To be a member of the Global Anglican Communion, a province or a diocese must assent to the Jerusalem Declaration of 2008, the contemporary standard for Anglican identity.

8. We shall form a Council of Primates of all member provinces to elect a Chairman, as primus inter pares (‘first amongst equals’), to preside over the Council as it continues “to contend for the faith that was once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 3).

As I declared in my statement two weeks ago,“the reset of our beloved Communion is now uniquely in the hands of Gafcon, and we are ready to take the lead.”

Today, Gafcon is leading the Global Anglican Communion.

As has been the case from the very beginning, we have not left the Anglican Communion; we are the Anglican Communion.

At our upcoming G26 Bishops Conference in Abuja, Nigeria from 3 to 6 March 2026, we will confer and celebrate the Global Anglican Communion.

Please pray that we will lead our Communion in prayerful submission to the Holy Spirit as we hear the voice of Jesus in his wondrous Scriptures, to the glory of God.

Yours in Christ,

The Most Revd Dr Laurent Mbanda
Chairman, Gafcon Primates’ Council
Archbishop and Primate of the Anglican Church of Rwanda
Thursday 16th October, 2025

I said earlier that the Mullally appointment seemed, at first, to be the catalyst for the GAFCON primates’ action. As I write this, however, a pastoral letter from Archbishop Steve Wood has just dropped in my inbox. It will be read in its entirety to the congregation on Sunday, but one paragraph is worth citing now, as it explains well a very important element of the communique.

You may well note that our declaration made no mention of the newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury. That silence was deliberate. To single out a person would have been to suggest that our identity still revolves around that See.

This moment is not about personality or politics; it is about principle. By our silence we proclaimed a deeper truth: the See of Canterbury no longer defines who we are.

So, for the Global Anglican Communion, the future long prayed for has arrived. Let it be announced not with trumpets, but with the voices of Anglicans worldwide lifted up in prayer before the throne of God.

Almighty and everlasting God, who by Thy Holy Spirit didst guide the apostles and hast promised to lead Thy Church into all truth: Keep, we pray, the Global Anglican Communion steadfast in faith, humble in spirit, bold in witness, and holy in life; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with Thee and the same Spirit, one God, world without end. Amen.

There was a prayer meeting at the White House yesterday. A group of marginally influential evangelical leaders gathered around the President of the United States as he sat at the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office and prayed for him.

So far, so good. Yet, as is always the case when religion and politics intersect, the incident has spawned controversy.

No, the left-wing progressives are not freaking out over an overt expression of public faith taking place on government property. Rather, some evangelicals who were not in attendance have voiced concern over the presence and participation of Paula White, the infamous purveyor of the “Word of Faith” prosperity gospel and President Trump’s personal “faith advisor.”

Despite the predictable howls about “misogyny” from the usual cast of left-wing critics, President Trump has populated his second administration with a number of highly capable women, including Chief of Staff Susie Wiles, Attorney General Pam Bondi, Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem, and Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt.

Paula White, however, is another matter. To call her a false teacher would be to take her too seriously. Better to call her simply a phony.

To understand President Trump’s affinity for such an obvious religious charlatan, you have to understand how his own faith was formed, in large part, by the teachings of a man who also influenced several Republican administrations of yesteryear.

Norman Vincent Peale, longtime pastor of New York City’s Marble Collegiate Church, where Trump attended during his younger days, rose to prominence during the 1950’s with his best-selling book, The Power of Positive Thinking, and his syndicated newspaper column. He strongly supported Dwight D. Eisenhower over Adlai Stevenson in the 1952 presidential race, denouncing Stevenson as unfit for office because he was divorced. In 1960, he joined forces with Billy Graham to urge American Protestants to support the nominal Quaker Richard Nixon over the nominal Roman Catholic John F. Kennedy. Following his loss in that election and his subsequent failed bid for Governor of California two years later, Nixon relocated to New York and attended Marble Collegiate where he, like Trump, heard his share of Peale’s rhetorically eloquent but theologically vacuous sermons.

Paula White cannot be called a Peale protege but her happy clappy, health and wealth prosperity gospel echoes his influence. For Trump to find her appealing should not be at all surprising, considering his religious upbringing. For Christians who see Trump as an ally in their effort to restore sanity, common sense, and virtue to a culture drowning in moral dissipation, Paula White casts a long, dark shadow over that alliance. As made painfully clear at yesterday’s prayer meeting, her presence is unavoidable. No doubt, more than a few of the participants knew better than to have any association with her and, out of concern for the president’s spiritual well-being, would have liked to have shared their concerns with him. However, as Paula White is head of the White House Faith Office, any such communication would have to go through her first. Well, good luck with that.

Perhaps the larger question, especially in light of the unavoidable Ms. White, is whether or not such gatherings of religious leaders to pray in person for the nation’s chief executive are, in fact, so great a victory for “our” side. There seems to be a great deal of euphoria over the mere optics. Is a prayer for the President of the United States made more effectual or fervent simply because it also makes for a photo op with the man himself?

It is the One to whom the prayer is addressed that we owe our ultimate allegiance. A sincere prayer for our nation’s leaders will reach his ears, whether it comes from the Oval Office or the Daily Office. In that vein, I commend the following prayer for daily use:

O Lord our Governor, whose glory is in all the world; We commend this nation to thy merciful care, that being guided by thy providence, we may dwell secure in thy peace. Grant to the President of this Nation, the Governor of this State [or Commonwealth], and to all in Authority, wisdom and strength to know and to do thy will. Fill them with the love of truth and righteousness; and make them ever mindful of their calling to serve this people in thy fear; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee, in the unity of the Holy Ghost, ever one God, world without end. Amen. (FOR THE PRESIDENT AND ALL IN CIVIL AUTHORITY, BCP 2019 TLE)

The disgraceful behavior of Mariann Budde at Tuesday’s “prayer service” at the Washington National Cathedral has garnered a considerable amount of well-deserved criticism. I have little to say about it, other than what has already been said. I must confess, however, that I am a bit surprised at the level of outrage and indignation expressed by many conservative Christians who are, apparently, ignorant of the history of the Episcopal Church over roughly the last half century. The “National Cathedral” is a vestige of that denomination’s once prominent place in American cultural and political life; a place that has long since been supplanted by the godless secularism that all mainline churches now seek to imitate and appease. In the social, religious, and political context of contemporary American culture, a pitifully frail woman cosplaying in Anglican liturgical garb, lecturing the President of the United States like a nagging school marm, looks more like a sketch from the British comedy troupe Monty Python than anything remotely resembling “speaking truth to power” (as Budde’s defenders have laughably claimed).

I am reminded of a debate between Richard John Neuhaus and John Shelby Spong that aired on William F. Buckley’s Firing Line program in 1988. Spong had just published his pseudo-scholarly tome, Living in Sin? A Bishop Rethinks Sexuality, in which he articulated a revisionist sexual ethic that was then still considered scandalous by the general Christian public. Neuhaus, at the time a Lutheran pastor on the road to becoming a Catholic priest, was asked if he found Spong’s book and its unorthodox ideas to be “appalling.”

In his typical erudite manner, Neuhaus responded, “I don’t find the book appalling. I find it unspeakably dull.”

There was nothing “controversial” about Spong’s book, Neuhaus said. One could read People magazine or watch Dr. Ruth Westheimer’s then popular television show and find the same ideas presented. Furthermore, the book was written in a “mean-spirited” and “narrow-minded” way that “rail[ed] against everybody who disagrees,” using such uncomplimentary terms as “prejudiced,” “victims of superstition,” “ignorant,” and “hypocrites.” It was “a conventional presentation of terribly familiar viewpoints” presented in “an unusually mean-spirited and narrow-minded” tone.

The desperate rantings of Mariann Budde in 2025 can be dismissed in much the same manner as Neuhaus dismissed the “terribly familiar viewpoints” of John Shelby Spong in 1988. False religion (especially the kind that wears a thin veneer of Christianity as a skin suit) is, and always will be, “unspeakably dull.” The appropriate response is not over-the-top outrage or indignation, but one big collective yawn.

If your first reaction to this news is “Who was Hal Lindsey?” then I am both happy and sad for you. I am happy that you did not have to endure the repeated prognostications about the “rapture” and “the end of the world” that he propagated ad nauseum for nearly half a century. I am sad that you missed out on the hilarious entertainment value of such prognostications.

The flawed hermeneutic of dispensationalism that John Nelson Darby and Cyrus Ingersoll Scofield developed and systematized, respectively, in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Hal Lindsey popularized in the late twentieth and early twenty first centuries. His magnum opus, The Late Great Planet Earth, first published in 1970, was a runaway bestseller whose unfortunate influence on evangelical thinking on the end times is still felt to this day.

Lindsey, however, was neither a careful theologian nor a thoughtful biblical scholar. His writings were regurgitations of earlier dispensationalists simply delivered in a popular, easily readable style that appealed to the masses and made him a small fortune over the years. His pen has been relatively silent over the last decade but some of his final writings, published on (but, apparently, since removed from) the online news site WorldNetDaily in the early 2010’s, provided me with amply material for critique during the heyday of the original blogosphere. One column, published February 6, 2009, could just as easily have been written yesterday of fifty years ago. In it, Lindsey repeated the claim he had been making for four decades by then, namely, that “the end” was near.

Taking a step back and looking at the Big Picture, it is hard not to miss the fact that events are developing in concert with the ancient prophecies of Scripture.

The Prophet Isaiah foretold the "burden of Damascus" (Isaiah 17:1) in which the prophet predicts the overnight destruction of that great city in the last days: “At evening time, behold there is terror! Before morning they are no more. Such will be the portion of those who plunder us, and the lot of those who pillage us.” (Isaiah 17:14)

The Prophet Ezekiel predicts an alliance between Russia and an Islamic confederacy headed by Iran, or Persia.

Hamas continues to attack Israel with rocket attacks for the sheer joy of the violence of it all. Related to this, the Prophet Obadiah pronounced this verdict against Edom, who is one of the forefathers of the people of Hamas, saying, “Because of violence to your brother Jacob, you will be covered with shame, and you will be cut off forever.” Interestingly, the word translated as “violence” in this Scripture is the Hebrew word, chamac, pronounced “hamas.”

Of all the generations in history, it is to this generation that the prophecies of the last days are addressed. Previous generations looked for the signs given by Scripture, but only this generation can truly see them all come together at one time – which is itself a key fulfillment of prophecy.

The Prophet Daniel predicted these conditions: “And I heard, but I understood not: then said I, O my Lord, what shall be the end of these things? And he said, ‘Go thy way, Daniel: for the words are closed up and sealed till the time of the end.’” (Daniel 12:8-9) We are witnessing the “unsealing” of the end-times prophecies.

Charles Spurgeon, the nineteenth century “prince of preachers,” decried and belittled his contemporaries who engaged in what he called “exegesis by current events.” Lindsey was no contemporary of Spurgeon, but he was the unrivaled master of this dubious technique. Its fatal flaw should be obvious to any serious student of the Bible. It violates one of the basic rules of biblical interpretation, namely, that Scripture is its own best interpreter. The prophecies of Daniel which were “closed up and sealed till the time of the end” were, in fact, unsealed in the final book of the New Testament.

In the grand narrative of the Bible, Daniel and Revelation are two parts of the same whole. When John begins to “weep loudly because no one was found worthy to open the scroll or to look into it,” he is consoled by one of the elders around the throne of God, who says to him, “Weep no more; behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals” (Revelation 5:4-5).

The book that Daniel had been instructed to seal is now unsealed. The fullness of God's plan for the redemption of the world has been revealed in Jesus Christ. He is “the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the root of David” who “has conquered” the forces of sin, death, and hell through his life, death, and resurrection “so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.”

Just what part of “Weep no more; behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals” did Lindsey not understand? That he never did understand, despite being blessed with a life spanning nearly a century, is truly a tragedy.

We begin to hear it in the word of the Lord through the prophet, “Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your deeds from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow’s cause” (Isaiah 1:16-18).

We begin to hear it in the words of Paul to the believers in Corinth, encouraging them to use their gifts for the mutual edification of the one Body of Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 12:1-11).

We are coming around again to that time, that season in which we long for, thirst for, cry out for the coming of our Lord, Emmanuel, God with us.

For all our longing, thirsting, and crying out, however, the coming of the Lord—as both Isaiah and Paul remind us—is something for which we must be, first and foremost, prepared.

Zacchaeus, that wee little man whom most of us probably first met in a Sunday School lesson years ago, a comical figure in most our minds, seems an odd character to insert into the story at this point. We read his story in Luke 19:1-10. What has a man climbing up a sycamore tree to do with preparing ourselves for the coming of the Lord?

In a word, everything!

What Isaiah foretold, what Paul declared, Zacchaeus got a glimpse of on that day when Jesus called out, “Zacchaeus, hurry up and come down, for I must stay at your house today.”

Who was Zacchaeus?

He was a resident of Jericho, though certainly not its most popular resident.

One of the great ironies of salvation history is that the two names most associated with Jericho are the prostitute Rahab, who helped the Hebrew spies in preparation for the conquest of the Promised Land (cf. Joshua 2) and the notorious tax collector, Zacchaeus.

Tax Collectors were collaborators with the Roman occupiers. They were seen as despicable traitors and scoundrels. They not only went out of their way to make sure you paid every last penny of the tribute you owed to Caesar, but to make matters worse, they added an additional little fee that they conveniently kept for themselves.

Zacchaeus was not just any tax collector. He was a chief tax collector. That means, in all likelihood, he was also skimming a little more money off the top from all the other tax collectors.

To top it all off and cast this little fellow in the worst possible light, Luke throws in the additional fact that “he was rich.”

“Rich” in Luke’s Gospel means attached to wealth, defined by riches, holding on to things of this world as though they were all that mattered.

Yet, Zacchaeus “was seeking to see who Jesus was.”

Somewhere, deep down inside, Zacchaeus knew there was more to life than the enormous wealth he had accumulated through dubious means. In the midst of a forest of meaningless riches, God was still trying to get this little man’s attention.

A. W. Tozer observes in The Pursuit of God:

Before a sinful man can think a right thought of God, there must have been a work of enlightenment done within him. Imperfect it may be, but a true work nonetheless, and the secret cause of all desiring and seeking and praying which may follow.

We pursue God because, and only because, He has first put an urge within us that spurs us to the pursuit.

Who was Zacchaeus?

He was very much the typical Jew of Jesus’ day. He was a hopeless sellout who desperately wanted to buy in to something that would give him hope. He was longing for renewal, hungering for restoration, crying out for deliverance; but he was clinging tenaciously to a way of life that kept that renewal, that restoration, that deliverance at arm’s length.

He was a child of Abraham, yet he was lost.

Such a situation was nothing new in Israel. Isaiah, generations earlier, confronted the same mindset among God’s people.

Hear the word of the Lord, you rulers of Sodom! Give ear to the teaching of our God, you people of Gomorrah! “What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the Lord; I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of well-fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of goats. “When you come to appear before me, who has required of you this trampling of my courts? Bring no more vain offerings; incense is an abomination to me. New moon and Sabbath and the calling of convocations—I cannot endure iniquity and solemn assembly. Your new moons and your appointed feasts my soul hates; they have become a burden to me; I am weary of bearing them. When you spread out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you; even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood. (Isaiah 1:10-15)

God is not impressed with empty ritual.

Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your deeds from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow’s cause. “Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool. If you are willing and obedient, you shall eat the good of the land; but if you refuse and rebel, you shall be eaten by the sword; for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.” (Isaiah 1:16-20)

“Come now, let us reason together,” seems an odd thing for God to say. After hashing out a litany of misdeeds that deserve condemnation, it is utterly unreasonable, one would think, to say, “though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool.”

The same God who has rejected empty rituals and meaningless sacrifices now makes an offer himself. All will be forgiven if his people simply turn their hearts back to him.

A God who would have every right to pour out his wrath instead offers mercy and pardon if his people will repent.

Thanks be to God for mercy that defies reason!

Such repentance, however, must be genuine. The people must “cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow’s cause.” In other words, they must do exactly the opposite of what their fallen nature tells them to do. They must forsake self-interest and look, instead, to the interests of others, especially the weakest among them.

How did Zacchaeus respond when Jesus visited his house?

And Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor. And if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold.” (Luke 19:8)

He ceased to do evil, learned to do good; sought justice, corrected oppression; even, we can surmise from that day forward, brought justice to the fatherless and pleaded the widow’s cause.

“Today,” Jesus declared, “salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (Luke 19:9).

Does all this seem to defy reason? In our limited human capacity, perhaps it does. But that is the whole point. God wants us to realize that we are nothing without him. Our rituals, our assemblies, even our prayers can never be ends in themselves. God sent his Son to seek us out and save us, no matter how lost we may be. He calls us by name and invites us to turn to him with our whole heart, relying not on ourselves, but on him alone to make everything right.

We are coming around to that time again. We are beginning to hear those voices that, in a few short weeks, will rise to a crescendo of songs and litanies and prayers. We will long for, thirst for, cry out for the coming of our Lord. But for all our longing, all our thirsting, all our crying out, will we be prepared? Will you be prepared?

How will you respond when this Jesus, the Son of Man who came to seek and save the lost, calls you by name and says, “hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today . . . ?”

That may be an exaggeration. I have never considered myself a cynic. I like to think of myself as a realist, and American politics over the last two decades or so has been a most unfriendly place for realists who are not swayed by the bombastic rhetoric of politicians whose only goal is to get one more vote than the opposing candidate. The days of the Reaganesque landslide, when voters eagerly went to the polls to choose by an overwhelming majority one candidate who was clearly and unequivocally superior to the other, are a fast-fading memory. Of this bygone era, Bethel McGrew offers a thoughtful lament.

My parents cast their first votes for president in 1984. Ronald Reagan was the incumbent, and he would win reelection in a landslide. This was the year of the famous “morning again in America” ad, which cast a warm sunrise glow over the nation’s economic prospects. But for my parents, and for the evangelical Christian stock they came from, a vote for Reagan wasn’t just a vote for more jobs and lower taxes. It wasn’t just a vote for the practical consequences of a Reagan presidency. It was a vote for the man himself.

Evangelical Christians voting this year for Donald Trump make no pretentions about voting “for the man himself.” They are voting, precisely, for nothing more than “the practical consequences” of his return to the White House while “the man himself” has spent a considerable amount of political capital lowering the expectations for what those consequences might be. In the end, his simply not being Kamala Harris may be good enough to justify a pragmatic vote but it will not be good, neither for Christian voters nor for the country at large.

Bethel pines after the days of Reagan, as do I, but I am also not joking when I say that my respect and admiration for Richard Nixon, the president who set the pre-Reagan standard for landslide victories with his 1972 re-election, is growing with each passing day. It is easy to remember the ignominious end of his presidency in 1974, but far more difficult to remember the distinguished political career he enjoyed prior to his downfall. For all his faults, Nixon was a serious man who led during serious times. His personal religious beliefs were not particularly orthodox but, like his mentor and predecessor Dwight Eisenhower, he understood the importance of Americans sharing a common faith.

The Cold War was a dangerous time for America and the free world but, in retrospect, it may have actually been a safer time because the whole nation, for the most part, shared a common commitment not only to such political values as freedom and liberty but also to such spiritual values as virtue and a basic understanding of right and wrong. It wasn’t Christendom by any stretch, but it was a time when Christian values flourished in pursuit of the common good.

It wasn’t that long ago, really. Only half a century has passed since the Watergate scandal drove Nixon from office. Yes, a mere fifty years ago, it only took “a third-rate burglary” (as it was then described by Nixon’s press secretary) to bring down the most powerful man in the world. It would be very good, indeed, if only a handful of us should long for a time when so miniscule a matter so deeply offended the common decency of the populace.

The Christian obligation to care for the downtrodden and the marginalized is clear enough throughout the Scriptures but, as Stuckey correctly points out, the passage in question has nothing to do with that. Granted, it has been misinterpreted and misapplied for that purpose over the years (particularly since the innovations of the Social Gospel took hold in the mainline churches in the late 19th and early 20th centuries) but the weight of the evidence from the history of biblical interpretation, going all the way back to the Church Fathers, suggests that “the least of these my brothers” should be understood as a reference to Jesus’s followers.

Perhaps Moore is not as skilled in the field of biblical exegesis and interpretive history as one should expect of the editor of a major Christian periodical but that does not excuse the cowardly manner in which he attacks a fellow believer. Is he too lazy to identify the person whose observation he is critiquing? Or has he simply become so comfortable in his swanky office that he considers such a person beneath the dignity of acknowledging by name? I tend to think it is the latter if, for no other reason, to marvel at the irony of the situation.

Russell Moore and others of his ilk represent a particular class of Christian elitism that is far more elitist that Christian. Those of us in the hinterlands will derisively call them “Big Eva” or the “Evangelical Industrial Complex.” They live in the rarified air of social respectability that only comes to those Christians who willingly abdicate their responsibility of engaging a depraved culture with the radical claims of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They reserve their harshest critiques not for the cultured despisers of the faith but for the cultural warriors who take the faith seriously. Hence, the scathing scoldings from the pages of Christianity Today whenever “someone” engages the culture in a way that wanders far afield of the approved script.

The irony is that Moore and company revel in pointing the Pharisaic finger at any and every Christian whom they judge to have fallen short in caring for “the least of these” while they enjoy the benefits of endless grants from endowments and wealthy foundations, not to mention state of the art technology for blasting their elite brand of Christianity lite into homes, schools, and churches around the world. They have long forgotten that the entire New Testament was originally written, copied, distributed, read in public worship, and zealously protected from government confiscation by people who were beaten, tortured, imprisoned, denied basic necessities (food, shelter, clothing), and scorned by “respectable” society as miscreants, deadbeats, and the scum of the earth. They were, in every sense of the term, “the least of these” in the eyes of the world.

To the King of kings and Lord of lords, however, they were—and still are—his true brothers and sisters.

I try to convince myself that my dependence on WiFi is minimal but experiences like this expose that as a willful bit of self-deception. Granted, yesterday was a particularly inconvenient day for me to be without the most essential of modern conveniences. I had several transactions to make that required internet access and having to wait until service was restored in the early evening was not part of my plan. In addition, there were some documents I needed to download and print that I could not access, and I am now a day behind on a matter I intended to give a good part of my attention to yesterday.

I do have the luxury of not having to prepare a sermon this week, as I will be enjoying a rare Sunday off. Loss of internet access notwithstanding, it was this little quirk that may have played a more decisive role in knocking me off my routine. This morning, I did not find myself consulting the lectionary to see which texts I would be studying for this week’s message. Instead, I started looking ahead to the several Sundays that will come after I return from my brief respite.

The liturgical year is winding down and the New Testament and Gospel readings are a consistent stream of Hebrews and Mark. The Old Testament readings, conversely, are a smorgasbord of law, prophets, and history. I don’t like relying on “yesterday’s inspiration,” so I am thinking, maybe, I should focus on the smorgasbord, as I have given the consistent streams extensive treatment in years past. I do note, however, that next Sunday’s Old Testament reading is Genesis 2:18-24, the account of the creation of woman from the rib of the man. This one I have preached on before and I think it appropriate to preach again. When you follow a three-year cycle of biblical texts, you are bound to repeat yourself, probably more often than you should, but some things are worth repeating. In light of the current cultural climate of confusion with regard to gender, sexuality, and marriage, what God has said, from the foundation of the world, about such things needs to be repeated, and with clarity and conviction.

Perhaps the most egregious example is “Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord” (Psalm 33:12a). We hear that one a lot during an election year. The implication is that if a nation, any nation, honors God and exalts him as Lord, it will be blessed.

In its entirety, however, Psalm 33:12 reads, “Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD, the people whom he has chosen as his heritage!” The full context gives the passage an entirely different meaning. It is not the nation that chooses God, but God who chooses the nation; and that nation, namely Israel, is blessed uniquely because it is “the people whom [God] has chosen as his heritage.”

So, Psalm 33:12 cannot be applied to any nation, but only to one nation, Old Testament Israel, whom God blessed in order that his name might be made known to all the nations.

Another example of this kind of misapplication is that favorite of the big box mega-church “vision casting leader,” Proverbs 29:18, which is not only taken out of context and misapplied but even mistranslated in order to fit the misapplication: “Where there is no vision, the people perish.”

The implication is that, in order to thrive, a community needs a leader who is in touch with God and can “cast a vision.”

Correctly translated, however, the text says something entirely different: “Where there is no prophetic vision, the people cast off restraint, but blessed is he who keeps the law.”

The vision, the “prophetic vision” is a guide for the people, a safeguard against them “cast[ing] off restraint” (and, thus, perishing). The source of this “prophetic vision” is not some “leader” who is particularly in touch with God but, ultimately, God himself who has given “the law,” and in keeping it, there is blessing.

That blessing, it should be pointed out, is fulfilled only in Christ, who alone was able to “keep the law” perfectly. (But that is a subject for another day.)

Context is also important in reading Luke’s account of the sending out of the seventy-two (Luke 10:1-20) As these messengers, commissioned by Jesus, return from their mission, they report, “Lord, even the demons are subject to us in your name!”

That sounds like exciting news, punctuated by Jesus’ initial response, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.”

“Satan” literally means “accuser.” In numerous Old Testament accounts, he appears as the prosecutor in the heavenly court. He is, as we all should know, not a fair or ethical counselor. Not only does he make baseless accusations, he incites people to do things for which he can then accuse them. This, we usually call “temptation,” and Satan used it to great effect, beginning with Adam and Eve in the Garden.

Eventually, the whole world in general, and Israel in particular, ended up under the spell of his deception. So, it was the task of Jesus, Israel’s true Messiah, to defeat Satan, to break his stranglehold on power, to win the decisive victory in order to pave the way for God’s new order, his new creation in which there would be no more evil, no more suffering, no more death.

In the wilderness, Satan resorted to his tried-and-true tactic of temptation. Jesus, however, would have none of it. Unlike the leaders of Israel, he would not be distracted by false promises of provision, popularity, and power.

From the wilderness, Jesus emerged, going about the countryside, declaring that the time was at hand. The people must repent because the kingdom of God was near, backing up his message with signs and wonders, healings, even raising the dead.

The climactic showdown, however, still lay ahead—and the journey toward that showdown began when “he set his face to go to Jerusalem” (Luke 9:51). There, he would take on Satan on the grand scale, on his home turf (death itself), and utterly overthrow his dark domain.

Along the way, he chooses “seventy-two others” (in addition to the twelve Apostles) and “[sends] them on ahead of him, two by two, into every town and place where he himself was about to go.”

Seventy-two messengers, ambassadors chosen by Jesus, declaring in every town the message Jesus has been proclaiming from the beginning, “Repent, for the kingdom of God has come near!”

Here, again, Luke has cast his story against an Old Testament backdrop. During the Exodus, Moses chose seventy elders of Israel and gave them a portion of God’s Spirit in order that they would be equipped to help lead the people. These seventy were not the only ones upon whom God’s Spirit fell. Two more, who were not part of the selected group, also received the Spirit. That made seventy-two.

This is the significance of Jesus choosing “seventy-two” or, in some manuscripts, “seventy.” Luke is presenting Jesus, as one greater than Moses, choosing leaders who will assist in a new, and greater, Exodus.

The seventy-two returned with joy, saying, “Lord, even the demons are subject to us in your name!” And he said to them, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. Behold, I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall hurt you. (Luke 10:17-19)

As the seventy-two were carrying out their mission, in “every town and place” where Jesus himself was about to go, Jesus saw the heavenly, eternal reality that corresponded with the earthly accomplishments of the seventy-two. So, when they returned, he assured them that what they were doing was a participation in the final victory of God over the realm of Satan, which began in the wilderness, was continuing to unfold on the journey to Jerusalem, and would be consummated with the cross and resurrection.

All of that would sound to the seventy-two like a reason to rejoice. We, likewise, would like for the story to end right here. Jesus has given us authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, over all the power of the enemy. Nothing can hurt us!

Of course, we are being rather presumptuous if we think all this power and authority Jesus gave specifically to seventy-two persons can now be applied universally to every one of us. Like some of the other passages previously cited, however, I have heard this passage used many times to make precisely that argument—and, as you might guess, the words of Jesus that immediately follow are conveniently omitted.

Nevertheless, do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven. (Luke 10:20)

Remember, Jesus told them, none of this is about you! Remember who you are, and whose you are!

Who, after all, were these “seventy-two others?” We can speculate, perhaps, that Stephen the martyr and Philip the evangelist were among them. Possibly, also, Agabus the prophet. But we really cannot know for sure any of their names. They are forever remembered, at least until we meet them in heaven, merely as the “seventy-two others,” nameless, faceless, lost to history except for this one obscure mention by Luke.

Nevertheless, their “names are written in heaven” and their deeds are known to God.

In baptism, we are “sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.” To each of us is given a manifestation of the Spirit. We are all equipped, by the sheer grace of God, for the task of discipleship. But whatever power or authority he may give us over adversaries in the spiritual realm, that is not our reason for rejoicing.

We rejoice because, like the “seventy-two others,” our “names are written in heaven.” And that is enough to make the demons tremble and flee in fear at the coming of God’s kingdom.

Naturally I came to understand and appreciate that having at least a rudimentary grasp of the original languages of the Old and New Testaments was important to the preacher in properly exegeting a text. Most of us, however, are not going to have a congregation full of Greek or Hebrew scholars. There are times when citing the original Greek can be helpful (eg. noting the connection between the Greek word for “thanksgiving” and the sacramental term “eucharist”) but an extended discourse on the subtle nuances of active and passive voice is not going to hold our parishioners’ attention.

All of that to prepare you for the heavy dose of Greek I am going to use in today’s little discussion of another subject that often falls flat with certain people, eschatology (the meaning of which, from Greek, is “last word”). Call me strange, but when I have nothing else to write about, this is my default subject.

Of the four Gospels, John’s is the one we might say is the most self-contained. The ordeal of Jesus’ passion is presented as embodying the “tribulation” that the whole church must endure to the end, with Judas cast in the role of “the son of destruction” (John 17:12) and the hour in which the Apostles will be “scattered, each to his own home” (John 16:31) being the apostasy that must necessarily precede the Day of the Lord, a term we might consider synonymous, or at least concurrent with, the resurrection (Peter and his three denials being, perhaps, the embodiment of this episode).

Christian eschatology is nothing if not simple common sense. The Greek term for “falling away” is apostasia, literally, “standing off.” Conversely, “resurrection” in Greek is anastasis, literally, “standing again.” Simple logic would dictate that a “standing again” be preceded by a “standing off.” So when Paul says, for instance, in 2 Thessalonians 2, that “the Day of the Lord” will not come unless the apostasy comes first, he is merely stating the obvious. It is a scenario as old as Genesis 3, when Adam and Eve fell away by eating the forbidden fruit, had their nakedness (lawlessness) revealed, and had to face the judgment of God, being able to “stand again” only after God himself had intervened to provide them an adequate covering for their nakedness. If you want to understand “the end,” then go back to “the beginning” and everything begins to make sense.

Following his resurrection, Jesus appears to his disciples on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias (John 21). There, he reminds Peter, in particular, of his apostasy (through symbols that recall the night of his denial, such as the breaking of bread and a charcoal fire), reinstates him in love (asking him three times, “Do you love me?”), and then says to him, “Follow me.” Previously, in a conversation with Peter in chapter 13, Jesus said, “Where I am going you cannot follow me now, but you will follow afterward” (v. 36). The conversation in chapter 21 closes the circle. Jesus, having gone to his death on the cross and then rising in triumph over sin and death, has established the pattern that Peter is now called to follow, even though it may lead him to a place he does not want to go. As John states several times throughout his Gospel that Jesus said this or that “to indicate the kind of death he was going to die,” he now writes that Jesus said this to Peter “to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.”

Peter, and by implication all who would follow Jesus, must now replicate Jesus’ ministry of redemption and transformation, up to and including making the ultimate sacrifice out of love for him. The path of each individual may not be completely identical. John, for instance, would not die a martyr's death but would, rather, glorify God through a life of abiding faith that would become an extension of the very life of Christ (“If it is my will that he abide until I come, what is that to you?”). Yet, all who follow Christ are called to hold back nothing, including life itself, from the service of his kingdom.

All religions are paths to reach God. They are—to make a comparison—like different languages, different dialects, to get there. But God is God for everyone. If you start to fight saying 'my religion is more important than yours, mine is true and yours isn't', where will this lead us? There is only one God, and each of us has a language to arrive at God. Some are Sheik [sic], Muslim, Hindu, Christians; they are different ways to God.

Already, some papal apologists are trying to blunt the obvious scandal of the pontiff’s words by attempting to reconcile them with the official teaching of the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC 843).

The Catholic Church recognizes in other religions that search, among shadows and images, for the God who is unknown yet near since he gives life and breath and all things and wants all men to be saved. Thus, the Church considers all goodness and truth found in these religions as “a preparation for the Gospel and given by him who enlightens all men that they may at length have life.”

A valiant effort, to be sure, but it falls short. The Catechism’s teaching is consistent with the biblical account of St. Paul’s ministry in Athens (Acts 17:16-34), in which the Apostle deftly appeals to the religious sensibilities of the Athenians, noting that they even have erected an altar “To the unknown god” (v. 23). Seizing upon the opportunity, Paul appeals to the citizens to abandon their man-made temples and idols and serve, instead, “The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth” (v. 24). The Apostle even quotes some popular Athenian poets as having somehow managed to anticipate the truth he is now pleased to reveal to them in its fullness (v. 28).

The Athenians had certainly been given “a preparation for the Gospel” in the general truth that their pre-Christian religious sentiments sought to express. But, apart from a knowledge of Christ, those pagan religions could lead them only away from the truth. Indeed, upon Paul’s arrival in Athens, “his spirit was provoked within him as he saw that the city was full of idols” (v. 16). Idolatry is not a path to God. At its core, Paul’s message to the Athenians was, in fact, “My religion is more important than yours, mine is true and yours isn’t.” This was not arrogance on his part. He could appreciate the veiled truth contained in the people’s devotion to their various religions. But “his spirit was provoked within him” because those things that had become idols to the Athenians were the very things that would keep them from knowing the fullness of God’s truth revealed in Jesus Christ. The “unknown god” would remain unknown as long as the idols remained standing.

There is nothing in the pope’s remarks that suggests that Sikhs, Muslims, or Hindus must ultimately forsake the idols that keep them from knowing God’s truth in its fullness. Rather, there is the implication that following any and every religion to its logical conclusion will lead you to see that “God is God for everyone.” That is a dangerous path down which to go. For any and every religion that denies Christ, that is, any and every religion other than Christianity, can only lead away from God—and away from God is a most unpleasant place to spend eternity.

Once upon a time, the word “evangelical” (or, more formally, “Evangelical”) actually did carry with it the connotation of specific convictions concerning Christian belief and practice. Today, however, it is a term that identifies no Christians in particular, merely any of a number of subsets of Christians in general who trace the origins of their faith somewhere outside conventional mainline Protestantism. In a democratic society such as America, strong convictions on moral and social issues once naturally led evangelicals to vote en masse for those political candidates who shared, at least outwardly, their conservative principles. As the bold colors distinguishing right from left faded, over the years, into pale pastels (to borrow Ronald Reagan’s famous phrase from 1975), however, conviction gave way to pragmatism and pragmatism to outright accommodation. Crafting a “Christian” case for supporting candidates whose beliefs and values are antithetical to evangelical conviction has become something of a cottage industry over the last decade, fueled by an understandable disdain for morally dubious candidates who exploit evangelical fears but fortified by an inexcusable abandonment of principle in order to garner respect from the anti-religious elite circles of society.

Into this present milieu comes this latest “confession,” presenting “evangelical conviction” in the palest of pastels and the subtlest of nuances. Of the seven “convictions” delineated in the statement, none are in any way objectionable and all are, on the surface, non-controversial in traditional evangelical circles.

ONE: We give our allegiance to Jesus Christ alone.

TWO: We will lead with love not fear.

THREE: We submit to the truth of Scripture.

FOUR: We believe the Gospel heals every worldly division.

FIVE: We are committed to the prophetic mission of the Church.

SIX: We value every person as created in God's image.

SEVEN: We recognize godly leaders by their character.

So, what is the problem? Well, the devil, as the saying goes, is in the details. Following the standard form of a confessional statement, for each affirmation there is a corresponding rejection. Here, the statement flounders by employing straw men, sweeping generalizations, and just plain hypocrisy. It is all too easy, particularly in the age of social media, to point to isolated incidents of fringe religious figures making an idol of a political leader, misquoting Scripture to support a morally tenuous position, and claiming divine sanction for ungodly acts of violence and destruction. But such fanatics are likely to have more in common with those signatories of this “confession” who have taken the title of “Apostle” (more about that shortly) than with the mainstream evangelicals to whom the “confession” is ostensibly addressed.

One particular “rejection” stands out in putting the hypocrisy of the “confession” on display for all to see.

We reject any attempt to divide the Church, which is the Body of Christ, along partisan, ethnic, or national boundaries, and any message that says it is God's desire for the human family to be perpetually segregated by race, culture, or ethnicity is a rejection of the Gospel.

Really? Does this constitute repentance on the part of Beth Allison Barr, Kristin Du Mez, Scot McKnight, Jemar Tisby, and probably numerous others among the signatories for all the divisions they have brought upon the Body of Christ over the last decade and a half (or more) through their promotion of various forms of Critical Theory and other poisonous heresies? I don’t think so, and that brings me to the main reason I will not be signing this “confession.” Its substance is weak and ambiguous, to be sure, but my biggest issue is the names of those who have already signed it.

An important factor to consider when deciding whether or not a document is worthy of your support is the company you would be keeping if your name were affixed. The aforementioned signatories are only a few of the bad actors who have endorsed this particular statement. In addition to their obvious theological shortcomings, one may rightly question their willingness to be associated with fringe characters who presumptuously take the title of “Apostle.” Upon first glance, I see at least three signatories using that moniker and I am quite certain that not one of them has been in the presence of the Risen Christ in order to be appointed to the office. This suggests a very careless lack of discernment on the part of the organizers of this effort that undermines the credibility of both the “confession” and all of its signatories in a way that ought to be considered, among genuine evangelicals who have not abandoned their convictions, permanently disqualifying.

What immediately caught my attention when I first waded into the waters of Anglicanism was the fact that the movement for reform and realignment had strong episcopal backing, not only from the Global South bishops, but also from U.S. bishops in orthodox dioceses. This was a stark contrast to Methodist renewal efforts at the time. On occasion, an African bishop might speak out against the denomination’s leftward slide but the U.S. members of the Council of Bishops could always be counted on to walk in lockstep whenever a doctrinal or theological controversy arose. For most of my years of service in the UMC, I was under a bishop whom I considered a good and godly man whose personal theology was pretty much aligned with mine. Like all of the reasonably conservative bishops at the time, however, he was never one to rock the boat. The outspokenness of the orthodox bishops of the Anglican Communion, and the way they relentlessly hammered TEC for its rank heresy and apostasy, was quite the refreshing change from what I had experienced in the UMC.

Twenty years removed from my exit from the UMC, it is at least gratifying to know that, at long last, two U.S. bishops have the courage to step out of that lost denomination and be a part of the founding of the new GMC. Had only one bishop been so courageous two decades ago, so many things could have turned out very differently. Now, the nascent denomination is considering how to adapt the episcopacy to its new structure. Two models have been brought forward for consideration at the upcoming General Conference, one by the Transitional Leadership Committee (TLC) and another by the provisional Florida Annual Conference.* Noted Global Methodist video blogger Jeffrey Rickman provides an analysis of the two plans and an interview with one of the authors of the “Florida Plan.” He has also written about some serious concerns he has with the episcopal election process.

Methodism began as a renewal movement within the Church of England. John Wesley himself remained an Anglican priest in good standing until his dying day. As the Methodist revival spread from England across the Atlantic to America, however, the movement developed its own ecclesiology, quite distinct from that of its Mother Church. The first Methodist “bishop,” Thomas Coke, was “ordained” by Wesley, even though Wesley was not himself a bishop. Hence, he preferred Coke use the title, “general superintendent” and go to America to ordain Francis Asbury to the same office. The independence-minded Methodists in America, however, insisted on the title of “bishop,” much to Wesley’s dismay.

From the start, the Methodist episcopacy departed significantly from its Anglican roots, eventually evolving into a top-down connectional structure that made the lockstep nature of the present-day Council of Bishops all but inevitable. Meanwhile, the Church of England’s post-colonial American counterpart, the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States of America (PECUSA, now the less cumbersome TEC), developed as a looser confederation of dioceses that remained, theoretically, autonomous under local bishops but also eventually evolved into a top-down bureaucratic structure under a denomination-wide presiding bishop, roughly the equivalent of an archbishop but having no local diocesan jurisdiction.

If I could offer a word of caution to the founders of the GMC (many of whom are old friends from my days in the UMC), the TLC plan is seriously flawed in that it redefines the office of bishop as exclusively “spiritual” with no jurisdiction over, or accountability to, an annual conference (roughly the Methodist equivalent of a diocese). This would be an historical anomaly. Even the pope has local jurisdiction as Bishop of Rome. General overseers detached from local responsibility and accountability inevitably devolve into faceless bureaucrats, rarely seen and feared when they are. In the ACNA, we still remember the horrendous damage done to the Body of Christ by the unhinged behavior of former TEC Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori.

The Florida Plan, which maintains the traditional function of a bishop as both spiritual and temporal overseer and allows for each annual conference to select its bishop from an “episcopal pool,” is more promising but, from my now thoroughly convinced Anglican perspective, still a bit lacking. Having served on the search committee that presented the candidates for our diocese’s last episcopal election, I see immense advantages in a more localized process. Neither plan now under consideration by the GMC suggests any understanding of the annual conference being an autonomous body. “Connectionalism” was a rule in the old UMC that was always spoken of in a positive light. I came to detest it, however, because it was really just a byword for a top-down managerial structure that demanded conformity in every nook and cranny of the organization (and “organization” is not a complimentary term to attach to a church). As the GMC explores new or, better yet, old but rediscovered ways of doing church, it would do well to extricate itself from this last vestige of UMC bureaucracy. Perhaps an in-depth study of the biblical, theological, and historical foundations of the episcopal office is in order. If nothing else, that would offer an opportunity to build closer relations with sister denominations, like the ACNA, whose origins were, likewise, forged in the fires of tested faith and uncompromising faithfulness.

*My familiarity with the terminology being used by the GMC may be a little shaky, so if I am misidentifying some ecclesiastical terms, I would welcome appropriate correction.

It took half a century to get rid of Roe but that alone was never the end game. In fact, the end of Roe was only the beginning of the much more significant battle. A society so saturated with and enamored of the culture of death is not going to change overnight. Indeed, it may take another half century or longer to turn this unfavorable tide. As the late Richard John Neuhaus said so brilliantly in one of his final public addresses, “To be recruited to the cause of the culture of life is to be recruited for the duration; and there is no end in sight, except to the eyes of faith.”

That address, to the 2008 convention of the National Right to Life Committee, remains to this day, in the words of Princeton Professor Robert P. George, “the greatest pro-life speech ever given.” The words of Fr. Neuhaus are an inspiration and encouragement to us, even as they are also a sober reminder that our work is far from over.

We shall not weary, we shall not rest, until every unborn child is protected in law and welcomed in life. We shall not weary, we shall not rest, until all the elderly who have run life’s course are protected against despair and abandonment, protected by the rule of law and the bonds of love. We shall not weary, we shall not rest, until every young woman is given the help she needs to recognize the problem of pregnancy as the gift of life. We shall not weary, we shall not rest, as we stand guard at the entrance gates and the exit gates of life, and at every step along the way of life, bearing witness in word and deed to the dignity of the human person—of every human person.

Against the encroaching shadows of the culture of death, against forces commanding immense power and wealth, against the perverse doctrine that a woman’s dignity depends upon her right to destroy her child, against what St. Paul calls the principalities and powers of the present time, this convention renews our resolve that we shall not weary, we shall not rest, until the culture of life is reflected in the rule of law and lived in the law of love.

The cause of life requires a much deeper and more permanent commitment than what we might give, in passing, to a politician whose rhetoric might, for a season, soothe our souls or arouse our emotions. We cannot allow the unseriousness of our times, and the corresponding unseriousness of our present political landscape, to undermine or diminish our seriousness in confronting the decadent and sterile culture of death with the hopeful alternative of the culture of life.

“Whether, in this great contest between the culture of life and the culture of death,” Fr. Neuhaus continues, “we were recruited many years ago or whether we were recruited only yesterday, we have been recruited for the duration.”

If we have, indeed, been “recruited for the duration,” then we will be neither encouraged nor discouraged by whoever wins or loses the next election. Politics is the short game of instant gratification, temporary solutions, and cheap distractions from more important pursuits. We are invested in the long game and singularly focused on an outcome of eternal significance. “We shall not weary, we shall not rest” is the refrain that never grows old. “And,” as Fr. Neuhaus so eloquently concluded, “in this the great human rights struggle of our time and all times, we shall overcome.”

A Planned Parenthood mobile clinic has been offering free abortions just a few blocks from the 2024 Democratic National Convention in Chicago, which concludes today. The DNC is not officially involved, but that is a minor detail, given that abortion has the status of a creedal non-negotiable in the upper echelons of the Democratic Party. The clinic is simply actualizing the central plank of the Democrats’ election campaign. Its proximity to the convention is entirely appropriate—as is the presence of an eighteen-foot-tall inflatable IUD, named “Freeda Womb,” erected by the group Americans for Contraception. It is a stark reminder, along with the performances of Kid Rock and Hulk Hogan at the Republican National Convention last month, of how unserious today’s American politics has become. Where, one might ask, have all the grown-ups gone?

“Where have all the grown-ups gone?” is, indeed the pressing question of the moment. Both major political parties in America lack mature, serious leadership and that is reflected, most tragically, in the abandonment of any semblance of principle with regard to the sanctity of human life. The Democrats, of course, have long been the party of abortion on demand. Even Bill Clinton’s “safe, legal, and rare” position could hardly be considered moderate. A full-on embrace of the culture of death was inevitable and has now come to fruition. Meanwhile, the Republicans’ sudden softening on the issue should come as no real surprise. The overturning of Roe v. Wade has unmasked many a “pro-life” politician as merely an opportunist who was perfectly fine advocating for the end of the abortion regime in theory when it was legally impossible but has begun to equivocate now that the Supreme Court has eliminated the legal obstacle to abolishing the barbaric practice.

The lack of grown-ups in the political sphere leaves a vacuum that is being filled by the immature behavior we have seen on display at both party conventions this year. The problem, however, as Trueman diagnoses it, goes much deeper than what is seen on the surface.

But there is a deeper issue with the grandstanding of abortion that goes well beyond the problem of showcasing moronic entertainers at a political convention. The move from abortion being sold to the public as “safe, legal, and rare” to being celebrated as a necessary social good is revealing. In part it is a reaction to the overturning of Roe. But it is more than just a reaction; the celebration of abortion as something to be proud of started long before 2022. Something deeper must have taken place within our culture. And this brings me once again to the inadequacy of characterizing our modern world as “disenchanted.”

The glee with which abortion is advocated and the anger that any restrictions upon it provoke indicate that we need a different category to capture our current cultural ethos. In a disenchanted world, one could imagine abortion being seen as a necessary evil. The demands of the workplace, the economy, and society at large might make it so. In a world where rape and incest exist, sometimes the options for addressing such evil might themselves involve a degree of evil. I disagree with that logic, but it seems consistent with the regretful moral resignation that disenchantment might involve.

We all know, however, that abortion advocates invoke exceptional cases of rape and incest as a rhetorical ploy to win the public over through emotion, not argument. Otherwise, they would argue that abortions should be restricted to such cases, or that, in a world without rape and incest, abortion would no longer be necessary. But that is not the case.

Which means that something deeper than disenchantment is involved here, a point confirmed by the exultant nature of today’s abortion advocacy. The abortion debate is not driven by mere disenchantment, the notion that the baby in the womb is just a clump of cells and nothing more. It is driven by the desire for desecration—to destroy what is sacred. We live in a world where we are taught to prize our individual autonomy and to throw off anything that might curtail or impinge upon it. That makes us feel like gods.

A culture that exalts itself to godhood by celebrating the desecration of the most sacred of all creation—human life bearing the image and likeness of the one true, holy, and righteous God—is a culture that is only a step or two away from its own annihilation. Have we really become so stupid as not to see that, by exulting in the culture of death, we are signing our own death warrant?

Well, yes we have. We get the political leadership we deserve and, right now, our vapid, inane, and morally bankrupt culture deserves the vapid, inane, and morally bankrupt circuses our two major parties have become.

What is the remedy for our national and cultural ills? Trueman offers one, but with a serious caveat.

Ours is an age when so much of our culture encourages us to treat others made in God’s image as less than human. This is true, from the comparatively trivial trashing of others that is the favored idiom of those who seem to live online, to those at the DNC in Chicago this week, exulting in the slaughter of innocents. Our problem is thus much deeper than disenchantment. It is desecration. We need not re-enchantment so much as repentance. But that requires grown-ups.

A call to repentance cannot come from an immature politician. Only the church is equipped to call a rebellious people to turn from their wicked ways and seek forgiveness and pardon from the God they have so offended. But will the grown-ups among us step forward and speak the Truth into a culture so saturated with lies?

May God, in his mercy, raise up such leaders for such a time as this.

I also assumed most members of the group had seen the article when it first appeared, so I was pleasantly surprised when I saw several of my Facebook acquaintances sharing it via their own pages. With this newfound life, the article spawned a number of new subscribers to my Substack which, to my shame, has been dormant for the past few weeks. So, with a new band of readers eagerly anticipating my next contribution to the national conversation, I thought it best to shake the cobwebs from my brain and get over my extended case of writer’s block.

Now, before anyone accuses me of just being lazy, I will quickly point out that, over the last few weeks, much of the time I could have spent writing has been devoted, instead, to reading. Most significantly (and, to some lesser minds, scandalously), I have been focused on Megan Basham’s blockbuster exposé of the Evangelical Industrial Complex (affectionately known as “Big Eva”), Shepherds for Sale: How Evangelical Leaders Traded the Truth for a Leftist Agenda. This well-written and well-documented book has been a source of much belly-aching by those who say it is poorly written and poorly documented. Such persons are mostly the Big Eva leaders, or their sycophant followers, who bear the brunt of Basham’s critique. Establishment evangelicals, in recent years, have become easy pawns for wealthy left-of-center donors who have used their financial resources to influence them in a more “progressive” direction on moral and social issues while maintaining the facade of being “Gospel-centered” and “Gospel-focused.” Basham has exposed the masquerade, thus incurring the wrath of the Big Eva establishment.

Much of the spectacle, which is largely being played out on social media, is hilarious to behold but, at the same time, deeply saddening. I was reminded of this in an odd way after I had finished Basham’s book and began reading Daniel Silliman’s One Lost Soul: Richard Nixon’s Search for Salvation. Silliman is news editor for Christianity Today, the flagship publication of Big Eva and a primary target of Basham’s critique. That baggage notwithstanding, a spiritual biography of so vilified an historical figure as Richard Milhous Nixon promised to be a fascinating read. Nixon’s life and career have always been of interest to me, probably because he was the first president I remember while growing up. Watergate was my introduction to the sordid daily melodrama that is Washington politics but I am also just old enough to remember Nixon’s two greatest achievements, the opening of relations with China and the end of the Vietnam War. So, when I hear his name, I am more inclined to think of his accomplishments as a statesman than of his failings as a crooked politician.

Silliman hardly gives Nixon a passing grade on matters spiritual. His Quaker upbringing somehow did not instill in him any concept of grace. His was a religion of works. He had to earn his salvation just as he had to earn his father’s approval, neither of which he ever felt he did. Instead of regularly attending a church on Sunday morning, he invited well-known religious leaders to lead services at the White House during his presidency. He was a friend of Billy Graham and Norman Vincent Peale but, as the now infamous tapes revealed, he was a man whose everyday conversational vocabulary was laced with profanities and blasphemies.

Nixon has always been considered a multi-dimensional and complicated man. Silliman’s examination of his spiritual dimension will likely add further complications, but that is not necessarily a bad thing inasmuch as it serves as a contribution to the overall evaluation of Nixon’s legacy. In reading the book, however, I noted the number of contemporary evangelical leaders in Nixon’s orbit. His friendship with Graham spawned additional relationships with such notables as Harold Ockenga, Leighton Ford, L. Nelson Bell, and Harold Lindsell. These men are today considered giants of the faith from an era when evangelical leaders were uncompromising in their commitment to the Gospel. However, it is fair to ask just how much their friendship with Nixon, and the importance of maintaining it, influenced their looking the other way at his obvious shortcomings. Critics of Basham’s book have tried to make the argument that the main motivation for her critique of particular evangelical leaders is that they do not support Donald Trump. While many of them have that in common, that is hardly the reason they come under Basham’s scrutiny. To be fair, some lesser lights of the evangelical world have sold themselves out to Trump in ways that even Nixon’s most ardent apologists would not approve. The comparison between these two eras of American religio-political history, however, is very much an apples and oranges proposition.

However much Nixon may have exploited religion, the fact that he did so for political advantage illustrates the important place religion in general, and evangelicalism in particular, played in American life at the time. The heyday of the “Religious Right” would come during the Reagan era but its seeds were certainly being planted during Nixon’s time in the White House. Even Watergate bore the splendid fruit of Charles Colson, one of Nixon’s closest confidantes, being “born again” and becoming a leading voice in evangelicalism (including as a contributor to Christianity Today) for nearly four decades.

The establishment evangelicals critiqued by Basham might like to see themselves as the successors of the evangelical leaders who once carried the water for a less than devout Richard Nixon. Yet, while they look down their noses at those who are, today, carrying the water for an equally less than devout Donald Trump, it is impossible to avoid the devastating reality of their own moral and spiritual compromises that have now borne the bitter fruit of “Evangelicals for Harris” and a myriad of other organizations and movements that claim to march under the banner of the Gospel of Jesus Christ while advocating for causes diametrically opposed to it.