Raise it for the dead Cameron Thompson, age 26. Shot in the streets of Chicago, Black and trans, and barely a headline.
Raise it for Dymond “Tayy” Dior Thomas, stabbed in the Bronx. Misgendered in the news. Buried under apathy.
Raise it for the 32 trans and gender-expansive people murdered in America last year, that we know of. And for those whose stories were erased before anyone learned their names.
Raise the flag because Christian nationalism is not Christianity. And hatred wrapped in scripture is still hate.
Raise it because lawmakers are hunting our children with policy. Because bans on gender-affirming care are bans on survival. Because drag bans are not about clothing they are about control.
Raise it because they are legislating closets again. Because they are dragging truth from school libraries and burning it with a prayer. Because they are putting God on a ballot and crucifying Love again.
And Church, if we say nothing, if we do nothing, if we hide behind kindness and compromise then we are not Christ’s body. We are just a comfortable crowd.
So raise the flag. High. Loud. Unashamed.
Raise it for the queer teen on your block who hasn’t yet found the words to say I am. Raise it for the elder in your pew who has carried a lifetime of silence. Raise it for your children, so they know this faith isn’t founded in fear.
Raise it because the Gospel doesn’t whisper, it roars: “Whatever you did to the least of these… you did to me.”
Raise it because Jesus broke the rules to save the brokenhearted. Because he touched what was “unclean,” loved what was “unacceptable,” and flipped the tables of empire.
Raise it because Christ is queer in his rejection, his body, his resurrection.
Raise it because Love is not safe it’s sacred.
Raise it in your church. In your heart. In your vote. In your sermons. In your protest.
Let the flag be our communion cloth in this wounded world.
And if anyone asks why
Tell them: I am raising the flag because the world is setting fires and I will not stand in the ashes and call it peace.
To the ones grieving May you be held.
To the ones rising May you be unstoppable.
To the ones afraid We are holding the line until you’re ready.
And to those with power Repent. Reform. Or step aside. Love is coming… And Love will have the final Word!
There comes a time when prayers alone no longer suffice, when the weight of suffering tips the scales of silence and demands action. Tables Flip Themselves is not just a poem. It is a cry, a lament, and an invocation for a God who does not merely stand in the calm but roars in the…
I had the opportunity to preach and serve at St. Barnabus Episcopal Church in Monmouth Junction over the Advent season and for Christmas services. I am grateful for their presence and witness. My heart is full! It was simply wonderful. A Blessed Christmas to one and all and a very Happy New Year! In Christ,Mo….
Originally published: April 17,2025 This morning, I’ve been sitting quietly with John 13. A sacred moment unfolds before us—Jesus, on the eve of betrayal, takes off his outer robe, wraps a towel around himself, pours water into a basin, and kneels to wash the feet of his disciples.He doesn’t preach.He doesn’t perform.He simply serves.And in…
Originally published: April 8, 2025 I will not risefor hollow words.Not when justice lies face down,its breath pressed out beneath the weightof power unchecked.Not when mothers wake to absence,and freedom wears a numberon its back.You ask me how I doand I could lie,could paint my sorrow in polite colors,could swallow rage like communion wine.But the…
Originally Published: April 18, 2025 It was already night when Judas left.The air was thick with knowing—knowing that love had been twisted into betrayal, that silver had bought silence,that death was already en route. And Jesus felt it all.The weight.The fracture.The sting of goodbye from a friend’s lips. He didn’t run. He didn’t shout. He…
In the summer of 2020, as our nation erupted in protests over the killing of George Floyd, I found myself watching the news with a mixture of heartbreak and righteous anger. It wasn’t just the images of tear gas and fractured communities that cut me deeply; it was the unannounced visit of then-President Donald Trump…