Recently, my mother asked me, “Remember when you were young, and you used to say there would be war?” Then her voice cracked a bit… Through the phone I can hear her brokenness and she asked, “Why did you let your children join the military?”
And I, with a deep breath and silent sigh, answered with trembling truth, “I guess I hoped humanity would choose differently.”
I hoped we would remember. Remember the Garden. Remember the Word made flesh. Remember the dust from which we came and the breath that gave us life.
But still, we trade swords for tanks, plowshares for profit, truth for power, and peace… for the illusion of safety at the edge of a missile.
There is no such thing as a war with no choice. No such thing as violence without consent. We always get to decide. And too often, we choose wrongly.
And that… that is my disappointment in humankind.
Not just that we make war, but that we turn our backs on the love of God again and again reaching instead for control, dominion, and the fleeting empire of man.
I raised my sons to be honorable. They swore an oath. They wear the uniform. And still, I pray they will become peacekeepers in a world that demands warriors.
I still believe even in my weariness that we can choose differently.
By the fire of justice and the breath of hope I stood in the marrow of midnight,in the echo of drums made of broken bones,beneath a sky that forgot how to pray.And I saw Americanot as she paints herself in glory,but naked in the mirror of the Most High.She wore a crown of corporationsand drank…
Originally published: April 24, 2025I am not a director of things,but a witness to the breaking.Not a strategist of systems,but a steward of stories.I do not run an enterpriseI carry the oilthat anoints the broken places.I am a priest.I walk not on carpeted boardrooms,but on holy groundbarefoot,breath held,heart cracked open wideto let the Spirit through.I…
For the Immigrant and the Refugee in the Crosshairs of Empire Originally published: June 11, 2025 You, beloved wanderer,carried across deserts and detention lines,with blistered feet and prayersstitched into your skin like survival songs,you are seen.Though the halls of power spit your name like venom,though the pens of presidentsscribble you into shadows,the Kingdom of Heaven…
My Words… I want my words to color the walls of revolutionaries like a timeless masterpiece whose brushstrokes never fade and movement strike a chord in every man, woman and child, so that when the evening shadow falls and I am called home, I will know my weary self gave everything worthy of me to…
(Inspired by Luke 20:9–19) I stood in the vineyard at dawn,and the soil was not soft with dew,it was stained.With blood, with ash,with the silence of prophetsburied beneath bureaucracy.The vines were twisted with sorrow.Children’s laughter did not echo here.Only sirens.Only boots.Only the sound of wallsbeing built higherthan hearts can reach.And the Owner,God,keeps sending servants.They come…
There are moments in life when the weight of unspoken truth becomes too heavy to carry alone. The tears slip quietly through the cracks of our carefully composed smiles, and we find ourselves longing for a love that can hold the fullness of who we are—without fear, without condition, without shrinking. I wrote The Weight…