Deep Waters in Kansas City

Jason

Music by Universified

Jason

Hey y’all, welcome back to Politically Pastoral's The Daily UnHoly. I’m Rev. Jason Carson Wilson, and today, I gotta tell you, I’m still catching my breath from what went down in Kansas City. Nine days later, and it’s like the Spirit’s still stirring in my bones. So, let’s talk about General Synod 35. Nearly 2,000 of us—yeah, two thousand—gathered, not just to pass some resolutions or play church, but to actually be the church. And I mean, we didn’t just wade in, we plunged in, heart first, truth forward. The theme was straight outta Luke 5:4—“Put out into the deep water, and let down your nets for a catch.” But, look, this wasn’t just some branding exercise. It was a summons. Into deep water, where comfort dies and clarity is born. And, y’all, we caught something fierce. Something holy. Kansas City didn’t feel like a conference. It was a revival. Not the kind that comforts the empire while singing about freedom, but the kind that rends the heavens and shakes the ground. Isaiah 58, that kind of revival—the fast God chooses to loosen bonds, break chains, set captives free. I’ve been to enough Synods to know the difference between theater and testimony. Kansas City was testimony. The kind that costs you something. The kind Micah 6:8 demands. The kind that names evil without stuttering. And, you know, it’s funny—well, not funny, but you know what I mean—how the empire expects us to retreat, to sing safely behind stained glass while they strip rights and fund war. But Kansas City declared otherwise. We won’t sing hymns while ICE terrorizes families. We won’t whisper peace while genocide unfolds on our dime. We won’t preach love while our trans siblings are erased. I remember, back in my own advocacy days, the difference between those safe church spaces and the moments that actually demand risk. Kansas City was one of those moments. It was a call to break yokes, to set captives free, and now comes the real test: will our churches live up to what we declared, or will those prophetic words just fade into polite dust while empire marches on? Because our people—queer people, trans people, undocumented people, Palestinian people—are still dying. Still under siege. And that’s why this gathering mattered.

Jason

So, let’s get into what actually happened on the Synod floor. Delegates didn’t just pass resolutions—they lit fires. I mean, they named ICE raids as domestic terrorism. Not just “bad policy” or “unfortunate events”—domestic terrorism. That was a 627 to 8 vote, y’all. A denomination said that, out loud. And then, we named genocide in Palestine. Not just “tragedy,” not just “conflict”—genocide. That was a 594 to 32 vote. The cost of naming genocide? High. The cost of silence? Even higher. Rev. Clara Sims, just 28, stood up and said, “Our faith calls us into risk for the sake of the vulnerable.” That’s the kind of truth-telling that shakes the room. And then there was Mayadah Tarazi, who named the daily death toll in Gaza. That testimony—whew, it was heavy. But it was necessary. And, you know, as we talked about in previous episodes, sometimes faith means standing at the crossroads of resistance and risk, not just contemplation. This was one of those moments. But it wasn’t just about naming evil. There was action, too. We called for divestment from detention profiteers—CoreCivic, GEO Group—because prophetic witness doesn’t write checks to chains. We voted for full communion with Iglesia Evangélica Unida de Puerto Rico, even though, let’s be honest, theological unity isn’t really there. Their manual still rejects LGBTQ inclusion. So, is communion unity or compromise? That’s a question we gotta wrestle with. And then there was the STAR Coalition debate. Recognizing the Small Town and Rural Coalition—372 to 244. They named their marginalization, but others raised red flags. STAR’s emergence as a moderate counterweight sparked fear, especially in a church where rural often still means racially exclusive and queer-phobic. Who is STAR centering? And who gets left behind? I mean, self-created groups are sacred spaces for the excluded, but we gotta ask: who’s being centered, and who’s being sidelined? And, you know, justice isn’t just about structure, but structure shapes justice. We approved the creation of the Keystone Conference, elected Rev. Shari Prestemon to a global leadership position. Administrative moves, sure, but also gospel ones. All of this—naming evil, lighting fires, wrestling with contradictions—it’s what it means to be church in a time of empire. But, as always, there’s the question: did we go far enough?

Jason

Now, let’s talk about where we fell short. We named genocide. We named ICE terror. But we didn’t name the federal assault on trans lives. Not a single emergency resolution on it. That’s theological malpractice, plain and simple. Silence isn’t neutrality—it’s complicity. We should’ve declared sanctuary for trans lives. We didn’t. We must now. And, you know, it’s not just about what we did or didn’t say. It’s about selective courage. We called ICE terrorism, then voted in communion with a church that rejects queer people. We welcomed STAR, but ignored the harm that some small-town and rural churches can still cause. We can’t be bold in addressing federal violence but timid in confronting internal sin and exclusion. Justice isn’t a buffet. I’ve seen this before—churches passing resolutions that sound radical, but then going back to business as usual. Kansas City means nothing if we do that. So, what now? Immediate actions: contact your reps about the SAVE Act, audit your church investments, divest from detention and surveillance, build sanctuary protocols, support Palestinian-led groups, create trans-affirming policies—bathrooms, pronouns, safety. Long-term? Build relationships with the most targeted, host political education sessions, train for civil disobedience, organize for systems change. And don’t forget the spiritual practices: begin each day asking, “How will I live Kansas City today?” Lament as protest. Rage as prayer. Study liberation theology—not for theory, but for discipleship. Look, beloved, if you were in Kansas City or just felt its tremor from afar, know this: you have been sent. Not to safety, but to faithfulness. May the God who split seas split systems. May the Christ who flipped tables flip your fear into fire. May the Spirit who came as wind and flame push you out of comfort and into justice. Kansas City wasn’t the end. It was the summons. Go. Preach like it matters. Organize like lives depend on it. Love like liberation is possible. Because it is. Because it must be. Let the empire dismiss our resolutions as mere paper. Let our lives prove them wrong. Amen.