2025 has been a difficult and relentless year. In keeping with that, I'm currently recovering from pneumonia. I was unable to be at church on Sunday to preach, but I'd already written a sermon I was pretty fond of. Fortunately, I serve a gracious, bright, and flexible congregation. One of my elders was willing to read the sermon for me. I don't have the audio recording this week from my sermon, but I do have the text for those who would like to read it. You'll find it below.

A week ago, the world was rocked by an act of antisemitism that, for many of us, immediately brought back terrible memories of what happened in our own neighborhood on October 27th, 2018. 
This month, our college and university students begin to return home for the holidays to rest and spend time with their families. But two Brown University families will not welcome home their students this winter break.
We have been reminded yet again of how we are, as a nation, held hostage to gun violence. And we have been reminded, yet again, of how much bigotry and hate there is in the world and how very dangerous such mindsets as antisemitism are. 
As Christian churches light our Advent candles representing love, joy, peace, and hope, these horrific events remind us that the world is a dangerous place. As we talk about the world’s need for a savior, someone to end the violence, oppression, and hate in the world, we are given these painful and tragic reminders of how cavernous that need is.
Especially when violence is so targeted as a Hanukkah celebration on the opposite side of the world, it’s both natural and easy to distance ourselves from the pain as a way to protect ourselves. And yet in our daily lives here we live, work, shop, and worship next door to Jewish friends and neighbors who have been targets of that very same hate and violence.
If we aren’t careful, the Brown University shooting gets lost in the news as just another school shooting in good ol’ ‘Merca -- yet many of us are welcoming home for the holidays our children or grandchildren or friends who were born the same year as the victims of the terrible and traumatic Sandy Hook shooting. Once again, we’re wondering if it’s safe to send them back off to school in a few weeks. 
We are caught between the natural instinct to retreat in, lock the doors, distance ourselves and the call to stand in solidarity, to intervene when confronted with violence, to get too close to someone or something that might involve us as collateral damage. At what point do we back up and say, “Sorry. The stakes are too high. This is too dangerous.”
The stakes for Joseph were high -- possibly too high. He was a good guy -- he followed all the rules. Our passage calls him “righteous.” He was a man who did the right thing. He doesn’t appear at this point to have done anything too notably amazing, but he also hadn’t been too bad either. He had a good reputation. 
Suddenly, he finds out that his betrothed is pregnant. This would not be a good look for him. His reputation was on the line. And he wasn’t a bad guy, he wasn’t vindictive or mean. He was going to “dismiss her quietly” so as to keep things under the radar as much as possible. He could just publicly humiliate her and call for her to be immediately stoned to death. And sure, if he ended things quietly, it would save his reputation and at least some of her dignity. 
But the stakes for Mary were so much higher. If Joseph divorced her, no matter how quietly, she was still at risk of being stoned for adultery. And if she was not killed, she would still be a single mother in a world that would not tolerate a young, single mother with a child born outside of marriage. Her life was literally on the line. 
Joseph’s decision to make things go away with as little drama as possible was lawful. It was even pretty nice. But it was still a choice to put his own safety and reputation over and above Mary’s. It was a choice to distance himself from the mess of standing in solidarity with her. 
Of course Joseph is afraid. Taking Mary as his wife would mean absorbing her shame. It would mean putting a target on his own back. It would mean his life would get complicated and dangerous. His instinct, like ours, is to disengage -- to quietly avoid the complicated and potentially dangerous mess.
But just when it's almost too late. . . and angel bursts in. And it doesn’t just say “Don’t be afraid” because Joseph is afraid of the angel like Zechariah was. The angel in this case addresses Joseph’s fear of the situation with Mary, not any fear he might have of the angel. 
Joseph’s fear of damaged reputation, of raising a child that wasn’t biologically his, of entering into the mess with Mary, it’s all acknowledged by the angel who says, “I get why you’re scared. This is a weird situation. But God is up to something important here. You have a job to do. Don’t distance yourself form Mary. Bind your lives together and support her.”
Righteousness for Joseph is no longer purity of life by divorcing Mary and avoiding the scandal. In this passage, we see God allow righteousness to grow in a way that allows mercy. Righteousness is not, the angel says, following the letter of the law here. When God is doing something new, mercy and compassion and solidarity with the vulnerable take precedent over the letter of the law as the path to righteousness. Joseph is called to use his privilege (as a male -- as a descendant of David) to cover her vulnerability. He is called to stop this talk of distancing himself from her and to move in closer. He is told it’s time to emulate our God who moves in closer to us. 
In Advent, we await “Emmanuel” -- God with us! We celebrate the arrival of the one who saves us from in our very midst - not from afar. Joseph is the first person in Matthew who is asked to reflect God in this way - by choosing to be with Mary in solidarity rather than just doing a thing that is nice and maybe even more than would be reasonably expected. 
In the aftermath of the massacre at Bondi Beach, we have heard some stories of the people who rushed in to help and to protect others. One especially notable one was the local fruit-shop owner who tackled the gunman to save his Jewish neighbors. A Muslim refugee, this man surely knows what it feels like to be targeted for some core aspect of identity. And he had plenty of reasons to stay back -- some legit or “righteous” and some maybe not so palatable --  fear, different faith, safety. Had he not rushed in, nobody would be talking about him one way or the other right now. Nobody would blame him for hunkering down and hiding from the mess. But he saw neighbors in danger and modeled the kind of righteousness that puts mercy and compassion and solidarity above other fears and social conventions.
We are called to stand against antisemitism and hate, not just in sentiment, but in presence. Now is the time to reach out to your Jewish neighbors, friends, and coworkers to see what they need. We must be the "artisans encouraging the goldsmiths" (Isaiah 41)—helping one another be brave -- helping each other navigate a frightening and dangerous world. 
Who in your life is "carrying something sacred and heavy"? 
Who is pregnant with a possibility or a burden that terrifies them? 
How can you stand in solidarity with them? 
How can you go above what is expected or considered righteous and act in mercy, compassion, solidarity?
In this Advent -- and soon Christmas -- season, we aren’t called to be nice. We are called to be righteous -- but the sort of righteous that allows for the growth of character that leads to choose mercy over the law, compassion over the socially expected, solidarity over self-preservation.
This Advent, stop trying to "dismiss quietly" the things that make you uncomfortable. Use your privilege, your voice, and your presence to stand with the vulnerable.
It’s a very tall order, but we can do this because God has already done it for us. We know what it looks like because it’s been modeled for us.  In the manger, God came to stand in solidarity with us. We are not alone in the fear. Emmanuel is with us, so we can be with one another.

It’s difficult indeed to figure out the balance between being pastoral and being political. When does being pastoral necessitate involvement in issues that are seen my most as “strictly political?” When does involvement in certain issues help forward our community’s best interests and the message of the Gospel, and when does it distract? 

How can public acts of justice, like attending the No Kings demonstration, be understood as fulfilling a pastoral call rather than a political one?

As a pastor, I am called to be intimately engaged with God, with scripture, and with the congregation and community around me. This does not call me to any one political ideology. In fact, a strong connection to God and scripture and the surrounding people often means a change of heart, a shift in beliefs about how the world should be governed or led. 

I am also called to care for the poor and those on the edges of society. Unfortunately, many conservative Christians have turned their backs on this call and would vilify ideals that are solidly rooted in scripture -- such as feeding people without strings attached, freeing prisoners, and welcoming foreigners. Standing along the margins and calling people to task for harming the vulnerable is NOT political. It is pastoral. 

As those who are called to bring the voice of morality to the community, showing up publicly, as faith leaders did at No Kings rallies, is vital to our work. The goal is to frame current struggles as a "moral fight, not just as a partisan fight". Christian Nationalists and fascist leaders have taken their roles beyond the running of the country and are attempting to force immoral ideals on us. Our freedom of religion is at stake when we allow ourselves to be silenced by those who do not agree. 

Think of the power of religious leaders showing up in the Civil Rights Movement. Those who are shouting down and shaming religious leaders for showing up -- or even who are attacking and imprisoning them like we see in Chicago right now -- are afraid of that power. They are afraid of religious leaders advocating for justice, keeping the government in check, and standing up for the poor and the stranger.

The proclamation "No Kings" is profoundly Christian because it reclaims the gospel for the poor and insists that there is no acceptable ruler who causes great harm to the vulnerable among us. This radical act of showing up as advocates for peace undercuts the narrative that protests are a violent movement rebelling against America; instead, they are an exercise of democracy. The presence of non-violent clergy showing up in their clerical gear helps to reinforce that message.

Carrying a sign with religious text at the No Kings rally connects this public act back to a call for justice rooted in faith traditions. The content of the sign itself demonstrates the theological grounding for the protest, affirming that the action was about exercising faithful discipleship, rather than embracing political ideology. ​

Recently, I posted a photo of myself on Facebook. I was at the “No Kings” protest here in Pittsburgh, holding my sign and wearing my clerical collar. Someone popped OFF in the comments about how “inappropriate” it was for me to be wearing my collar to something like that and I should stick to my “job.” I chose not to engage in what was obviously going to be an unproductive and volatile exchange and simply blocked the individual and deleted the comment. Others had chosen to engage with curiosity about why I was there and why I wore my collar. Those were beautiful opportunities to have genuine conversation about concerns for suffering people in our country right now. I really love those sorts of conversations that are full of curiosity, dignity, and love for one another even in the midst of disagreement or misunderstanding. But that is not what my friendly neighborhood troll was interested in. 
This conversation is a good one. There are so many clergy out there now showing up for protests. For a while, the predominant Christian voice in our nation has been far right. With current (and alarming) events, more and more mainline moderate and progressive clergy, congregations, and denominations are starting to speak out and folks are asking “why?” I want to spend some time over the coming weeks talking about that why — including why it was important for me to wear a clerical collar and not just a witty political t-shirt or hoodie. 
Why does it matter for a spiritual leader to wear symbols of faith when engaging in public, seemingly “political” action?
For me, protests like these “No Kings” events are fundamentally about affirming democracy and freedoms like the freedom of religion and resisting Christian nationalism and authoritarianism. There is neither anything anti-American or anti-Christian about this. In fact, it’s quite American to exercise of the foundational freedoms of speech, assembly, and “religious expression”. I am not there because I “hate Trump” or “hate America.” I’m there because I believe in the value of every person who lives in this country and I want to express that Christian nationalism is not only not the only way to be Christian — it is, in fact, quite a dangerous heresy.
This is the first of a series of political blog posts. I’m going to spend the next few weeks blogging about each of the scriptures referenced on the sign I held at the protest. And if you have suggestions of passages for my next sign — let me know! Here are the references from this sign: 
“Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it; as it is written: ‘Do not be afraid, daughter of Zion. Look, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt!’” (John 12:14–15, NRSV)
“You shall not oppress a resident alien; you know the heart of an alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 23:9, NRSV)
“So the poor have hope, and injustice shuts its mouth.” (Job 5:16, NRSV)
“Speak out, judge righteously, defend the rights of the poor and needy.” (Proverbs 31:9, NRSV)
“Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?” (Isaiah 58:6, NRSV)
“Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’” (Matthew 25:45, NRSV) 
“Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”” (Mark 10:21, NRSV)
So WHY did I go? As a pastor, a huge part of my job is proclamation of the Gospel. That does not just mean preaching on Sunday morning. That means leading my congregation into Gospel witness and being a voice for compassion and justice in the community. 
When I see neighbors terrorized by government agents using violent and questionable (at best) tactics, it is my calling to stand up for those who are being targeted. 
When I see the government withholding food, health care, and other vital services from those afflicted by poverty, it’s my calling to feed the hungry and care for the poor and the sick, but also to call to task the wealthy gluttons who sit on dragons’ hoards while other starve.
It is far from new for religious leaders to be involved in movements like this one. Religious leaders were central to the American Civil Rights Movement. 
In Matthew 25:31-45, Jesus stands with “the least of these.” When you are struggling to see Jesus, look into the eyes of the suffering because Jesus is standing there with them. “No Kings” is about solidarity with those who are suffering. 

I wear a clerical collar whenever I believe it’s important for those around me to know what my role in the church and in the community is. I always wear it on Sunday mornings and when leading other worship services. But I also wear it at community events where it’s important for the message of Jesus’ solidarity with the marginalized to be heard above and beyond the heretical message of Christian Nationalism. It’s also becoming increasingly important in our country to make sure that a diversity of religious voices are heard as “freedom of religion” is being warped into “freedom to be a specific type of Christian that adheres to particular rules and doesn’t cause trouble.” 
It is also important at peaceful, non-violent events for clergy to show up publicly as an advocate for these ideals. As much of a bummer as it can be to be the party-killer, people just behave better when they know a member of the clergy is around. In cases such as No Kings protests and events, the physical presence of clergy members is a powerful reminder that this is meant to be peaceful and non-violent. Not to mention, if tension DO get high, most of us are pretty well trained in de-escalation. 

The separation of church and state is an important protection not just for the people who may be endangered by a religious government, but for the church as well. We cannot sell our soul to worldly powers as Christian nationalism would have us do. And let’s be clear — that’s what this movement is about. No Kings is about countering Christian nationalism. the United States IS NOT — nor should it be — a “Christian nation.” That’s not good for the nation and it’s not good for Christians. 
I find it deeply troubling that we live in a time when dissent looks like disloyalty to both the church and the state. When championing care for the poor and the immigrant and the prisoner is seen as an affront to both the civic authorities AND as an excuse for people to accuse someone of being “a bad Christian” or a “disgrace of a pastor,” we are all in much deeper trouble as a nation than we are letting on. 

It’s also quite cheeky that the bully who chimed in on Facebook isn’t from my church. They aren’t a theologian or faith leader of any sort. As far as I know, they aren’t from my denomination and at no point did they bring up any religious or spiritual reasoning for their attack (Other than the vague accusation that I was a shameful pastor to wear my collar to the protest). One thing they would have learned — had they bothered to have a conversation — is that I was there with more than half a dozen representatives from my congregation. I was there not just as a general Christian leader, but very specifically as the pastor to those phenomenally compassionate, intelligent, conscientious, and christlike members of my congregation who went to stand up against the very sort of worldly powers that Jesus took to task time and time again. 
I am so tired of people saying they think pastors shouldn’t be political. All of scripture is political. When the government is enacting policies that hurt people. . . I as a pastor cannot morally avoid saying, “People should not be starving because billionaires are being allowed to run amok in our government.” When their conduct is unethical, immoral and repugnant, it is not unChristian to say so. I’ve heard people say that the “church should mind its own business.” Well. . . this IS our business. 
political
adjective
po·​lit·​i·​cal pə-ˈli-ti-kəl
1 a : of or relating to government, a government, or the conduct of government
b : of, relating to, or concerned with the making as distinguished from the administration of governmental policy
2 : of, relating to, involving, or involved in politics and especially party politics
3 : organized in governmental terms (political units)
4 : involving or charged or concerned with acts against a government or a political system (political prisoners)
Buckle up, because I cannot be faithful to my calling and not be “political,” or keep “politics” in my “personal time.”