In this Sunday's gospel, Jesus tells his disciples, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me."

I do not want this.
I do not want to take up the cross.
I am so very tried.

My city is torn apart,
my Texas friends are sleeping on guest beds far from their boarded-up houses,
my Portland friends are surrounded by Proud Boys.

I don't want to take up the cross.
I would want to take up my normal life:
eating indoors at restaurants,
worshipping in our sanctuary,
hugging my godson,
sleeping without fireworks or gunshots,
believing I was a good white person and racism never existed this far north.

But to follow Christ is to take up the cross;

to be a public witness against the violence of the world;

to willingly reveal the sin of political and religious powers that cannot accept a story of love and mercy;

to refuse to let humanity stay in its hate and fear;

to believe wholeheartedly that there is more to life than this.

For what would it profit me if I gained everything -- every protection and privilege and power -- in the whole world, but forfeited my soul?