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Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Luke 6:27-30

This is really hard for me. I want to fight. I want to resist. The government has wrongly taken away my freedom to make my own health care choices. Resistance comes very easily to me. Outrage comes very easily to me. I want to resist. I want to take back what was stolen from me.

Following Jesus isn’t easy. You don’t just say, “I’m a Christian,” and all of a sudden you stop making wrong choices, and everything you do is perfect. It’s not like that. It’s never like that. I’m a Christian because I make mistakes and need help, not because I never make mistakes.

Submitting to unjust governance is the hardest part of following Jesus. But he did it, and he wants us to be like him. He submitted to an unjust ruling by the government — even to the point of his own death.

Jesus went off by himself to pray. Those times figured prominently in his relationship with the Father. He often chose to enjoy places with mountains and trees — he often chose to be alone in God’s creation.

One of those days Jesus went out to a mountainside to pray, and spent the night praying to God. — Luke 6:12

Resting in a mountain meadow watching clouds inch across a clear blue sky, I know why Jesus did it that way. Why it is the way it is, I don’t claim to know. But I know this: I hear God better when I’m out on a mountainside.

Yesterday, after an exhaustive day of hunting without seeing any game, we saw a little muley doe on a hillside as we drove back.

“This is almost certainly not going to work,” I told my hunting partner. Then I got out of my truck and grabbed my bow.

Steep fails to describe that hill. I tested my weight before every single step, to see if my foot would stay, or if I’d come sliding down with a razor-sharp broadhead flailing around. I muscled my way up it, all the while in full view of the doe, who just watched me coming up.

I neared her level on the hill, but still many yards of horizontal distance separated us. She headed up the hill further, revealing a smaller fawn following behind her. I clambered my way towards her, slipping the whole time. She moved up with every step I took, but also toward me in the horizontal dimension.

The moment hung there like a picture.

Her: silhouetted against the skyline, perfectly broadside to me, fifty yards away. I saw the gray fur in detail. I saw the big floppy ears that make the head look small.

Me: firm footing, release hooked to the bow string, thinking and praying.

I let the bow drop to my side and didn’t take the shot. Fifty yards is an awful long shot for me. I don’t like the risk of wounding an animal, or killing it in such a way that it dies over the course of a day and gets away from me before it dies.

A whole day of sweating and climbing, scouting and tracking, peels away in an instant until all that’s left is one moment. In that moment, we find me looking at an animal, and deciding I would rather go home empty handed than risk wasting one of the animals God gave me dominion over.

Whenever I interact with any individual, I want my part of the interaction to be loving. No matter who they are, no matter what sins they may or may not be working through in their life, I pray that I will love them.

Whenever the government legally requires me to love, it commits a grievous evil that hurts me, hurts the people I interact with, and causes pain to God.

Freely chosen love is the way to follow Jesus. Trying to force love is morally wrong.

I was supposed to give a speech for Constitution Day today, but the rain interfered with my plan. I don’t want the speech to go to waste, so here it is.

When we Americans talk about our constitution, we tend to think of “The Constitution” as just it’s name. But today, I think it’s important to remember that constitution is a word of the English language. Our constitution is called a constitution because that word represents what the document does.

Some definitions of the word “constitution:” The way in which a thing is composed or made up. The act or process of constituting – establishment. The state of being constituted – formation.

The reason I cite these definitions is to make a point that too often goes unmentioned or forgotten in today’s media. These definitions all have to do with the act of making something which did not previously exist.

The federal government did not exist before the constitution was written. It had no form. It was a nullity. It was void. There was no such thing.

Our federal government exists solely because we created it out of nothing.

Even though we’re here today to celebrate the constitution, I think it’s a good idea to cite a famous quote from the declaration of independence. It further emphasizes this point about the fact that the constitution created out of nothing a federal government.

“To secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.”

We’ve all heard that quote before. In fact, it’s so frequently heard that I think the words may have lost their meaning for some. So with your indulgence, I’ll take a moment or two to talk about what the words mean.

Governments are instituted among men: The government does not exist until humans form it.

To secure these rights: Our rights existed before the government did. The government doesn’t give us rights. The constitution doesn’t give us rights. Our rights are ours, and we, the people created the federal government for the express purpose of protecting our rights.

Just powers: A Government power to do something may be just or unjust. The fact that it is the government taking the action does not in itself make the action just. The fact that the founders felt it necessary to specify how “just” powers are derived implies the fact that there are powers of the opposite kind.

From the consent of the governed: On its own, the government has no power, no right, no authority to tell us what to do. On our own, humans have every right to run their own lives and do whatever they want. There is one and only one way in which the government may acquire any just power over us. If we choose to permit it. If I say, “Government, I accept your authority to boss me around on this subject,” then the government has that power. But if I never gave that consent, the government never gained that power. If the government exercises a power to which consent was never given, that power is not a just power.

My friends, our constitution is the document by which we, the people gave our consent. When our forefathers sent their delegates to the convention that created it, consent was given. When our forefathers voted to ratify the constitution, consent was given.

If a power is not mentioned in the constitution, consent was never given.

And that, my friends, is the beauty of our constitution. We can know, at any time, what is right and good for our government to do. We need never have any doubt about what’s the right course for our federal government. We need only look to our constitution, and we can know for certain what political matters are right and wrong.

In this age of talking heads, and angry pundits, and a capital city filled with babble, we are blessed. We need not expect that the talking heads will tell us what to do. We need not look to pundits for guidance. We need only read the constitution, and we can know everything we need to know about what course the federal government ought to take.