Ryan: A Kamala Harris sermon

Photo by Sean Ryan

Disclaimer: This was originally supposed to run last month, when Harris ended her bid for President. Somehow it got lost in the drafts folder. My bad on that one. The message of the story is as relevant as ever. - Kevin

The 11:00 a.m. Sunday service at Corinthian Baptist Church was a little more crowded than usual.

Not much.

It was the same half-empty room as always, same congregants, in their dayglow blouses and deacon greys.

Only, that Sunday, a dozen-odd journalists and photographers lurked the pews, angling for a glimpse of Kamala Harris as she sat with good posture in the front near the pulpit.

Counting Harris, her sister, and her secret service — wherever they were — the church was about 18 people more crowded than usual, and that was everything.

Harris often speaks at churches. Growing up, she went to a Black Baptist church, 23rd-Avenue Church of God in Oakland, California. She and her sister Maya sang in the choir. Other days, they attended temple with their mother, a breast cancer researcher from the Brahman Caste, the highest level of Indian society and domain of Hindu priests and supreme beings.

*Who knew that Kamala Harris would slowly torch herself and begin an inevitable decline into Bidenisms and choked laughter, as, somehow, she started transforming into Biden 2 right before our eyes?

Not many in Iowa.

There was a real fervor in the air, centered on Harris. She was everywhere. She looked unstoppable.

The lesson was, politics has the agility of a game, and nobody — no one — ever truly knows who will win.

*

Light environed Harris as she strode to the clear-plastic podium at the side of the stage.

Tendrils of stained-glass light all around her, green and yellow and red and white and purple, all writhing in bright shifting dayglow, with a Black Jesus surrounded by people of every color, three glinting crucifixes over his shoulder.

"It is the church where we go, in times of need," she said, pausing so that the phrase could hum and the congregation could agree.

"Yes," they shouted. "Yes, Lord."

"It is the church where we go, when we need upliftment. It is the church where we go, when we need inspiration. It is the church where we go, when times like these test our faith and we need to be reminded of all of Christ's teachings, and what Jesus has taught us."

"Hallelujah," someone shouted.

"And we will fight evil, when it appears. Like what we're talking about this week, what we saw in El Paso and Dayton. We talked about the hate that displayed itself, that took on lethal proportions, and, as we all know, Lord, if we ever needed you, we need you at a time like now.

The congregation clapped wildly, churning out spastic cries.

"But we also know in Romans, 'Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.' So this is one of these moments."
She added that she and her sister Maya grew up in a home of faith. She repeated the word "faith." Then she waved toward Maya, who sat upright, looking ahead in her all white-outfit, contemplative, awake, like a Renaissance painting of an angel.

"We were raised to understand that we must live our faith. We were raised to understand that your faith, you should think of it as a verb."

"All right," shouted a woman in a pastel red dress. "Live it," shouted her neighbor.

"Faith is going to be displayed, not just in your words, but in your actions. And when I think about moments like this, I think we all know this is an affliction in the history of our country. This is a moment of time that is challenging us to look in a mirror and ask a question. That question being, 'Who are we?'"

A chorus of "mm-hm"s, instinctive agreement.

"At church, I think we know part of the answer to that question is 'We. Are better. Than. This.'"

"Oh, now." "Better, better, better than this."

"So this is a moment in time that requires us to fight. For the best of who we are. And fight we will."

"Amen. "Hallelujah." "Go on."

"You know, my sister and I, we were raised by a family of fighters. My parents met when they were active in the Civil Rights movement in Oakland in the 1960s. We joke that we grew up surrounded by adults who spent full-time marching and shouting. About this thing called justice."

Laughter, laughter, then a fulsome "Right on."

"And the heroes included not only Dr. King, who by the way was in his early 20s when he led the boycott — he, together with John Lewis and so many others, they were youth when they were driving and running that movement — but those heroes, including Thurgood Marshall and Charles Hamilton Houston and Constance Baker Motley, who understood the skill of the profession of law and transferred the passion from the streets to the courtrooms of our country, to do the work of reminding folks of that promise that we articulated in 1776, that we are all equal, and we need to be treated that way."

"Go ahead."

"That's why I went to Howard, went to law school, and decided to do the work that I've done, believing that one of the ways we will live our faith is to fight for justice."

"Whoop!"

"Scripture tells us, 'We must shine a light on the path, toward justice.' And so this is one of those moments in time where our faith is being challenged. And we must fall back on all of Christ's teachings, to remind us of what we are capable of."

Silence.

"One of my favorite parables is the story of the good Samaritan. When we talk about the good Samaritan, when Jesus talks about it, he challenges us to define 'neighbor.'"

"Mm-hm." In coordinated murmurs. "Yes yes mm-hm."

"So the Commandments tell us to love each other as we would our neighbor. But let's challenge ourselves to define 'neighbor.' The parable of the good Samaritan tells us, 'well you may think your neighbor is just someone who lives next door to you. Drives the same kind of car as you. Has kids who go to the same school as your kids. Same zip code as you.' But, no."

"No, no." "Yes, yes." "Mm-hm."

"Your neighbor includes when you're walking down the street and you see that person by the side of the road, in need of comfort. They may be drug-addicted, they may have fled harm in a country that is one of the murder capitals of the world, they may be out-of-work and in need of support. Jesus tells us, 'That is our neighbor, too.' And it is incumbent on us, if we are going to live our faith, to stand with and give dignity to that person."

"Amen." "Amen." "Amen."

"To give them support and to lift them up, and to speak out against hate and all that has driven them to be all that they are, and to stand with them."

"Yep!" "Stand with them!"

"So it is so wonderful to worship with you this morning. Now, I am here to worship. I am not here to preach, I'll leave that to the pastor. But I do wanna say, as a member of the United States Senate, and as you all know I am running to become the next President of the United States…"

Uproar, uproar, yips and whoo's, loads of clapping, a whistle or two.

"... Let our faith guide us, at moments like this. And guide us in a way that also lets us know that, as history has always proven to us, if we have faith to see what can be, unburdened by what has been, we will move mountains."
In the stale room that smelled like old closet, a wave of voices surged toward Harris, and she let it all wash over her, three glinting crucifixes over her shoulder.

*

A couple weeks earlier, Harris wound up on the same D.C.-to-Detroit flight as conservative firebrand and borderline troll Candace Owens. At the airport, Owens did what Owens does best. She grilled. She prodded. She spoke fast and had an answer for anything. She even photobombed.

Owens has been viciously critical of Harris, scathing. Like Harris, she is a natural performer.

At the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) in March, 2019, Owen said that Harris thinks that "black people are stupid."

In the past few years, Owens has catapulted to political stardom. For a while there, she was close with Kanye West. And most of us assume that she'll make a run for President herself at some point.

I had seen her in Dallas that April, three months earlier, at a Blexit rally, on the eve of her 30th birthday.

At both sides of the room, bartenders glared and muttered and slouched into cash registers. Onstage, people prayed over Owens and called her the Martin Luther King of our time, then balloons scattered down over a mostly-Caucasian crowd in a mostly-unpeopled ballroom, red-tipped by MAGA hats. Then she marched around to "Jesus Walks," the song that will keep Kanye West out of Hell.

*

Kamala Harris began her 2020 Presidency campaign on January 21st, Martin Luther King Jr. Day, at a rally in Oakland.

"People in power are trying to convince us that the villain in our American story is each other," she told the crowd of 20,000. "But that is not our story. That is not who we are. That is not our America."

As much as Owens dislikes her, Harris is paving the way for black women in politics.

Many of Harris' anecdotes are sayings from her mother. A favorite goes something like, "My mother always told me, 'Be the first to do many things. But don't be the last.'"

*

Lopsided, broke, unsalvageable. The cold cinder of the news cycle playing out in a church in a busy neighborhood under a highway.

Earlier that morning, several journalists and photographers had slumped off the Hawkeye Stages bus designated for Harris' press, but not many. My dad and I were two of fewer than 10 white people in the room, all but one journalists.

The service had different stages. Sing for a bit, standing. Listen to a hymn, seated. Then a song. Then a sermon.

Now was song.

On the screen, lyrics for "God's Gifted Voices."

The program's daily devotional concluded,"Corinithian opens wide her door, And says in the name of Jesus our Lord … WELCOME."

Maybe there was a shift in the air, but something jolted the place with a vague desperation. It shook the winds of the church, past the voice of the perceivable. Nobody seemed to care. Maybe it was the air conditioner.

The half-choir sang, "That's my heart, full of praise."

The band was having fun. They gave stage to the Holy Spirit. Piano, drums, 5-string bass. They were performing with the bounce of Funkadelic, the religiosity of Chance the Rapper, the confidence of David Bowie.

Quotations scattered the back of the church program.

Matthew 11:28. "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

Under the section labeled Prayer Ministry, 1 Chronicles 16:11. "Look to the Lord and his strength; seek his face always."

From somewhere, someone cried out, asking "Whose attention are you seeking?"

Then the congregation joined in, "Everywhere I go, I'm gonna let it shine."

Church services always have those awkward hand-offs between one speaker or one event and the next.

An elderly man in a rain-burnished blazer took the stage, leaned into the microphone, and began hurling his gravel voice around. It spun and spun, until it cut into a ruthlessly powerful version of "Amazing Grace." The man sang like everything was at stake. He ignored almost everyone.

I stood and sang. You would have to. Only a monster would have avoided crying. Not too much just a little.
"By and by, when the morning comes."

Between songs, someone advised, "Father stretch your hand, the way we sing when we're alone."

A multiplying spirit had overtaken the air. It was the opposite of suction energy, or at least quite different. If suction energy draws the entire room toward one person, this energy expanded each person toward the shore. It brought together instead of pulling in or rending apart. It overcame the indifferent softness of each person's selfhood and mesmerized us into a luminary belch of one thing, one life.

But the spirit receded when the song collapsed, stumbling into a tanglement of drums and bass wimpers. For no reason at all, the keyboard player soloed into the Mario underground level song. Dun-dun dun-dun Dun-dun. I kept expecting the "ping" sound of a coin, which, coincidentally, the collection plates were being passed around.

"Ping!"

Everyone there, we were no longer some dove in a swell of light, we were were a contagion, caught in the web of better manners, like Adam and Eve ashamed of their love handles. Stuck together like so much rice packed into licks of seaweed.

We felt like a shifting tide, sometimes perfect, sometimes ugly.

Then a tiny procession of girls took the stage. Six, barely more than 10 or 11 years old, falsely stern in their Sunday outfits beside rows of empty blue chairs. All of it was so empty.

It was the second Sunday of August and the children's choir sings on the second Sunday of every month. So here they were, singing.

They began sheepishly. They were scared, crowding around a shadow. One girl held her own microphone. She was the leader. She sang the loudest. She had a ponytail. She wore a red dress with white flowers.

"Sing babies," shouted people in the pews, "yes yes sing, babies."

The girls sang "Sunday Morning Heroes," a song I thought I knew but have been unable to find anywhere.

Their confidence grew and their voices got louder. And people cried out.

They repeated what sounded like "You didn't stay too long."

Harris nodded and smiled and positively glowed as she sat front row in a tan blazer.

After the girls finished and people squatted back down into their pews, a deacon said a prayer.

It bore the first mention of politics. Clumsy, the way he stumbled into policy. And, for the first time that morning, you could hear the outside world, police sirens braying past, maybe close, maybe far.

And the weather, all morning a lurking rain and mist held to the air. Fog so thick you couldn't see the speed-limit signs, which means you have to drive slower than whatever number is on them.

The weather wouldn't change much by the end of the service. But it would be a little bit brighter, as all the stained glass cars spat through the residue of a downpour along Interstate 235.

Hop hop hop to a Koji Kondo "Mario Bros." soundtrack.

*

Harris' sister Maya glided down the rows. She stalked along the aisle. Then she locked into the rostrum and spoke.
It was the best speech of the entire week. I recorded it with my Maranze

Then, she sang.

By God, it was fabulous. Scorching. Was this what it felt like to see Aretha back in the day? To watch Sam Cooke sing "Change Gonna Come"? To hear Björk or Chaka Khan in person?

Maya Harris is two years younger than Kamala. She officiated Kamala's wedding in 2014. She chairs Harris' campaign, and was a policy advisor to Hillary Clinton's 2016 Presidential campaign. Her husband, Tony West, served as Associate Attorney General under Obama.

The band fumbled boredly. A woman in a green sweater sat down at the drums.

Maya sang like everything depended on it in the old-room heat. Below the sundance of ocean-bright reflections from the stained glass window. The emotional force of her delivery kept the congregation waiting for whatever came next. And how she started low and quiet then let the song lift her and lift her and lift her and lift everyone, by God, I found myself yipping and going "yes, yes" like the rest of the congregation.

It was the wrong thing to ask but, anywhere you looked all you saw was the stained glass window, and did Jesus really look like that, like Superfly surrounded by feathers?

*

"Kamala" means "lotus" or "pale red" in Sanskrit. It is also another name for Lakshmi, the Hindu goddess of prosperity, fortune, and beauty.

In Buddhism, the lotus flower symbolizes purity of word and body. There was a trail of lotuses behind every step Siddhartha Gautama Buddha took.

According to Hindu belief, our soul resides in the heart of the lotus, the flower of awakening, of spiritual enlightenment.

The lotus appears throughout Hindu texts as a symbol of divinity. Growth, purity, genesis. The pink lotus is a pendant of the gods.Brahma, the god of creation, was self-born from a lotus flower. He emerged from the navel of Vishnu on lotus petals at the beginning of Time.

*

After the collection plates traversed the last row, the pastor said a word. Some word that all of us know.

He gripped his pulpit. He started with a whisper. Barely audible, quoting Psalms 85:1-17:

Restore us again, God our Savior, and put away your displeasure toward us. Will you be angry with us forever? Will you prolong your anger through all generations? Will you not revive us again, that your people may rejoice in you? Show us your unfailing love, Lord, and grant us your salvation.

When someone starts out that quiet you know what kind of bullshit they're about to pull.

Then he built and built, his voice rose and rose until it quaked the room and, once or twice, caused a squeak of feedback.

It felt like we were inside Noah's ark, adrift on a flooded planet, the last humans alive. Or maybe we were the water, having overtaken the earth, too deep for ourselves.

"Our spiritual climate is off," shouted the pastor. "And the only way we fix a spiritual climate is to turn to God. If you want to live life, go to the one who gave you life, the one who breathed into man's nostrils."

The pastor shook his head. "Nothing makes me happy, people say. Well I am happy. You can't make me what I already am. No one can sell you when you know who you are."

He mentioned Abraham Lincoln. The Emancipation Proclamation. He implied that President Trump had launched us back, way back, back before all men were actually treated as equals. He painted Trump as a devil. A white supremacist, which was awkward, considering the racial dynamics of the room.

And then he snarled and said, do not hiss with blame, do not glare outward, because so much of the world's problems arise from a disconnect of fellowship.

"Whatsoever you choose on earth," he said, then he flared his nostrils and nodded and fought back a powerful emotion, then said something about the worlds that rampage within us.

"Your life is layaway," he said. "Ya'll remember layaway, right? It's yours but it ain't yours."

Then everyone went around and shook hands and hugged and smiled. I greeted the woman in front of me, a young black woman with her 9-year-old daughter and her husband. I leaned down to shake the daughter's hand, and her mouth dropped when I introduced myself, as in, "What is this that you're doing? Who are you? And why are you, a white dude, here, at black church?"

The mother asked me, "Is Kamala friendly? Does she talk for a while, you know, after a speech? Do you think she'll stick around?"

The family shuffled up to Harris and never returned, and there I was in the back pew all by myself.

People greeted Harris like they were taking Communion.

She dropped a closed envelope into a wooden bowl, relaxed because she knew what was inside it.

A scattered man hunched down at the pew, five feet to my left.

The pastor was humming into the microphone. "Remember what Sister Harris said about the people beside us," he said. "Treat them with kindness. Because when we mistreat someone, we're mistreating someone who belongs to God. We are mistreating the family."

What a load of horseshit, I thought.

"Now," he said, "let us pray."

It got quiet. I bowed my head. I nodded. And you better believe I held the hand of my neighbor.

New installments of this series come out every Monday and Thursday morning. Check out my Twitter or email me at kryan@mercurystudios.com

If we can build skyscrapers, we can rebuild bridges

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Editor's note: This article was originally published on TheBlaze.com.

I am sick and tired of hearing about our limitations. The collapse of the Francis Scott Key Bridge this week is an amazing hero story of the cops and first responders who saved an untold number of lives by doing exactly the right thing quickly. But I’m really tired of hearing about how long it’s going to take us to recover from this catastrophe and how bad it’s going to be.


The immediate impact for Americans regarding this bridge collapse seems dire. If you're waiting for a new car to come in from overseas, prepare to wait longer. The Port of Baltimore stands as the nation’s leading import-export site for cars and trucks. It’s also the leading nexus for sugar and gypsum, which is used in fertilizer, drywall, and plaster. A record 52.3 million tons of foreign cargo was transported through Baltimore just last year.

To expect more from our leaders is rational. But to expect the most from ourselves is essential.

The bustling port is now cut off after the 1.6-mile-long bridge crumbled and fell into the river early Tuesday, blocking the only shipping lane into the port.

The officials have said the timeline for rebuilding the bridge will be years. The Port of Baltimore creates more than 15,300 jobs, with another 140,000 jobs linked to the activity at the port. This is a major disaster and will continue to cause significant problems on the East Coast for U.S. importers and exporters.

The bridge collapse means it will not be possible to get to the container terminals or a range of the other port terminals in Baltimore. Maryland Secretary of Transportation Paul J. Wiedefeld told reporters on Tuesday that vessel traffic in the port would be suspended until further notice but noted the port is still open to trucks.

Michael Mezzacappa, an attorney and expert on property damage cases in the shipping industry, told the New York Post that the collapse will have a major impact on shipping and traffic routes in the East Coast for the foreseeable future. “It’s not going to get fixed any time soon,” Mezzacappa said. “It’s going to take a lot longer than anyone expects. This is going to be a major problem for the Northeast.”

Remember the American spirit

I am absolutely sick to death of all of these stories that say things like that. Have we forgotten who we are? Have we forgotten what we’ve done?

Let me remind you of the American spirit, a spirit so potent and so vibrant that it has scaled towering mountains, mountains nobody thought they could cross.

It’s the spirit that constructed marvels of engineering. Have you ever been to the Hoover Dam? Have you seen the New York City skyline? The skyscraper was invented here for a reason. Here we are on the threshold of tomorrow, and none of us knows what is going to happen. But I'm getting the impression that we’ve been so beaten down that we believe we’re not going to make it tomorrow.

Have we forgotten who our ancestors are and what they did? If you look through our history even briefly, you will see a group of people who never take no for an answer. You will see a people who can do anything.


I want to stop just briefly in 1930. The Great Depression had its icy grip on us. It was a time that felt like a flickering candle in the vast darkness just barely holding on. Yet, it was in this crucible of adversity that Americans did great things.

The Empire State Building rose. It wasn’t just a structure of steel and stone. It was a beacon, a beacon of hope and American resilience and ingenuity. The way that thing was built — no one has ever seen anything like it before and since. In a record-shattering one year and 45 days, an army of workers, as many as 3,400 men on certain days, transformed this audacious vision into a cowering reality.

If you look through our history even briefly, you will see a group of people who never take no for an answer.

The Empire State Building wasn’t constructed. It was conjured into existence with a symphony of clanging metal and roaring machines and the inexhaustible spirit of its builders. The men perched on steel girders that were being flown in by giant cranes whispered tales about how they could still feel the warmth of the freshly poured metal beneath them. That beam was still warm, even though it was poured in Pittsburgh, put on a train, then put on a boat, then on a truck, then hauled up into the air.

They could fill the warmth because we moved that fast. It was a feverish pace of construction. It seemed to defy the laws of time and physics.

For a long time, it was the tallest building in the world — an architectural achievement. It was also a declaration to the world that America was a land where the impossible became possible, that we are a people of determination, innovation, with a relentless will to succeed.

These aren't merely historical footnotes. They are blazing torches illuminating our path forward. They remind us that when we're faced with adversity, we don't just endure it. We overcome it. We don’t wait for history to chart our course. We write it with the sweat of our brow and the strength of our backs. That’s who we are. Have we forgotten that?

What are we waiting for?

We find ourselves at another crossroads faced with the challenges that threaten to dim the bright future that we all dream for our nation, for our children. The spirit that built the Empire State Building, laid down miles of railroads, cut through the Rocky Mountains, and sent astronauts to the moon is still inside of every heart of every American, somewhere.

Awaken that spirit. Scale new mountains. It's not just rock and earth. Scale the mountains of innovation. Build. Not just physical structures but a future that upholds the spirit of adventure, hard work, and ingenuity. Stop tearing everything down. Let's start building.

Why are we waiting? If this isn't a national emergency, I don't know what it is.

And I don't just mean the bridge. I mean all of it. You might say, “Well, our government has to lead.” Really? Does it? Maybe that’s our problem. America is led by its values and principles that are found in the souls of those who still remember who we are and who we serve. Americans lead the way. The government always follows.

You might say again, "Well, we can’t act without the government." Nonsense! Where are the bridge builders who will stand up today and say, “I'll get it done!” As soon as that happens, you’ll see who is leading and who is stalling. The government is the one that stalls the engine out. To expect more from our leaders is rational. But to expect the most from ourselves is essential.

There is nothing we can't achieve when we all stand together, united by our dreams, and driven by the will to see them fulfilled. Don't listen to anybody else who tells you differently.

6 things every voter needs to know heading into the 2024 election

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Election season is coming up and every vote matters. Over the last four years, our country has experienced some of the lowest lows it has seen in a long time. From horrors at the southern border to government overspending, it is clear: our country is in trouble. Everybody needs to get out and vote.

When you look at the numbers, there are some noticeable trends in who actually votes... and who doesn't. According to Pew Research, the more mature crowd (30 and up) gets out there and does their civic duty, while the younger crowd (18 to 29) just doesn't make it out to the polls. If you are a young or first-time voter, the process can seem daunting. You have to jump through some bureaucratic red tape before you can head to the polls, which can be frustrating and discouraging for someone who has never done it before.

If this describes you or someone you know, you're in luck. We compiled everything you need to know to get ready to hit the polls this election season in a convenient guide below.

Get an I.D.

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The first thing you'll need is a valid state I.D. These can take a while to acquire, so if you don't yet have one, it's time to get on it. Not all states require I.D., and every state has different requirements. You can check to see if your state requires an I.D. to vote here.

Register to vote

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Every state, except North Dakota, requires prospective voters to register, so it is important to make sure you are registered in the state and county you reside in. Every state has a different registration process. You can find your state's registration website here.

Confirm date of election day

You want to make sure you arrive at the polls at the right date and time. Most states have a set election day, and often there are even a few days or weeks of early voting that lead up to it. Check out this list of election dates to find out your election day and mark it in your calendar.

Find your polling location

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You can find polling locations on your state's voter information website, which can be found here. Keep in mind that you will likely have to find a location within the county where you reside. These locations often include public schools, public libraries, city halls, and other public buildings.

Research candidates on the ballot

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Before you vote, it is important to be educated in what you are voting for. Find out who will be on the ballot (and don't be surprised when it's not just the presidential nominees), and do a little digging. Don't assume that because a candidate has a little "R" next to their name they share your values. You can visit this website to find out who will be on the ballot in your local area.

Actually go vote

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There is nothing else to to but get out there and vote! Go out there and make your voice heard!

What do clay pots have to do with to preserving American history?

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Editor's note: This article was originally published on TheBlaze.com.

Why should we preserve our nation’s history? If you listen to my radio program and podcast, or read my columns and books, you know I’ve dedicated a large part of my life and finances to sourcing and preserving priceless artifacts that tell America’s story. I’ve tried to make these artifacts as available as possible through the American Journey Experience Museum, just across from the studios where I do my daily radio broadcast. Thousands of you have come through the museum and have been able to see and experience these artifacts that are a part of your legacy as an American.

The destruction of American texts has already begun.

But why should people like you and me be concerned about preserving these things from our nation's history? Isn’t that what the “big guys” like the National Archives are for?

I first felt a prompting to preserve our nation's history back in 2008, and it all started with clay pots and the Dead Sea Scrolls. In 1946, a Bedouin shepherd in what is now the West Bank threw a rock into a cave nestled into the side of a cliff near the Dead Sea. Instead of hearing an echo, he heard the curious sound of a clay pot shattering. He discovered more than 15,000 Masoretic texts from the third century B.C. to the first century A.D.

These texts weren’t just a priceless historical discovery. They were virtually perfect copies of the same Jewish texts that continue to be translated today. Consider the significance of that discovery. Since the third century B.C. when these texts were first written, the Jewish people have endured a continued onslaught of diasporas, persecutions, pressures to conform to their occupying power, the destruction of their temple, and so much more. They had to fight for their identity as a people for centuries, and finally, a year after the end of the Holocaust and a year before the founding of the nation of Israel, these texts were discovered, confirming the preservation and endurance of their heritage since ancient times — all due to someone putting these clay pots in a desert cave more than 2,000 years ago.

I first felt a prompting to preserve our nation's history back in 2008, and it all started with clay pots and the Dead Sea Scrolls.

So, what do these clay pots have to do with the calling to preserve American history? I didn’t understand that prompting myself until the horrible thought dawned on me that the people we are fighting against may very well take our sacred American scriptures, our Declaration of Independence, and our Bill of Rights. What if they are successful, and 1,000 years from now, we have no texts preserved to confirm our national identity? What kind of new history would be written over the truth?

The destruction of American texts has already begun. The National Archives has labeled some of our critical documents, like our Declaration of Independence, Constitution, and Bill of Rights, as “triggering” or “containing harmful language.” In a public statement, the National Archives said that the labels help prepare readers to view potentially distressing content:

The Catalog and web pages contain some content that may be harmful or difficult to view. NARA’s records span the history of the United States, and it is our charge to preserve and make available these historical records. As a result, some of the materials presented here may reflect outdated, biased, offensive, and possibly violent views and opinions. In addition, some of the materials may relate to violent or graphic events and are preserved for their historical significance.

According to this statement, our founding documents are either “outdated, biased, offensive,” “possibly violent,” or a combination of these scathing descriptions. I’m sorry, the Declaration of Independence is not “triggering.” Our Constitution is not “outdated and biased,” and our Bill of Rights certainly is not “offensive and possibly violent.” They are glorious documents. They should be celebrated, not qualified by such derogatory, absurd language. Shame on them.

These are only the beginning stages of rewriting our history. What if they start banning these “triggering” documents from public view because they might offend somebody? Haven’t we torn down “triggering” statues before? What if we are no longer able to see, read, and study the actual words of our nation's founding documents because they are “harmful” or “possibly violent”? A thousand years from now, will there be any remnant to piece together the true spirit behind the nation that our founders envisioned?

The Declaration of Independence is not “triggering.”

That is why in 2008, I was prompted to preserve what I could. Now, the American Journey Experience Museum includes more than 160,000 artifacts, from founding-era documents to the original Roe v. Wade court papers. We need to preserve the totality of our nation’s heritage, the good, the bad, and the ugly. We need to preserve our history in our own clay pots.

I ask you to join with me on this mission. Start buying books that are important to preserve. Buy some acid-free paper and start printing some of the founding documents, the reports that go against the mainstream narrative, the studies that prove what is true as we are continually being fed lies. Start preserving our daily history as well as our history because it is being rewritten and digitized.

Somebody must have a copy of what is happening now and what has happened in the past. I hope things don’t get really bad. But if they do, we need to preserve our heritage. Perhaps, someone 1,000 years from now will discover our clay pots and, Lord willing, be able to have a glimpse of America as it truly was.

Top 10 WORST items in the new $1.2 TRILLION spending bill

Kevin Dietsch / Staff | Getty Images

Biden just signed the newest spending bill into law, and Glenn is furious.

Under Speaker Johnson's leadership, the whopping $1.2 TRILLION package will use your taxpayer dollars to fund the government through September. Of course, the bill is loaded with earmarks and pork that diverts money to fund all sorts of absurd side projects.

Here is the list of the ten WORST uses of taxpayer money in the recently passed spending bill:

Funding venues to host drag shows, including ones that target children

David McNew / Contributor | Getty Images

Money for transgender underwear for kids

Funding for proms for 12 to 18 year old kids

Bethany Clarke / Stringer | Getty Images

Border security funding... for Jordan and Egypt

Another $300 million for Ukraine

Anadolu / Contributor | Getty Images

$3.5 million for Detroit's annual Thanksgiving Day parade

Icon Sportswire / Contributor | Getty Images

$2.5 million for a new kayaking facility in Franklin, New Hampshire

Acey Harper / Contributor | Getty Images

$2.7 million for a bike park in White Sulfur Springs, West Virginia, a town with a population of less than 2,300 people

$5 million for a new trail at Coastal Carolina University

$4 million the "Alaska King Crab Enhancement Project" (whatever that means)

FRED TANNEAU / Stringer | Getty Images