community – Southwest Conference Blog

The Stone of Resentment

by Rev. Lynne Hinton

The rock is cumbersome. And I keep taking it out of my pocket and leaving it places. In the car. On my desk. At the office.

It was my friend’s idea to ritualize my surrender of resentments for Lent. Carry a stone around with me to live into the weight of resentment. It’s been helpful as a reminder that I really want to let go. And the taking it out and leaving it reminds me that the things we carry around with us, the grudges, the bitterness, don’t just stay in one place, one relationship. Rather, we take them into other places, other relationships, other parts of our lives.

It is my intention to think of a different resentment each week, write a letter to the thing I resent, the person I have not yet been reconciled with and finally, let the rock go.

Then pick up another and start again.

It’s interesting to consider how the antagonistic feelings, the negative emotions take up so much room in my spirit, interesting to consider the ways stones block the flow of grace. I am now more aware than ever that unhealed wounds harden, what has been left unforgiven takes up soul space.

I’ve picked up my third rock this third week of Lent, working on an old resentment, one I thought I had made peace with. But the stone is sharp and clumsy in my pocket, reminding me that the old pain is still there and still in need of resolution. I take it out, turn it over in my hands and recall how it felt when the incident first happened, how raw and sore I was for a while, how I thought I was well past it.

I return the rock to my pocket and head out for a meeting, the weight of the suffering still present, still felt.

One by one, I pray to let go. One by one I ask for the burden to be lightened. One by one I know I stand in the need of grace in this work of forgiveness and surrender.

Lent has become important to me this year serving as the reminder that so often what I had imagined was over and done is still, sometimes, present and sometimes still weighing me down. And like Lazarus called forth from the grave by the Living Christ, I am invited to be unbound and set free.

What is the assignment?

by Rev. Louis Mitchell

What is the assignment?

This past Sunday that was the title of my sermon. It was a response to the question, “What do I do now?”

I realize that many of my congregation are completely off balance because of the rapid societal/political changes.

They feel like deer in the headlights and feel sad and ashamed that they don’t know what to do.

I offered this to them, and I offer it to you.

Please pray with me:
God of mercy, God of grace,
We come hungry for peace and hungry for justice.
Help us to not turn away from the suffering around us,
And give us places of unexpected joy.
Be healing, God.
Be nurture, God.
Be love, we pray.
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts
Fall on your ears, as pleasing.
You are our rock, our refuge, our guide, and our glory.
Amen.

The assignment.
What is the assignment?
What is our assignment, individually and collectively?
How do we get from here to there?

Listen
Listen to voices outside of your experience. Listen to hear. Ask thoughtful questions.

Learn
Ingest what you’ve heard. Look up names, circumstances that you didn’t know of. Learn of the histories of the people you want to support.

Consider
Deepen your learning by being prayerful. Imagine you experiencing life through their eyes.

Repent
Ask for forgiveness for any part that your ancestors and/or you played in the oppression of people, even when you didn’t know you were benefitting from or sustaining inequities.

Amend
Change something for the betterment of those you seek to help. You’ll only know what needs changing by asking them. Do not assume you know better than they what they need.

Heal
Give yourself space to grieve the old you. Learning that you have been part of the problem is hard and tender work. Align with others on this path for care and healing.

Stretch
Stretch your awareness even more. Find ways to seek relationship. Move from paternalism to partnership.

Reach
It will take some courage, patience, and thoughtfulness to forge these relationships that will be built on generations of broken trust, broken promises and smiling but lying eyes. This will not be a “microwave” experience.

Love
Figure out what love looks like in each situation. Lean in, ask, listen.

Serve
Do something to repair the harm done. Small things, big things, some thing.

If we can do these things, the assignments will place themselves right in front of us.
Some of us will move from good allyship to being accomplices.
Some of us will learn things that hurt our feelings and upset our sensibilities.
Some of us will learn that everything we’ve been taught hasn’t always been right.

And it’ll be okay. Not comfortable or easy and not without joy, love, and laughter.
But the time has come. It is not too late.
And lives are literally depending on us to be faithful followers of Jesus.

May the God of peace engulf creation.
And our deeds make differences in the world.
Go with peace and go with purpose. Amen.

The Super Bowl & the Sacred: Rethinking Whiteness in Christian Spaces

by Christopher Schouten, Chairperson, SWC Decentering Whiteness Task Force

The recent Super Bowl halftime show, featuring Kendrick Lamar and other prominent Black artists, ignited a firestorm of debate. Many, across racial lines, celebrated the performance as a powerful moment of representation and artistic expression. Yet, some white viewers expressed disappointment, confusion, or resentment, feeling the show wasn’t “for them.” This reaction highlights a critical issue, especially within the church: the need to decenter whiteness. It moves beyond basic racial justice (“Please don’t kill, jail, and discriminate against us”) to address the ingrained habit of placing whiteness at the center of everything. It calls for grace, understanding, and a willingness to step outside our comfort zones, recognizing the vast diversity of God’s creation reflected in the body of Christ.

These reactions—both positive and negative—are a microcosm of our societal struggle with race and representation. Some criticisms, perhaps well-intentioned, revealed an underlying assumption that major cultural events should primarily cater to a white, mainstream audience. This often unconscious assumption is a manifestation of white-centeredness: the perspective that positions whiteness as the norm, the default, the standard.

This white-centeredness is particularly problematic within the church. We profess equality, bound by shared faith and love for God. Galatians 3:28 reminds us, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Yet, too often, our churches, liturgies, and even interpretations of scripture are filtered through a white lens, marginalizing Black siblings and other people of color.

Decentering whiteness isn’t about demonizing white people or denying historical racial privilege. It’s about acknowledging whiteness as the constructed center, often at others’ expense. It’s about recognizing that Black experiences, perspectives, and voices, and those of other marginalized communities, have been silenced or dismissed, even within the church.

This Super Bowl moment offers valuable introspection. It challenges us: Whose voices are we prioritizing? Whose stories are we telling? Whose experiences are we validating? Are we creating space for the full diversity of God’s children?

Decentering is challenging for those who’ve never questioned their centrality. It requires listening, learning, acknowledging the pain and frustration of marginalized communities, and humility—recognizing our perspectives aren’t the only ones. It requires grace for ourselves and others as we navigate biases and assumptions. We’re all on a journey, and mistakes will happen. But through grace, love, and a commitment to justice, we can dismantle oppressive systems.

Like Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde’s courageous act of speaking truth to power at the Washington National Cathedral, Kendrick Lamar’s performance served as a powerful prophetic witness, addressing systemic racism and police brutality. This “Bishop Budde moment,” this “Kendrick Lamar moment,” isn’t a call for white Christians to be silent. It’s a call to listen, amplify Black voices, stand in solidarity with the marginalized, and examine our own hearts for hidden biases.

Decentering whiteness is ongoing—a continuous journey of learning, reflection, and action. It requires observing our reactions, learning from them, adjusting our behavior, and dismantling oppressive systems within the church and the wider world.

As Micah 6:8 says, “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Let us embody these words. Let us act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly, recognizing all are equally beloved children of God. Let us create churches where every voice is heard, every story is valued, and every person is celebrated. Let us, with grace and humility, decenter whiteness and embrace the fullness of God’s diverse creation.

White people need to let Black America have this moment and be graceful about decentering themselves, saying, “Yeah, maybe this wasn’t for us. And that’s perfectly OK. Maybe it’s more than OK… maybe it’s amazing and brave, especially now, that a people would liberate and empower themselves this way and speak truth directly to power! Maybe this was Black America’s Bishop Budde moment.”

A Beautiful Community

by Rev. Michael Lonergan

On December 4th, I joined many others from across the country at the Freedom to be Ourselves Rally, that took place outside of the United States Supreme Court Building. That day the court heard arguments in the case of US v Skrmetti. This case challenged the constitutionality of Tennessee’s ban on life saving gender affirming care for transgender youth.

My years of political activism taught me not to expect that our presence outside for a few hours in the brisk December cold would have any real impact on the proceedings inside the Supreme Court. I went to support the transgender youth, their parents, and the entire LGBT+ community. Siblings just like me, made in God’s image and likeness. That is why I went. As usual, God had other ideas.

I joined a contingent who boarded the ACLU sponsored bus in Wilmington, DE. We gathered that morning at 7:30 and departed at 8:00, then arrived in Washington, DC around 10:00. Our group joined others arriving from different areas. As we walked the few blocks from Union Station to the Supreme Court, we heard the rally had already begun. The energy the participants generated seemed palpable.

Initially, this rally seemed similar to others I had attended. The format included a lineup of speakers and chants between the speakers. The speakers included a member of congress and a US Senator. Both spoke words of support for gender affirming care. Medical professionals shared their experiences and their hope that they could continue to offer lifesaving gender affirming care without governmental interference.

I appreciated the professional speakers’ thoughts and presence, but other speakers touched my soul. The transgender clergy, transgender parents, a transgender teenager, and cisgender parents with transgender children all shared their heartfelt stories. As I listened, I felt privileged to take part in such a gathering of God’s children. A gathering that shared a loving community, despite coming from different areas of our country.

An oppressed and marginalized community to be sure, plagued by uncertainty because of the actions of elected officials and Christian nationalists striving to deny them the right to exist as God made them, but a community none the less. When communities get together, what do they do? They celebrate and show concern for each other, and that made Freedom to be Ourselves different. The loud upbeat music that played in between the speeches, the expressions of care and support from the podium and the conversations among the participants showed me that I witnessed something very special.

During my time in the southwest, I met the mother of a transgender child. I saw her post rally comment on social media, “Today’s rally felt like the biggest family reunion, and all the hugs filled my cup!” I commented that it was nice seeing them, and she replied, “Thanks for being there with us.”

Afterward, someone asked me if I think my being there mattered. I replied that it mattered to the people who allowed me into their community for the day, and clearly, it also mattered to me.

Courage,
Rev. Michael P. Lonergan

We Wait

by Rev. Lynne Hinton

Advent begins. This season of waiting needs not be waited for any longer. It is here. So, now we mark this time. And we wait.

How do you rate your ability to wait? Is the season of anticipation an opportunity for sitting still, for being exactly where you are, noticing what is going on around you? Or can you “wait” as I once watched Pastor TD Jakes demonstrate in a sermon as a servant serves? Tray in hand, one arm behind your back, bowed in submission.

The truth is, we probably don’t do either. We pick another brand of “waiting” altogether. We read a book, or work on a laptop, play games on our phone, using our “wait time” as another opportunity to be distracted from where we are, to be somewhere other than the waiting.

Perhaps we choose a different way of waiting this year. Maybe it would benefit our monkey minds just to sit in what feels like “mindless wander” but might actually be “mindfulness.” Perhaps we ask, ‘what is this place I am waiting? What am I even waiting for? How is it in my heart now that I am still and can listen?’

Or perhaps our waiting could involve serving, to learn a new way of humility, of surrender to someone else’s idea, to let go of our need to be recognized, honored, or served, and instead, “wait” on someone else.

If you’ve been in church for any length of time, you understand Advent as the waiting for Christ’s coming. And we change the liturgical colors and we light candles on a wreath. We sing songs of anticipation, we hear passages of hope; but our waiting gets filled up with new activities, more tasks, more busyness so that we find ourselves neither really serving others or being still. We just simply fill up this season like we do all the others.

You could do it differently, you know. Advent, I mean. You could choose this to be your season to be still, to listen to your heart, your body, to honor what is, not what you expect to come, to accept the liminal space of “not yet.”

I’d like to mark this time as slightly different than how I typically manage the month of December. I’d like this time to be more than writing the Christmas letter, getting all the cards mailed on time, buying gifts because this has become the acceptable way to say I love you.

I’d like to be still, to learn humility. I’d like not to have to distract myself when there are a few minutes before the next thing. I’d like to learn how to wait well.

I hope you learn it too.

Bathrooms Matter

by Dr. Kristina “Tina” Campbell

When I was studying for my D.Min. degree, I was commuting between British Columbia and Minnesota to do my class work, so I pretty much took any class that was compatible with me being away from my responsibilities as the director of a treatment center for addiction.

One summer I signed up for a class on Hans Kung at Luther Theological Seminary, part of the consortium of schools where I was enrolled as a student. Being from out of town, I required student housing, so signed up to live in a dorm for the month I would attend class.

When I arrived at Luther, I was rather shocked and more than a little dismayed to discover that I was going to be housed in the men’s dorm. Alas, in this dark age, there were no dorms for women and virtually no female students attending classes at Luther. I was further mortified to learn that I would have to use the men’s bathroom in the dorm, and I was cavalierly informed by the dorm supervisor that I would be required to hang a sign on the door of the bathroom whenever I was occupying the space.

I gritted my teeth and complied with the bathroom protocol only to discover that my male dorm mates thought it was great fun to bang on the door and yell out obscenities when I was inside the bathroom. I could feel myself sinking into a feeling of depressed anxiety, always wondering who these door bangers were, and wondering if they were the people in the rooms next to mine. I couldn’t think of an appropriate response.

With these unfortunate bathroom experiences under my belt, I shuffled into the first meeting of my class on Hans Kung and discovered that it was being taught by the internationally respected theologian Dr. Warren Quanbeck. Dr. Quanbeck had attended discussions on Vatican II and was well known for his participation in the World Council of Churches. I felt right at home with his teaching style as he appeared in class in well-worn blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. Very Minnesota! As the class concluded, he announced, “Campbell, please stay after class.” I found myself wondering what awful experience could be next in my horrifying theological education.

Much to my delight and surprise, Dr. Quanbeck calmly announced to me: “You don’t need to study Hans Kung, but I was wondering if you would like to meet in my study to discuss T.S. Eliot?” This scholar of great grace had apparently heard of some of my work with the marginalized and of my interest in writing. I gratefully, extremely gratefully, accepted his offer.

As the weeks went by, Dr. Quanbeck revealed to me that he was dying, and that he wanted to know more about my work with Native American and Canadian belief systems. We had long discussions about many topics, and didn’t dodge the difficult subject of death. He made my weeks at Luther some of the most meaningful of my life. Dr. Quanbeck died shortly after I returned to Canada.

Sadly, bathrooms are still an issue, and Rep. Nancy Mace of South Carolina is trying to pass legislation that would prevent Sarah McBride, the first openly trans elected member of Congress, from using the women’s bathroom. Really, America, is this how we want to use our valuable time and energy???

Ms. McBride has gracefully stated, “I’m not here to fight about bathrooms,” but we need to take up her fight on behalf of any people who are being bullied for any reason.

In her beautifully poignant memoir, Sarah McBride speaks of the importance of human beings acting out a graceful and loving way of living in order to set an example for others to follow. She wants us to set the tone of how others will live and be. We are challenged to demonstrate our beliefs through our behavior.

In my experience at Luther, I had firsthand experience with this concept. The men who inhabited my dorm set an example of bullying. Dr. Quanbeck, on the other hand, modeled grace, acceptance, calm, and welcome.

We are the United Church of Christ where all are welcome. We will not allow Sarah McBride or any other trans person to be bullied or distracted from their calling. Bathrooms do matter. How we behave matters a great deal. We are challenged to live out the words “no matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.”

Honoring Veterans, Serving Our Communities, and Leading with Love

by SWC Associate Conference Minister Rev. Dr. Derrick Elliott

A letter to the Clergy of the Southwest Conference:

As we approach Veterans Day, we are reminded of the incredible sacrifices made by the men and women who have served in the armed forces. Veterans Day offers us a chance to reflect on the values of courage, commitment, and service that our veterans embody—a reminder of our own call to serve and support one another in faith.

For those in your congregations who have served, or who have loved ones in service, I encourage you to take a moment this weekend to honor and acknowledge their contributions. As a veteran myself, having served in both the Army and Air Force, I hold a deep, personal appreciation for the dedication and resilience required of our service members. I know firsthand the unique challenges and the profound sense of purpose that military service can bring, as well as the need for understanding, healing, and support afterward.

Moreover, this Sunday also holds unique significance as many of you will be preaching in the wake of the recent election. Our communities may be processing a mix of emotions, from hope to concern to uncertainty. As we step into our pulpits, let us strive to offer words that unite, uplift, and encourage healing across differences. The message of Christ’s love, justice, and peace is a powerful balm in times like these, and I trust each of you to bring compassion and wisdom to the task of pastoring those you serve.

I also want to acknowledge those of you who, like me, work outside the church in various fields while balancing ministry within your congregations. Your commitment to serve both the church and the wider community is invaluable, as it extends the reach of the Gospel and reflects Christ’s love in workplaces, schools, hospitals, and beyond. Your work often goes unseen but remains a powerful testament to our faith in action. Know that you are deeply appreciated for your ministry both inside and outside church walls.

As people of God, let us uphold our veterans in prayer, giving thanks for their dedication and asking for peace, healing, and strength in their lives. I also encourage you to consider how we, as a conference, can support veterans in our communities year-round, recognizing the unique needs they may have in the journey toward wholeness and peace.

As we gather for worship this weekend, may our reflections on Veterans Day and the recent election remind us of the strength and resilience found in our communities of faith and service. Together, let us honor the gifts and sacrifices of all who have served, embracing them as we continue our shared mission of love and healing.

We Are All Connected

by Rev. Lynne Hinton

Writer Joseph Campbell tells a story of a police officer saving a young man’s life as he was planning to commit suicide by jumping off a bridge. The police officer saw the person about to jump, exited the car from the passenger’s side, ran to him, and grabbed the man just as he fell, then slipping and falling with him. They were both then rescued by the driver of the car, the other police officer, and both were pulled to safety.

Campbell writes about this encounter, “Do you realize what had suddenly happened to that policeman who had given himself to death with that unknown youth? Everything else in his life had dropped off – his duty to his family, his duty to his job, his duty to his own life – all of his wishes and hopes for his lifetime had just disappeared. He was about to die.”

Later a newspaper reporter asked the officer, ‘why didn’t you let go? You would have been killed.’ And his reported answer was, ‘I couldn’t let go. If I had let that young man go, I couldn’t have lived another day of my life.’”

“Why?” Campbell wanted to know. Why would anyone defy the supposedly first law of nature, self-preservation, to save another person? Why would someone risk their life for someone else? Campbell believes it is because there are other laws, stronger and deeper laws, operating within us. Wayne Muller describes these laws as coming from, “a deep mutuality that resonates within us, an inner knowing that we share the same life, the same breath, the same spirit, and the suffering of any single being somehow diminishes us all.”

Campbell sums it up this way: “Our true reality is our identity and unity with all life.”

Despite our differences, our unique individuations, we are all connected and we all share this life together. We are one. We are together.

As we move towards election day in this country, a day of marked division across our nation, may we be mindful that we are truly united by more than what divides us. May we be mindful of the deep and strong laws within us. And may we continue to live with the truth that the suffering of any single being somehow diminishes us all.

Whole Lives Matter: Embracing Intersectionality in a Complex World

by Christopher Schouten

At this month’s national gathering of the United Church of Christ’s Open and Affirming Coalition, I heard a phrase for the first time that struck me deeply: “Whole Lives Matter.” While it echoes the call for dignity that “Black Lives Matter” represents, it points to something both universal and deeply personal—the recognition that we are all complex, multifaceted beings created in the image of God. It calls for the acceptance of every aspect of who we are. To truly see each other, we must see the entirety of each person’s identity—embracing all the layers of race, gender, ability, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, and other aspects that make us human. This is intersectionality in its truest form.

The Complexity of Intersectionality

Intersectionality, a term coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw in 1989, was originally used to describe the overlapping oppression faced by Black women in systems of racial and gender inequality. It has since expanded to include the myriad ways in which different aspects of identity intersect and affect one’s experience in the world. In the LGBTQIA+ community, intersectionality is crucial because queer identity doesn’t exist in isolation from race, class, ability, or gender identity. We are all many things, and each part of us shapes how we experience the world.

To simply label someone as “gay” or “trans” without acknowledging their other identities—whether they are Black, disabled, working-class, or a woman—reduces them to a single facet of their existence. Instead, we are called to look at the whole person. When we do that, we create space for empathy, respect, and an acknowledgment that everyone’s lived experience is unique and valuable.

A Biblical Call to Wholeness

The message of “Whole Lives Matter” resonates deeply within the Christian tradition. From the beginning of the Bible, we see God creating human beings as whole and complex. Psalm 139 celebrates this, proclaiming, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:13-14). These verses remind us that every part of our identity is sacred, lovingly woven together by the hands of God.

Jesus’ ministry also demonstrated this profound respect for the whole person. He didn’t engage with people based on just one aspect of their identity. Whether it was the woman at the well, the tax collector, or the woman caught in adultery, Jesus saw and loved them for their full humanity. He didn’t overlook their struggles or dismiss their complex circumstances but acknowledged their worth in every encounter.

In this way, Christ calls us to reject partial, simplified understandings of one another. We are tasked with seeing our siblings in faith and the broader human community as whole, integrated beings—not merely “gay,” “straight,” “disabled,” or “Black,” but as a synthesis of all those things. And when we recognize the entirety of a person, we can offer them the kind of love and respect that God offers us.

Identity and Assumptions

In today’s fast-paced, judgment-laden world, it’s easy to fall into the trap of labeling people without truly seeing them. We hear someone’s race, their gender identity, or their sexual orientation and, almost automatically, make assumptions about their beliefs, experiences, or behaviors. This tendency not only flattens the rich diversity of the human experience but also shuts down opportunities for genuine connection.

Studies on identity formation indicate that people often struggle with their intersecting identities, especially in environments that force them to prioritize one identity over another. A 2019 study published in The Journal of Social Issues found that LGBTQIA+ individuals from marginalized racial or socioeconomic backgrounds often feel torn between different aspects of their identity, as they try to navigate spaces that don’t fully accept them as a whole person. This highlights the need for communities that embrace the whole person rather than asking them to fragment their identity for social convenience.

When we walk through life assuming we know someone’s story based on a single characteristic, we miss out on the fullness of who they are. We also reinforce societal structures that divide and diminish people, reducing them to just one aspect of their existence. Instead, the call of “Whole Lives Matter” encourages us to move beyond assumptions, to see every person as a reflection of God’s diverse and magnificent creation.

Wrestling with Identity & Faith

It’s important to recognize that many people, especially within marginalized communities, are still wrestling with the complexity of their identities. For some, reconciling the intersections of race, gender, ability, and sexuality is a life-long journey. As a community of faith, we must make space for this wrestling. We need to hold space for people who are figuring out who they are and who God is calling them to be.

In our churches and wider society, we should foster environments where people feel free to explore the complexity of their identities without fear of rejection or ridicule. The intersection of different identities can sometimes feel like a source of tension, but it can also be a source of strength. As LGBTQIA+ people of faith, many of us know what it’s like to navigate the intersection of queerness and religion. It can be challenging, but it can also lead to a deeper, richer understanding of both our faith and our identity.

Moving Forward with Compassion

If we are to take “Whole Lives Matter” seriously, we must begin by listening. We need to listen to the stories of those who have been marginalized by society—whether because of their race, their gender, their socioeconomic status, or any other aspect of their identity. And we need to listen without judgment, without rushing to impose our own understanding of who they are.

In doing so, we build bridges of compassion and empathy. We create communities where people are not only tolerated but celebrated in their wholeness. And we make space for people to continue wrestling with their identities without feeling that they have to fit neatly into preconceived boxes.

In a world that too often divides us, the call of “Whole Lives Matter” is a call to unity—unity through diversity, and wholeness through love. It is a reminder that every person we encounter is a beautiful, complex creation of God, worthy of respect and kindness. And it is an invitation to see, and love, the whole person.

Gus Walz is My Hero

by Rev. Dr. Tom Martinez

In today’s culture war we’re all victims of the age-old idea that manliness is primarily evidenced by controlling and repressing emotions. This was made clear by the reaction to Gus Walz’ open display of emotion during the Democratic National Convention. Images of Gus crying quickly became a lightning rod for the cruelest ridicule. But what are we making fun of? A son’s love of his dad. Is that really deserving of the wave of cruelty it elicited? Or could it be an indication that at the dawn of the 21^st century there is deep confusion as to what it means to be a man?

It’s easy to bully any sign of weakness. That’s why bullying is so rampant. But it’s far more challenging to grasp why such a beautiful moment quickly became weaponized. Yes, it has a lot to do with the radical divide in the country. We’re like sharks in our ability to detect any hint of vulnerability which we then pounce on like so many Great Whites. Biden shows his age or Trump fumbles a question and everyone’s ready to pounce. It’s as if we’re all back in middle school, consumed by fear and the aggression that shields us from our humanity.

The truth is we’re all aging, we all fumble questions or fail to put our best foot forward. We’re imperfect, vulnerable creatures trying to find our way in the world. But attacking each other isn’t the answer. Instead, we need to step back and assess the ways in which our culture has socialized men to hide their feelings. Women would have an easier time of it if more men were to begin to explore their masculinity with a wider range of ideals than the lone ranger mentality offered up by the likes of John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson.

John Wayne is often demonized for having made such a major contribution to the patriarchal ideal. And while the problem is of course bigger than Wayne, I find it fascinating that when he appeared before a group of Veterans their reaction was to boo him. These were men who had experienced the harsh reality of combat, many of them propelled by the swaggering image of a fearless gunmen out to get the bad guys. They had discovered that war is not glamorous or thrilling, but horrific and wounding.

Therapists like Ed Tick, who work with traumatized Vets, know that the path toward healing involves a dismantling of the macho image of invulnerability. Ed has taken countless groups of Veterans back to Viet Nam, where they have the opportunity to process the trauma of war, and to thereby enlarge their frame of reference by which they understand what happened to them, what they did, what was done to them. He frames this work in the symbolism of the hero’s journey, which begins with the patriarchal foundation of enculturation, then descends into the hell of trauma. This descent is an aspect of heroism that takes us beneath the middle-school mentality of invulnerability and cruelty. It requires a Christ-like willingness to enter the wilderness of the soul, to wrestle with our worst and better angels.

The great developmental psychologist Erik Erikson came to this country to escape Hitler. A brilliant theorist by nature, he plumbed the depths of fascism, asking what in the world made it possible for so many everyday Germans to throw their support behind a sadistic demagogue. How fascinating that his quest to understand what happened in Germany centered on the generational tensions between fathers and sons. He went on to articulate his insights in a book on Martin Luther, who famously struggled with his relationship with his father. Erikson understood that love for the swaggering dictator is rooted in repressed feelings toward authority.

It’s no coincidence that Luther himself ushered in a great revolutionary overthrow of Catholicism, the reigning system of power in his day. One of Erikson’s great insights involves the explosive though latent energy permeating society in times of social upheaval. We certainly are living through such a time. Everything from truth itself, to the mystery of gender to whether or not the planet is warming is all up for grabs.

In the midst of this great upheaval, people long to be free, to have some modicum of power and agency. The temptation is to simply identify a father figure to either worship or oppose. But collective lashing out against the right or left is merely that, a blind lashing out at daddy. The more radical response is to feel one’s way into one’s own power, to figure out why we’re here, what it is that we are meant to do, which is often something far beyond the limited ideologies offered to up by whatever cultural system we’re born into.

This isn’t to say that all enculturation is flawed. We need role models and mentors. We need spaces where we are tested and pushed and allowed to fail and succeed. This is no doubt why sports loom so large in the world. But the star athlete who beats his wife is far too common, as is the epidemic of domestic abuse in general.

Legions of men are trapped in an outdated ideal of toughness and control. Meanwhile advances in the social sciences are opening up the complexity of gender, social roles, questions of equality and the challenges associated with our ever-more complex and technologically daunting world. Again, the temptation is to go back to the Lone Ranger and leave it at that.

But songs like “Billy Don’t Be a Hero” and films like Coming Home, Johnny Got His Gun, The Deerhunter and Born on the Fourth of July all call into question the old ideal of invincibility.

From what I’ve read it appears Gus Walz is somewhere on the neuro-diversity spectrum, meaning he doesn’t process information like more mainstreamed young adults. That alone should be reason for a certain sober restraint when it comes to judging his show of emotion. But rather than merely holding back out of compassion, we can marvel at what this extraordinary young man has to teach us. His response was real and honest and spontaneous, pure embodied love by a son for his dad. Seems to me the world could use a little more young men like Gus.

Rev. Dr. Tom Martinez is the Senior Minister of Desert Palm United Church of Christ in Tempe, AZ.