And Jesus Wept
About The Book
And Jesus Wept
In retrospect, this small book began as a cry of the heart—a response to a moment of profound dismay that grew into a clarion call. It has since become the cornerstone of my theological writings, so central that its essence is woven into the very identity of my work. It didn’t begin as a project; it began as a lament.
For decades, I lived and served within the Christian church—as a choirboy, a teacher, an elder, and finally, an ordained minister. I sought God in sanctuaries and scriptures, in seminary debates and pastoral prayers. Yet, a quiet disquiet always lingered. The faith I encountered in the pews and pulpits often felt distant from the radical, compassionate figure I met in the Gospels—Jesus of Nazareth.
That disquiet turned to sorrow on the morning of November 6, 2024. The re-election of Donald Trump, propelled by the overwhelming support of self-professed Christians, was not just a political shock. It was a theological earthquake. It laid bare a chasm so wide and deep it could no longer be ignored: the chasm between the Way of Jesus and the religion that bears his title.
And Jesus Wept
I began writing this book the next day. I wrote not as a scholar aiming for perfection, but as a witness pleading for clarity. I wrote quickly, driven by the conviction that the time for polite silence was over. The more I compared the historical Jesus—a Jewish prophet of non-violence, radical inclusion, and distributive justice—with the modern construct of Christendom, the more isolated and grieved I felt.
Luckily, for over fifty years, I had been a student of history, theology, and scripture. I had collected insights, historical facts, and spiritual truths that mainstream churches often gloss over. I soon realized that my own voice alone was insufficient; the story was too big. But when I paired my analysis with the forgotten contexts, the suppressed histories, and the clear teachings of Jesus himself, a powerful contrast emerged—a testament not to a lost faith, but to a hijacked one.
When opened to any page, you will find a dialogue: on one side, my earnest examination of how Christianity diverged; on the other, the enduring, challenging words of Jesus and the historical record that frames him. This dialogue gave me courage. I was not alone in this recognition. It reminded me that the truth of Jesus’s message—of love as action, of community over creed, of sharing over power—is a force so fundamental it cannot be erased, only buried.
I wrote this book as an act of faithful defiance, in preparation for a more authentic discipleship. We now live in a shared house, five of us trying to embody the cooperation and mutual care that Jesus lived and died for. It is a humble experiment, but it feels more like church than any building I ever pastored.
This book is an invitation to look past the religion and see the Rabbi again. It is for the devoted who feel uneasy, the wounded who have left, and the seekers who sense there must be more. Thanks for allowing me to share this difficult, hopeful truth with you.