Civil Disobedience

The law was passed, in part, because of him and his sermons, so Pastor Alan Richards wasn't at all surprised when he showed up to church the next Sunday to find a media circus waiting for him. The usual protesters were there, as they had been since word got out that the young pastor at New Hope Community Church was standing behind his pulpit every week to declare openly that such things as abortion, homosexuality, extra-marital sex, and other acts that society had decided to tolerate, sometimes even embrace, were now and always had been sins. Now that such statements had been ruled to be hate crimes by the state government every news crew in the state, as well as a few national media outlets, was camped out in New Hope's parking lot. The nation wanted to see if Alan Richards would change his message in the light of the new legislation and the threat of a minimum of eighteen months behind bars.
He had known this was coming. It had been brooding for nearly a year and he knew that the bill, dubbed by the media as the "Hate Speech Ban," would pass. Public outcries had erupted across the nation and around the world and while some religious leaders had stood up to support him, many preachers, teachers, TV hosts, and other pillars of the religious community had joined in condemning him and his "out of date" teachings. He had not stopped. As saddened and disappointed as he was by the attitudes of those defaming him and his message, he wasn't surprised by anything that had happened since that first controversial sermon.
He had felt for a long time that God was laying it on his heart to speak against society's attitude toward sin. He had seen enough of the world's acceptance of those things that the Bible clearly condemned. He was sickened by the government's "protection of rights" to engage in sinful activities. The government defended the daily murder of thousands of innocents; unborn children sacrificed on the alter of the god of convenience. The state defended the rights of people to live in a lifestyle that God called an abomination, calling for tolerance and declaring that anyone who had an opposing opinion was homophobic, hateful, and ignorant. Everywhere at every time the media bombarded the nation with images of sex, violence, drugs and alcohol. But the one thing that weighed the heaviest on Alan's heart was the Church's acceptance of those very same things. "God is love," many would quote, completely ignoring two other messages of the scriptures: God is holy, intolerant of sin, and God doesn't change. While Alan was convinced by the scriptures that God loves every homosexual, abortionist, pervert, liar, and murderer, He would never tolerate sin in the name of that love. In fact, it was God's love for mankind that caused Him to so adamantly condemn evil in all its forms.
Alan was just one man preaching in a small church in a mid-sized city. His congregation was barely a hundred people strong on its best week. He was not expecting the sermon to change the world, just to change the hearts of those few who would hear it. He stood up before his small flock and delivered a message that he had entitled "Sin is Still Sin!" The sermon went well and was well-received, even applauded by most of the church. Alan had noticed a few people who had sat rigidly, unmoving, glaring at him, and one young woman actually got up and left the sanctuary with a haughty look on her face. Those who had glared at him never set foot in New Hope Community Church again, but this young woman, Sarah Mills, had been there the next week. She and about half a dozen of her friends from the nearby college campus were standing outside the church doors with large hand-painted signs on poster boards that read: "God is LOVE!", "Closed minded bigots preach HATE!", "21st Century Church has no room for 3,000 year old prejudice," and similar slogans.
Alan made no apologies. Instead, he improvised a new opening for his sermon that week. "If I offend you this morning, I forgive you. If I step on your toes, get them out of my way!" The congregation applauded. His message didn't change that week, or the next week when there were over twenty protesters, or the week after that when local news crews showed up to report on the growing controversy, or even the week after that when the church building was vandalized. Some members of the church decided to leave rather than deal with the pressures of the protesters and the media, and some even turned on him. He remembered one man in particular who warmly shook his hand that first week telling him that it was about time someone said those things. A mere five weeks later he was standing with the protesters holding a sign that read: "Rebuke hate!"
But Alan was undaunted. While he didn't believe himself to be a prophet, he couldn't help but relate to men like Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Amos, or other Biblical figures who had stood in the face of a sinful society and a complacent Church to remind them that a holy God was still watching them. Many in his church encouraged him, some making signs of their own calling for America to repent and saying things like, "God will NEVER change!" Soon, his little sermon on sin was sparking controversy around the world.
A few weeks later, Alan was interviewed by a local news station. He laid the message out plainly, supporting his statements with scriptures, admitting that he knew his words wouldn't be popular, and calling the Church to repent. When he watched the report the next evening he was angered, but not surprised, by the way the reporter has edited his comments and twisted his words to make him sound like the hateful fanatic they were trying to make him out to be. He expected the same thing from the other local channels and the national television shows and magazines that requested interviews, but he did them anyway. He figured that he would rather have some of his message get across than only to hear some reporter's editorializing about his declination of an interview.
The day after his highly publicized, and predictably slanted appearance on a national TV news program, Sarah Mills hade her own appearance on national television denouncing his actions, comparing him to Adolph Hitler and Osama Bin Laden, and demanding that something be done to silence Alan Richards and his "fanatical, hate filled rants."
"But what about free speech, Miss Mills," the interviewing reporter asked her. "Doesn't the Constitution guarantee that men like Alan Richards have the right to say whatever they want to say, regardless of how offensive the rest of us may find his comments?"
This was an obviously scripted question that the reporter read with little conviction. The answer was equally scripted and if Alan's sermon three months earlier had sparked a wildfire, then Sarah Mills's answer to this question fanned those flames, creating an inferno that would burn across the nation and around the world.
"Free speech has its limits," Sarah said, sounding incredible reasonable. "When bigots like Alan Richards are allowed to spread their hatred and ignorance, people get hurt or killed. Apart from what men like Alan Richards say, God does not hate gays or women who have abortions or anyone who has sex. Pastor Richards' message is the same as that of those who would bomb a women's health clinic or lynch a homosexual teenager. I am a Christian myself, and I love Jesus. I know that He sheds a tear every time men like Mr. Richards spew their bigotry in His precious name. Alan Richards and all those like him need to be stopped before fanatical Christians begin doing what fanatical Muslims have been doing for years."
"So what do you suggest be done about this?" asked the reporter.
"Congress should pass a bill banning such hateful rhetoric by any teacher, preacher, or other leader, religious or otherwise," Sarah replied. "Anyone advocating hatred, racism, sexism, or homophobia, as well as those attacking women who chose to exercise their God-given right to make decisions about their own bodies, should be charged with a hate crime!"
"You're asking Congress to limit free speech?" the reporter asked, another scripted question.
"I am asking them to ban hatred."
While Congress did not take up the call, many state governments did. Twenty-three states had drawn up some version of the so-called Hate Speech Ban within a week, including Alan's home state. National polls showed that the bill would pass in nineteen of those states by an overwhelming majority and the other four states were too close to call. Politicians and preachers alike not only condemned Alan, but advocated for the legislation, calling for it to go national. Anyone trying to expose the dangers of the bill or to explain Alan Richards's true motives was portrayed as a lunatic, a conspiracy nut, or a bigot themselves. With the state elections a few months away, the media made mention of the bill daily. Every story was slanted and every dissenting statement distorted. Nobody doubted that soon sermons like the one that Sarah Mills had walked out on would be illegal.
About a month before the elections Alan woke up to see a terrible story on every morning news program. A young gay man had been found murdered. His body was horribly mutilated and he was hanging by his neck from a tree in front of the state capitol. Hung around his neck was a crudely painted sign on a piece of cardboard. It read: "God bless Alan Richards."
He immediately phoned one of the local news stations and soon was connected to a national morning show. Expecting to be attacked and his words to be twisted, he adamantly condemned the murder.
"But, Reverend Richards," the news anchor said, "Don't you believe that you are at least partly responsible for this horrific crime? After all, this murder was committed in your name!"
"I do not approve of this action," Alan replied. "I do not condone it! If the people who killed that young man had the slightest idea of the message I actually preached-"
"Mr. Richards, you said, and I quote, 'Homosexuality is a sin! Times may change, but God's words never changes. His laws and His judgments are just as valid today as they were thousands of years ago!' Are those not your own words?"
"They are," Alan admitted, "but-"
"Doesn't the Bible, God's law as you would call it, say in Leviticus 20:13, and again I quote, 'If a man lies with a male as he lies with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination.. They shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them?'"
"It says that, yes," Alan said, "but that is the Old Testament. That is the Law that we are no longer under."
"But your own sermon said that God's law never changes," the anchor said with a note of triumph. "Now you're contradicting yourself."
"I don't expect you to understand," Alan began.
"So now I'm ignorant?" the anchor asked.
"God's law and His standards do not change," Alan said, "but when Jesus came, He made it possible for us to approach God in our imperfection."
"So Jesus made it okay to sin?"
Trying no to get angry, Alan took a deep breath and said, "The Old Testament also calls for the execution of anyone caught in adultery, but when Jesus was-"
"So now you're calling for the murder of adulterers as well?" the anchor interrupted.
"Listen, sir," Alan said, finally allowing his frustration to enter his voice. "I'm never going to be able to explain this with your constant interruptions and your obvious attempts to twist every word I say."
"Reverend Richards-"
"Let me finish, please!" Alan snapped. "This week, I will be preaching concerning this horrific murder which I, and anyone who truly understands Christianity, condemn. Bring your cameras and reporters. Listen to what I have to say. I think you'll see that if I am allowed to speak without any interruptions or editorializing, the whole hate speech controversy will be laid to rest."
"Are you finished?" the anchor asked.
"One more challenge," Alan said. "In the interest of fairness, and in order to show that your news reports are not biased or slanted, broadcast my sermon in its entirety, no interruptions, no editing. Anything else will just prove your own prejudice."
And with that, Alan hung up the telephone and sat down to prepare his sermon for that Sunday. He knew enough about the media to know that he would be preaching to a sanctuary full of news cameras and reporters, but his message would have been the same even if he were only preaching to the three dozen or so people who hadn't yet abandoned his church. He was horrified by the actions of those who had killed that man, and even more sickened that those actions were done in his name. He knew that he would have to speak out against it, without the constant distortion of the media, before a rash of other atrocities was done in his honor.
Indeed, during the three days between the murder and his sermon an abortion clinic was bombed, another homosexual was found dead, and a prominent gay politician received a death threat. Needless to say, New Hope Community Church was filled to capacity with media representatives, surrounded by protesters (and a few hate mongers who had showed up to support a man that they obviously didn't understand), and the police had been called out to make sure that the tension didn't erupt into violence.
Alan felt like a televangelist getting up to preach before that room of cameras and reporters, except that unlike so many TV preachers of late, he would be speaking the truth. Not even his own congregation could find room in the packed sanctuary, but knowing what was going to happen that week they had decided to spend the hour in the fellowship hall praying for Alan and for all who would hear him that day.
Alan stood up behind the pulpit, forgoing the usual worship and church announcements, and after an opening prayer he began to preach to his audience of millions.
He opened his Bible to John chapter eight and gave the message that he was intending to tell the news anchor three days earlier. He talked about the woman caught in adultery and about how she was deserving of death according to God's law. But when she was brought before Jesus, He called into question her accusers' motives and, without denying that she indeed deserved to be stoned to death, He gave the famous challenge to "he who is without sin." But Jesus went on, after forgiving the adulteress, to condemn the sin itself. "Go, sin no more." Not once did Jesus' love, grace, or forgiveness make sin acceptable in the eyes of God.
"From this pulpit," Alan said, "I have preached against sin, but never once did I pass judgment on a sinner! That is not my place. I am not God. But my place is to condemn sin. Calling for repentance is not condemning sinners. There is an old saying: 'Love the sinner, hate the sin.' Jesus loves sinners! The people that He chose to associate with while on Earth were thieves, prostitutes, and 'sinners.' While He did not condone their sin, He would also not approve of any hateful talk or violence against them!
"Every since I first stood up to call this nation to repent, my words have been twisted, my message distorted, and my love of the sinner turned into a hate crime by the media, and very soon by the state as well. I believe that the only finger that Jesus ever pointed was at a pointed finger, so let me follow my Lord's example and address those responsible for the recent atrocities committed in my name. You are wrong! I do not approve of your actions and neither does the Lord. Such actions are indeed hateful, but God is love! So please, in the name of God, stop doing these things!"
Knowing that his words would again be twisted and creatively edited, Alan closed the sermon with a prayer for the families of the crime victims, and left the pulpit.
Two networks played his sermon live, so he knew that a lot of people had heard what he needed them to hear. The others merely played portions, piecing together parts that were completely unrelated, and again he came across as a hateful fanatic. Even the networks that had been brave enough to play his message in its entirety spent the next week reinterpreting the twenty minute sermon to fit their biased opinions.
Somehow, though, his point had been made. Polls reflected that in a few states the Hate Speech Ban might be struck down and no more hate crimes were committed on his behalf. The media left him alone after that, relegating the issue to a few short reports or articles, until a week before the elections. Then it was all the TV, radio, papers, and magazines. Sarah Mills or one of her supporters was spewing her lies in nearly every report.
The church was vandalized again. Every window was broken and profanities were spray painted on the walls. And another abortion clinic bombing was allegedly dedicated to Alan.
Ironically, New Hope Community Church was a polling place. The property was crawling with protesters and journalists, and while the signs and statements of those in support of the bill were prominently featured in every report, not one showed the vandalism against the church, nor did anyone take a statement from those opposing the ban.
Every member of New Hope cast their vote early and then met at Alan's home to spend the day in prayer. Nobody was surprised that night when the polls closed and the bill was passed in all twenty-three states. That Sunday, if Alan preached another sermon on sin, he would be guilty of a hate crime.
"What are you going to do now, Alan?" somebody asked.
"I must obey God rather than man," Alan replied. "Let's keep praying."
And so that Sunday, Alan Richards once again walked past camped out reporters and angry protesters into a sanctuary filled with cameras and stood up behind his pulpit to do what many expected to be an act of civil disobedience.
"Dear Lord," he prayed as he approached the pulpit, "please give me the strength to say what You want me to say. Thy will be done."
The crowd fell silent with heavy anticipation when he took his place in the front of the church. A hundred flash bulbs lit up as he opened his Bible. He cleared his throat, adjusted his microphone, and began:
"Good morning, everybody."