A Moral Imperative on No Kings Day

Each day’s headlines feel increasingly Orwellian, and it’s easy to lose hope. Yet today I’m reminded that there are millions of people who care—people who choose compassion over cynicism, empathy over apathy, and who genuinely want to move the world toward equality for all—regardless of race, gender, or country of origin. Chief among them is my wife, who continually inspires me with her passion for a better, kinder world.

I grew up in a time that celebrated diversity. The phrase “all men are created equal” was more than words—it was an aspiration. We didn’t always reach it, but we kept striving toward it. In my childhood, Nazis were unequivocally the villains in movies and history books. The culture was trending toward inclusion—advancing equal rights for same-sex couples, growing empathy for transgender individuals, and affirming a woman’s right to choose.

At the same time, I was raised in a deeply patriotic, conservative home where Lee Greenwood was the soundtrack and church was the center of life. I was a ’90s youth group kid in an evangelical community, and I witnessed genuine, sacrificial love. I saw people give their time, money, and energy to care for strangers. I saw small churches of modest means give tens of thousands of dollars to feed the hungry, dig wells, and fight disease around the world.

Over the years, I’ve debated conservative friends about politics—often around lunch tables or firepits—trying to imagine what a “more perfect union” might look like. And through it all, the pendulum has swung back and forth, but usually stayed somewhere near the middle.

This, however, feels different. The air itself feels different.

What’s unfolding around us may be political in form, but it’s moral in substance. And on this, I cannot be complicit.

In the reckless confidence of my early twenties, I once preached on the parable of the prodigal son—while holding up a photo of Osama Bin Laden. It was 2002, in the middle of Oklahoma. Even then, I felt the moral imperative of the gospel: to love the unlovable, to show mercy even when it feels impossible. That imperative still burns in me today.

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”— Luke 10:36–37

The adjectives that describe Jesus are mercy, meekness, love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, kindness, goodness, and self-control.

The way of Jesus is sacrifice.

The actions of Jesus are summed up in one command: Do to others as you would have them do to you.

In every either-or debate, He shows us a third way—a better way.“When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them.

The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born.

Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.”— Leviticus 19:33–34

There aren’t many exceptions attached to that command. What I don’t see is: “Unless they came illegally. Unless they were desperate enough to risk everything for a chance at life. Unless their skin is brown. Unless they love someone of the same sex. Unless their gender doesn’t fit your categories.”There’s no “unless.”

Ripping families apart is not “family values.”

“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink,I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”— Matthew 25:35

The stranger never looks angelic. They don’t look like Jesus in paintings. They look tired, hungry, and broken. They come with nothing to offer in return—except that, somehow, in giving of ourselves, we receive more than we give. In their need, we find the redemptive arc of the gospel.

“To know God is to do justice. It is to be involved in the transformation of history so that every human being may live with dignity.”— Gustavo Gutiérrez