Dear People of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA):    

On June 1, 2020, peaceful protestors in our capitol’s Lafayette Square were persuaded by tear gas to give Donald Trump a clear path to St. John’s Episcopal Church’s parish house, where he brandished a Bible. Trump worried this relic as if wondering what it might be and examined the binding. Had he ever searched its pages for a handhold against despair or light in a shadowy hour? Seems unlikely.

Trump lost in 2020 to Biden. Now, in 2025, Trump is back. In this his second coming, he has no need for a religious photo-op. He is POTUS, emboldened by election victory and a jaw-dropping Supreme Court decision:

Under our constitutional structure of separated powers, the nature of Presidential power entitles a former President to absolute immunity from criminal prosecution for actions within his conclusive and preclusive constitutional authority. And he is entitled to at least presumptive immunity from prosecution for all his official acts. There is no immunity for unofficial acts.

Of course, Trump’s every act will be official. Addressing the E. Jean Carroll sexual assault case, his lawyer, D. John Sauer, said, “Presidential immunity forecloses any liability here and requires the complete dismissal of all claims.” So much for Theodore Roosevelt’s “no man is above the law.”

For America to be great, our Declaration of Independence and Constitution must not only be inscribed in documents but also written on our hearts. My point here is subtle, but critical. If Americans don’t snap to when the standards of good conduct envisioned by our founders and nurtured into normalcy by our three branches of government are trampled underfoot, then we should be alarmed.

Bravery fails us if we don’t speak the truth. Dr. Heather Cox Richardson knew immediately the dangers of the SCOTUS’s immunity decision: “People don’t recognize what a big deal this is. This isn’t an adjustment in the law. This is a change in our entire constitutional system. It says that there is one of the three branches of government that cannot be checked by the other two.” What the Boston College historian understood from scholarship millions of garden variety patriots knew in their bones.  

I’m a Lutheran pastor. For conscientious folks of this denomination, we hope certain words on our hearts can be read—those of America’s founding documents as well as the 783,137 in the Bible, by King James’ count. In trying times like these, we get clumsy flipping through Scripture as if through a Rolodex for objections to obvious lies and transparently reprehensible actions. At the same time, just as Americans who have studied history to escape repeating it, children of Martin Luther who pray to have the Word of Life “engraved on their hearts” aren’t easily bamboozled.

When the Bible is being used as a prop, we can tell. We are common sinners, but in many sleepless nights we’ve opened the fragile, yet mighty, chapters in search of hope. Like everyone else, we can be our own worst enemies. Still, the book that President Donald Trump once waved about as if to flash his Christian core now requires our defense.

We’ve studied nourishing, challenging translations. We’ve allowed ourselves to be corrected and confronted by their difficult wisdom—with embarrassingly uneven success. We know the difference between Scripture being reverenced as sacred and abused by the nefarious.

Vice President J. D. Vance placed himself in the latter class recently by opining about love: “There is a Christian concept that you love your family and then you love your neighbor, and then you love your community, and then you love your fellow citizens, and then after that, prioritize the rest of the world. A lot of the far left has completely inverted that.”

Vance does make earthly sense, but that’s the problem. Christian love doesn’t make earthly sense. Any definition of love that prioritizes some people over others neither comprehends nor embraces the reckless, self-sacrificial love of God. We resist loving by category. Love that puts a turnstile between human beings and their Creator is fraudulent. Such is our Lutheran conviction.

Once the Vice President finished schooling us, retired Army Lieutenant General Michael Flynn followed up by smearing ELCA ministries that provide services to legal immigrants and refugees. He posted on X, “Now it’s the ‘Lutheran’ faith (this use of ‘religion’ as a money laundering operation must end).” He referenced specific dollar amounts, but no evidence of money laundering. Why bother? If his goal was to sow doubt and suspicion, then mission accomplished. According to Rev. Stephen Bouman, the ELCA’s Executive Director of Domestic Mission, “The finances of [Lutheran Services in America] are publicly accountable. Anyone can see their tax reports (990s) at anytime online.” Will Flynn’s followers verify his claims? Or ask what inspired the air quotes around Lutheran? Doubtful.

J. D. Vance’s biblical “scholarship” and Michael Flynn’s legal opinions are but two snowflakes in a blizzard of falsehood and foolishness. Unfortunately, they hold a distressing advantage over millions of Americans who seek facts and honesty: Lies require little work. Throw them down, and they take over like kudzu. Meanwhile, clearing them is an arduous and often vexed effort.

Even so, my Lutheran sisters and brothers, here we find ourselves. The mayhem being visited upon America is breathtaking in speed and scope. Keeping track of what is being demolished and whose lives may be upended feels impossible.

What can we do? What is possible? I’ve never been one to go looking for trouble; moreover, when trouble has stood before me over the last ten years or so, I’ve kept my own counsel. When parishioners and friends have said what I know to be false or misguided, I’ve stayed quiet.

My dysfunctional peacekeeping has passed, and my day of candor has arrived. Rage and rancor are neither faithful nor productive. What’s needed is simple honesty, spoken with love. Put differently, I begin here: The words written on my heart have to start coming out of my mouth. Who’s with me?

Shalom,

Pastor John Coleman

St. John’s Lutheran Church

Oniontown, Pennsylvania

February 6, 2025