Jesus and John Wayne

Have y’all heard this new song by the artist googly eyes? It’s great and I highly recommend listening to it 500 times like I have.

But then, like when you give a mouse a cookie, this song (very obviously) made me think of the book Jesus and John Wayne by Kristin Kobes Du Mez. And that got me thinking about what I used to believe about war and Christianity. And then President Trump bombed Iran and that got me thinking about a particular senior thesis that I wrote in college defending pre-emptive war, capitalism, and something else, probably marriage between a man and a woman all in the name of Christianity. And all of that got me thinking about a particular sermon I preached a few months ago, over at All Souls in Berkeley. 

So, in light of all of those things, here is the sermon I preached back on March 16th on the second Sunday of Lent. This is the best of what I can say about what I believe it means to be a Christian in the world right now.

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Manuscript of my sermon delivered at All Souls Parish, Berkeley on March 16, 2025 based on the lectionary for Lent 2C, which was Psalm 27, Philippians 3:17-4:1, and Luke 13:31-35.

I tend to balk at the idea of starting a sermon with a confession. It’s just so typical—the preacher makes a confession. And usually after the confession is made it really doesn’t seem that egregious, and yet here I am. My confession: I used to be a Republican. 

And I don’t mean just like I voted for some Republican candidates, I mean, I had an Anne Coulter barbie-like doll. I had a Ronald Reagan quote framed on my desk all through college. I served as the co-executive campaign director of the Bush/Cheney campaign in San Luis Obispo County in the 2004 election and had my first and only white russian that night when he won.

And before I go on I need to say one thing, there’s nothing wrong with being a Republican. I don’t tell you all of that to make fun of Republicans. But instead to make a bigger point, which hopefully will become clear.

I grew up believing that, as Christians, we were a persecuted minority. There was a culture war waging against us and it was called the liberal agenda. I can remember learning and reading about our plan, as Republicans, to go after and take over the courts, that would be the way we could win. 

Passages like what we read this morning in Psalm 27 were a balm for our fight:

“The Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom then shall I fear?
the Lord is the strength of my life;
of whom then shall I be afraid?

2 When evildoers came upon me to eat up my flesh,
it was they, my foes and my adversaries, who
stumbled and fell.

3 Though an army should encamp against me,
yet my heart shall not be afraid;

4 And though war should rise up against me,
yet will I put my trust in him.

And in Paul’s letter to the Philippians where Paul writes, “For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ…Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things.” These passages gave us resolve for the attacks we were under and for the fight ahead. And the attacks? Those were by the dominant culture, Hollywood, and the Democrats who were putting pressure on us to live outside of how we understood the scriptures, by pushing the creation of a welfare state, big government, the legalization of gay marriage, and the legalization of abortion. 

To be fair to the world in which I was raised, I took all of this on as a child and so took it on in particular ways and perhaps with a little more ardor than was necessary. Like, when I was 17, I went to a summer camp, in Minnesota, called the Worldview Academy (just check out their team page to understand their theology) where we were taught how to fight a liberal who was claiming to be a Christian. And so I might have just been especially eager, ready to believe that there were real enemies out there who had an agenda to quiet us, to push us to the margins, and to push their anti-Christian ideas on us. But it was the way Jesus was framed for us in church, so why wouldn’t it be true of us?

Something like 30 years have passed, and now, here we are, we finally won. Roe v Wade has been overturned, we won the courts, we won all three branches of government. But somewhere in there, I switched teams. And now those long sought after victories have a different feel. 

How silly it all is, and how dangerous. 

In a world where, as Phil said last week, “our government will not do our Christianity for us”, I find hope in watching Jesus, especially in passages like this one this morning, because of the way he moves through the world. He lived not to win, but to love. 

Paul seemed to understand this. He preached a citizenship that he saw Jesus live out—one that does not reside in this world. It’s all throughout his writings like in Ephesians, “for our struggle is not against blood and flesh but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” and then here in Philippians, which we read this morning, “But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.”

It’s not too far-fetched to determine these things based on stories like the one we read this morning. Here, Jesus is headed towards Jerusalem. It’s a place that yes, prophets have been challenged and some of them have been killed, but more to the point, it’s the place where his presence will kick up the most dust. So far his ministry has undercut the authorities claims to supremacy—both Roman and Jewish, and he’s heading straight to the seat of the High Priest, under Roman rule, to the center of their world.

As Michael Lemaire has taught in his most recent class (scroll down the page to the class “Death of the Messiah”), there was a sort of peace and order at the time because of Roman rule, and the way Jesus was acting and what he was doing upset that order. He had healed people on the sabbath, and had talked about an alternative kingdom, and named himself king. And so the local authorities assumed wrongly and miscalculated, thinking that he was a political player with a political agenda, but instead he called down an entirely different kingdom, a different king, a different kind of citizenship.

And so when the Pharisees came to him, which for all we can tell might have genuinely been a friendly warning, to warn him that Herod wanted to kill him, he retorts in short, “you tell that fox…I will not stop.” I find this insult intriguing. I mean, I’ve never called someone a fox. Who deserves this insult? This is Herod Antipas, again, you can listen to Michael’s class audio to learn more, but briefly, he is a tetrarch, a sort of local Roman authority. He’s the one who had John the Baptist beheaded because he got drunk and made a dare. According to author Dan Clenendin, “most historians remember him as a paranoid and ruthless madman. Herod executed one of his ten wives, two of his sons, and numerous detractors. In the gospels, when Herod heard rumors about the birth of a rival king, he tried to murder the magi, and he ordered the infanticide in Bethlehem…” According to these reports, he’s a power hungry fool.

There are likely a few names you might insert as this era’s version of a Herodian fox, but so is anyone who stands in the way of the Gospel, that is who stands in the path of the way of life Jesus calls us to live. So when the Pharisees warned Jesus about Herod’s fear and his threat, he had every reason to believe that if he proceeded, he would likely die. And yet he continued.

And it’s this move that really caught my attention. Because Jesus could easily have chosen a different path right here. He could have succumbed, and said, “ah, thank you for this warning, I’m so sorry. I’ll go to Herod right away and try to make amends.” Or he could have defended himself, created some long defense as to why he had done all that he had done and why it was all entirely lawful. But instead he stands firm in the path he knows to be true, and continues. And what is that path? He says he will continue casting out demons and performing cures. He will continue healing people and restoring them to life, but also he will continue living in this world but not of it, as a citizen of another kingdom, which is a move he now knows will surely get him killed. 

He is politically agitating but that is not his only goal. Instead something much more strenuous and demanding is happening. He’s not playing to win, he’s playing to love. And when love, when the kingdom of God is your law, it is very disorienting to those with earthly authority. 

What would our lives look like, what would our relationships look like if we lived with love, and not victory, as our aim? I mean this in the most intimate to the most public sort of ways. What if we approached our own bodies this way, to love and not to win? Or our most intimate relationships––our spouses and children and dear friends? And of course those we oppose politically. What if, in the heat of the moment, we could remember to turn towards love rather than simply trying to win or be right? What if we gave up that fight? And instead, as Micah 6:8 suggests, to do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with your God. And as Jesus showed us, to speak out for those who have no voice. Restore the outcast to community. Feed those who need it, free those in bondage, and welcome the stranger. 

It’s dangerous to play to win, and usually requires losing some part of ourselves along the way. In fact it often requires us to stop thinking and simply fight. Thinking back on my own journey, I would be a fool, I’d be silly, if I just jumped sides and proceeded with the same ferocity. Instead we’re called to play a different game altogether. While it might get us into trouble and there will be real consequences for ourselves and those around us, we are subject to another authority. We are citizens of heaven with love as our law.