Reclaiming Our Values

Palm Sunday has always felt important to me. It's a story about choosing courage at the exact moment when it would be easier to go along to get along. About standing in your values even when you know it’s going to cost you something.

That’s a big part of why I’m in this race.

I grew up in the church. I was one of those kids who actually looked forward to Sundays. I was always involved. Some weeks I was ushering. Other weeks I was in the choir. A lot of the time I was on the drums. Church wasn’t just a place we went. It was a second home. Between Sunday services, Bible study, choir rehearsals, and youth group, it was where I learned how to be part of a community.

That’s where I learned what it means to forgive. What it means to take care of people. What it means to show radical love, not just when it’s easy, but when it matters.

Those lessons stuck with me.

But I’ve also seen what happens when faith gets twisted and corrupted.

Shortly after I came out, I went through conversion therapy. It was framed as faith. It was anything but. It was harmful, isolating, and deeply confusing, especially for someone who had grown up being told that God is love. It tried to take something core to who I am and treat it like it needed to be fixed.

And now, we’re seeing that same harm show up in policy as part of something bigger.

...there is nothing Christ-like about policies that abandon love and replace it with fear or control.

The Iowa legislature has advanced an avalanche of bills that claim to protect “religious freedom” or promote faith, but in practice do the exactly the opposite. They use religion as a justification to exclude, to control, and to harm. The recent moves to allow families to push their children into conversion therapy, and allow healthcare providers a "conscience exemption" to providing care are two of the clearest, most recent examples of that.

There is nothing faithful about telling a young person they are broken. There is nothing godly about using religion to justify ignoring patient needs. And there is nothing Christ-like about policies that abandon love and replace it with fear or control.

I know what that experience feels like. I know the damage it does. And I know it stands in direct opposition to the commandment at the center of the faith I was raised in, to love one another.

That is not the faith I believe in.

The faith that shaped me is rooted in love. It’s about caring for people. It’s about mercy. It’s about making sure no one is left behind or pushed to the margins. It’s about community.

And despite what leaders say, we are not living up to that right now.

That is not the example Jesus set.

Our faith isn't just tested in how we treat individuals, but in how we build systems that honor the dignity of every worker and family. Too many people are barely getting by. Housing costs keep climbing. Families are stretched thin trying to afford groceries, healthcare, and basic necessities. People are working hard and still falling behind. At the same time, corporations are raising prices and posting record profits, and too many politicians are more focused on protecting that system than fixing it.

And layered on top of all of that, we’re seeing faith used as a political weapon.

Christian nationalism has taken something that is supposed to be about love and turned it into something about control. It’s being used to divide people, to exclude people, and to justify harm. That is not what I was taught. That is not the example Jesus set.

My faith calls me to something different.

It calls me to care about whether people can afford to live in their own communities. It calls me to care about whether seniors can afford their prescriptions. It calls me to care about whether our schools have the resources they need. It calls me to speak up when systems are failing people and when those in power choose to ignore it.

And that’s why I’m running.

Because I don’t believe we can keep accepting a status quo where people are struggling while those at the top keep getting more. I don’t believe we can accept underfunded schools while tax cuts flow to wealthy families and businesses who need them least. I don’t believe we can allow corporations to poison our communities with impunity.

That’s not leadership. And it’s not moral.

Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.

I’m running because I believe our government should reflect the values so many of us were raised with. Take care of each other. Do what’s right. Believe the best in people. Show up.

Today, I put that into action by marching to the Capitol with my church and the Iowa Interfaith Alliance for a Palm Sunday Public Witness, grounded in Matthew 25 and the call to care for our neighbors.

Palm Sunday, especially in the midst of this campaign, is a reminder that real leadership doesn’t come from power. It comes from conviction. From being willing to step forward, even when it’s hard, and say this isn’t good enough. And then do the work to make it better.