Opinion

Even while wrestling with lament, I’ve wanted to move toward contributing to addressing injustice to counter the pervasive injustice that occupies so much of our news. But I’ve just not known how. I’ve felt that nothing in my sphere of direct influence is grand enough to move any kind of needle.

But being a faithful follower of Christ is, in fact, less about giving a virtuoso solo performance and more often playing a small part in a great work we cannot fully comprehend.

Amid the fragile ceasefire, the exchange of hostages, and the temporary pause in Israel’s genocidal onslaught against Gazans, nearly six hundred Christians huddle together in one of Gaza’s battered churches, their prayers rising above the rubble as a defiant testament to their faith and resilience. Among them, Gazan Christian George Antone boldly declares, “For us, as Christians, we are not leaving Gaza. We will remain in Gaza and help people in Gaza reconstruct their houses, rebuild the streets. Yes, we will stay in Gaza. We are not leaving.”

Antone’s words stand in stark contrast to the explosive press conference at the White House on Feb. 4, when President Donald Trump brazenly suggested that the United States should “effectively own” Gaza, proposing to turn it into a real estate venture while displacing Palestinians from their homeland and relocating them to neighboring countries.

In the weeks leading up to the inauguration, Sojourners’ 41st class of fellows gathered to study bell hooks’ prophetic book All About Love . In her writing, hooks not only exposes the structures underpinning systems of oppression but illuminates paths toward dismantling them. Her primary tactic is one we don’t hear much about these days: love.

Published in 1999, All About Love could just as easily have been written amid today’s political upheaval. Hooks calls out fear as a defining issue of our time: “As a culture we are obsessed with the notion of safety. Yet we do not question why we live in states of extreme anxiety and dread. Fear is the primary force upholding structures of domination.”

The fight to save the planet isn't over yet, but it will look different under Trump. Can Christians lead the charge? 

This January, Trump was once again sworn in as president of the United States, propelled to office by the unwavering support of countless evangelical Christians.

For me, the results of the 2024 presidential election felt like the punchline to an incredibly cruel joke. I grew up in the church and still remember the lessons taught to me by my old mentors. I was told that following Jesus meant that truth mattered, justice mattered, how I treated women mattered, and how I treated my neighbor mattered. Later, when I came out as a gay man, my Christian peers insisted that I put aside my personal feelings and desires in the name of biblical fidelity. I spent years of my life making painful and irreversible sacrifices in order to do what I thought was right at the time. Then Trump came along, and suddenly the narrative changed — truth was pliable, character was irrelevant, and justice was getting in the way of “winning.”

Trump's barrage of executive orders, policy decisions and campaign appointments is overwhelming in its extremism. It is designed to provoke a feeling of panicked helplessness among those who oppose his plans for immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, and other targets of his vision for our country. But we do not have to give Trump what he wants and, by staying rooted in our faith, can undermine his campaign of shock and awe.

Progressive churches or worship communities often present as accepting places — displaying LGBTQ+ flags or signs on their property or preaching messages that emphasize accepting and affirming LGBTQ+ people. Those are good places to start. But as the U.S. government escalates its discrimination against trans people, it is also necessary that religious communities escalate their support of the trans community. For communities that want to stand in solidarity with trans people, here are five additional action steps that you and your religious community can take.

As we enter a second Donald Trump presidency, the stakes could not be higher for undocumented people and asylum seekers in this country. Having promised mass deportations to a degree never attempted in the United States, President-elect Trump’s new border czar, Tom Homan, has signaled that the administration’s cruelty will begin in my backyard — Chicago. What he might not be counting on is organized resistance from labor, faith, and immigration leaders that will attempt to thwart these plans.

Since his death, Carter’s remarkable life and numerous accomplishments have been rightly celebrated, including the Camp David Accords, a historic nuclear weapons treaty, major environmental protection legislation, the release of political prisoners, the near-eradication of  the Guinea worm, aid in conducting free and fair elections in dozens of countries around the world, and decades of volunteer service with Habitat for Humanity. But despite this impressive legacy, what most inspires me about Carter was how he applied his faith to the messiness of politics, both during his time in the White House and in his many years after — a model that we desperately need today in our increasingly polarized and vitriolic politics.