My dearest discarded friends,
I write to you with a heart heavy with sorrow, but also burning with hope. You, who have been cast aside by a society obsessed with conformity, you who are called by cruel names, you who feel invisible in a world that only sees what it wants to see, I see you. I see your strength, your resilience, and the fire that still flickers within you, no matter how much this world tries to snuff it out.
I still wear my WWJD bracelet. It’s worn and frayed, but I keep it close as a reminder of a message that the world seems hellbent on forgetting: Love your neighbor. That’s it. That’s the whole thing. Not “love your neighbor, but only if they look like you, think like you, or live like you.” Not “love your neighbor unless they make you uncomfortable.” Just love them.
But what do I see instead? A society that wears the cross like armor but uses it as a weapon. A nation that proudly calls itself Christian while trampling the very people Jesus spent his life defending, the downtrodden, the sinners, the misfits, the scapegoats. Can you imagine the grief Jesus would feel, watching his name remembered but his teachings abandoned? Watching his image carried not as a symbol of compassion but as a banner for hate?
I do not claim to know the mind of God. I don’t know if Jesus was divine or just a carpenter with a heart big enough to change the world. But I know this: his message is a campfire in the night. A light in the darkness. A place where we are all invited to gather and share in the warmth of love and community.
To those who’ve been cast out: the LGBTQIA+ community, the mentally ill, the neurodivergent, the scarred, the survivors, the truth-seekers, the nerds, the sex workers, the ones society calls fat, ugly, or broken, you are not the problem. You are the ones Jesus spoke of when he talked about the lost sheep. He didn’t come for the powerful or the perfect. He came for you.
And let me tell you what I believe Jesus would say to you now: Find each other. Hold fast to one another. Build your community around the light of love. Whether you believe that light comes from God, or from within yourself, or from the simple kindness of a stranger, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you gather around it. That you refuse to let the world’s cruelty snuff it out.
The days ahead may be dark. The slings and arrows of this broken world will keep coming, and they will try to break you. But together, you are stronger than you know. Together, you can be a force of compassion and resilience that no empire of hate can withstand.
Jesus understood that liberation doesn’t come from the top down. It comes from us, from the way we see each other, the way we hold each other up, the way we fight for each other. He didn’t save the world with a sword or a crown. He saved it with love.
And if his followers have made you believe that “Jesus loves me” is a lie, then hear this: I love you. All of you. As you are. Not as the world demands you be.
Stay close to the campfire. Hold on to the warmth of love and compassion. Share it with those who need it most. Together, we can hold out through this long night. And when the sun rises again, we’ll still be here, scarred, maybe, but unbroken.
With all my love,
R.L. Lawrence
P.S.
I said this to the non-whites, I say it also to the non-straights:
As a student of history, I feel I must offer you some advice based on what I’ve seen over the years: arm yourselves. Buy a gun, and learn how to use it responsibly to protect yourself and those you love. Do it now, while you still can, because history shows us that those in power will stop at nothing to consolidate control. There may come a time when they try to make it illegal for people like you to arm themselves, or worse, when they declare you “illegal” people altogether. Don’t let them strip you of the means to defend your freedom and your family.
This isn’t a call for violence; it’s a call for preparation. Because when history repeats itself, those who are prepared to stand their ground have the best chance of surviving it.