The last time this happened, I met two more ministers in a bottle shop. The owner opened early for us. We lined up with bags under our eyes, proof that we’d been staying up late, watching news broadcasts and refreshing our phone screens. Stress, anxiety, disbelief on our faces. We sat in silence. None of us knew where to start; We spent the next few minutes baptizing our lips with beer.

When I looked out the window I saw trees. There was no trace of autumn leaves left. What remained of the leaves looked like sailors clinging to the railings of a ship in choppy waters. Their color explosion, change and transformation are over.

Justin Cox

So is mine. So was the United States.

“I think we need something a little stronger,” I said.

I pulled the bottle of blueberries whiskey from my bag. The owner didn’t say a word while we walked him around. When the soul came to his presence, he too took a sip.

For the next hour we aired our complaints and shared our shock. As we sipped our beers, we passed WTF looks at each other like deacons serving plates on a Sunday morning.

We all had places to go, but no one made any move to leave. If I had a dollar for every time one of us said, “I can’t believe this,” I’d have enough for another bottle of hooch. Finally, with each of us having a higher blood alcohol concentration and a lower level of hope, we decided to face the world. We walked into an afternoon where the sun was out but no light could be seen or felt.

“This wasn’t his first lie, it was just his next lie.”

The date was November 9, 2016. Hillary Clinton had just given her concession speech. Shortly thereafter, Donald Trump declared that he would be president for all Americans.

This wasn’t his first lie, just his next one.

The next four years were as surreal as that day in the bottle shop. Hostile, unconventional tweets at all hours of the night; US withdrawal from the Paris Agreement; The pile-up that led to the collapse of the Supreme Court Roe v. wade. Stormy Daniels scandal. Abuse of pardon power. Constant demand for loyalty. Personnel are shooting left and right. I could go on, but I’ll stop with his refusal to accept defeat in the 2020 election, his fueling of conspiracy theories, and his role in the attack on the U.S. Capitol on January 6.

But when the smoke clears and when Biden entered the White House in January 2021, I thought Trump would disappear like a pesky hemorrhoid, but he was persistent. No amount of Preparation H or accusations can stop him. He started the campaign the same year. The shenanigans continued, “Let’s Go Brandon” sales soared, and the MAGA following grew. Along with its name, Project 2025 and Christian nationalism were also mentioned. Ahead of his 2024 election showdown with Kamala Harris, warnings about the consequences of Trump’s victory and the death of democracy began to fly.

None of it mattered.

Like most people, I watched it on Tuesday night. battleground states turned pink and then red. I started watching the episodes around midnight. A Chef’s Life on PBS. I drifted off but woke up before the sun rose and saw the writing on the wall.

We, as a country, consciously and ignorantly decided to walk backwards.

We, as a country, consciously and ignorantly decided to walk backwards.

Wednesday morning I drove the half mile to my office. As I walked onto Main Street in the historic downtown area, I watched town workers erect large American flags along the streets in preparation for Veterans Day. There were 50 more flags in the green area of ​​the village. Even though I knew the reason was tied to the federal holiday, I couldn’t help but think of their existence cynically.

After talking to the office manager; I slumped into my desk chair. Wednesdays are usually when I start fleshing out a sermon. Even though I was mostly a preacher who lectured, I felt compelled to let the Spirit lead me as he saw fit.

I found something about sin, power, and encountering the divine in the wilderness. I started writing but I knew I was missing something; hope.

I understand that my duty as a pastor is to be a harbinger of hope. I will give hope to those I shepherd. Proclaiming messages of love, compassion and hope is a priority. I do this not because it is my job and what is expected, but because I believe that if a minister cannot share his message of hope, he is in the wrong line of work. On my good days, I believe this and live it. This is possible because we are part of a beloved creation and the Holy Spirit connects us and calls us to live for hope.

But this is not one of the better days; My hope is insufficient. It makes me want to replace it with something else until it comes back.

Instead of hope, I want to preach about people like Nate Turner.

I want to preach, no petition, followers of the vile Galileans coming out of their sanctuaries with their arms locked like King, Rustain and Lewis during Emancipation Summer.

I want to preach the sanctity of the Stone Wall Riots.

I want to preach about Thomas Helwys and that Baptists do not need a king, Caesar, or president, but only Jesus.

I want to preach prophecies against the nations like the prophets of old like Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah. I want to cry out for justice like Amos.

I want to preach, I don’t want to scream like Katniss Everdeen – If we burn, you burn with us.

“The church says ‘Amen!’ “I want to preach white supremacy from the pulpit until I scream, dammit.”

The church says “Amen!” I want to preach white supremacy from the pulpit until I scream, damn it.

I want to preach to evangelicals You can’t serve Trump And Jesus.

I want to tell them how my daughter, lying in bed, bursts into tears every night when she thinks about the bad people in our world. Those who want to harm him do not listen to him and take away his rights.

I want to preach how it is time to decide to be in the first of the Reich Church or the Confessing Church.

I want to preach and shout about the hypocrisy of the so-called Christian nation.

I want to preach how the Great American Experiment was weighed, measured, and found wanting. We failed.

I want to preach this: “Can you do it? can you forgive us father? Even though we knew exactly what we were doing?”

And I want to preach, no, I confess, I don’t see any hope in the American church right now.

I pray that others can hope for me until I succeed again.

Justin Cox He received his theological education from Campbell University and Wake Forest University School of Theology. He is an ordained minister affiliated with the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship and is enrolled in the Doctor of Ministry program at McAfee Theological Seminary. When she’s not spending time with her husband and daughters, she can be found writing and cooking late into the night. He currently lives in New England with his family. His thoughts and reflections are his own.

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