Every day, I struggle. I open my computer and against my better judgment I read the Washington Post and the New York Times. It is not the best way to start out the morning. I really need to develop a different habit.

Never in my life have I been more aware of the moral foundation from which people operate. Apparently, many of the people who elected our current administration hold the moral foundation that there is no greater moral good than to protect the integrity of their tribe or the teachings of their gods.

Unfortunately, it appears some of those at the highest levels government are operating without any moral foundation. Their moral code is in service to nothing but their own ego and its tyrannical desire for just two things – power and safety. (By the way, every ego’s tyrannical desire is for power and safety. It’s why we need to grow beyond our ego.)

Then there is another half of the nation, the half without much power, the half that still operates from the moral standard that gave birth to Western Civilization. It is the moral standard baked into the Magna Carta and the Declaration of Independence. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights. That among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

I typed that quote from memory. I think part of the problem is that most Americans could not type that quote from memory. In fact, many have no idea those words are from the Declaration of Independence, or even what the Declaration of Independence is. I’m not sure, but I think it’s possible the only reason my grandkids know those words is because they have virtually memorized the entire libretto of Hamilton, which is a good thing. Public schools barely teach civics anymore.

My discouragement is turning into hopelessness. That is dangerous. I’ve spoken on NPR and in live venues from Washington, D.C. to San Francisco about solutions to the current crisis. I spoke to a group of 35 Colorado mayors, most of whom held my perspective on politics. Outside of my keynote, most of their time was devoted to the loss of federal funding for most their social service programs.

That event took place in February, when I still had fight in me. Since January I’ve been talking with folks from TED about potentially doing a TED Talk on the working title of my new book, When the Enemy is You – Responding with an Open Mind, a Receptive Spirit, and an Inquiring Soul.

The new book, speaking wherever I can, serving as Mayor Pro Tem – all are attempts to make a difference. But with each passing week I become less motivated. The overwhelming onslaught of self-centered, bigoted decisions with international consequences has overwhelmed me.

I fear I am headed into the place called, “Without Hope.” “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here” is the inscription above the gates of hell in Dante’s Inferno. I am afraid it has become the inscription above the gates of the entryway into the United States.

I am weary. Give me a way to fight and I will fight. Give me an articulate leader to follow, one not beholden to the right or the far left, and I will follow. Give me someone who believes in the Declaration of Independence and the future of our nation and I will do my part.

In Matthew 16:18 Jesus talked about a church so effective even the gates of hell could not withstand its onslaught. It is time for that church to rise up. If only I understood the part I am to play.

I’ve always preferred flying at 30,000 feet, both literally and figuratively. I have accumulated some 2.8 million miles with American Airlines – that’s actual miles, not credit miles. I spend a lot of time on an airplane. The picture of southern Greenland above is from around 36,000 feet, taken on the way home from London in March.

Figuratively, I am a I/D on the DiSC, a Social Two on the Enneagram and an ENTJ on the Myers-Briggs. I prefer looking at the big picture rather than getting down into the weeds. I would be very pleased if my life was filled with people who prefer the weeds and would love nothing more than to carry out my grand 30,000-foot plans. I had that for 25 years. I’m not going to lie. It was nice.

I did a keynote presentation in January for the Metro Mayor’s Caucus. There were 35 mayors in attendance from the greater Denver area. I watched them pour over charts, statutes, and codes like children on a playground. They clearly loved the details.

One of the attendees, a former mayor now directing the caucus, came over to me and said, “I will never understand this urge to obsess over data charts. These people love the details.” I told her that I have been encouraged to run for mayor and she said she’d be happy to get together to talk about how to be an effective mayor without having to get down into the weeds.

But I live in Lyons, Colorado. I have a vision of a town that trusts its staff and works from Carver Policy Governance. The elected officials determine the ends they want to achieve, based on the desires of their constituents. The staff determines the means. It worked for me for the better part of 30 years at the Orchard Group. Why not in Lyons, Colorado? Because culture trumps vision every time, that’s why.

Our town has been around for over 100 years and as far as I can tell, the board has always been down in the weeds. Meetings can last six hours. They start at 5:30 in the evening, the first and third Mondays of the month. Last night we were home by 9:30, a small miracle.

This term I am serving as mayor pro tem, a position chosen by the Board of Trustees. I have a few extra responsibilities, but mostly it just requires me to live in the details even more than before.

I’ve worked in the non-profit world, academia, corporate America, and now in the public sector. I worked a bit with the Biden administration’s faith-based initiatives team during the first two years of his presidency. I was invited to the White House three times. I couldn’t go two of the times and my flight cancelled on the third. I figured I’d just go during his second term. Yeah, well, we know how that worked out. So, it’s local government for me, digging into the weeds where the details live, waiting to ensnare you in their complicated web of ordinances, resolutions, and quasi-judicial proceedings.

It appears to me that most people think I know what I am doing. Honestly, I have no idea how they come to that conclusion. I do stuff wrong every month and misunderstand something in just about every meeting. I do not speak up often. People always think you are smarter when you remain quiet. If you speak up too much, as I am prone to do in most other settings, people quickly figure out you’re not as smart as they thought you were. It’s humbling to see that recognition come over their faces.

I loved leading a nonprofit through 25 years of unprecedented growth. The key is that I hired well. The people on our senior leadership team were fantastic. Well, at least until I transitioned and all. But that does not take away from what we accomplished together with their hard work.

If I have a gift as a leader, it is that when I trust my instincts I tend to hire well. I see what people are capable of and empower them to achieve it. It’s fun to watch. Yeah, sometimes they come off the tracks and things go sideways, but we always figure it out.

The first couple of years after transitioning I became convicted that I had contributed in unhealthy ways to the patriarchy and I stopped trusting my instincts. My work experiences since that time confirmed that not trusting my instincts was a bad idea. I’ve been trusting them again for a few years now, which has turned out well.

Whether flying at 30,000 feet or working in the weeds, I love the work I have been able to do. If life is worth living, then it is worth living robustly, with never ending curiosity, an open spirit, and a receptive soul.

And so it goes.

Several nights a month I dream about my former denomination and the friendships I lost. They are difficult dreams. As happened last night, I often dream of our national convention, which I attended every year from 1966 through 1971, and again from 1981 through 2013, a total of 39 national conventions.

My first North American Christian Conventnion was in Atlanta in 1959. I was eight years old. We stayed at a nice motel with a pool and my cousins got ridiculously sunburned. My parents let me buy a Bible storybook published by Standard Publishing. I remember what the exhibit hall looked like – concrete floors and a plethora of colorful exhibits. I still have the book. Forty-four years later I went to work for Standard Publishing as Editor-at-Large of Christian Standard, the denominational magazine published since 1866.

Standard Publishing no longer exists. The North American Christian Convention no longer exists. Yet they persist in my dreams.

I loved the convention because that is where my friends gathered. We ate meals together and planned for the ongoing growth and health of our religious community. It was a safe space, where you could relax with others in similar positions of responsibility. The convention was where I raised money for the ministry I directed, found staff for our new churches, and dreamed dreams of a growing future.

I was talking with an old acquaintance from that world last month and he told me how many people from my denomination quietly and respectfully watched my transition, understanding that I had been called to give up my former life for the more authentic life I am living today. I was grateful for the conversation, because it came in the same month as another former friend castigated me for “always having lived a lie.” It is interesting that I knew enough about that person’s life to have gotten him fired fifty years ago. But as was my inclination, I opted for grace and mercy. I have discovered that many of those who have attacked the most vociferously are those who had the most to hide. When you know that, you are less inclined take their attacks personally.

That world is gone, though I would still be a part of it if I could. For a decade nothing rose to take its place. I was a part of the Open Network from 2016 to 2018 or so, but its leadership was transferred to a group with whom I did not have much affinity, and it died a year or two later.

Last year I spoke for the Post-Evangelical Collective Conference, a ministry established by church pastors from around the nation, including two from my former denomination. I did the opening keynote and received a wonderful response from the crowd. It was the first time I was in a religious community whose response was as animated as the audiences are when I speak for corporations or the TED world. It was marvelous.

I was invited to speak again this year. I led a workshop, interviewed another keynote speaker, and closed the conference with a call to action. After the final session, eight attendees from my former denomination gathered for a picture. Each night of the conference I spent time with dear friends who have also walked through fire and come out the other side intact, stronger, wiser. The conversations were similar to those I enjoyed at my former denomination’s national convention, but deeper. I probably do not have to explain the deeper part. We ate meals together and planned for the ongoing growth and health of our religious community. Most were guys. I’m not sure what that means.

All of this year’s keynote speakers were wonderful, unafraid to go where they felt called to go. I have great respect for their wisdom, insight, intelligence, oratorical skills, and spirit. Unlike my previous life, where I loved the convention but avoided the main sessions because of the predictable messages, at the Post-Evangelical Collective Conference I did not want to miss a single speaker. Aha moments were frequent.

These people have paid a price to be where they are, and they have the wisdom, insight, and prophetic voices that come from having followed the path less traveled by. It is an honor to count them as friends and to navigate through the shoals of post-evangelicalism together. I am grateful for my new friends from the Post-Evangelical Collective. I look forward to many years serving together.

Still, one longs for continuity in life – the book of Bible stories that is 66 years old – the people who stood with you at your wedding – the co-worker you sat across from as you set themes, chose writers, and shared gratitude for the heritage you share. Those things are gone. But that is life. Chapters close and new chapters begin. I think about this as I repeat lines from Chaim Stern’s poem, Tis A Fearful Thing:

Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch

A fearful thing to love, to hope, to dream, to be

To be, and Oh, to lose,

A things for fools this, and a holy thing

For your life once lived in me

Your laughter lifted me, your word was gift to me

To remember this brings painful joy

Tis a human thing to love, and a holy thing to love what death has touched.

Friendships are lost and friendships are born. And so it goes.