Every pastor I know is busy. I haven’t come across one who tells me they have time to kill. The pastors in my circles aren’t on golf courses. They’re not at the gym or the spa. They haven’t signed up for a sculpting class or are learning art at a community center. Their vacations are short, and their sabbaticals are as few and far between as Cubs World Series wins. The more responsible ones have therapists, some have coaches, but most suck at practicing any sort of self-care. They, we, are a guild of candle makers with wicks burning relentlessly at both ends.
Justin Cox
I make boundaries for the sake of my family. Some weeks, I’m better at this than others. Between meetings, visitations and things in need of planning and preparation, I appear to be functioning as an adult with something resembling a schedule. I can tread water with the best of them.
However, there are other seasons of the church calendar when I’m flailing, sinking and water fills my eyes and nose. And is that a fin coming out of the water? Holy Week is one such time, and like the mantra of March Madness, the point is to survive and advance.
For all the moaning I’m incredibly good at and the stress I allow to creep in, Maundy Thursday and Good Friday hold special meaning to me. I want to be at my best and be present.
My plan for the next few days is to get through them, flip as many tables as possible, crash into the weekend, and have enough in my reserve to crawl through a sunrise service, hoping to God there’s a bit of left-over resurrection tucked away in Jesus’ tomb for me.
“He is risen, indeed,” they’ll say.
“Barely,” I’ll whisper back.
To accomplish my goal, I told myself, I simply won’t add anything else to my plate. It’s full, packed high and deep, so there’s no need to try to add one more activity or deviled egg.
And then, Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump started hawking $60 Bibles, and I decided to make room for at least one more table flip.
If you haven’t seen Trump and Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless The USA Bible” video released yesterday, let me offer a quick summary.
Greenwood, famous for his 1984 hit, “I’m Proud to Be an American,” slid it, along with the Constitution, Bill of Rights and the Pledge of Allegiance, into a King James Version of the Bible.
Not one to miss a pandering opportunity, Trump endorses Greenwood’s Bible to kick off Holy Week. In the video, Trump claims you need this Bible for your heart and soul and to know the liberties you have as citizens of this country, liberties he’s protecting for you, liberties the media and radical left are actively working to strip away. He blames the lack of religion and Christianity for the country’s struggles. Trump’s solution: “All Americans need a Bible in their homes, and I have many. It’s my favorite book.”
“It’s simple, it’s catchy. It leaves a taste in my mouth like I’ve just swallowed a bad oyster.”
He then encourages his followers to defend and protect anything that is pro-God, stoking the fires of fear not seen since the Salem Witch Trials. Trump ends his tirade with a challenge to join him and the legion of citizens who support him to “Make America Pray Again.” It’s simple, it’s catchy. It leaves a taste in my mouth like I’ve just swallowed a bad oyster.
This cinematic venture of propaganda has all the allure of late-night infomercials. Watching it several times, I keep waiting for the “Don’t wait! Order now, and I’ll throw in the Patriots Apocrypha containing the principles of Ronald Reagan’s Trickle-Down Economics and a transcript of Nixon’s Watergate Tapes. Call in the next hour, and you’ll also receive a copy of ‘Donald Trump’s Book of Martyrs,’ listing all of the January 6 insurrectionists, and I can’t believe we’re doing this, a commemorative plate featuring the likeness of Marjorie Taylor Greene.”
I’ve seen more faith in Billy May’s pitch for Oxiclean.
I have as many problems with the video as Trump does indictments. However, I will concede and admit that I, too, am witnessing the rights of citizens actively and purposely being stripped away as nationalism and fascism drapes itself in red, white and blue. For the last several years, I’ve continued to watch as people of color struggle to have fundamental rights in this country. I’ve watched as minority groups, such as those in the LGBTQ community, have legislation leveraged against them. And as recently as 2022, with the Supreme Court’s reversal of Roe v. Wade, I’ve witnessed the rights of women in this country become less and less.
Somehow, I don’t believe “the Don” and I are thinking of the same thing.
Thomas Helwys
Maybe it’s because I’ve emerged on the other side of Lent, fresh off preaching a series on the people known as Baptists and the four fragile freedoms they hold to. Perhaps that’s why I’m bristling with a spirit of dissension. How could I not? Watching a would-be king try to impose his version of holy Scripture, I thought of my spiritual ancestors like Thomas Helwys.
It was Helwys who, in 1612, wrote A Short Declaration of the Mystery of Iniquity. Along with this work, he contacted King James of the KJV Bible fame, another Caesar who desired to blend the business of state with religion, and let him know, “The king is a mortal man and not God, and therefore, has no power over the immortal souls of his subjects.”
Helwys would go so far as to say, “Men’s religion,” or we might say “a person’s religion,” “to God is betwixt God and themselves.” As you might imagine, King Jim did not receive this message well, and Helwys was imprisoned by the king’s law and died later while under a sentence in one of the king’s cells.
“Baptists have a history of standing against authoritative people, not beside them.”
I’m prone to share Brother Helwys’ story whenever I’m in the presence of KJV-only sorta Baptists or any other Bible-obsessed fanatic, reminding them not to be so quick to clutch their idol so tightly. You see, Baptists have a history of standing against authoritative people, not beside them.
So, I think I’ll pass on the special edition of the Trump-endorsed Bible. I’ll make it to Easter Sunday with my New Revised Standard Version tucked under my arm. Maybe I’ll throw in a smattering of Clarence Jordan’s Cotton Patch to shake up my New England congregation.
And, I’ll be sure to include the good news of the lowly Galilean — a radical and inclusive message that every soul has worth and rights simply because they exist.
The state, or a king, can’t give what a Creator already has given.
Let every Caesar, king or former president with ears to hear, hear.
Justin Cox received his theological education from Campbell University and Wake Forest University School of Divinity. He is an ordained minister affiliated with the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship and enrolled in the doctor of ministry program at McAfee School of Theology. When not spending time with his spouse and daughters, he can be found writing and baking late into the night. He currently resides in New England with his family. His thoughts and reflections are his own.
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