Pete Hegseth’s Department of Defense just cut the military’s list of recognized faiths from 211 down to 31. Twenty-two of those 31 are Christian denominations. Judaism? One box. Islam? One box. Unitarian Universalists, Neo-Pagans, and a whole lot of others? Filed under “Other.”

They’re calling it “administrative.” But here’s what it actually does: it makes minority faiths in the military even harder to see — and even harder to support.

A chaplain’s whole job is to make sure every service member can practice their faith. Every single one. If a chaplain can’t serve someone directly, they’re supposed to find someone who can. You can’t do that for people the system pretends don’t exist.

And it’s sloppy. The week before, a draft of this same list decided the LDS church wasn’t Christian — good luck settling that one in a Pentagon spreadsheet.

One former Army chaplain said it best: “The First Amendment is the free exercise of religion for everybody. That’s what I was buying into.” The new list, he said, is “an excuse for the failure to provide the free exercise of religion for all people.”

Religious freedom isn’t freedom if it only counts the religions in charge.

Claiming all religions or teachers are equal overlooks these obvious differences. Everyone evaluates religions by some standard— for Christians, this should be the teaching and example of Jesus - who we say is “the Way, the Truth and the Life”. When Christians engage in interfaith dialogue, Jesus shapes our perspective and values.

By this standard, Gandhi’s alignment with Jesus’ teaching in the Beatitudes and influence on figures like Martin Luther King Jr. and Desmond Tutu make him resonate positively with us.

Christians are called to be good neighbors to all, including those who hold to other faiths. Being a good interfaith neighbor as a Christian does mean being open to being changed by our relationship with them, but it also means being very clear about the Gospel values that form who we are.

Link to the blog post that inspired this video by the Rt. Rev. Matt Gunter - https://anoddworkofgrace.blogspot.com/2026/04/the-impossibility-of-religious-pluralism.html

Link to the artist who created the Good Samaritan graphic - http://www.earnestillustrations.com

This rhetoric and the actions to which (this statement) leads are fundamentally unchristian. As we prepare to celebrate the wonder of the Word made flesh we are reminded that *all* human flesh is sacred. No human body or human person is garbage – regardless of where they are from, the color of their skin, their gender, or anything else that makes up the diversity of humanity created in the image of God and blessed by the incarnation. To speak or act otherwise is gross blasphemy against God.

The vast majority of people we are talking about are simply desirous of – desperate for – security and opportunity for themselves and their families. Which has always been the American promise – the same promise that inspired my ancestors to come here.

Dehumanizing rhetoric is contrary to that promise. It is unchristian and unamerican. It should not be tolerated anywhere, but especially from the president of a nation whose character as a “melting pot” has long been celebrated. And it should not be tolerated by Christians preparing to celebrate the Word made flesh, born into an inhospitable place to embrace all with the welcome of God.

A sermon for Proper 28 C 11/16/25 at St. Matthias Church

“When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.”

In the section of the Gospel from Luke today, we get some of Jesus’ apocalyptic speech. There have always been those in every generation that believed the end of the world was coming soon. In fact, all indications are that Paul thought that. But whenever we hear apocalyptic language in the Bible, we have to remember the community it is written to.

This stuff about the end of the world in the Prophets, Gospels and the Book of Revelation are not written in order to scare people. And they’re not written to predict what’s going to happen thousands of years in the future. They are always written to a community that is under oppression to offer hope. You may more easily discern that in the reading from Isaiah this morning.

In the case of the prophets, to the nation of Israel under subjugation by a succession of invading powers. In the case of the New Testament, to a church under intermittent but often brutal persecution under the Roman empire. Apocalyptic literature offers hope to oppressed people that as Martin Luther King JR. famously said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”

This idea of justice is at the very core of the Gospel. When Mary becomes pregnant with Jesus, she goes to her cousin Elizabeth, and that meeting causes Mary to utter the most ancient hymn of the church:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; *
for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed: *
the Almighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his Name.
He has mercy on those who fear him *
in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm, *
he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, *
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things, *
and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel, *
for he has remembered his promise of mercy,
The promise he made to our fathers, *
to Abraham and his children for ever. (Luke 1:46-55)

The baby the Mary is to bring into the world is not coming to uphold the status quo, or to make people feel secure. Jesus is coming into the world to lift up the lowly, to fill the hungry with good things, and to scatter the proud, and when that happens, literally all hell breaks loose.

In the readings for All Saints two weeks ago, we head the center of Jesus’ teaching in the beatitudes, in which Mary’s song is affirmed.

Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.
Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.
Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets. (Luke 6:20-31)

As liturgical scholar and blogger Derek Olsen points out, “this is not a call to meekness or acceptance. This is a call to join a revolutionary movement. The revolutionary leader is God.” The point of the revolutionary movement is reconciliation to God and justice for our fellow humans.

When it comes to human affairs, Justice, not government is the overriding concern of God. Many people at the time did not join with Jesus or fell away during his ministry because he did not seem to take a clear position on the Roman occupation. It’s clear he opposed Roman brutality, but he also didn’t side with the violence of the rebels. This wasn’t because he approved of those rulers, it was because the arc was longer. He was providing teaching not just for what to do during Roman occupation, but for the long term salvation of humanity.

I have often made the claim that God is agnostic about how we govern ourselves and who we choose to govern us. If we choose to order ourselves democratically, as a monarchy, or as a commune, there is no clear evidence from scripture that God favors one or the other. But what God cares about clearly from the scripture is how that government enables or prevents justice from being executed.

Justice in the Biblical sense does not always mean enforcement of civil law. In fact, civil law can often be used to circumvent justice. One can remember that slavery and Jim Crowe were both legal. Gods Justice is what Mary sings about in the Magnificat and Jesus teaches in the beatitudes. The poor are fed, the oppressed are set free, and the wounds of the hurting are bound.

Human societies are not judged by God for their management of foreign policy or military affairs or fiscal success. They are measured by the more basic question of, “How does this society treat people? In what ways does this society help or hinder the justice of what God intends for the entire creation?”

In a time of political tension like this, our role as Christians is to emulate Jesus. Think about how Jesus operated on a day to day basis. The Disciples were always trying to move Jesus to what they considered the most important things, the things that mattered politicall - to meet the right people, to be on time to say the right things in order to gain support for the cause, to move on to the next press conference, the next campaign stop.

But Jesus was remarkably resistant to his handlers. He stopped for people who were invisible to society. The woman with the hemmorage that made her ritually unclean. Zaccheus the traitor to his own people, sitting up in the top of the tree. The Samaritan woman, member of a group on the fringes of the people of Israel. Lepers, separated and literally standing at a distance. Jesus listened and said much to those on the edges of society, but when dragged in front of the ones people considered the most important, King Herod and Pontius Pilate, he remained silent.

Jesus was always looking to the edges, and we are called to do the same. People on the edges are terrified right now. I have heard three accounts this week from parishioners of people known personally to them who have been taken into custody when making their scheduled appearance at an immigration hearing. People who have jobs, who follow the procedure set by the government, showing up when told to do so, only to be put into a system where their whereabouts are unknown to their families for days or weeks.

I personally know a latino man, a US Citizen, who now carries his passport with him everywhere because of the multiple documented cases of latino citizens being detained for days or weeks without due process based solely on the color of their skin. What does it say about us if minorities ihave to carry papers 24/7 to avoid random detention? Historically, this puts us back in the times of the internment of Japanese-Americans, or during the Fugitive Slave Act.

In an extraordinary message delivered last week, the US Conference of Catholic Bishops delivered in a special message, the first one in 12 years. It read in part

“We are disturbed when we see among our people a climate of fear and anxiety around questions of profiling and immigration enforcement. We are saddened by the state of contemporary debate and the vilification of immigrants. We are concerned about the conditions in detention centers and the lack of access to pastoral care. We lament that some immigrants in the United States have arbitrarily lost their legal status. We are troubled by threats against the sanctity of houses of worship and the special nature of hospitals and schools. We are grieved when we meet parents who fear being detained when taking their children to school and when we try to console family members who have already been separated from their loved ones.”

Let’s ask the popular question, what would Jesus do? First, Jesus would be looking for those on the fringes. Who in your circle is hurting? Are there friends or colleagues or co-workers or family who are really and truly afraid for their future right now? They are all around us. Second, Jesus would acknowledge them. Reach out to them personally and let them know that you love and support them and will stand by them. Third, Jesus would show compassion. Platitudes sound exactly like the language that is heard before every persecution and pogrom in history. Every time people who are afraid are told that they don’t need to worry, it affirms their worst fears - that they will again be forgotten and their voices drowned out.

And Fourth, Jesus would act. This is a humanitarian crisis of our own making. We know from polling that the majority of people in this nation do not approve of how the government is handling detentions. I have heard stories of people being released after days or weeks, but only because of determined individual support by their neighbors who will not let them disappear without a fight. If you have an opportunity to speak up or to act, please do so. And all of us who follow Jesus should be willing to demand that our elected officials of every party and creed speak out as well. This can be risky, as we heard in the Gospel, “they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to imprisonment, and you will be brought before kings and governors.” I have several clergy colleagues in Chicago who are currently facing prosecution for holding religious services on a public street outside a detention facility.

Beloved, This is not about partisan politics. The US Conference of Catholic Bishops represents a wide swath of political opinion in the US. It’s about following some pretty clear teachings from Jesus. Jesus is the Lord of the margins, the Lord of the oppressed and the hated and the persecuted. He has come to cast down the mighty from their thrones, and to lift up the lowly. Jesus does not stand with the powerful. Jesus stands with those at the margins. And it is up to us his followers, at this juncture of history, to decide if we are willing to stand with Jesus. Amen.

So how well did JD Vance do with his answer to a question about his wife’s potential religious conversion? I examine his statements on free will and religious freedom. #episcopalchurch #christianity #interfaith #jdvance

I’ll give this in three parts: No Spoiler, Light Spoiler, and Full Spoiler, which includes my thoughts on the moral choices.

NO SPOILER: I’m a child of the 80s who was reaching adolescence during the Reagan Administration. We were all terrified of nuclear war, and we didn’t have the comfort of “Duck and Cover” platitudes of the generation before. We watched Wargames and The Day After. We all knew if it happened, we were all dead. My way to cope with that was to geek out as much as I could about nuclear weapons and delivery systems. Megatonnage, MIRVS, Circle of Impact. I watched every Cold War movie I could get - Fail-Safe, Dr Strangelove, Threads, Crimson Tide, etc. That’s continued to this day. I’ve been an “Atomic Tourist” all over the US and spelunked abandoned Nike missile sites. I read Annie Jacobsen’s recent book, Nuclear War (from which House of Dynamite draws some inspiration), in the course of 24 hours. Director Kathryn Bigelow (of The Hurt Locker and Zero Dark Thirty fame) directs a stellar cast in a multi-perspective movie that I think achieves exactly what she intended it to. This is a psychological drama - no serious action, gore, or horror. It is heart-pounding and well worth a watch if the subject won’t keep you up at night. You’ll note that reviews are decidedly mixed on social media. I think negative reviews 1. Don’t understand the genre of films about nuclear war, and 2. Either disagree with or don’t understand the place Bigelow wants us to be at the end of the film. House of Dynamite is available to stream on Netflix.

LIGHT SPOILER: If it helps you decide whether or not to watch this, you WILL NOT see people being blown apart or cities decimated, or the effects of radiation poisoning. This is not The Day After, it’s the day before. The basic premise (Which you’ll see in the first few minutes) is that someone, unknown, has launched one ICBM at the United States from the Pacific Ocean. The rest of the movie dramatizes how American command and control, as well as missile defense, could play out in that scenario. The movie follows the perspective of one element of command and control, then rewinds itself to show another element. I will register a suicide trigger warning for the movie.

FULL SPOILER: We find out the missile is headed towards Chicago. The movie ends before impact. We don’t know who fired it, and we don’t know if it even carries a nuclear warhead. We don’t know that if it does, the warhead will actually detonate. This is all because the story Bigelow wants to tell really has nothing to do with the horrors of nuclear war. It also doesn’t have to do with personalities - everyone, from the President down, in this scenario is at least competent and empathetic. The STRATCOM commander is the closest thing to a Strangelovian character in this movie, but he’s not looking forward to a nuclear war. The real star of this movie is the actual command and control apparatus for our nuclear weapons. The point is that after the launch of a missile at the US, the apparatus has at most around 30 minutes (For an ICBM on the other side of the world) to as little as 6 minutes (for a sub-launched missile) before impact. It is also completely dependent on the POTUS, who holds sole authority for the release of nuclear weapons. By ending the film before the actual detonation (or not), Bigelow leaves us asking the right questions that might be resolved if we knew the result, and those questions concern whether or not we are okay with this status quo.

When atomic weapons were first developed at the end of WW2, they were considered bigger versions of conventional bombs. They were originally under the control of air corps generals just the same way that any other weapon was. Post WWII, the Truman Administration moved control of the use of the weapons exclusively to the POTUS, thus setting them apart from all other weapons. As delivery systems moved from (stoppable) bombers to (virtually unstoppable) ICBMs and (virtually unstoppable AND less warning) SLBMs, the doctrine of Mutual Assured Destruction (MAD) developed, which stated that neither side would start a nuclear war, because each side knew it would end with its own destruction. The USA’s deployment of nuclear weapons was based on a policy of deterrence, meaning that we thought we needed to maintain 1. First Strike capability, 2. A credible retaliatory capability if struck first, and 3. Singular, personal control of the arsenal so no enemy could think we would hesitate. All of this remains part of the United States’ nuclear doctrine today.

The question both House of Dynamite and Jacobsen’s Nuclear War raises has to do with the evolving threat. MAD assumes major actors and crippling strikes. Both ask the question of what happens when it’s one (House of Dynamite) or two (Nuclear War) missiles. Is our nuclear doctrine able to deal with that more minor but horrific threat? The answer from both is “Likely not.” There have been movements during the ensuing decades to have the United States disavow first strike capability, and questions about whether the POTUS should have sole command of the arsenal (other than in cases of a incoming decapitating first strike), but those have gone nowhere. We still work under the assumption that a total thermonuclear war between major powers may break out at any second.

At the end of the movie, we are left with the question, “What should the president do?” The missile is inbound, and STRATCOM is urging a retaliatory strike against “Our enemies” so that we don’t look weak. The answer seems obvious to me. He should do nothing. Yes, it’s very possible that Chicago will be destroyed and around ten million people might die, but that’s out of his control. He cannot do a thing to stop that. He gets to decide how many more millions will die in the next hour or so and that should be his only consideration.

Perhaps (but not in my estimation) this would be different if the incoming strike were a “decapitation” strike on DC (as it is in Nuclear War) and we were concerned about maintaining command and control of the arsenal. But it’s not. The president is safe, none of the three Nuclear control centers is under threat, and the Strategic Airborne Command Post is also intact. There is no threat to any part of the US Nuclear triad. Therefore, the US preserves all of its strike capabilities.

In addition, we don’t know who the attacker is, so a retaliatory strike at this point would assume at least Russia, China, and North Korea, all of whom would counter-launch, effectively ending the world. If any of these powers launched, we would have time to respond. At one point in the film, the president says that doing nothing would be, in effect, surrendering. The deputy Secretary of Defense says, “Sir, your choice is surrender or suicide.”

The fact that this movie about nuclear war does not actually depict a nuclear war is what makes it so interesting. Even Oppenheimer bowed to the perceived need to show the horrors. In our time, we are aware of the horrors, but very few of us seem concerned about the fact that we could be so close. There is horror here, but it lies in the realizations the characters have and the decisions they must make, caught up in a technological system that moves inexorably forward towards incalculable death. As noted in Wargames, the only way to win Global Thermonuclear War is not to play. Perhaps it’s time to reevaluate having a “no first use” doctrine and to broaden the base of nuclear decision-making.

The first episode of this story can be found here.

Spotify podcast episode can be found here 👇

There was still one teacher to learn from before I confronted the dragon, but he was already walking with me as we took strides down a path lined with high Kentucky Bluegrass. This was the Teacher of Perseverance, who had turned out to be Thomas Merton, the famous Catholic writer who had spent most of his later life as a Monk at the Trappist monastery of Gethsemane in Kentucky. Whereas the Teacher of Integrity, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, had been somewhat reserved and underspoken, Merton was extrovertive and gregarious.

“So,” he said to me, “I gather that for you, the Teacher of Hope was Julian of Norwich? She is, without a doubt, one of the most wonderful of all Christian voices. Her understanding of the long hope and the dynamic nature of a healthy Christian faith was of great help to me. Dietrich, likewise, is a superb Teacher of Integrity. He lived in a time and culture where the virtues of Hate and racism and violence were held up as the ultimate good of Humanity. He would not be swayed from following the moral demands of Christ to love all around him — even those society hated. He lost everything for his resistance but never lost Jesus.”

As we walked through a field, we passed another burned-out thatched-roof cottage. I remarked, “I see the dragon has been here, wreaking more havoc.” Merton looked at me. “Why do you assume that’s the work of the dragon?” “Well,” I said, “It’s a… dragon…. and they breathe fire… and most people say they attack and eat people….” “Have you seen this dragon attack people?” “Well, no — I haven’t.” “Has anyone here told you they saw the dragon do this?” “Well…. no.”

We stopped, and he cocked his head to the side, “I’m here with you as your teacher of perseverance, so let me put this in context.” We started to walk again, a little slower, as Merton gestured and spoke. “In the same way Dietrich felt strangely amused by his choice as your teacher of Integrity, I’m amused to be that of perseverance. “ He smiled. “I was a difficult person to live with — raised in an upper-crust family. I was very privileged but always searching for something. Joining the monastery was as much running away as a religious epiphany. At times I locked horns with my brother monks, the abbot, and just about everyone else I could. My eventual vocation as a hermit was as much a relief to the community as it was to me. My perseverance certainly wasn’t in my vow of obedience.”

“I once had a long correspondence with Dorothy Day, the founder of the Catholic Workers Movement. She complimented me on my perseverance and worried I might leave the monastery. It got me thinking on that subject, and I believe that perseverance is not hanging onto some course we have set our minds to and refusing to let go. That doesn’t reflect the divine nature of hope at all. As Julian taught you, hope is from God and not from us. True perseverance is not holding onto our cherished notions and self-identity but letting go, which is truly terrifying. It is falling through an emptiness and allowing ourselves to be caught by God.” “How does this relate to the dragon? Did the dragon do all… this?” I gestured to the burned cottages. “I can’t tell you whether this is the work of the dragon or not. This is YOUR time in faerie, and truthfully, only you know the answer.” He ran his hand over his head, “I can only tell you that it was cherished preconceived notions about sin that caused the crisis of faith for Julian, and it was preconceived notions about race that Bonhoeffer had to overcome in the church in Harlem. The perseverance of the saints is not about a tightening grip on our beliefs; it’s about giving up the need for that tight grip. Well, and here we are!”

We had reached the edge of the field and stood before a cave opening into a large hill. A dull, red glow emanated from the cave mouth. “This is the end of your quest, sir. The dragon can be found within.” My mind whirled in some confusion and a lot of fearful anticipation. I drew the sword of truth, and held it out for Merton. He laid his hands upon it and said, “May you be blessed with the perseverance of the saints — may you know when it’s time to let go.” I had been hoping for something a little more militaristic, seeing that I was going in to fight a dragon, but still, I thanked him. He turned and headed back across the field. I took a deep breath and stepped into the cave.

The whole place was suffused by the dull, red glow I had seen from outside — it emanated from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The smell of brimstone was overpowering, and the cave was unnaturally warm. As I moved further, it became even warmer — I was approaching the dragon. I started passing discarded pieces of armor and weapons. All blackened with fire. This was not particularly reassuring. Eventually, I became aware of the sound of loud, regular breathing — along with an occasional snore. I turned around the bend of a tunnel into an enormous cavern, and there he was.

The dragon was majestic — massive and covered with armored red and gold scales. I suspected that his wingspan must have been something like fifty feet when he was aloft. But for now, the dragon was curled up, asleep, with his head near me. As he exhaled, smoke curled from his nostrils, and the temperature of the cavern pulsed with his breath. This was my chance — I could be rid of the dragon once and for all!

I raised the sword Veritas above me, point down, and moved forward until I stood over the dragon’s head. I must strike firmly and swiftly before he awakes! Yet, I hesitated. Thomas had disturbed me. I closed my eyes for a moment and prayed for guidance. I opened them again and saw that veritas shone with a golden hue. Three beams radiated from the sword’s pommel and formed themselves into the figures of Julian, Dietrich, and Thomas. “Ah,” I thought, “Are we really gonna do the Star Wars force ghost thing?” The figure of Julian said, “Hope is from God, and not from within us.” Dietrich said, “Integrity is following the way of Christ, even when costly.” Thomas said, “Perseverance is giving up our preconceptions and being open to God in the moment.” The beams winked out, and my teachers disappeared. “Well?” said a profoundly gravelly bass voice from below me, “Are you going to strike or not?” I looked down — the dragon had opened one yellow serpentine eye, which was fixed on me. “If you’re going to do it, make it swift and true.”

Time seemed to stand still as the dragon and I looked eye to eye, and veritas trembled in my hands over the dragons head. Then, ever so slowly, I turned the sword to the side, held it in my palms, bent down and laid it on the ground in front of the dragon. “I COULD strike,” I said, straightening up, “But I have learned that if I treat my anxieties and fears as a series of enemies to destroy, there will always be a bigger boss in the next cavern. You’re here because I thought I needed an enemy to defeat to keep my world in the order I wanted. But maybe the world doesn’t need to be in my order. Maybe Hope, Integrity, and Perseverance are virtues that tell me the dragons are of my own making.”

The dragon raised his head and regarded me. Had I made a horrible mistake? He laughed, a gravelly, low laugh. “Well,” he said, “what do you think, good Sir Knight?” From a dark alcove to my right, the knight from the town stepped forward and said, “You have chosen….wisely.” I looked at the blackened armor and weapons lying around the cavern. The knight said, “They chose…. poorly. You can’t ultimately slay the dragon; you can only confront it.” “But does that mean it’s not worth struggling for things like justice?” “By no means!” said the knight, bending down and retrieving the sword. “Real injustice and mistreatment of others must always be confronted, but for the right reasons. We confront injustice because our hope is from God, who brings down the mighty and exalts the lowly. It is all too easy for us to become tricked into being manipulated by our own prejudices and hurts. That only leads to us fighting the wrong battles and continually attempting to slay dragons of our own making. We cannot win that fight.”

The dragon grinned at me — a pretty disturbing, toothy grin. “You’ll never get rid of me, you know.” “I know,” I said. “But maybe I don’t have to give you so much power.” The dragon inclined his head in a slight bow, “A worthy opponent.” “More like a frenemy.” The knight said, “You have received the blessings of Hope, Integrity, and Perseverance, and you have wielded truth in mercy. Your quest is at an end.” He used the tip of the sword to trace a rectangle in the air. It filled with the form of a printed page. It was the sign from the bookseller’s that said,

”Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

The knight lifted a gauntleted hand in farewell, and he, the cave, and the dragon faded to be replaced with the rest of my familiar city around me and the sign in the middle of a holiday book display in the bookseller’s window.

It was still the cold, crisp night on which I had left my bed in sleeplessness. I said, “Dragons can be beaten indeed, but only by being merciful to ourselves.” I turned and walked toward home.

The Rev. David Simmons, ObJN is the Pastor of St. Matthias Episcopal Church and First Presbyterian Church, Waukesha. He is an Oblate of and confessor to the Order of Julian of Norwich, and was a Dungeon Master for years before he became a Christian.

A Hermit, a Dragon, and a Choice was originally published in Preaching from the Rood Screen on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The first episode of this story can be found here.

Spotify podcast episode can be found here 👇

Dragons Can Be Beaten - Ep 3 - Jazz, Nazis and Bluegrass by Love Was His Meaning - Reading and Praying with Julian of Norwich & More

As I continued West along the road the Knight had pointed out for me, I reflected on my visit with the first of my teachers, Julian, the Teacher of Hope. I had begun to understand why she was first — that all other virtues fail without hope. She had said, “Hope does not depend on us. It depends on the one who loves the universe and holds it gently like the hazelnut.”

I had two teachers to meet before I was ready to confront the dragon. My next teacher was to be the Teacher of Integrity, and I wondered aloud who it was. Immediately, I heard music, specifically Jazz, coming from further down the road. I picked up my pace, and the music grew louder and louder, a trumpet trading off notes with a piano and a driving rhythm section. Eventually, it sounded like the music was near me, so I stopped and looked around. Things started to take shape around me — another city, but much more modern — possibly early twentieth century? Across the street, the facade of a church came into focus, and a street with both automobiles and some horse-drawn traffic. The people of the city were busy, rushing to and fro. Most of the faces were those of people of color. They were dressed smartly, in suits and bowlers for men and dresses of varying degrees of finery for women. I took in the sights and the now-developing smells of this unfamiliar urban place until I was interrupted by a polite “Hello” from someone behind me.

I turned and saw I was standing in front of a small cafe with seats outside. At the table near me was a youngish man with a round face, round wire-framed glasses, and blond hair wearing a tan three-piece suit. He was looking at me over the top of a very thick book with a long name in German. He quickly put the book down, stood up, smoothed his vest, and buttoned his jacket. “I am Dietrich,” he said, extending a handshake to me with a winsome grin. “You must be the one I was told to expect.” “You are the Teacher of Integrity?” I asked, “And you’d be Dietrich… Bonhoeffer?” He made a curt German bow. You could almost hear his heels click. “I AM Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and I am supposed to teach you, but whether or not I am the ‘Teacher of Integrity,’ well, if you would like a ‘guilty martyr’ as a teacher, then I suppose I am.” “Why do you call yourself a ‘guilty martyr?’ Weren’t you part of the Operation Valkyrie plot to assassinate Hitler? How could you possibly be guilty?” He paused momentarily, then said, “Perhaps we can get into that. I assume you’ve just come from the Teacher of Hope? Who was that for you?” “It was Julian of Norwich.” “Ah, Julian, a formidable woman. Nonetheless, I beat her to the Golden Halo in Lent Madness in 2016.”

He gave a sly grin and pointed to the chair across from him. I sat and then looked around again. “But where are we, and why are we here?” I asked. He gestured around. “We are in Harlem in New York City, around 1930. This was the most formative time in my life.” I took it in — the vibrant culture around us. The music. The pure energy that seemed to suffuse the place. “This is the Harlem Renaissance, isn’t it?” I asked. “The great explosion of creativity and art in Harlem? Langston Hughes, Duke Ellington, and Louis Armstrong?” “It is indeed,” said Bonhoeffer, “and so many more talented black artists, writers, and poets. I was here.” He leaned forward in his chair. “You see, when I became a theologian in Germany, it was all academic. Studying theology was really about becoming more and more knowledgeable so you could rise to the top of your field. And I was good. Very Good. I was already an adjunct faculty member at the University of Berlin in 1930 at the age of 24. I received an invitation to study for a year at Union Theological Seminary in New York. To be truthful, I was more interested in New York City than Union Seminary, as I was utterly convinced America had nothing to teach me theologically.” He chuckled a bit. “I was half right. Union had not as much to teach me, but I was expected to do field work while I was there, and I ended up at Abyssinian Baptist Church there right across the street.” He pointed at the church behind me.

“What I found there changed my faith. The Christianity of my youth was academic and dry and, by definition, had no connection to politics and very little to ethics. The Christianity at Abyssinian was intricately connected to the American black experience. They saw Christ as identifying with suffering humanity, always standing with the oppressed and poor. For them, Jesus was not an abstract, moral example whose sermons had to be interpreted to a modern audience; he was a real, living presence who empowered his followers to work towards justice in the midst of a hostile society. Jesus had led them from slavery through failed reconstruction to a new era in Harlem, where they continued to struggle for justice.”

He sighed, “Before I came here, I was ensnared in much of the common thinking among German clergy after World War One. I preached about ‘Volk, and Blood and Soil,’ the kind of things the Nazis later twisted further to their use. But here, I saw that all those constructs had no power in front of Christ, who reminds us that we are all one and demands that we treat one another justly. I was a changed man — I sometimes question if the name ‘Christian’ truly applied to me before I came here.” “You were here for such a short time.” I asked, “How was it when you returned to Germany?” “I went back with different eyes. I had opposed the Nazis before for political reasons, but now I felt their White Supremacy was an abomination in the sight of God. Unfortunately, I was not the only German studying in America. The Reich had sent lawyers to American law schools to study your racial segregation laws and the laws by which you denied your American Indian population citizenship. The Nuremberg laws that began the campaign against the Jews in Germany were based on those. In 1933, the ‘German Christian Movement’ began, which was a pro-Nazi version of Christianity that denied the Jewishness of Jesus and sought to put all of the German churches under government control. Myself and several other pastors opposed this and formed what was labeled the ‘Confessing Church.’”

“And the Confessing Church opposed the oppression of Jews and the later Holocaust?” He got a faraway look in his eyes, “I wish that had been more of it — most pastors were not interested in the so-called ‘Jewish Question.’ They were upset about the nationalization of the church and loss of the church’s power. They didn’t see the stark demands of the Gospel to protect the Jews as human beings made in the image of God. I found myself a radical within my own circles for insisting that we should be doing more for the Jews in Germany. There was so much disinterest that I even began questioning whether I was wrong. Then, in 1939, I had an opportunity to visit America again and lecture at Union Seminary. I was asked to preach at Abyssinian Baptist. It was an incredible, spirit-filled service. They reminded me of the lessons they taught me. We are all Brothers. Christ stands with the oppressed. Christianity is not a mental game but a life lived in radical obedience to Christ’s teachings. I had considered remaining in America to weather out the conflict I knew was coming, but I knew I had to return as a witness to my country, even if that would be costly.”

“And you became involved with the Valkyrie Plot to kill Hitler?” Bonhoeffer sat back and grinned widely. “Scholars of your time debate how involved I was in that. Some try to portray me as a pacifist who was reluctantly turned into an assassin. The truth is, while many around me were directly involved in the plot, I was arrested earlier for a scheme to get Jews out of the country. When the assassination plot failed, my colleagues were arrested, and I was executed for guilt by association.” “So, were you involved?” He smiled again, “I am the Bonhoeffer in YOUR story, so I don’t know more than you do.” “Then why do you call yourself a ‘Guilty martyr?’” “Because whether or not I pulled a trigger, or whether or not I helped build a bomb, I nonetheless conspired with people who planned a murder.” “Yes,” I exclaimed, “But the murder of a monster who killed millions!” He paused a minute. “Yes. But a man nonetheless. My question always was, ‘Will this do what people think it will do?’ Had Hitler been assassinated, Heinrich Himmler, the head of the SS might well have become Führer, and that might have been even worse. Think back. What did Julian tell you about Christian Hope?” “She told me that hope comes from God and not from within us.” “Exactly — and when we decide we know who should live and who should die, we insist we are the center of the moral universe and not God. We lose hope.”

He sighed and leaned forward again, looking intently at me. “I am a guilty man who was an accomplice to attempted murder and also a martyr who followed Christ and tried to save people from the death camps. If I am your ‘Teacher of Integrity,’ then know that integrity is costly. Basing your life in the teachings of Christ and standing with the helpless and oppressed will always cost you, no matter the politics of your time. It may cost you your life, but more likely, it will cost you respect, power, family, friends, or even the self-conception you treasure. It cost me all of these. Cheap grace is that grace which we bestow on ourselves. Grace from God is never cheap.”

“Especially in a time of evil, which is so especially evil because it is no longer threatened by truth from within, eh, Dietrich?” The voice came from a man who was strolling in from down the street — a youngish, handsome man with a tonsure and dressed in the habit of a Monk. “Ah, Thomas,” said Dietrich, “I see you’ve come to spare our student some walking.” I stared. “Thomas Merton — you’re the Teacher of Perseverance?” “Well, I managed to walk here from Kentucky, so that’s pretty persevering,” he laughed, “And I wouldn’t say I’ve spared him a walk — he still has a ways to go to confront the dragon. We could talk on the way.” “Just one more thing before you take him, Thomas,” said Dietrich, “Show me the sword.” I stood and pulled Veritas from its scabbard and presented it to Bonhoeffer. He placed his palms on it. “Just remember that Hope stems from God and not from us. Integrity is remembering that and acting accordingly. Stand with the weak and not the strong, for such is the kingdom of God. Sometimes, the answer is not the obvious one, especially when it comes to violence.” The sword glowed with a golden hue for a second; then, I returned it to its scabbard. “Are you ready?” asked Thomas, “The last part of your story here awaits.” “Thank you, Dietrich.” I said. “Auf Wiedersehen, and go with God.” I turned and started walking away from Dietrich Bonhoeffer with… well… Thomas Merton. We seemed to be strolling down a path through a field of high Kentucky bluegrass, and the sights and sounds of Harlem faded quickly.

The Fourth and final episode of this story can be found here.

The Rev. David Simmons, ObJN is the Pastor of St. Matthias Episcopal Church and First Presbyterian Church, Waukesha. He is an Oblate of and confessor to the Order of Julian of Norwich, and was a Dungeon Master for years before he became a Christian.

Jazz, Nazis and Bluegrass was originally published in Preaching from the Rood Screen on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

When thinking about what I would preach for Advent of 2024, I thought about all of the angst in our society right now - how so many of the things we fear in society and politics and culture seem unstoppable and sometimes become debilitating anxieties. This story, broken up into sermons preached at St. Matthias Church in Waukesha, Wisconsin for Advent, reminds us that dragons can indeed be confronted with the help of Hope, Integrity and Perseverance. I'm pretty sure mother Julian's writings are going to figure in significantly here. I hope this brings you some joy and comfort in this advent season.

(Episode 1 of this story can be found here)

Podcast on Spotify 👇

Dragons Can Be Beaten - Ep 2 - Apollo 17, A Hazelnut, and Hope by Love Was His Meaning - Reading and Praying with Julian of Norwich

I walked down the road to the West, pondering my encounter with the Knight. He had left me with more questions than answers. I wasn’t sure why I believed him except that it appeared to be the way things went in this dream, medical episode, faerie journey, or wherever I was. I kept thinking that this must not all be real, but the weight of the sword Veritas in its scabbard across my back felt real, and I remembered the Knight’s explanation:

”It depends on what you mean by real. If you are inquiring if this all really matters, then it may be more ‘real’ than anything you’ve ever encountered heretofore.”

The countryside I was walking through had a particular vibrancy to it. The green of the grass was more profound than any green I had ever seen before. The birdsong was delightful and complex, and the animals I passed seemed utterly unafraid of me. However, when it came to human habitation, every cottage and barn I passed appeared as if it had been scorched long ago, and there was no sign of the inhabitants. The whole natural world around me rejoiced, but humanity seemed absent. Was this another metaphor for me? I added it to the list of questions.

The knight had told me I had to seek three blessings on the blade of truth and would find them along the road to the West — Hope, Integrity, and Perseverance. I walked along, wondering when I would see the first of my teachers. Eventually, I entered an area with what appeared to be cross streets to my right and left, like a city grid, only more unevenly like a medieval town. As I moved further, the city seemed to start forming around me. At first, it was just vague outlines of buildings around me, with occasional fleeting shapes I assumed were people. The further I moved in, the more solid everything seemed to become, but they were still hazy, as if in an impressionist painting. As I looked ahead, I saw one building that had taken definite form. It was a small building — or a small addition to a larger building that remained cloudy but appeared to be a church.

I approached the solid building somewhat warily — the side near me held a single wooden door with a window inside. The window had a curtain drawn across it from the inside. There were a couple of wooden chairs on the porch. Next to the door was hung a small bell and a placard that read, “The Anchoress is in, and is a total Sigma.” I wasn’t sure what to make of this, but I reached up and rang the bell.

After a minute, the curtain was drawn aside, and an elderly woman smiled at me. She was dressed in a wimple and veil like a nun. “Good Morning!” she said as she smiled out at me. “Good Morning, Ma’am,” I said, “Are you the Teacher of Hope?” She got an amused look on her face. “You’ve been around that knight back East, haven’t you? He’s always talking in dramatic, high language about ‘The Teacher of This” and the “Virtue of That.’” She laughed — a most musical laugh. “I guess I am, but you can call me Julian. That’s my name in religion.” “You’re Julian? Then this is… Norwich?” She laughed again. “It’s whatever your tricky little mind is making it right now, including how it’s portraying me.” I looked around, and the city had taken solid form around us. It was a bustling medieval city, with people going every which way plying all kinds of trades. Yet there was a haunted look among the residents — the kind of look when people are just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“There’s a lot of fear here. What are people so afraid of?” Julian’s eyes clouded for a moment, then returned. “I’ll show you,” she said. The door opened, and she stepped out. “Wait,” I gasped, “You’re an anchoress. Aren’t you supposed to be inside that cell your entire life?” “What year is it for you?” she asked. “It’s 2024.” “Well, it’s still the 1400s for me, but according to you, I’ve been dead for over 600 years. My vows no longer apply. “ She stretched in the sunshine. “That’s nice,” she said, and then she continued to stretch — and stretch — and stretch! She was getting taller and taller as she stretched — she was now a good one-hundred feet in height. No one else around seemed to notice. She smiled down at me and put down her palm. “Step on, and let me show you something.” I gingerly stepped onto her hand, and she raised me to her shoulder. I scampered clumsily out onto the cloth of her habit. “Do you see that over there?” she pointed at a large pit several streets over, blackened with fire. I nodded. “That’s the Lollard pit — they believed the church should give up its riches to aid people to live a life of poverty and imitate Christ. The local bishop declared them heretics and had them burned there. That kind of thing is happening more and more frequently.” She continued to grow until she was miles high, and I felt tiny on her shoulder. She pointed east, and I could see the English Channel, with continental Europe beyond. “Listen,” she said, and I cocked my ear and quieted my mind. I could hear weeping, crying, and wailing from all over England around me and the continent beyond. “What is that?” I asked. “The Black Death rolls over Europe, repeatedly killing thousands. It’s come through Norwich three times in my lifetime. I lost…..” she began, but then seemed to catch herself. “The amount of pain and suffering is unimaginable, and people do not know how to deal with the trauma.” I saw, as if with a telescope, long lines of people whipping themselves and throwing themselves on the ground in ashes. “People think it is the punishment of God on us for whatever sins we carry with us.” She walked South and then stepped over the channel itself. We were evidently in some ghostly form because her footfalls didn’t seem to disturb anything.

She pointed towards Southeast France, and her visage became stern. “And when her people need Holy Mother Church’s guidance the most, we have two men, one in Avignon and the other in Rome, styling themselves the Pope. The church is divided, hopelessly entangled in bitter politics, and has no time for her people.” My heart fell as the enormity of the suffering washed over me. “It all seems so hopeless. How do you keep going?” She looked down at me and lit up with a giant smile. “The Lord told me several things. If you want the blessing of hope, you must receive these as well. Are you ready?” I nodded.

“Open your hand,” she said. I hadn’t realized my hand was clasped, but indeed it was, and there was something in it, “Tell me about what you hold.” I opened my hand slowly, “It’s a hazelnut.” Julian said, “It’s so small but well-formed, beautiful, and holds the promise of new life within it.” I admired it and loved the beauty of this small thing. “Hold on to your mind,” Julian said and immediately began to grow again while simultaneously stepping back from the earth. She grew and grew until she became a vast being, like Galactus from the Marvel universe, and the earth hung before us like a blue jewel in the background of space. I recalled the famous photo called “Blue Marble” from Apollo 17. She held up her hand, cradling the earth like I did the hazelnut. Everything and everyone I had ever known and loved was there, lovingly cradled in Julian’s hand.

“It’s so delicate and so small,” Julian said, “It is set in so vast a firmament. God showed me that God holds the entire universe in love and wonder like you hold that hazelnut. The entire universe is held in being and prevented from falling into nothingness because God loves everything God has made. It is here because God loves it and exists only because God loves it. Everyone has received their being in God’s love. God is maker, lover, and keeper and can never cease to be so because of God’s love. What is the meaning of the universe? It is Love. Who shows it to us? Love. What is God showing to us? Love. Why did he show it to us? Love. Before God made humanity, God loved us. The love in which God created us is without beginning, and it has never slackened nor ever shall. All creation will see the salvation of God.”

As she said the last, she diminished in size rapidly, and suddenly, we were back on the porch outside her cell, sitting in the wooden chairs. My mind reeled from the change in scale from cosmic to small. My emotions, which had been overwhelmed with the enormity of God’s love, came to a hard crash back into the reality of 15th Century Norwich, with the fear and the disease and the violence. “How do you do it?” I gasped, “How do you continue to live with this reality when you’ve seen the overwhelming love of God for us and the mess we have made of it?” “Ah,” she said, “There was a time when this was a problem for me. God was trying to show me several things, but I was stubborn. I couldn’t deal with my anxieties over our personal sin and fallenness. I had an episode where I kind of, well, your term would be ‘freaked out?’ I demanded that God show me the answer before we go any further. God was gentle but firm with me. God seemed to say to me:

” Do you believe the lesson of the hazelnut, that I loved all things into being, that they exist because I continue to love them, and that they will continue to exist because I will not do otherwise? Well, then, know that what seems impossible to you is not impossible to me. I shall keep my word in all things and shall make all things well.”

Julian sat back in her chair. “I saw that there is a Great Deed planned by God from eternity, treasured and hidden in God’s heart, that at the end of time will make well all that is currently not. The nature of it, I cannot comprehend.”

She turned to me and took my hands. “We Christians are the people of the long hope. To use the phrase from your time, ‘The Arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.’ God is not some magical being bestowing gifts upon us in reward for prayer. God is the founding and sustaining love of the universe. Hope that endures accepts that suffering and pain are real, but it is not the end. In the end, love awaits us and all of creation. This divine hope must enable all our human struggles, or it is doomed to failure. The truth of God’s love provides the foundation…” At the word “Truth,” I could feel the sword on my back resonate with harmonics. She continued, “Recognizing God’s continued love provides hope that leads to faith through integrity and perseverance. And with those blessings, you can hope to confront the dragon. Do you see it?”

To be honest, I was mixed up. I had felt the love of God for creation, and her words had inspired me, but I questioned whether my hope would be enough when push came to shove. She laughed lightly again as she read the emotions on my face. “Yes, that was pretty much my reaction, too. Some days, it is clearer than others. But here’s the important thing. Hope does not depend on us. It depends on the one who loves the universe and holds it gently like the hazelnut. Let me see that sword of yours.”

I stood, drew Veritas out of its scabbard, and held it in my palms towards her. She laid her hands lightly upon it. “May you receive the blessing of hope, that the bearer may not lose heart.” Veritas hummed and glowed with a warm, golden hue for a second. “Thank you, Julian,” I said. She and Norwich started to fade. “May God be with you — your road is to the West,” she said. “If you see the knight again, tell him to lay off the flowery language.”

Suddenly, I was back on the road, with the city nowhere to be found. With newfound hope, I set out again to the West.

Episode 3 of this story can be found here.

The Rev. David Simmons, ObJN is the Pastor of St. Matthias Episcopal Church and First Presbyterian Church, Waukesha. He is an Oblate of and confessor to the Order of Julian of Norwich, and was a Dungeon Master for years before he became a Christian.

Apollo 17, A Hazelnut, and Hope was originally published in Preaching from the Rood Screen on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

When thinking about what I would preach for Advent of 2024, I thought about all of the angst in our society right now - how so many of the things we fear in society and politics and culture seem unstoppable and sometimes become debilitating anxieties. This story, broken up into sermons preached at St. Matthias Church in Waukesha, Wisconsin for Advent, reminds us that dragons can indeed be confronted with the help of Hope, Integrity and Perseverance. I'm pretty sure mother Julian's writings are going to figure in significantly here. I hope this brings you some joy and comfort in this advent season.

A Dragon, a Knight, and a Bookstore

Note: I was about halfway through wirting this series of four story sermons when I found out about the allegations against Neil Gaiman. It was too late to change course. I am aware that he misquoted Chesterson. Nevertheless, I needed the quote to be specifically about dragons. 🤷‍♂️

Podcast on Spotify 👇

Dragons Can Be Beaten - Ep 1 - A Dragon, A Knight and a Bookstore by Love Was His Meaning - Reading and Praying with Julian of Norwich

Sometimes the weight of the world hits you just as you’re trying to go to sleep. It was one of those days when the anxiety started to drip down into the lowest places in my soul, and the sleep I genuinely needed was far beyond my grasp. What was it, you might ask? In those moments, it would be everything. The state of the world, the state of politics, the injustice of everything around me. The hate, the anger, the tribalism. The day-to-day grind of tedious personal grudges — both my own and of others. On that particular night all my fears and anxieties welled up in my imagination and became almost real they came to me in the form of a dragon — winged, scaled and rearing up on its hind legs, ready to breathe fire and destroy everything around it. Impossible in its majesty, implacable in its power, the dragon threatened everything I loved and everything I loathed. It seemed more than just a figment of my imagination — it had a reality that could not be simply pushed aside — the vision had substance and a menace I could not ignore, and sleep eluded me.

I thought of opening the volume of George Macdonald I had sitting at the side of the bed, but that would involve disturbing my wife with my reading light. Finally, I sighed and got up from bed, dressed quickly and put on a winter coat. Down the stairs into the street. The city seemed to have an unreal quality, dusted with a light coating of early December snow, which crunched under my footfall. The street lamps were haloed in the hoary night air and added to the impression of another world. As I crossed the block into the shopping district, I came to the windows of my local bookseller — a frequent haunt of mine. Holiday displays of books were arrayed in the windows, presented for purchase as gifts or stocking stuffers. I stopped in front of a display of fantasy books and was struck by a large placard placed in the midst of a particularly fine set of Tolkien volumes. The sign had a quote from Neil Gaiman on it:

“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

I stared at that placard for a long time, reading and re-reading it. As I did so, the rest of the display seemed to take on a gauzy tone, and the letters of the placard itself seemed to have a life of their own, shimmering and moving. Indeed, as my eyes remained locked on the quote, the rest of the world became less defined in my peripheral vision, like paint running on a canvas. I heard myself say out loud, or I thought out loud, “Dragons can be beaten.”

“Dragons can be beaten, eh, sir?” The voice came from my left. For some reason, I was loathe to remove my eyes from the sign, but the strangeness of the voice compelled me, and I slowly looked round. One would think that the sight of a knight in full plate armor on a warhorse in a deserted city street would cause one to question his sanity, but the strange appearance of the rest of the world around was even somehow more unsettling. It was as if the familiar city had somehow been merged with someones’ idea of a medieval town, and then painted by Thomas Kinkade. It seemed familiar but more fanciful and vibrant. The street lights were no longer electric but of some unusual, magical hue, and the buildings were lower but had fantastical gables and doors, with hinged signs hanging over their entryways. The bar next to the bookseller now had a hoarding over the door with a tree carved on it with the name, “The Righteous Branch.” I wasn’t as surprised or terrified as I should have been with the sudden transformation of my familiar surroundings.

“So,” you say, “forget the architecture and back to the knight.” Fair enough! His presence WOULD seem the most unusual thing, although it didn’t seem so at the time. I marveled at this. “Good Sir Knight,” I began. I wasn’t really sure how to address him, but since this worked at Renaissance faires, it seemed a good way to start. “Can you tell me — am I having a medical episode, or am I asleep.. or have I actually entered into the land of Faerie?” The knight opened his visor and looked down at me before carefully dismounting from his horse. As he came close, I could see he had a fair face, that shone with a kind of internal light, and a pleasant smile stretched from one side of his helm to the other. “Sir,” he said, “does it matter? You’re here now.” “But is this all real?” He thought for a moment, “I believe it depends on how you define ‘real.’ If you are inquiring if all this is created matter, perhaps, perhaps not, but if you are inquiring if this all really matters, then it may be more ‘real’ than anything you’ve ever encountered heretofore.” I let that sink in for a moment — not a bad piece of character dialogue! “But why am I here?” I asked, still amazed at myself for not completely freaking out. “I am unsure — your reason to have this hallucination, or dream, or desire to enter into faerie is of your motivation, not mine. For my part, I came upon you as you were saying loudly, “Dragons can be beaten.” I pointed back at the bookseller’s window and said, “I was just reading that sign there.” The knight looked at me quizzically. “The one that says, ‘Automobiles really exist, and what’s more, they can be serviced?.’” I turned my head, and indeed, the sign was now a hand-lettered placard in the midst of books on all kinds of fanciful automobiles or what you might think one looks like if you had only heard them described in stories. But, you’re not here for descriptions of volumes in fantasy bookstores, so back to the knight.

“Oh, never mind,” I said; it was just another thing my mind seemed strangely at ease with. “So back to this comfronting dragons thing,” said the knight, “I obviously have some experience with that.” “You do?” I asked hopefully, finally catching the drift that whatever was happening to me, this could be a good opportunity to work on my subconscious and save some dollars on therapy later. The knight scoffed, “I am a knight, am I not? Would I not OBVIOUSLY have experience in confronting dragons?” “Well,” I said, “Im my time in reading and role-playing, not every knight is successful in slaying dragons.” He got a strange look on his face, then said “But that’s not what you asked. Look, never mind you me. This is your quest, not mine. You are here to defeat a dragon.” I took this in for a moment. I seriously doubted my abilities in this regard — if I would classify myself in Dungeons and Dragons terms, I might have some levels in Cleric or Bard, but I knew I wasn’t leveled up enough to take on a dragon. The knight regarded me silently, then spoke, “You doubt your own ability to carry through on this quest.” I nodded my head. “Here, it is not marital ability that makes the hero, but spiritual maturity. It is simply not enough to be skillful and strong with a sword. But you will need one, nevertheless.” The knight reached up to his warhorse and pulled a longsword from a scabbard. It rang with a clear, high tone of tempered steel as it came free. He held it up, “This is Veritas, the sword of truth.” It glimmered in the streetlamps, drawing all the light on the street to itself. The knight took it in his gauntleted hands and presented it to me. I received it carefully in my palms, marveling at its lightness, brightness and keen edges. It shone with reflected light. If ever there was a sword made to slay a dragon, this was it. “It has accepted you,” said the knight, “It is yours until you have no further need of it.” The knight took the scabbard and buckled it across my back, then helped me sheathe Veritas in it.

“That’s it, that’s all I need?” I asked. The knight chuckled. “Has it ever been that easy? No, before you confront the dragon, you will need three blessings upon the blade. For while truth is powerful, it is not enough unless supplemented by further virtues.” I sighed — this was beginning to look like a long-term campaign. “Tell me what I must do.” “You will seek these three blessings on the road to the West.” He gestured down the street, and as he did so, the buildings of the city seemed to start to fade away. “You will seek great teachers of Hope, Integrity, and Perseverance and ask their blessings on the blade. Once you have those three blessings, you will indeed be ready to confront the dragon.” “Since you’re experienced, I don’t suppose you would be willing to go with me to help me fight…” I started, but it was apparent I had triggered the end-of-encounter soliloquy, and there was no stopping him now. He turned an extended palm towards me, “You have my benediction and the fabled sword Veritas” he intoned, “Go with God, and may you successfully reach the end of your quest.” After that, he remounted his warhorse and rode slowly into the east. As he did so, the city faded entirely around me, leaving me on a road stretching towards the west through a barren land, dotted with burned thatched-roof cottages. “Obviously, the dragon has been here,” I thought. “Might as well get on the move.” I took my first steps down the road.

Episode 2 of this story can be found here.

The Rev. David Simmons, ObJN is the Pastor of St. Matthias Episcopal Church and First Presbyterian Church, Waukesha. He is an Oblate of and confessor to the Order of Julian of Norwich, and was a Dungeon Master for years before he became a Christian.

Dragons Can Be Beaten — An Advent Story — Ep 1 was originally published in Preaching from the Rood Screen on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

When thinking about what I would preach for Advent of 2024, I thought about all of the angst in our society right now - how so many of the things we fear in society and politics and culture seem unstoppable and sometimes become debilitating anxieties. This story, broken up into sermons preached at St. Matthias Church in Waukesha, Wisconsin for Advent, reminds us that dragons can indeed be confronted with the help of Hope, Integrity and Perseverance. I’m pretty sure mother Julian’s writings are going to figure in significantly here. I hope this brings you some joy and comfort in this advent season.

A famous quote from theologian and ethicist Stanley Hauerwas is, “Jesus is Lord. Everything else is bullshit.” It’s important to note here that Hauerwas is NOT saying, “Go to church and worship Jesus and forget the rest.” That could not be further from his writings. Hauerwas argues for a clear and rigorous link between theology and ethics. If we love Jesus, we do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God (Micah 6:8), and we love our neighbor as ourselves (Mark 12:30–31). It’s that simple. Any worship of God on Sunday that does not translate into actual on-the-ground kindness and love of all those around us, regardless of race, religion, or any other factors, does not reflect the life and teachings of Jesus. Christians who see themselves as a separate group who have an identity to defend that requires them to denigrate their neighbors have missed the entire point of Jesus’ incarnation, teaching, death, and resurrection. They are like the Levite and the priest who pass by the injured traveler in the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30–37).

The answer, then, to what we, as followers of Jesus, are to do is the same as yesterday. We are to show radical love for our neighbors. If the rhetoric of the president-elect’s campaign translates into actual action by the government, then many marginalized groups may find themselves under active persecution. In that case, love of neighbor will dictate that those who love Jesus will take a stand for various ethnic and religious minorities, as well as LGBTQIA+ folks and others in the name of Jesus. We will have to do so understanding that some of those who carry the name Christian may be part of those carrying out the persecution in the protection of their self-interest.

This could be costly. But the Gospel is always costly. The witness of the martyrs and confessors, both ancient and modern, point to the sacrifice that is often asked of those who challenge their society by loving their neighbors fully. But if we are to affirm that “Jesus is Lord” without giving in to the bullshit, this is what we are called to, ESPECIALLY if we are not part of the minorities under threat.

We do not do this alone. Nor are we without hope. One of the most famous quotes from the 14th-century English mystic Julian of Norwich’s writings is that of Jesus saying to her, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” People often misread this as some religious version of “Don’t worry, be happy,” but that is not an accurate way of reading it. Julian lived in a time with multiple breakouts of the black death, peasant and religious rebellions, and two competing popes on the continent. Jesus utters this phrase in her vision when she is most at her wit’s end, pleading for some solace that the world can be made right. Jesus tells her that humanity can’t make everything right on its own but that in the end, God shall take all our striving and perfect it in a way we cannot now perceive. It is an argument that when we do the work of loving our neighbor, it is never hopeless — that the arc of the moral universe does indeed bend towards justice because God stands at the beginning and end of it. I often explain this to people by saying, “All manner of things shall be well in the end, but that doesn’t mean that everything does not suck right now.” Jesus as Lord is the ultimate master, but bullshit often reigns supreme in the meantime.

In this time, as in other times, we are called to love God and our neighbors in radical ways, even if that puts us at odds with our society or government. We must understand that while politics are important, those who follow Jesus should put their ultimate faith elsewhere. We should realize that it will not be electoral processes that bring about the peaceable Kingdom of God, but a process already set in motion at the resurrection of Jesus that we participate in as his followers. Jesus is Lord. Everything else is bullshit.

Fr. David Simmons, ObJN, is an Episcopal Priest, a Presbyterian Pastor and an oblate of the Order of Julian of Norwich in Waukesha, WI

For more about Julian of Norwich, listen to “Five Takeaways from Julian of Norwich” by Fr. David and Mo. Hilary Crupi, Prioress of the Order of Julian of Norwich.

The Five Big Takeaways from Julian with Mthr Hilary Crupi, OJN by Love Was His Meaning - Reading and Praying with Julian of Norwich

The Election, Jesus and the Bull**** was originally published in Preaching from the Rood Screen on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.