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

In honor of the World Economic Forum summit in Davos, we would like to resurrect this gem from Glenn's Instagram archive. If "the Great Reset" doesn't work out, Schwab should consider reaching out to the Bond franchise for a Plan-B career.

Be sure to follow Glenn on Instagram for more!

This is part of our ongoing series on "The Great Reset." To read similar content, click here.

PROOF the World Economic Forum wants you eating... BUGS!

EasyBuy4u, PeopleImages, TeoLazarev | Getty Images

As the World Economic Forum continues to meet in Davos about building a more "sustainable" future, Glenn's warning on a seemingly outlandish sustainability goal is becoming reality: eating bugs!

In its 2023 Global Risks Report, the World Economic Forum called for the "transition to net-zero, nature-positive food" to fight "food insecurity." In other words, the WEF imagines a future with minimal meat and maximum "zero-emissions food"—like bugs—as consumers' main source of protein. This is a part of "the Great Reset," the agenda proposed by the World Economic Forum in 2020, urging leaders to take advantage of the COVID-19 crisis to restructure the "world order" to bring about a leftist Utopia.

SHOP: Trigger leftists and amuse your friends with 'Eat Ze Bugs' socks (while supplies last)

Major news outlets like the BBC have promoted insect farms as a sustainable food source to "reduce the reliance on everyday meat eating."

Courtesy of the BBC

So what's the big concern about eating bugs? As the video points out, many cultures throughout the world have been eating insects for centuries—many consider them a delicacy! The issue with the WEF's push for insects isn't merely the option to eat bugs. If someone wants to munch on some grasshoppers, nothing is stopping them! The major concern is the way in which the WEF wants to mandate insect consumption, and, consequentially, destroy the beef industry.

According to the same 2023 Risk Report, the WEF calls for "radical policy measures" to bring about the food transition to zero-net-emissions food, like insects. This means imposing such a burden on the dairy and cattle industries that it renders them impossible to function, paving the way for a new insect industry.

In the Netherlands, the EU's largest food exporter, the government is forcing the farmers to sell their land to the state unless they reduce the amount of nitrogen fertilizer used. However, without nitrogen fertilizer, it is nearly impossible for the farmers to produce enough food to feed the nation, not to mention turn a profit. Moreover, without nitrogen fertilizer, it will be impossible for cattle farmers to produce enough food to feed their cows. This is an impossible burden for farmers to bear, and they often capitulate and sell their land to the government, paving the way for a burgeoning insect industry. Is it any coincidence the EU is pushing for insects as a means of "food sufficiency" and combatting climate change?

If you think eating insects is a novel issue from across the pond, think again. There is a growing push for a "beef tax" in the U.S. to disincentivize beef consumption and incentivize alternative "sustainable" protein sources...like bugs. According to 2021, data, U.S. beef is a 79-billion-dollar-per-year industry, employing million across the U.S.'s 700,000 cattle farms. These stats don't even include the U.S.'s dairy industry. If the global environmentalists have their way, this major U.S. industry will be wiped out, wreaking havoc on our economy. Yet this government control over the "everyday person's" consumption is all too tantalizing.

As the World Economic Forum convenes in Davos to discuss how to achieve their "sustainable utopia," Glenn continues to advocate for the free market and the ability to choose our own consumer goods, rather than giving global elites the power to consolidate and mandate their "approved goods" for widespread consumption. Though consuming insects may seem like an outlandish idea that has no impact on our daily lives, it is a part of a larger movement to control our way of life to achieve a more sustainable future, threatening both our economy and our basic freedoms.

This is part of our ongoing series on "The Great Reset." To read similar content, click here.

Beto's BACK! And now he's imparting all of his PRICELESS wisdom to the next generation...

Drew Angerer / Staff, Jacob Boomsma | Getty Images

Since November, Americans have been on the edge of their seats wondering just what will Beto O’Rourke do next? How will he follow up losing a U.S. Senate race, dropping out of the U.S. presidential race, and then losing the Texas governor’s race? How do you top a trifecta like that?

Well, now we finally know the answer. He’s going to be a professor this semester at the University of Chicago. And not a moment too soon. Professor Beto will be teaching college students about Democracy… which is a terrifying idea.

Fortunately, we got our hands on an advanced copy of Professor Beto’s course syllabus…

Syllabus

Course Title:

Failing Upward 101: How to Succeed in Life Without Really Trying

Session 1

Cultural Appropriation: Why It’s Wrong and Why You Should Also Try It

Session 2

Converting White Guilt into Cold Hard Cash

Session 3

Marrying Wealth: The Underrated Value of Money Over Love

Session 4

Ensuring a Woman’s Right to Choose Abortion Every Time

Session 5

Campaigning as a Career Path (Special Guest Lecturer – Stacey Abrams)

Session 6

Effin’ Fundamentals: Winning Techniques for Swearing Good

Session 7

Squirrels Are People Too: Animal Rehab as Spiritual Discipline

Session 8

Abolishing Republicans in Our Lifetime: Gulags and Other Viable Options

Session 9

The Subtle Art of Caring Too Much: Why Socialism Rocks!

Session 10

Style Over Substance: My Foolproof Life Hack

Today, Glenn talked with San Fransicko author and "Twitter Files" reporter, Michael Schellenberger about the threat Elon Musk poses to the global elite's monopoly over free speech—and Musk agreed!

Replying to Glenn's tweet, Musk wrote, "Citizen journalism is vital to the future of civilization."

The Twitter files have exposed the revolving door between big government and big tech to control the media narrative for their own benefit. Hopefully this will inspire structural change to put free speech on social media back in the hands of the people rather than just the elites!