Sunday, May 24, 2026
1.
Early this year, a committed coalition of Granite Staters activated by a committed team of organizers pressured first the Governor of our state and then the administration in Washington to give up on plans for a massive ICE-controlled detention center in Merrimack. It would have been a warehouse really, like others across the country, a warehouse for human beings, detained immigrants, hundreds and hundreds of neighbors we need. But that coalition—motivated by a moral clarity you, my friends, have helped to generate and define—forced the Governor and then the administration itself to think twice. And then to give up on that particular plan. No warehouse in Merrimack. Not now.
And then, a couple of weeks ago, yet another immigrant friend was required by ICE to appear in Manchester for a scheduled ‘check-in,’ knowing fully that others have appeared at that same office and immediately been detained and deported. Never to be seen again by family and friends. Most of us cannot begin to understand the fear in a human heart on a day like that. But on that particular morning, a committed coalition of Granite Staters—including (praise God!) several of you—accompanied that dear man to the federal building in Manchester. And then you made sure that ICE recognized your commitment and your resolve and your numbers. And it’s widely understood today that the group’s presence, that coalition’s commitment, your resolve in showing up for that one brother and so many others—that this was a critical factor in ICE’s decision not to detain him that day, and to release him to the community he loves, to fight for his freedom another day.
I remind you of these two stories—of these two victories in the movement for justice in New Hampshire, justice in America; I remind you of these stories this Memorial Day Weekend because they remind us of the promise of democracy itself. And it’s a promise worth defending and sacrificing for, a promise cherished by the hundreds of thousands who have given their lives that we might yet become one people united: one people of many dreams, traditions, languages and faiths. Some of these dear ones died in war, others in hard-fought campaigns for social change and human rights. Some died serving and protecting our communities as firefighters and emergency responders; others died after a lifetime of devotion, a lifetime of civic commitment and sacrificial choices.
And this weekend, this Memorial Day Weekend, we remember them all with gratitude, because they invested their dreams and their days in an imperfect nation that can only be perfected by love, justice and civic spirit. They gave their lives so that coalitions like those I’ve described just now might stand up boldly to ICE in Merrimack and reject warehousing of human beings. They have their lives so that diverse networks—Jew and Christian, agnostic and unaffiliated—might stand as one in Manchester and demand justice and protection for neighbors who’ve come to these shores seeking safety, opportunity and friendship. So, yes, we praise God this weekend for every one of our these friends who have made extraordinary sacrifices for a country where justice, equity, diversity and community are not just a promise, but our shared responsibility, our common task, our democratic purpose.
Will you join me, then, in a moment of silent prayer, in thanksgiving for them all…
2.
At last weekend’s event on the National Mall in Washington, House Speaker Mike Johnson celebrated an entirely different vision of our democracy. And in the spirit of Christian nationalism, an idea that’s both toxic and blasphemous, he invoked a sadly distorted reading of American history. And it’s a reading that almost literally white-washes that history to promote a monochromatic (or let’s be honest, racist) picture of our past, present and future. “Since Christopher Columbus set sail in the New World,” the Speaker said from the dais, “since the settlers at Jamestown planted the cross at Cape Henry, and since the pilgrims at Plymouth made a covenant to give you [O God] the glory, in all that time, you have guided us at every pivotal moment. And when our forefathers,” he continued, “took up the great cause of American independence, they turned to you [O God] in steadfast prayer.”
It sounds innocuous, maybe even familiar to us; but it discloses nonetheless the Christian nationalist project itself. America, in other words, has always been privileged by God, even above other peoples, nations and tribes. And that privilege cannot ever be repealed or even questioned. So it is that the violent displacement of indigenous peoples by European Christians was (from the start) blessed, ordained, even mandated by God. So it is that slavery was just a step (maybe a misstep, but a step) along the way to providential glory on a continent waiting to be conquered by enlightened Christians, well-meaning white Europeans, true believers. We have no regrets. We have made no mistakes. We’ve simply done what God required and taken what God promised. And American salvation depends on this very orthodoxy and unanimous consent.
And then, same speech, the Speaker even more explicitly rejected a more accurate account of our history and blamed champions of inclusion and activists for justice for the country’s 21st century decline. “In recent years,” he said, “we’ve seen sinister ideologies sow confusion and discord among our people.” And let’s be clear: when Mike Johnson and JD Vance talk about ‘sinister ideologies,’ they’re talking about diversity, equity and inclusion; they’re talking about open and affirming churches; they’re talking about a full national accounting for white racism and racial injustice and police brutality. They’re talking, in other words, about you and me and our mission, and almost every sermon that’s preached from this pulpit.
They’re interested, these Christian nationalists, in a Christianity that is compliant in celebrating American exceptionalism and resourcing American power—but fearful of challenging injustice and opening doors for marginalized peoples and confessing our generational sins. In fact, confession is itself an enemy of their project. Repentance is anathema to their kind of nationalism. We confess nothing. We have nothing to repent. God’s glory is ours. Forever and ever. Amen.
So again, the Speaker said, referring to folks like you and me, “We’ve witnessed attacks on our history, on our heroes, and on the cherished moral and spiritual identity of this great nation. These voices insist to the young and impressionable that our story — the American story — is one of oppression and hypocrisy and failure, and that this story can only be understood through the lens of our sins.” Again, no confession. No repentance. No sins. God is on our side. Full stop.
To be clear, Christian nationalism—and I think we want to say, ‘White Christian nationalism’: White Christian nationalism denies racism as an American reality; rejects a full accounting for slavery and the middle passage; denies the foundational sin of genocide and indigenous displacement; and seeks in effect to criminalize diversity, equity and inclusion as a curse on the godly (read: white Christian) project entrusted to God’s people on this continent. So Mike Johnson and Donald Trump aim to white-wash American history. In the name of God. And God’s glory.
So that’s that.
3.
But let’s set Christian nationalism aside, shall we, and let’s talk instead about Christian theology, about our life together in the Spirit of Pentecost. Because: if nationalism is a spiritual and political temptation—and I believe it is—Christian theology has to meet that temptation with prayerful humility, Christ-like love and (perhaps most importantly) a commitment to discipleship. Jesus is pretty clear: “If any would take me seriously,” he says, more than once, “if any would take me seriously, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” You might remember that Peter among others was quick to anoint Jesus as Messiah and claim for Jesus the very authority of heaven and earth. It was kind of a “Mike Johnson moment” for Peter in the eighth chapter of Mark. Remember that? “I got you, Jesus. You’re the Messiah, Jesus. King of Kings, Jesus. There’s no one like you, Jesus.”
But Jesus rejects Peter’s triumphalism, and insists without hesitating a heartbeat that he’s not about exerting authority, and he’s not about enforcing a set of beliefs, and he’s not about religious nationalism, or biblical legalism, or ecclesial control. “If any would take me seriously,” he says on the way to Jerusalem, “let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” In other words: “Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God.”
In the days and weeks after Jesus’ death, then, his disciples resist any desire in their movement to impose particular beliefs on other peoples; and they resist any impulse to build a weaponized system of control. Because that just wasn’t Jesus’ way. He rejected it as blasphemy. And instead, instead those same disciples build a dynamic, purposeful and multinational movement of peoples speaking many languages, worshipping God in many ways, and receiving together the Spirit of the Living Christ. And that Spirit is so wild and gracious, so Christ-like and cosmic that it weaves them all into a communion of siblings, into a neighborhood of friends, into a church of many colors and textures and peoples. In no time, by the way, they’re selling possessions, sharing resources in common, and distributing proceeds to any in need. Just keep reading. Discipleship’s not just a hypothetical, you see; and it’s certainly not a system of political control and spiritual uniformity either. It’s a new lifestyle for these early converts, rooted radically in Jesus’ teaching and Hebrew tradition. It relies on spiritual maturity and wisdom. And now they’re leaning in. Together. And it’s all so wild, so gracious, and so cosmic that some who observe it all—as it’s coming together on Pentecost and in the days following Pentecost—jeer at the whole business, saying: “Bah. They’ve got to be drunk!” “Bah. They’ve got to be drunk.” If we’re following Jesus, if we’re building our churches around Jesus’ vision, our friends are gonna think we’re crazy, and they’re gonna think we’re naïve, they’re gonna think we’re off our rockers.
One of the many questions before you and me, then, in 2026 is this: How will a serious and faithful church stand up to Christian nationalism with courage, humility and clarity in such a time as this? How will Christians like you and me manifest in our own communities the cost and joy of discipleship, not as a threat, and certainly not as a means of manipulation and political control, but as an invitation to collaborative justice, and shared communion, and radical inclusion? And yes, there are a whole lot of things we have to reject along the way: things like fundamentalism and patriarchy in religious life, and perversions like racism and heterosexism and poverty and xenophobia. We have to stand up to every effort to white-wash American history and deport international students and criminalize immigration.
But discipleship is so much bigger than our rejection of cruelty. Discipleship is also our big and unfettered YES to God’s call to life and justice and peace. Discipleship is our embrace of God’s greatest gifts. Jesus casts a vision; and then says “Open your eyes and see.” Discipleship, then, is our celebration of diversity and our joyful commitment to curiosity and affirmation, and to communities that reflect the gorgeous multiculturalism of the planet itself. It’s our daily gratitude for cycles of fertility and abundance—and our practice of holding all things in common and sharing everything God gives us, because it’s all God’s, all of it, so that all of God’s children have opportunities and resources within generous communities of kindness and care. Again, it’s not a hypothetical, discipleship; it’s a practice, it’s a project, it’s our life together.
4.
In that powerful statement from our own New Hampshire Council of Churches, we read this: “Our sacred texts inspire our vision for a just world in God’s name. We understand that our liberation is deeply bound up with one another.” That, my friends, and not Christian nationalism, is the Good News of Jesus Christ. To experience wonder and find purpose in Jesus is first to see that we are created for life and justice together. Created, as the Hebrews loved to say, “in the image of God.” To receive God’s mercy in Jesus is to wake up to our human family—in all of its spectacular diversity, in all of its befuddling brokenness—and see in one another holy opportunities for collaboration and healing and tenderness. Our liberation is deeply bound up with one another. Antony’s and yours and mine, Pam’s and Bryn’s and George’s and Sandra’s, and Bill Gilvary’s and Darby Leicht’s too.
What we hear in the story of Pentecost is an exciting and purposeful counter-narrative to every nationalist bully and every racist authoritarian regime. What we hear is a sound from heaven stirring in a wonderfully human and wildly diverse community with an invitation to multicultural collaboration, with a call to multilingual celebration, with a promise of godly abundance. Not for a few, but for us all. Not just for some, but for the whole, wide, magnificent, spectacular world. What we hear is the voice of the Risen Christ, and he’s saying to the church: “Come, come, follow me.”
And because that call is our call too, let’s rise in body or in spirit to sing: “On Pentecost They Gathered.”
Amen and Ashe.
And then, a couple of weeks ago, yet another immigrant friend was required by ICE to appear in Manchester for a scheduled ‘check-in,’ knowing fully that others have appeared at that same office and immediately been detained and deported. Never to be seen again by family and friends. Most of us cannot begin to understand the fear in a human heart on a day like that. But on that particular morning, a committed coalition of Granite Staters—including (praise God!) several of you—accompanied that dear man to the federal building in Manchester. And then you made sure that ICE recognized your commitment and your resolve and your numbers. And it’s widely understood today that the group’s presence, that coalition’s commitment, your resolve in showing up for that one brother and so many others—that this was a critical factor in ICE’s decision not to detain him that day, and to release him to the community he loves, to fight for his freedom another day.
And this weekend, this Memorial Day Weekend, we remember them all with gratitude, because they invested their dreams and their days in an imperfect nation that can only be perfected by love, justice and civic spirit. They gave their lives so that coalitions like those I’ve described just now might stand up boldly to ICE in Merrimack and reject warehousing of human beings. They have their lives so that diverse networks—Jew and Christian, agnostic and unaffiliated—might stand as one in Manchester and demand justice and protection for neighbors who’ve come to these shores seeking safety, opportunity and friendship. So, yes, we praise God this weekend for every one of our these friends who have made extraordinary sacrifices for a country where justice, equity, diversity and community are not just a promise, but our shared responsibility, our common task, our democratic purpose.
Will you join me, then, in a moment of silent prayer, in thanksgiving for them all…
2.
At last weekend’s event on the National Mall in Washington, House Speaker Mike Johnson celebrated an entirely different vision of our democracy. And in the spirit of Christian nationalism, an idea that’s both toxic and blasphemous, he invoked a sadly distorted reading of American history. And it’s a reading that almost literally white-washes that history to promote a monochromatic (or let’s be honest, racist) picture of our past, present and future. “Since Christopher Columbus set sail in the New World,” the Speaker said from the dais, “since the settlers at Jamestown planted the cross at Cape Henry, and since the pilgrims at Plymouth made a covenant to give you [O God] the glory, in all that time, you have guided us at every pivotal moment. And when our forefathers,” he continued, “took up the great cause of American independence, they turned to you [O God] in steadfast prayer.”
It sounds innocuous, maybe even familiar to us; but it discloses nonetheless the Christian nationalist project itself. America, in other words, has always been privileged by God, even above other peoples, nations and tribes. And that privilege cannot ever be repealed or even questioned. So it is that the violent displacement of indigenous peoples by European Christians was (from the start) blessed, ordained, even mandated by God. So it is that slavery was just a step (maybe a misstep, but a step) along the way to providential glory on a continent waiting to be conquered by enlightened Christians, well-meaning white Europeans, true believers. We have no regrets. We have made no mistakes. We’ve simply done what God required and taken what God promised. And American salvation depends on this very orthodoxy and unanimous consent.
And then, same speech, the Speaker even more explicitly rejected a more accurate account of our history and blamed champions of inclusion and activists for justice for the country’s 21st century decline. “In recent years,” he said, “we’ve seen sinister ideologies sow confusion and discord among our people.” And let’s be clear: when Mike Johnson and JD Vance talk about ‘sinister ideologies,’ they’re talking about diversity, equity and inclusion; they’re talking about open and affirming churches; they’re talking about a full national accounting for white racism and racial injustice and police brutality. They’re talking, in other words, about you and me and our mission, and almost every sermon that’s preached from this pulpit.
They’re interested, these Christian nationalists, in a Christianity that is compliant in celebrating American exceptionalism and resourcing American power—but fearful of challenging injustice and opening doors for marginalized peoples and confessing our generational sins. In fact, confession is itself an enemy of their project. Repentance is anathema to their kind of nationalism. We confess nothing. We have nothing to repent. God’s glory is ours. Forever and ever. Amen.
So again, the Speaker said, referring to folks like you and me, “We’ve witnessed attacks on our history, on our heroes, and on the cherished moral and spiritual identity of this great nation. These voices insist to the young and impressionable that our story — the American story — is one of oppression and hypocrisy and failure, and that this story can only be understood through the lens of our sins.” Again, no confession. No repentance. No sins. God is on our side. Full stop.
To be clear, Christian nationalism—and I think we want to say, ‘White Christian nationalism’: White Christian nationalism denies racism as an American reality; rejects a full accounting for slavery and the middle passage; denies the foundational sin of genocide and indigenous displacement; and seeks in effect to criminalize diversity, equity and inclusion as a curse on the godly (read: white Christian) project entrusted to God’s people on this continent. So Mike Johnson and Donald Trump aim to white-wash American history. In the name of God. And God’s glory.
So that’s that.
3.
But let’s set Christian nationalism aside, shall we, and let’s talk instead about Christian theology, about our life together in the Spirit of Pentecost. Because: if nationalism is a spiritual and political temptation—and I believe it is—Christian theology has to meet that temptation with prayerful humility, Christ-like love and (perhaps most importantly) a commitment to discipleship. Jesus is pretty clear: “If any would take me seriously,” he says, more than once, “if any would take me seriously, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” You might remember that Peter among others was quick to anoint Jesus as Messiah and claim for Jesus the very authority of heaven and earth. It was kind of a “Mike Johnson moment” for Peter in the eighth chapter of Mark. Remember that? “I got you, Jesus. You’re the Messiah, Jesus. King of Kings, Jesus. There’s no one like you, Jesus.”
But Jesus rejects Peter’s triumphalism, and insists without hesitating a heartbeat that he’s not about exerting authority, and he’s not about enforcing a set of beliefs, and he’s not about religious nationalism, or biblical legalism, or ecclesial control. “If any would take me seriously,” he says on the way to Jerusalem, “let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” In other words: “Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God.”
One of the many questions before you and me, then, in 2026 is this: How will a serious and faithful church stand up to Christian nationalism with courage, humility and clarity in such a time as this? How will Christians like you and me manifest in our own communities the cost and joy of discipleship, not as a threat, and certainly not as a means of manipulation and political control, but as an invitation to collaborative justice, and shared communion, and radical inclusion? And yes, there are a whole lot of things we have to reject along the way: things like fundamentalism and patriarchy in religious life, and perversions like racism and heterosexism and poverty and xenophobia. We have to stand up to every effort to white-wash American history and deport international students and criminalize immigration.
But discipleship is so much bigger than our rejection of cruelty. Discipleship is also our big and unfettered YES to God’s call to life and justice and peace. Discipleship is our embrace of God’s greatest gifts. Jesus casts a vision; and then says “Open your eyes and see.” Discipleship, then, is our celebration of diversity and our joyful commitment to curiosity and affirmation, and to communities that reflect the gorgeous multiculturalism of the planet itself. It’s our daily gratitude for cycles of fertility and abundance—and our practice of holding all things in common and sharing everything God gives us, because it’s all God’s, all of it, so that all of God’s children have opportunities and resources within generous communities of kindness and care. Again, it’s not a hypothetical, discipleship; it’s a practice, it’s a project, it’s our life together.
4.
What we hear in the story of Pentecost is an exciting and purposeful counter-narrative to every nationalist bully and every racist authoritarian regime. What we hear is a sound from heaven stirring in a wonderfully human and wildly diverse community with an invitation to multicultural collaboration, with a call to multilingual celebration, with a promise of godly abundance. Not for a few, but for us all. Not just for some, but for the whole, wide, magnificent, spectacular world. What we hear is the voice of the Risen Christ, and he’s saying to the church: “Come, come, follow me.”
And because that call is our call too, let’s rise in body or in spirit to sing: “On Pentecost They Gathered.”
Amen and Ashe.
