God – About Things That Matter

Me and Charlie Kirk

The more I watch Charlie Kirk’s “debates” with college students, the more compassion I feel for him. He strikes me as a brilliant but frightened young man—haunted, as I once was, by a God of fear and judgment. Like Charlie, I once believed in that God until I reached roughly the same age he was when he died at just thirty-one.

That “biblical” God, as I was taught, was the almighty creator, lawgiver, judge, and punisher—the terrifying being who condemned sinners to eternal torment for disobedience. Who wouldn’t be afraid of such a deity? Certainly not me. Like Charlie, I accepted it all.

My education—spanning from kindergarten in 1945 to my doctoral studies in Rome in 1972—was entirely within the Catholic Church. Nuns and priests trained me in one of the most traditional, patriarchal institutions in the world. They taught that there was “no salvation outside the Church.” It was our duty to convert the “pagans.”

So I spent thirteen years in seminaries preparing to be a missionary in Asia—China, Korea, Burma, Japan. Then came five more years of doctoral study in theology. The indoctrination could hardly have been deeper.

Like Charlie Kirk’s brand of fundamentalism, my Catholic formation fostered a deep suspicion of science and “secular” knowledge. Pope Pius IX’s Syllabus of Errors (1864) had warned against modern thought. From it emerged the apologetic mindset that shaped both of us—a defensive “us versus them” posture toward the modern world. Apologetics gave us tidy answers to every challenge: “If they say this, you say that.” Charlie mastered it. So did I. We both found it airtight, logical, and comforting.

Our politics flowed from the same worldview. My Catholic mentors, like Charlie’s conservative allies, saw communism as evil incarnate. When Senator Joseph McCarthy died, one of my seminary teachers told me, “A great man died today.” At twenty-two, I cast my first vote for Barry Goldwater.

And yet, even in that enclosed world, the “bad ideas” we feared had a way of slipping in. Despite my resistance, studying Latin and Greek classics, French and English literature, and Church history began to unsettle my certainty. Questions emerged about morality, colonialism, the Crusades, and the value of other faiths. I fought those doubts—but they persisted.

When the Second Vatican Council (1962–65) finally opened the Church to modernity, I was among the last to let go of my conservative instincts. I loved the Latin Mass, the vestments, and the comforting clarity of dogma. Like Charlie, I thought the Bible was literally dictated by God through chosen “transcribers”—Moses, David, Solomon, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

But my four years of pre-ordination Scripture study shattered that illusion. Doctoral work confirmed it: The Bible isn’t a single book. It’s a diverse library written by many flawed human beings over a thousand years. They used different names for God and often disagreed about divine commands.

The Bible contains myth, legend, poetry, law, prophecy, fiction, and coded “apocalyptic” literature—resistance writings against empire, not predictions of the end of the world. I still remember my shock learning that Matthew’s “three wise men” story was midrash, not history. To treat all of it as literal fact is to miss its deeper truth.

Even so, like Charlie, I continue to believe the Bible is true—not in every detail, but in its moral and spiritual essence. As one of my friends says, “The Bible is true, and some of it even happened.” Its central story is not Adam and Eve’s fall, but the Exodus—the liberation of slaves. That story reveals the Bible’s real heart: what scholars call “God’s preferential option for the poor.”

The Bible sides with the enslaved, the widow, the orphan, the immigrant—the victims of empire. In fact, it may be the only ancient text written almost entirely by people conquered by Egyptians, Assyrians, Persians, Greeks, and Romans. Its truth is that followers of Jesus are called to stand with the oppressed.

I wish Charlie Kirk had lived long enough to encounter that truth. I believe his integrity might have led him toward it. But he dropped out of college after one semester, calling higher education a scam and a waste of time. He thought it was too expensive and too slow—a mere credentialing machine for good jobs.

To him, studying literature, history, or biblical scholarship in college was pointless. Worse, he saw such studies as dangerous, because they exposed students to the “bad ideas” that challenge inherited faith.

That, I think, is the crux of the problem. For both Charlie and my younger self, religion was the one realm where childhood knowledge was considered complete and unchangeable. Questioning it was betrayal. It’s as if a student of arithmetic said, “I know all about addition and subtraction—don’t confuse me with algebra or calculus.”

But algebra and calculus exist. They expand mathematical truth. And in the same way, modern biblical scholarship and scientific discovery expand our understanding of faith. History, psychology, sociology, and biology all reveal new dimensions of reality. Dismissing them out of fear is not faith—it’s denial.

I know, because I lived that denial for years. So when I watch Charlie Kirk confronting the questions of college students, I feel compassion. I see a man of goodwill trapped in a theology of fear. My heart goes out to him—and to all conservative Christians whose terror of change and of God narrows their vision to biblical literalism and political reaction.

Faith can be so much larger than that.
It can liberate, not confine.
It can open hearts instead of closing them.

That’s the lesson Charlie Kirk never got the chance to learn.

When Bible Readers Like Charlie Kirk Ignore Its Class-Consciousness

The recent assassination of Charlie Kirk provoked a flurry of commentary about God, faith, and politics. Among the more thoughtful responses was David Brooks’ New York Times column, “We Need to Think Straight About God and Politics.” His essay reminded me once again how central theology remains for understanding today’s world—and how dangerous it is for progressives to ignore it.

But despite Brooks’ good intentions, his article was fundamentally flawed. He missed the Bible’s class-consciousness, a theme that runs through its central narratives and prophetic voices. In doing so, he overlooked the way modern biblical scholarship interprets scripture: as a profoundly political document that consistently sides with the poor and oppressed against the wealthy and powerful. Without acknowledging this, Brooks failed to resolve the very problem he set out to explore: how God and politics relate.

Ironically, Charlie Kirk—whose white Christian nationalism has been condemned by many—grasped something Brooks did not: that the Bible is not politically neutral. But Kirk twisted that insight. Rather than recognizing God’s solidarity with the marginalized, Kirk placed the divine firmly on the side of the dominant white, patriarchal class. His theology inverted the teachings of the Jewish prophet Jesus of Nazareth, who identified God with the poor, the dispossessed, and the oppressed.

In what follows, I want to clarify this point by (1) summarizing Brooks’ argument, (2) contrasting it with Kirk’s theological vision, and (3) comparing both with the insights of modern biblical scholarship, which I’ll describe as “critical faith theory.” My thesis is simple: without acknowledging the achievements of such theory with its implied class-consciousness, we cannot understand either the Bible’s meaning or its challenge to today’s politics.

Brooks’ Confusion

Brooks began by observing that Kirk’s funeral blurred the lines between religion and politics. Speakers portrayed Kirk as a kind of martyr, invoking Jesus’ example of forgiveness, while Donald Trump and his allies used the occasion to unleash vengeance and hatred. Brooks admitted he was disturbed and confused: why such a volatile mix of faith and politics? Shouldn’t religion stay in the private sphere, separate from political life?

To make sense of it, Brooks reached for the old notion of complementarity. Religion and politics, he suggested, are distinct but mutually supportive. Politics deals with power; religion provides the moral compass reminding us that everyone, regardless of ideology, is a sinner in need of grace. On this view, the Bible does not offer a political program. It simply sets the stage for moral reflection.

In short, Brooks tried to preserve a moderate middle ground. Faith should shape moral values but not dictate political programs.

The problem is that this neat separation has little to do with the Bible itself.

Kirk’s Fundamentalist Class-Consciousness

Kirk, unlike Brooks, made no such distinction. He declared openly: “I want to talk about spiritual things, and in order to do that, I have to enter the political arena.”

Brooks responded with incredulity, but Kirk’s reasoning is clear. His fundamentalist reading of scripture led him to embrace a particular worldview that has always been political. He believed the Bible is the literal word of God, with Moses, David, Solomon, and the gospel writers transcribing divine dictation. He accepted the traditional Christian narrative—codified since the fourth century—that humanity is fallen through Adam and Eve’s sin, redeemed by Jesus’ sacrificial death, and destined for heaven or hell depending on baptism and personal acceptance of Christ.

This theology, which became the official religion of the Roman Empire in the fourth century, was weaponized to support conquest, colonization, and oppression. From the Crusades to the slave trade to European colonialism, Christian rulers used this story to justify domination of Muslims, Jews, Indigenous peoples, Africans, and other non-white, non-Christian populations. Christianity, in its imperial form, became the religion of empire.

Kirk, then, was not wrong to insist that “spiritual talk” inevitably enters politics. But he saw Christianity as legitimizing the rule of a largely white, patriarchal elite. His class-consciousness was real—but inverted.

Critical Faith Theory: A Different Story

Modern biblical scholarship tells a very different story. Beginning in the late 18th and 19th centuries, historians, linguists, archaeologists, and literary critics began examining scripture using the tools of critical analysis. They discovered that the Bible is not a single book with one author but a library of texts written and edited over centuries. These texts include myth, poetry, law codes, prophecy, letters, gospels, and apocalypses. They contain conflicting theologies: some justifying empire, others resisting it.

What emerges from this scholarship is not the story of Adam’s sin and Jesus’ death reopening heaven’s gates. Rather, it is the story of liberation from slavery and God’s solidarity with the poor.

The central narrative begins with the Exodus, the liberation of enslaved people from Egypt. Israel’s God revealed himself as a liberator, entering into a covenant with the freed slaves to form a just society where widows, orphans, foreigners, and the poor would be protected. When Israel’s leaders violated that covenant, prophets arose to denounce them and call the nation back to justice.

Over centuries, Israel itself was conquered by empires—Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, Rome. Prophets promised deliverance from oppression, not heavenly rewards in a distant afterlife.

Jesus of Nazareth stood squarely in this prophetic tradition. A poor construction worker from Galilee, he proclaimed the arrival of God’s kingdom—a radically new order of justice and peace. He challenged religious elites, preached solidarity with outcasts, and raised the hopes of the oppressed. Rome executed him as a rebel through crucifixion, a punishment reserved for political insurgents.

His followers, convinced he was raised from the dead, created communities that practiced what today might be called Christian communism. The Book of Acts records that believers shared possessions in common and distributed resources “as any had need.”

This was not an abstract spirituality but a concrete economic alternative. As I’ve pointed out elsewhere, it might be called “communism with Christian characteristics.” As Luke the evangelist put it in his Book of Acts 2:44-45, “All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.” In Acts 4:32, the same author writes: “Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.”

This approach to scripture—often called liberation theology—describes God as having a “preferential option for the poor.” Far from being neutral, the Bible takes sides. It consistently identifies God with the marginalized, not the powerful.

Jesus as the Rejected One

The class-consciousness of the Bible is perhaps most powerfully expressed in the figure of Jesus himself who, remember, is considered the fullest revelation of God.

Think about who he was: the son of an unwed teenage mother, raised by a working-class father, living under imperial occupation. As a child he was a political refugee in Egypt. As an adult he befriended prostitutes, tax collectors, and drunkards. He clashed with religious authorities and was executed as a political criminal. His death—torture and crucifixion—was reserved for those considered dangerous to empire.

This is not the profile of someone embraced by elites. It is the life of someone MAGA nationalists like Kirk would reject as unworthy, threatening, or “vermin.” Yet Christians confess this despised and rejected man as the revelation of God.

Jesus himself underlined this identification when he said in Matthew 25:40, “Whatever you do to the least of my brothers and sisters—the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the prisoner—you do to me.” The divine is encountered not in palaces, temples, or megachurches, but among the poor and excluded.

That is the class-conscious heart of the Bible.

Why It Matters

The contrast between Brooks, Kirk, and liberation theology highlights three very different approaches to God and politics.

Brooks wants to keep religion in the realm of private morality, supplementing politics but never shaping it directly. The problem is that the Bible itself refuses to be apolitical.
Kirk recognizes the political dimension but twists it to sanctify empire, patriarchy, and white supremacy. His theology reflects the imperial Christianity that oppressed much of the world.
Critical faith theory insists that the Bible sides with the oppressed. Its story begins not with sin and guilt but with liberation from slavery, continues with prophetic denunciations of injustice, and culminates in Jesus’ solidarity with the poor.

For progressives, this matters enormously. Too often the left cedes the Bible to the right, assuming it is inherently conservative. But modern scholarship shows the opposite: the Bible is a revolutionary text. It challenges systems of exploitation and offers resources for building communities of justice, equality, and care.

Conclusion

The assassination of Charlie Kirk has sparked renewed debate about God and politics. Moderates like David Brooks remain confused, trying to maintain a polite separation between religion and politics. Kirk, by contrast, embraced a political theology but aligned God with the ruling class.

The Bible itself, however, tells a different story. Through the lens of critical faith theory, we see its central theme: God’s preferential option for the poor. From the Exodus to the prophets to Jesus and the early church, scripture consistently sides with the oppressed.

Progressives ignore this at their peril. To cede the Bible to the right is to abandon one of the most powerful sources of hope, resistance, and liberation in human history. If read with eyes open to its class-consciousness, the Bible remains what it has always been: not the book of empire, but the book of revolution.

A Gospel for Palestinians under Siege

Readings for the 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time: JER 38: 4-10; PS 40: 2-4, 18; HEB 12:1-4; LK 12: 49-53

Today’s gospel excerpt presents real difficulties for a thoughtful homilist. That’s because it shows us an apparently confrontational Jesus — one who sounds completely revolutionary. It raises an uncomfortable question: why would the Church choose such a passage for Sunday worship? What are we supposed to do with a Jesus who doesn’t sound like the soft-focus “Prince of Peace” in our stained-glass windows?

In the context of Zionist genocide and starvation of Palestinians, perhaps this is providential. Maybe this gospel can help us understand a truth that polite Christianity often avoids: people living under the heel of settler colonialism supported by empire — even people of deep faith — sometimes find themselves pulled toward resistance that is anything but gentle.

We forget that Jesus and his community were not free citizens in a democracy. They were impoverished, heavily taxed subjects of an occupying army. Roman power loomed over their fields, their marketplaces, their synagogues. By today’s international standards, they were an occupied people with the legal right to resist.

And in Luke’s gospel today, Jesus says, without apology:

“I have come to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing… Do you think that I have come to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.”

In Matthew’s parallel account, the language sharpens:

“Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.”

These are not the soundbites that make it into Christmas cards. They make us ask: what happened to “Turn the other cheek” and “Love your enemies”?

Some scholars, like Reza Aslan, suggest that Jesus’ nonviolence applied primarily within his own oppressed community, while his stance toward the Roman occupiers was far less accommodating. Others, like John Dominic Crossan, argue that Jesus was unwaveringly committed to nonviolent resistance, and that later gospel writers softened or altered his message to make it more palatable in times of war.

Either way, the backdrop remains the same: an occupied land, a foreign military presence, a people dispossessed. In that context, fiery words about “division” and “swords” are not abstract theology. They are the language of a people under siege, the language of survival.

This is where the parallels to our world are hard to miss. Today, in the land we call Israel-Palestine, we see a modern occupation with its own walls, checkpoints, home demolitions, and armed patrols. We see Palestinian families pushed off their land in the name of “security.” We see the weight of military might pressing down on those who have little power to push back.

This is not to glorify violence but to say that this kind of daily humiliation, dispossession, and threat inevitably breeds anger, desperation, and — for some — the temptation to meet force with force. The gospel today, like the headlines from Gaza and the West Bank, confronts us with the messy, often tragic choices that emerge under occupation.

As Christians, we have to wrestle with this. Would we cling to a nonviolent ethic, like the Jesus Crossan describes? Or, living under bulldozers and armed patrols, would we find ourselves understanding — perhaps even empathizing with — those who choose other paths?

Jesus’ words today refuse to let us take the easy way out. They call us to name the real causes of conflict — not some vague “ancient hatred,” but the concrete realities of military domination, settler colonialism, and American imperialism. They challenge us to imagine what peace would require: not simply the silencing of the oppressed, but the dismantling of systems that oppress them in the first place.

Because if we only condemn the flames without questioning the spark, we miss the deeper gospel truth: that justice is the only soil in which true peace can grow.

Rescuing Faith from Capitalism: A Theological Response to Project 2025

Readings for 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time: Ecclesiastes 1:1-2, 2:21-23; Psalm 90 3-6, 13, 14, 17; Colossians 3: 1-5, 9-11; Luke 12: 13-21

I’ve recently been invited to join the Arc of Justice Alliance (AJA). It’s a new progressive think-and-action movement designed to offer a coordinated, long-term alternative to the far right’s increasingly authoritarian agenda.

No doubt you’ve heard of the Republican Project 2025. Backed by the Heritage Foundation and other major right-wing institutions, it’s a blueprint for seizing executive power, dismantling federal regulatory structures, militarizing domestic politics, and further entrenching white Christian nationalism. It is as serious as it is terrifying.

The Arc of Justice Alliance is our answer. It recognizes a hard truth: for over 50 years, the U.S. right has invested billions into building a machine—media networks, policy mills, judicial pipelines, and ideological training camps for candidates. Progressives, by contrast, have often been merely defensive, scattered and uncoordinated. That’s changing now. AJA is bringing together scholars, activists, spiritual leaders, artists, and organizers to craft a long-term vision for democratic justice, human rights, and environmental sanity.

But here’s something that may surprise you: one of the right’s most potent weapons has been theology.

The Republican machine has spent decades coopting the Judeo-Christian tradition, turning it into a moral fig leaf for capitalism, nationalism, and even genocidal violence. Faith has been hijacked—not just by televangelists, but by policy strategists who know how powerful religion can be in shaping hearts and winning votes.

The results? A public religion that celebrates guns over peace, capitalism over compassion, and settler colonialism— in Palestine and elsewhere—over human dignity.

As a liberation theologian, I’ve been invited by AJA to help reclaim the authentic Judeo-Christian tradition. To rescue the voices of the prophets—from Moses to Jesus to Paul—from those who’ve turned them into champions of empire. We’re done letting Jesus be portrayed as a flag-waving American whose top moral priorities are deregulated markets, gun rights, and misogyny.

This week’s liturgical readings couldn’t be more timely. They mock the cult of wealth accumulation and call for spiritual liberation from materialist obsession. Ecclesiastes calls it “vanity” to work endlessly, lose sleep over your earnings, and die before enjoying anything. Psalm 90 reminds us life is brief—we might not wake up tomorrow. Paul tells us to set our minds on things beyond consumerism, and Jesus, in the Gospel of Luke, outright laughs at the man who builds bigger barns while ignoring his soul.

These aren’t just pious musings. They’re indictments.

They expose what capitalism demands of us: exhaustion, anxiety, competition, disconnection. They also expose what it consistently fails to deliver: peace, community, purpose, or justice.

Here’s the deeper issue: capitalism isn’t just an economy—it’s a theology. It teaches that your worth is your wealth. That you are alone, in competition, in a world of scarcity. That power, not compassion, is what keeps you safe. That “salvation” is financial security.

But the deeper tradition—the one the AJA seeks to reclaim—teaches something radically different.

It teaches that our lives matter not for what we earn, but for how we love. That justice, not greed, is the heartbeat of the universe. That our deepest wealth is found in community. That joy is a collective act of resistance.

And crucially, it teaches that we must name and dismantle the systems—economic, political, and religious—that keep us enslaved to fear and false gods.

That’s why we’re building the Arc of Justice Alliance. Not just as an intellectual exercise, but as a spiritual and moral response to empire. We are building a machine of our own—not to mirror the right’s authoritarianism, but to match its discipline and exceed it in vision.

So let’s stop pretending the Gospel is about prosperity. Let’s stop letting capitalism wear a halo.

Let’s laugh, like Jesus did, at the absurdity of endless accumulation. Let’s build networks of joy, resistance, and solidarity. Let’s speak clearly, act boldly, and remember what freedom really looks like.

This is what the moment demands. And this is what the AJA stands for.

Please join us!

What Will You Regret When You Die?

An AI-Assisted Homily on Overwork, Jesus, and Choosing the Better Part

Readings for 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time: Genesis 18:1-10a; Psalm 15: 2-5; Colossians 1:24-28; Luke 10: 38-42

Facing the Final Question

What will you regret most when you’re dying?

Chances are, like most people, it won’t be that you didn’t work hard enough. Instead, you’ll wish you’d spent more time with your loved ones—more dinners with friends, more laughter, more life.

“Every male patient I nursed said the same thing: they missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship.”
— Hospice Nurse

Women often expressed the same sorrow, though many—especially from older generations—hadn’t been the household breadwinners. Still, the verdict was nearly universal: we’ve built lives around the treadmill of work, and at the end, that’s what we mourn.

A Culture Addicted to Work

Let’s be honest: our culture worships overwork.

Especially in the United States, where the average worker puts in three more hours per week than their European counterparts. That’s nearly a month more labor every year.

And when it comes to vacation time? The average American takes less than six weeks off per year. The French take nearly twelve. Swedes? Over sixteen.

Into this burnout culture comes today’s Gospel reading from Luke—a bracing call to step back and reconsider our priorities. A reminder that Jesus, too, challenged the grind.

Jesus, the Counter-Cultural Radical

We often forget just how radical Jesus was.

Deepak Chopra, in The Third Jesus, reminds us that Christ actually instructed his followers not to worry about money, food, or the future.

“Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear.”
— Jesus (Matthew 6:25)

And today’s Responsorial Psalm adds more layers. The “Just Person” is praised for refusing to lie, slander, or take bribes. That all sounds virtuous—nothing shocking there.

But then comes the line:

“They lend not money at usury.”

Wait—what? Lending at interest is considered robbery in the Bible. Imagine if Christians and Jews actually followed that commandment. Our entire debt-driven economy would have to be reimagined.

Rethinking Martha and Mary

Now let’s talk about Mary and Martha.

Most traditional sermons interpret the story spiritually: Martha represents worldly busyness, while Mary models a quiet, contemplative life devoted to prayer.

But that interpretation misses the human, grounded context of the Gospel.

In Un Tal Jesús (“A Certain Jesus”) by María and José Ignacio López Vigil—a powerful retelling of the Gospels popular across Latin America—Jesus is portrayed as joyful, deeply human, and radically present.

In their version, this story doesn’t take place in a quiet house, but in a noisy Bethany tavern run by Lazarus, with Martha and Mary hustling behind the scenes. Passover pilgrims are crowding in. It’s hot, chaotic, and full of life.

Martha is working furiously. Mary? She’s seated beside Jesus—laughing.

Jesus Tells Riddles

Jesus: “What’s as small as a mouse but guards a house like a lion?”
Mary: “A key! I guessed it!”

Jesus: “It’s as small as a nut, has no feet, but climbs mountains.”
Mary: “A snail!”

Jesus: “Okay, one more. It has no bones, is never quiet, and is sharper than scissors.”
Mary: “Hmm… I don’t know.”
Jesus: “Your tongue, Mary. It never rests!”

They’re cracking jokes, swapping riddles, enjoying one another.
Not praying. Not planning. Not “producing.” Just being.

Martha, frustrated and overworked, finally bursts out:
“Jesus, tell my sister to help me!”

And he answers gently but firmly:
“Mary has chosen the better part.”

Jesus and the Sacredness of Play

That might sound scandalous to us—Jesus dismissing work?

But it’s entirely consistent with his teachings. Jesus valued community over productivity, joy over profit, presence over anxiety.

And that should make us pause.

What if we took that seriously?

What if we reorganized our lives—and our economy—around the idea that play, rest, joy, and social connection are sacred?

What if we voted for leaders who supported:

Shorter workweeks
Guaranteed time off
Universal income
Job sharing
A culture centered around well-being instead of output?

In the End, What Really Matters?

Because when we reach the end, we won’t say:

“I wish I’d worked more overtime.”
“I should’ve answered more emails.”
“I’m glad I missed those birthday dinners.”

We’ll long for the laughter we didn’t share, the walks we skipped, the stories we never heard, the moments we missed with the people we loved most.

So, What Will You Choose?

Mary or Martha?

Work or presence?

Breadth of life or depth of joy?

“Mary has chosen the better part.”

We can too.

Let’s not wait until the deathbed to realize it.

Good Friday: Heretical Trumpists Celebrate an Imperial Jesus

Today is Good Friday. This morning’s New York Times (NYT) correctly identified the day as “part of the holiest week in the Christian calendar.”

It also recalled President Trump’s campaign promise to “bring back Christianity.” According to him and his first lady that means following “the living Son of God who conquered death, freed us from sin, and unlocked the gates of Heaven for all of humanity.” The pair wants this to be “one of the great Easters ever.”

The article went on to recall how Mr. Trump’s aspirations were following and expanding the lead of George W. Bush who established the first White House Office of Faith Based and Community Initiatives in the early 2000s.

Mr. Trump’s “personal pastor,” Paula White-Cain who heads the Office affirms its ability “to weigh in on any issue it deems appropriate.” Chief among them, she said, were the desire to “eradicate anti-Christian bias” including deviation from the position that there are two sexes, male and female. Such concerns have afforded the Faith Office “unprecedented access” for faith leaders to “officials in intelligence, domestic policy and national security.”

Accordingly, Mr. Trump has often met with pastors from states like Colorado and Pennsylvania. On returning home, those reverends have shared photos taken with the president sometimes with heads bowed in prayer, imposing hands of blessing on the president’s head, or with Mr. Trump joining them in singing hymns.

All of this led the NYT article and accompanying video to identify the White House as “one of the safest places in the world to be a Christian.” In fact, one of the Christian pastors interviewed for the piece said that “he doesn’t see any rails on the limits of the faith office.”

Good Friday Perspective

As a Jesus scholar and theologian, I found all this quite ironic, false, and heretical. In my view it is reminiscent of Germany of the 1930s, when Christian pastors and Catholic bishops routinely endorsed the leader of the Third Reich, who also affirmed allegiance to the Jesus reflected in Mr. and Ms. Trump’s profession of faith.

The reality was, however, that Hitler’s Germany and the policies supported by Trump’s MAGA crowd reveal an actual hatred for Jesus mourned and celebrated this Good Friday. After all he was the son of an impoverished unwed teenage mother who was houseless at birth. He was an immigrant in Egypt. He was an unemployed construction worker. He was a harsh critic of the Jewish political and religious establishment, of the Roman Empire, and of the rich in general. He said that the future belonged to the poor, the non-violent, and those persecuted for justice sake. He ended his life as a victim of imperial torture and capital punishment.

Conclusion

So, if there are no rails, no limits, on Mr. Trump’s faith office how about lowering them for pastors like Episcopal Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde? (Remember how she infuriated Donald Trump and JD Vance at Trump’s inaugural prayer service at the National Cathedral in Washington. She did so merely by pleading with Mr. Trump to “have mercy” on LGBTQ people and immigrants targeted by his policies.)

If there are no rails, how about lowering them for rabbis, ministers, priests, and faithful demanding that Mr. Trump stop the Hitlerian genocide he’s committing in Zionist Israel?

If there are no rails, how about implementing policies that recognize and honor Jesus in the children of poor unwed teenage mothers, in the houseless, in immigrants, in the working class, in opponents of the rich and powerful, in those protesting the hypocrisy of Jewish Zionists, in U.S.-supported torture facilities, and on death row.

Only changes like those can convince followers of the historical Jesus that the White House is “one of the safest places in the world to be a Christian.” Only changes like those can make this “one of the great Easters ever.”

On Faith, Wokeness, & DEI

Readings for the Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time: Jeremiah 19:5-8; Psalm 1:1-6; 1 Corinthians 15: 12, 16-20; Luke 6: 17, 20-26

This Sunday’s readings reject the anti-DEI, anti-Wokeness memes of what Marianne Williamson calls the Trump/Musk power couple.

The selected texts remind us that the natural order is one of diversity, universal love, and complete inclusion (DEI) that prioritizes the needs of women, children, immigrants, and former slaves. As we’ll see, the tradition is outspokenly anti-rich and demands reparations.

The readings also suggest the truth recognized in all major faith traditions that awakening to such reality (rather than remaining asleep) is the whole point of the human project aimed at transcending childish egocentrism and ethnocentrism. The point is what our black brothers and sisters call being “woke.” Even more, it’s to achieve world centrism and ultimately cosmic centrism that understand and respect the unity of all creation.

By contrast, putting oneself first, putting one’s country first, idolizing wealth and the power it brings are all condemned in the teachings of Yeshua.

In other words, the Judeo-Christian tradition represented in today’s readings roundly rejects the villainizing of DEI and wokeness. Even more, they call Yeshua’s followers to a class consciousness and a fundamental option for the world’s poor and oppressed against the rich whom Yeshua condemns in no uncertain terms.

Let me show you what I mean in terms of class consciousness and the warfare of the rich against the poor.

Class Warfare

Whereas in the past it might have been possible to argue that we live in a classless society, that is no longer the case. The accession of Donald Trump to the office of president has rendered such argument moot. The man has declared war on the poor.

Think about the brazenness of it all.

I mean, after the display at Trump’s inauguration, it is now impossible for anyone to deny that Elon Musk and other billionaires play powerful roles in calling the shots. The shot callers include Donald Trump himself, Musk, Mark Zukerberg, Jeff Bezos, Tim Cook of Apple, and Sundar Pichai of Google. All of them were there occupying prominent seats the day that Trump took office. At times it even appears that Elon Musk, the world’s richest man, rather than Mr. Trump is our country’s president. Our system is undeniably plutocratic.

And what is the basic argument of these people? Simply put, it is that THE RICH DON’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY, WHILE THE UNDESERVING POOR AND MIDDLE CLASS HAVE TOO MUCH MONEY.

They’re convinced that the world’s and our country’s problems are caused by the poorest people on the planet. Accordingly, we’re expected to believe that:

In a country of 320 million people, 12 to 15 million impoverished, undocumented, hardworking, tax-paying refugees are “invaders” and bringing us all down.
The U.S. with 4.5% of the world’s population (along with its European fellow colonialists) has a God-given right to control the entire planet.
Those formerly colonized in Latin America, Africa, and Asia should be sanctioned for uniting (e,g,, in BRICS+) to seek non-violent rectification of the colonial system that has impoverished them for more than 500 years.
The wealthy South African cohorts of their erstwhile countryman, Elon Musk, are now victims of black South Africans who must be sanctioned for treating them unfairly.
Uniformity, inequity, and exclusion are American and Christian values as opposed to diversity, equity, and inclusion.
It’s ludicrous to awaken (become woke) to the absurdity of it all.

Let me say that again: All of this (and so much more) provides unmistakable evidence of the wealthy’s conviction that THE RICH DON’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY, WHILE THE POOR HAVE TOO MUCH MONEY.

Think about it a bit further. To increase their money supply, the billionaires want lower taxes, less government regulation of their businesses, and continued subsidies to their corporations maintained or increased. Correspondingly, they want “wasteful” programs like those funding Medicaid, HeadStart, food stamps, and public schooling curtailed or eliminated. Even Social Security is questioned. For the rich, minimum wages are an abomination as are unions and the so-called “right” to collective bargaining. The rich see all such government programs and organizing as wasteful, i.e., as excessively enriching the lives of the undeserving poor.

Yes: For the upper class, THE RICH DON’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY, WHILE THE POOR HAVE TOO MUCH MONEY. That’s what they believe! It can’t be said often enough.

It’s all a declaration of class warfare.

Today’s Readings

Today’s readings contradict all that. Look at my “translations” and summaries immediately below. Compare them with the originals here to see if I got them right.

Jeremiah 17:5-8: In the early 6th century BCE, the great prophet Jeremiah foretold the defeat of his people by the Babylonians (modern day Iraq) because of Judah’s social injustices and moral decay. Of course, his message of doom brought him death threats and cancellation. In today’s reading he says: We who pretend to be God’s People are cursed because we’ve prioritized the wisdom of the world (flesh) over the insights of the heart. Our failure to recognize the rhythms of history makes us like a dried-up bush in a parched desert. Only our hearts’ return to the Divine Mother-Father and to the Mosaic Covenant (that prioritizes the needs of the poor, widows, orphans, and immigrants) will restore our identity as a mighty tree planted near clear running water.

Psalm 1: 1-6: Yes, God’s law commands care for the poor, the widows, the orphans and immigrants. These are God’s “Chosen People” just as Israel once was when it too was poor and enslaved in Egypt. Then their hope was in the Great I Am rather than in the wisdom of Egyptian slavers with their wicked, sinful, and insolent oppression of Yahweh’s chosen. Never forget that. Such mindfulness will insure prosperity for all. Be encouraged too by the fact that the rich and powerful oppressors will inevitably be blown away like chaff in the wind. Blessed be the hope of the poor!

1 Corinthians 15: 12, 16-20: Yeshua’s return from the realm of the dead cannot be denied without destroying the faith and hope of the poor. He is the quintessential avatar of the poor and oppressed brought back to life from “death” that is no more than a temporary slumber. Alleluia!!

Luke 6: 17, 20-26: In the Gospel of Luke, Matthew’s “Sermon on the Mount” is delivered “on a stretch level ground.” Also, Matthew’s “Blessed are the poor in spirit” becomes a more down-to-earth “Blessed are you who are poor.” In both cases however, the penniless Yeshua promised ultimate political triumph, abundant food, joy, and heaven on earth to the poor, the hungry, the tearful, despised, excluded, insulted, and demonized. (He promises reparations!) Moreover, he cursed the overfed, apparently joyful rich and famous. In Yeshua’s Great Reversal, the rich are destined to be hungry, disconsolate, in tears, and disgraced. (Take that Messrs. Pilate, Herod, and Revs. Anas and Caiaphas! Take that Messrs. Musk and Trump and Rev. Huckabee!)

Conclusion

In an interview with NPR, Evangelical Christian leader Russell Moore said that several pastors had told him disturbing stories about their congregants being upset when the ministers read from the “Sermon on the Mount ” where as we’ve just seen (in Luke’s “Sermon on the Plain”) Yeshua favors the poor over the rich.

“Multiple pastors tell me, essentially, the same story about quoting Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount – [and] to have someone come up after to say, ‘Where did you get those liberal talking points?”

Moore added: “And what was alarming to me is that in most of these scenarios, when the pastor would say, ‘I’m literally quoting Jesus Christ, the response would be, ‘Yes, but that doesn’t work anymore. That’s weak.”

But here are Yeshua’s words:

“Blessed are you who are poor,
                        for the kingdom of God is yours.
            Blessed are you who are now hungry,
                        for you will be satisfied.
            Blessed are you who are now weeping,
                        for you will laugh.
            Blessed are you when people hate you,
                        and when they exclude and insult you,
                        and denounce your name as evil
                        on account of the Son of Man.
Rejoice and leap for joy on that day!
Behold, your reward will be great in heaven.
For their ancestors treated the prophets in the same way.
            But woe to you who are rich,
                        for you have received your consolation.
            Woe to you who are filled now,
                        for you will be hungry.
            Woe to you who laugh now,
                        for you will grieve and weep.
            Woe to you when all speak well of you,
                        for their ancestors treated the false prophets in this way.”

Like Bishop Budde, Jesus’ Wokeness Infuriated His Neighbors

Readings for the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time: Nehemiah 8:2-4a, 5-6, 8-10; Psalm 19: 8,9, 10, 15; I Corinthians 12: 12-14, 27; Luke 1: 1-4, 4: 14-21

Last Tuesday Episcopal Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde infuriated Donald Trump and JD Vance at Trump’s inaugural prayer service at the National Cathedral in Washington. She did so by echoing in her sermon the Spirit of Yeshua of Nazareth whom this Sunday’s Gospel reading depicts as delivering his own inaugural address to his former neighbors in his hometown of Nazareth.

Bishop Budde’s words asked Mr. Trump “in the name of our God” to “have mercy” on LGBTQ people and immigrants targeted by his policies. Her words chimed with those of her Master who in his programmatic words proclaimed his work as directed towards outsiders – the poor, the blind, the imprisoned, oppressed, and indebted.

Evidently, Messrs. Trump and Vance prefer their version of God and a Jesus who puts America first. They seem to consider Americans (and Zionists) as somehow “chosen” by a God who joins them in despising those with non-binary sexual orientations. Instead of welcoming strangers (as Bishop Budde put it in tune with oft-repeated biblical injunctions) their God would build walls and evict them from our midst.

Ironically, the Trump/Vance position is not far from that articulated by Ezra, Israel’s 6^th century BCE priest and scribe who invented the concept of a genocidal Israel as God’s chosen one. (You can read a summary of Ezra’s words immediately below.)

So, predictably, Mr. Trump and his followers (like Yeshua’s contemporaries rejecting him) wasted no time in vilifying Bishop Budde.

Instead, she deserves our admiration and imitation as a woman of vast integrity and courage. Let me show you what I mean.

Today’s Readings

Nehemiah 8:2-4a, 5-6, 8-10

Following the Jews’ return from the Babylonian exile (586-538), the Jewish priest and scribe, Ezra rewrote the Hebrew’s largely oral traditions that eventually became their Bible. He unified those narratives about mysterious beings called “Elohim.” These were human or perhaps extraterrestrial “Powerful Ones,” some good-willed, some malevolent, who had never been universally considered divine. In Hebrew oral tradition, they had variously been called by names such as “Elohim,” “El,” “El Shaddai,” “Ruach,” Baal, and Yahweh. Ezra unified and rewrote those traditions as if all of them were about Israel’s now “divine” Powerful One (Yahweh). The tales included divinely authorized genocides of Palestinians (identified in biblical texts as Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites, Jebusites, Geshurites, Maacaathites, and Philistines). All of them had lived in the “Holy Land” long before the arrival of the ex-slave invaders from Egypt who ruthlessly decimated their numbers in the name of their Powerful One. In Nehemiah chapter 8, Ezra is depicted as spending half a day reading his conflated narrative [now called “The Law” (Torah)] to Israel’s “men, women, and those children old enough to understand.” The new narrative brings everyone to tears as a nationalistic and exclusive consciousness dawns that Yahweh-God had chosen them as his special people.

Psalm 19: 8,9, 10, 15

Despite the genocides, the people praised Yahweh’s words as simple, perfect, refreshing, trustworthy, wise, illuminating, pure, eternal, true, and completely just. They identified Ezra’s words as Spirit and Life.

I Corinthians 12: 12-14, 27

Yeshua, however, never called his Heavenly Father “Yahweh.” Instead, he (and his principal prophet Paul) understood God as a Divine Parent, the Creator of all things, the “One in whom we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). Yeshua (and Paul) rejected the idea of “Special People” in favor of all humanity as comprising One Human Body. For both men, no part of that Body (even the least presentable) was better or more important than any other. For Paul and Yeshua, Jews and non-Jews were the same. So were slaves and free persons. In fact, for Yeshua’s followers, those the world considers less honorable should be treated “with greater propriety.”

Luke 1: 1-4, 4: 14-21

In the first sermon of his public life, Yeshua addressed his former neighbors. He was asked to read from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah (a contemporary of Ezra) who dissented from genocides and mistreatment of captives. Here’s what Yeshua read:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring glad tidings to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord.“
Rolling up the scroll, he handed it back to the attendant and sat down,
and the eyes of all in the synagogue looked intently at him.
He said to them,
“Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.”

When his neighbors heard his words, they wanted to kill him. Who did he think he was?! Everyone knows God favors the rich, not the poor. Just look at the Great Ones’ gaudy lifestyles and possessions. And those people in prison deserved to be there. Once freed, they’d threaten us all. And besides, the blind were sightless because of some sin they or their parents had committed. They deserved their lot in life. As for “the oppressed . . . There are no “victims.” Everyone knows that. Victimology is a hoax. Who did this Yeshua think he was?! Let’s kill him.

Conclusion

Yes, Yeshua, like Bishop Budde confronted his contemporaries to champion the One in whom we live and move and have our being.” For Yeshua that Divine One considers all humankind a single indivisible body. For him this meant incorporating those his world wanted to amputate as outsiders, invaders, criminals, and as official enemies like Samaritans, tax collectors, street walkers, the poor, imprisoned, the sightless, oppressed and indebted.

In Yeshua’s spirit, Bishop Budde urges incorporation of immigrants, LGBT outcasts, and official enemies such as the Palestinians, Russians, Chinese, Iranians, North Koreans, Venezuelans, Nicaraguans, Cubans, Syrians, Iraqis, Afghans, Somalis, Sudanese, Libyans, etc. etc. None of them is our enemy. All of them, she says with Yeshua and Paul, are closer to us than our brothers and sisters. They are parts of our own bodies. None can be amputated.

Such universalism, such wakefulness always infuriates those who would divide and rule over us. It angers as well ordinary people (like Yeshua’s neighbors) who have been brainwashed into accepting prevailing nationalistic understandings of the Bible’s often genocidal “God.”

Today’s readings call us to wake up! Bishop Budde’s got it right. Trump and Vance are heretics.

It’s Christmas & Jesus Remains Buried in the Rubble

It’s Christmas again.
And Jesus is still under the rubble
In Gaza
(Just like last year).

He’s on an operating table
There
Having his infant arms and legs
Sawed off
Without anesthesia.
Screaming for his 
Already dismembered mother
Who’s been blown away
By the U.S. and Israel.
He’ll never kiss her again
Or feel her warm embrace.

All but forgotten 
By holiday revelers
With mindless
“Merry Christmases!!”

Meanwhile Zionists weaponize the Bible
So the slaughter might continue.
Christians do the same
Singing maudlin carols
They don’t understand
And buying silly trinkets 
In Wal-Mart.
As if God were Santa Claus,
A billionaire,
Or a racist killer.

Worse still:
As if God were 
A genocidal Amerikan!

It’s as if Yeshua were not
Piss poor
And homeless at birth
Considered by imperialists
As no more than an “animal” 
Among stable asses and oxen,
The son of a disgraced 
Unwed teenage mother, 
An underpaid construction worker,
A drunken friend of prostitutes
Houseless as an adult 
The sworn enemy 
Of the Jewish power establishment
And the rich 
That wanted that child
From nowheresville 
Slaughtered.

(Good Christians don't like people like that)

As if Yeshua were just another 
Palestinian street rat,
And not
An unwelcome refugee in Egypt,
A terrorist in Roman eyes,
Their inmate on death row,
 A victim of torture
And capital punishment.

“Good riddance,” 
The Romans said
Just like us.

And the whole world
Wasn’t watching then either.
Few noticed
Or cared.

But should we open our eyes
We’d see a Yeshua 
So much more
Than that.

He came to serve the poor.
He said.
God’s kingdom would be theirs
So would the entire earth.
Not Elon’s or Gates’ (Luke 6:24)
Or Amerika’s
Who’s blindness and arrogance
Deserves eternal damnation 
Rather than the accolades
The world bestows on 
Such fools 
Along with Herod and Pilate
Anas and Caiaphas.

______

The pastor of Bethlehem’s
Christmas Church said
Something like that
In his own Christmas sermon
This year
Just like the one
Few noticed
When he said it
Last year.

Here’s his Xmas creche

Here’s Pope Francis with his Jesus 
In a keffiyeh-lined crib:

This year
Listen
To these holy men
And to Yeshua’s silenced voice
In the Sacred Land
Of Palestine.

Once again,
The real
Christmas Story
Is unfolding 
There
Before our very eyes.

My Tarot Journey from Priest to Satanist

Well, it’s happened. My practice of Tarot reading has converted me into a satanist.

On the one hand Tarot has caused me to recognize that the God I was raised to worship (and to preach as a priest) is more like the devil depicted in Tarot’s 15^th Major arcana card.

And on the other hand, the cards have helped me see that the devil represents a suppressed aspect of my dark side that (in the understanding of Carl Jung) contains a kind of gold I’m being called to mine. In some sense, Satan is my friend.

All of this has led me to reject the God of my youth (and to some extent of my priesthood) while embracing as a quasi-friend Satan himself.

Let me explain.

The Devil Card

To begin with, here’s the Devil as depicted in the Rider, Waite, Smith (RWS) Tarot Deck.

What do you see here?

Straight away, I notice that its number 15 stands for a trifecta of strife (3 X 5 – with 5 being the Tarot’s number of conflict). The card depicts conflict with (1) the world, (2) the flesh, and (3) the devil himself.

Next, I see that black is the card’s dominant color – representing one’s dark side, death, destruction, and negativity.

The main figure in the card is a satyric monster half man and half beast. His face is fear-inspiring with monstrous horns jutting from his head. His right hand is raised in a mudra which says, “what you see is what you get.”

An inverted pentagram (which in upright form represents virtue and good) forms the monster’s “halo,” but in its inverted form is just the opposite.

In the card’s depiction, the monster reigns over a naked man and an unclothed woman. The heads of both are horned – a clear connection to the horned devil’s mind. The female figure’s tail is tipped with grapes, a vineyard sign of pleasure and intoxication. The tail of her gender opposite is inflamed directly from the torch the devil holds inverted in his left hand. The man’s passions are on fire in the presence of the disrobed woman.

Both the man and the woman are chained by their necks to the pillar from which the monster presides. The chains are loose and could easily be removed. But evidently, the humans either don’t perceive this or don’t want to escape their bondage.

In summary, the card portrays the human body and sexuality as somehow problematic. Both are intimately connected with the Spirit of Evil, with enslavement, and ambiguity about the whole affair.

God As Enemy

Personally, the more I contemplate the card, the more I see Christianity’s traditional God rather than the devil. That God was presented as creator, lawgiver, judge, condemner, and punisher.

He was fear-inspiring, wasn’t he? After all, his principal concern was understood as connected with the “sins of the flesh.” And he made us all feel guilty (or at least uncomfortable) with sexual thoughts, words, and deeds.

All of that flew in the face of common-sense recognition of sex and propagation of the species as humanity’s second most powerful drive (after self-preservation).

It was as if devilish priests and theologians had transformed an unparalleled good into an unparalled evil to keep penitents under their control, coming to confession, and paying for the indulgences that Martin Luther and others found so odious.

III

Satan As Friend

Don’t be turned off by the idea of Satan as friend. It’s quite biblical. For instance, in the book of Job, Satan is portrayed as God’s counsellor. He’s a realist who for instance (in the Book of Job) bets the Divine One that if Job comes on extremely hard times, he will abandon his virtue and show his true colors as just another fair-weather saint.

For his part, Carl Jung saw the devil as representing aspects of God. The former as well as the latter is part of the Life Force. As a psychological phenomenon the devil embodies suppressed dark forces that are part of every human personality. In Jung’s sense, he’s the “Left Hand of God.”

Think of what we’ve been taught about the “Seven Deadly Sins.” Tradition has it that they’re pride, greed, envy, anger, lust, sloth, and gluttony. None of us wants to acknowledge that such forces are inevitable parts of our personalities. So, we spend a great deal of time pretending they belong to others but not to us. We spend our life force suppressing their influence on us. Inevitably though they bubble to the surface and express themselves periodically.

Jung calls us not only to face our inner destructive forces, but to embrace them. There’s gold in our dark side, he teaches.

What did he mean by that? Yes, he acknowledges that in the extreme any one of the Seven Deadly Sins can destroy our lives. But under conscious control, they can also enrich us with the gold they contain. For instance, properly acknowledged, accepted, and controlled

Pride can be a source of self-esteem that preventing one from acquiescing to abuse by the disrespectful.
Greed under control can cause workers to organize in pursuit of higher wages and safer working conditions.
A productive amount of Envy can drive us to imitate the Christ, and saintly figures like Gandhi, King, Malcolm, Dorothy Day, Rosa Parks, and Mother Theresa.
Justified Anger can lead us to demonstrate against the genocide now perpetrated by Zionists and the United States in Palestine.
Lust can help us appreciate the gift of sex and the pleasure it brings.
Holy Sloth can keep us from endorsing our culture’s worship of “productivity,” the rat race, and overwork. It can drive workers to organize for more time off, longer vacations, and family leave for new parents.
Gluttony can help us become slow food cooks and appreciators of wines and spirits. It can turn us against fast food saturated with sugar and salt.

Conclusion

So, the next time the devil card turns up in your Tarot reading, don’t be frightened. It can serve as a reminder that God is not primarily creator, lawgiver, judge, condemner, and punisher. All of that is diabolical. Instead, the Divine One is the total of all the energy in the universe and in the universe of universes. That includes the energy of consciousness even to the extent that She is aware of each one of us and can be addressed as Thou. She wants only the fullness of life for each of us.

On the other hand (God’s Left Hand?) Satan is in some sense our brother and friend. True, he is never satisfied with temperance, harmony, and balance (Tarot’s 14^th major arcana card). However, there is gold in his Seven Deadly Sins. With controlled expression, they can drive us towards healthy self-esteem, just recompense for our work, the idealism of imitating the Christ, unwillingness to endorse genocide, an appreciation of sexual pleasure, the joy of doing nothing, and appreciation of the gifts of food and drink.