Dear Family and Friends,
This post has been on my heart for a while now. It comes with some weight—and I don’t post it lightly. But I also don’t post it in anger or bitterness. I write out of love—for my family and friends, for the Church, for the truth. I hope it will be received that way.
Over the past few years, you’ve probably noticed how much I’ve written about human sexuality—issues like gender identity, same-sex parenting, and transgenderism.
These are hard topics. They touch real people. They touch us. And because they do, I haven’t wanted to treat them casually or toss out slogans from a distance. But I’ve felt more and more compelled to speak clearly—especially because these ideas have not only infiltrated our cultural institutions, but have taken root in the Church itself.
The final turning point for me was personal. For several years, I had been attending a congregation that was a blend of Evangelical Lutheran Church of America (ELCA) and Episcopal USA traditions. I loved the people. I still do. It was a generous, open-hearted community. But over time, I began to sense that the gospel being proclaimed there was subtly—sometimes not so subtly—drifting from the one I knew. The Bible’s authority and Church Tradition was increasingly treated as optional. Christian sexual ethics were reimagined to align with the culture. And then came the moment I could no longer ignore.
One Sunday morning, a woman ordained by one of those denominations—an openly practicing lesbian, whose “wife” was present in the congregation—stood before us and preached as a representative of Christ’s Church. That was the moment for me. I sat there grieving—not out of personal offense, but because something precious was being lost.
This wasn’t merely a difference of opinion. It pointed to a deeper divergence—a fundamentally different understanding of what the Church is, what the gospel proclaims (ie. that Jesus is Lord of the created cosmos), and who Jesus calls us to be.
The gospel is not merely a message of inclusion or affirmation. It is the announcement that Jesus Christ is Lord of all—that through Him all things were made, and in Him all things hold together. As Paul writes in Colossians:
"For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible... all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together" (Colossians 1:16–17).
This is the gospel: not a validation of our desires, but a call to live in joyful submission to the One through whom the cosmos was made.
After that Sunday, I knew I couldn’t do it anymore—not in good conscience. I couldn’t keep contributing my time and treasure to a church whose leadership had embraced a theological trajectory that I believe is deeply harmful. So I stepped away. And that decision still breaks my heart. I loved those people. I still do.
Love and truth cannot be separated. In the years since, I’ve come to believe that many parts of the Church have failed to speak the truth—especially about the body, about male and female, about marriage and children—and that failure has had devastating consequences. The cultural winds are strong. But the Church was never called to drift with the wind. We are called to be rooted.
I’ve written several blog posts recently, and I want you to know why.
The first was about gay parenting and the Regnerus Study—a work that dared to ask what’s best for children and found answers that challenge the prevailing narrative. It’s not enough to say children are “loved.” They also need a father and a mother. Our policies—and our churches—ought to reflect that truth.
The second addressed the ELCA’s 2025 Reconsideration of Human Sexuality—a document that appears to codify the denomination’s full embrace of sexual revisionism. The very truths that once shaped Christian witness on marriage, the body, and the created order are now treated as “harmful” or “exclusionary.” I couldn’t remain silent.
The third examined the ELCA’s doctrine of “Bound Conscience”—a concept I once thought might preserve theological diversity, but which has become a theological escape hatch. It allows the Church to affirm contradictory truths in the name of unity, while quietly discarding the authority of Scripture. That’s not unity—it’s institutionalized confusion.
I don’t write these things to score points or “win” debates. I write them because someone needs to say what so many faithful Christians—especially in more progressive circles—are afraid to say out loud. I write them because I fear that silence now will only mean deeper compromise later.
I believe the Triune God made us male and female—not as an accident of biology, but as a reflection of something sacred. I believe our bodies matter. I believe Christian love includes a call to repentance. And I believe that our first obligation of love is not to ourselves or one another, but to our Creator.
To affirm someone’s identity apart from the Lordship of Christ is not compassion—it is a tragic abandonment to a path that cannot yield life. And I believe the Church must have the courage to say so, even when it costs something.
With love always,
d