Wearing my feminine clerical collar on Parisian public transport often sparks delicate conversations. I am accustomed to occupying a visible role–one frequently met with skepticism from those who view these religious policies as archaic. 

I live in a place where religion is largely viewed with cynicism. As a female clergy member, the French don’t quite know what to make of  me—let alone a progressive faith leader in a lace “priest-collar.”

Our family moved to France in 2012, just before the height of the mariage pour tous protests against marriage equality. In 2015, I left a restrictive church role, and since then, I have been happily marrying LGBTQ+ couples in Paris. 

I know firsthand how religion and politics intertwine and how faith is often weaponized under the guise of righteousness to strip others of their dignity. Watching evangelical Christianity merge with the Republican Party from afar has dimmed my hope that, on a global scale, American Christianity can be considered compassionate or even humane.

Since  2016, I have wondered what I, as a faith leader, would say if I ever had the chance to lead a worship service attended by Donald Trump. Would I have the courage to speak out against inhumane policies? 

As a female Presbyterian pastor (PCUSA) living in France, that opportunity seemed unlikely— but last week, Bishop Mariann Budde had the chance to deliver that sermon. During the National Cathedral prayer service for the inauguration, Bishop Budde looked directly at President Trump and called him to have mercy on those who were living in fear, particularly immigrants, asylum-seekers and the LGBTQ+ community. 

It was a message asking the most powerful man in the sanctuary to have compassion on his neighbor, a message taken directly from Biblical texts like, “Blessed are the merciful…” (Matthew 5:7) and “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, and to love mercy…” (Micah 6:8). It was a homily similar to those given at national prayer services. 

During Obama’s inauguration, the pastor reminded him of his “awfully big room” and urged him to use his power for the greater good. In George W. Bush’s inaugural remarks, he called on Americans to help those in need, quoting the Parable of the Good Samaritan and declaring compassion the “work of the nation.”

Since Bush’s 2001 speech, the Christian Right has worked to convince the nation that compassion for one’s neighbor is neither the government’s nor a Christian’s responsibility. The Christian Right has a new handbook, ready to be enacted alongside their newly crowned idol. We should have seen it coming with the golden calf-like shiny sneakers and the Bible bearing his name—and many of us did.

Faithful Christian leaders have been condemning the rise of Christian Nationalism for years. Figures like Mariann Budde and other courageous “so-called” pastors have put their faith into action unapologetically. Meanwhile, the Christian right’s loudest voices have worked tirelessly to drown out the rest of us.

On January 20th, Bishop Budde spoke for many of us who reject the right’s fundamentalism – and social media exploded. Threads, X, and Bluesky were flooded with political cartoons exclaiming, “Bishop takes King,” and memes urging people to “Be like Mariann.”

In my clergy circles, there were cheers for the Bishop and encouragement to preach boldly on Sunday, as we all felt a bit Episcopalian. Challenging the most powerful person in the room takes courage, especially when doing so has become “démodé” among many who share your faith. Her words encouraged and reaffirmed my commitment as a faith leader to stand against Christian Nationalism.

Christian Nationalism despises a dissenting, prophetic faith voice. The outrage machine unleashed harsh criticisms of Budde’s message. 

Rep. Mike Collins (R-Ga) called for her deportation, despite her being from New Jersey. Trump demanded an apology, and House  Resolution 59 claimed Bishop Budde “used her position inappropriately” for “political activism.” The criticisms stem from the “empathy is sin” movement, the rise of Christian Nationalism, and elected officials’ audacity to dismiss the Constitution with a stroke of the pen.

In a nation where felons can rise to the highest office on a platform that disregards human dignity, expressing empathy becomes increasingly risky. With new executive orders allowing ICE to enter churches, the loss of reproductive health information, the end of DEI, and rising anti-LGBTQ+  rhetoric, progressive Christian leaders face a formidable challenge. 

Fortunately, acts of compassion don’t require being “a la mode.” Maybe, just maybe, mercy hasn’t gone completely out of style. 

Social media threads welcoming people to Episcopal churches went viral this week. Some tweets from people who hadn’t attended church in decades mentioned that Bishop Budde’s words sparked enough hope to consider a return. My colleagues printed extra bulletins, anticipating an influx of visitors and Bishop Budde fans.

While Christian Nationalism thrives on fear, silence, and complicity, true faith has never been about following the loudest voices. The backlash proves how threatening the call to human dignity is to those who wield religion for power, not love.

But this moment reminds me of my own responsibility as a faith leader in the U.S. and globally. When my family moved to France, I witnessed firsthand how religion and politics intertwine and how faith can be weaponized to deny others their dignity. Yet, I have also seen the quiet perseverance of progressive Christian voices, resisting fundamentalism and advocating for justice.

Bishop Budde’s words resonated far beyond America’s borders. As a Christian leader in a global church, my task is to ensure mercy never goes out of style. 

Perhaps if enough of us speak out and prove sufficiently “troublesome,” compassion can once again be recognized as a cornerstone of Christianity.

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