I play music at a local restaurant called Toad Suck Buck's every Thursday night from 6-8 pm. I am part of a five person band. We play classic rock, country, and pop. I do Elvis and the Beatles. Our band is called the Fat Soul Band, named after the idea developed by the late process philosopher and theologian Bernard Loomer that our souls need to be wide and, as it were, fat—generous, loving, and capable of living with what Loomer calls "enriching tensions."
This brings me to Dickie. Many of the regulars live close by, and I suspect that many of them support Trump. They may suspect that I'm on the other side; indeed, I'm president of an organization called "I Can't Vote for Trump, the Bible Tells Me So." Like to many liberals, I can't understand how any Christian, any follower of Jesus, could support him. But Dickie and I get along well. Despite our strong partisan passions, we like each other.
He came last night wearing a Trump T-shirt—he's MAGA to the core. But politics aside, we genuinely enjoy each other's company, and I know enough about his his story to understand the personal reasons behind his support for Trump. He is a vet with lots of shrapnel in his body from the Vietnam war. No need for details, but I get why, for him, Trump is, dare I say, salvific.
My friendship with Dickie began with a shared love of music. When the Fat Soul Band plays the Elvis medley, Dickie gets up and dances. As I sing "Don't Be Cruel," we look at each other and laugh. We know it's kind of funny: me such an older person, with gray hair, pretending to be Elvis. I think it's funny, too.
I'm glad to be Dickie's friend. I can't vote for Trump. I can't do it, not only because the Bible tells me so, but because Jesus tells me so. I want to walk in the way of Jesus. Still, I support Dickie. That support is part of what it means, for me, to be an open and relational Christian.
Dickie thinks of himself as a Christian, too. Who am I to say? Maybe, just maybe, our Christ transcends our partisanship. Maybe, just maybe, when we smile at each other while I sing Elvis, it's Christ, not politics, that brings us together. Or, to be honest, Christ and Elvis.
This brings me to Dickie. Many of the regulars live close by, and I suspect that many of them support Trump. They may suspect that I'm on the other side; indeed, I'm president of an organization called "I Can't Vote for Trump, the Bible Tells Me So." Like to many liberals, I can't understand how any Christian, any follower of Jesus, could support him. But Dickie and I get along well. Despite our strong partisan passions, we like each other.
He came last night wearing a Trump T-shirt—he's MAGA to the core. But politics aside, we genuinely enjoy each other's company, and I know enough about his his story to understand the personal reasons behind his support for Trump. He is a vet with lots of shrapnel in his body from the Vietnam war. No need for details, but I get why, for him, Trump is, dare I say, salvific.
My friendship with Dickie began with a shared love of music. When the Fat Soul Band plays the Elvis medley, Dickie gets up and dances. As I sing "Don't Be Cruel," we look at each other and laugh. We know it's kind of funny: me such an older person, with gray hair, pretending to be Elvis. I think it's funny, too.
I'm glad to be Dickie's friend. I can't vote for Trump. I can't do it, not only because the Bible tells me so, but because Jesus tells me so. I want to walk in the way of Jesus. Still, I support Dickie. That support is part of what it means, for me, to be an open and relational Christian.
Dickie thinks of himself as a Christian, too. Who am I to say? Maybe, just maybe, our Christ transcends our partisanship. Maybe, just maybe, when we smile at each other while I sing Elvis, it's Christ, not politics, that brings us together. Or, to be honest, Christ and Elvis.