It’s the Fourth of July, a day for us to celebrate the birth of our nation and be grateful for our freedom and for those who fought to secure it and preserve it. Like most people, I treasure that freedom, especially my religious freedom and my right to seek, speak and write about the people that Jesus would embrace and those He might well throw out of the temple.
I’m especially grateful, no doubt because I know all too well the price that so many men and women in our armed forces have paid for our freedom. They’ve lost their lives or their limbs or their hearing or their sight. Far too many have lost their families, their homes, and hope. Untold thousands have yet to access the benefits they were promised, including health care and treatment for post-traumatic stress order and traumatic brain injury. And far too many cannot stop reliving the memories or endure the pain and so end their own lives. So while I’m grateful, I don’t feel like celebrating when the nation I love is in trouble. Deep trouble. We have a nightmare on our southern border, where thousands of men, women, and children are jammed into packed cages, living in squalor without adequate food, water, clothing, or the basic necessities of life. I see the faces of those children on television and I hear their cries in my nightmares.
P.S. For those who may not be familiar with the above passage, Jesus did NOT mean for the children to suffer. He welcomed them, and so should we.