Burying Uncle Jerry

White "Christian" Nationalism, and the armor of God

We buried my uncle Jerry Wednesday. He’s in the center in the photo above, holding my cousin Debbie. Jerry was a kind and gentle man. He was a helicopter mechanic in the Army in the Korean War and retired after working for John Deere in Ankeny in 1987. He would get off work at 1:00 or 2:00 in the afternoon and then come to the construction site and work with Dad. After he retired from John Deere, he worked full-time for Dad for a few years, if I remember correctly. I would be there too if it were summertime until the mid-’70s. Then Jerry would go home and work on cars nights and weekends that had been wrecked and then sell them. He was tireless and a great uncle to have. I will always remember one more thing about how hard Jerry worked. He and Aunt Babe’s house didn’t have a basement. They decided they wanted one, and so he dug it out by hand with a shovel, laid the block for the walls under the frame of the house a few feet at a time, poured the floor one wheelbarrow of concrete at a time, and there you go--they had a basement. I think it took him a year.

This photo is probably from 1955. Starting at the right is Dad. He’s 22 or 23 years old and is holding me. I figure I am about one year old. Then comes Aunt Babe, Jerry's wife. She is Mom's younger sister. Then Jerry and Debbie again. Debbie is two weeks older than me. Then Mom, ever lovely, in that beautiful blue dress. Mom was probably 21. Then Grandma Ferne, in her 40's. She looks great too. Then her mom, Grandma Sydnes, I believe. I’m sorry to see Jerry go. Aunt Babe too. She passed away a couple of years ago, and her urn was held until they could be set at rest together. They met when they were teenagers, and loved each other for 75 years, more or less.

I found one part of the service unnerving. Brutal. Wrong. But that’s just me. I’m sure that the verses will have their defenders. But I don’t care. Please don’t bother me defending the indefensible. The preacher, who seemed like a reasonable fellow who knew and loved Jerry and Babe, read from the book of Ephesians.

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people” (Ephesians 6:10-18).

Jerry was a kind and gentle soul. Jerry was a Christian. The Beatitudes would have been a better fit for his eulogy. Or the teachings of Jesus that many contemporary Republicans don’t recognize--especially the politicians--like feeding the hungry, healing the sick, and welcoming the stranger.

Photo credit Meredith Drive Reformed Church

To understand my anger with these verses, we might need to do some time-traveling. When I heard this passage and others like it when I was in Sunday school or church long ago, they were frightening. Mom, from Norwegian stock that homesteaded Story County in the 1850s, was a good Lutheran, as was Grandma Ferne. We always called ourselves Lutherans, even though we went to the Meredith Drive Reformed Church above. I think I’ve told you before that we lived in “Dogpatch,” north of Des Moines, in the shadow of the Meredith mansion on a gravel road. We didn’t have indoor plumbing; our house had only a kitchen, a living room, and one bedroom. We had a well out back and an outhouse. I think wondering why some people could live in mansions with servants while their neighbors didn’t have plumbing made me an anthropologist. I still wonder why that happens.

The preacher back then was named George Muyskens. I liked him. He was quiet and seemed to be dealing with some inner turmoil. I never knew what he was thinking, even when he and I sat alone in his office when I was trying to earn my Boy Scout merit badge in Religion.

When I was very little, I loved Sunday School and Vacation Bible School in the summers. I loved the stories, the crafts, the running and playing in the church parking lot with other kids, and especially the Kool-aid and cookies.

And even in elementary school, I remember asking Reverand Muyskens and others about the violence, the continual and relentless cruelty in the Bible. I remember specifically asking about the passages quoted at Uncle Jerry’s funeral.

I was taught that the words were metaphorical. That they represented a deep historical past. That they referred to a hypothetical foe. That they didn’t refer to today. That the verses were actually benign.

And I took comfort in that. For a great many years. Not now.

But there were other things going on in the church that fuel my anger even today. When I was eight or ten, I remember asking Grandma Ferne if I could go to her church with her. She was pleased I asked. She went to a giant church near Highland Park in Des Moines. Stained glass windows, elaborate fixtures, and bigger than any church I had ever been in. Monumental. Glorious. Close to God. She was thrilled I wanted to go with her because otherwise, she sat alone. I felt the warmth of her thigh on mine as we sat together in the pew, maybe ten pews from the front.

And the preacher did the normal preacherly thing that many of us are used to before the sermon started, and we walked in. Nice, welcoming greetings, firm handshakes, smiles all around, kind words, etc. 

But then he metamorphized into an unrecognizable creature. Turns out the sermon was about the evils of divorce. And that the divorced are going to hell. Especially women who decided to leave their men and “destroy” the family. The preacher’s face grew red, he pumped his fists in the air, and spit flew from his mouth as he condemned the divorced, as Grandma held my hand. Her fist clenched open and shut, but never hurt me.

I looked up at her. Her back ramrod straight as she stared at the preacher, jaw tight, and as she tried to hold it together, I watched tears fall and roll down her cheeks. 

Grandma was divorced. 

Look at Grandma above, please. Second from left. That beautiful, wonderful woman was humiliated in front of her grandson by a preacher in maybe 1962 or 1963. 

My grandpa Dale, her husband, was a wife-beater. And a criminal. He was an inmate in Fort Madison when he was 17. The charge was Larceny. Who knows what hell he came from.

One time when Dad was 17 or 18, he came by the house to pick up Mom, a year younger, so they could go out on a date. As Dad pulled up, got out of his car, and walked to the porch, he heard Grandma and Mom screaming. He burst into the house and found Grandpa Dale beating up Grandma. 

According to Dad’s brothers, Dick and Jim, Dad then proceeded to pound Grandpa Dale and after beating him down, told him that if he ever laid a hand on any of the girls/women again, he would kill him. Dad never told me this. It wasn’t his way. My uncles told me.

Grandpa Dale never laid a hand on them again.

And if the preacher condemning Grandma wasn’t enough to harden my views about Christianity, in the 1980’s Ronald Reagan and his destructive agenda rolled in with Jerry Falwell and the so-called “Moral Majority,” followed by the prosperity gospel scammers, and now the white “Christian” Nationalists. 

But here is the reason for the time travel. I regularly listen to and watch right-wing “Christian” services in Marion and Mahaska county churches. I listen to right-wing “Christian” nationalist syndicated radio shows on local radio stations. I listen to the toxic talk radio shows on WHO Radio in the afternoon and evenings. I watch Fox News, Newsmax, and OAN. 

What I was taught about the “God’s armor” verses in Ephesians isn’t true anymore. The verses are far from benign. The militarism is no longer metaphorical; it’s real. The verses no longer represent a deep historical past or refer to a hypothetical foe. Today, in these churches, to the parishioners, to those who consume these media, the enemies have names. 

Nationally, you know them; Nancy Pelosi, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Joe Biden, Kamala Harris, Barack Obama, and more.

And the enemies are legion; liberals, immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, minorities, and more.

Nationally and locally consumers of this media and parishioners in these churches have been radicalized, the most historically significant expression being the January 6 insurrection at the Capitol at the order of then President Trump. Christian imagery was everywhere during the insurrection, no doubt fueling the flames of violence.

While we have managed to escape violence locally, I’ve seen radicalized members of these churches at city council, school board, and public library board meetings demanding the resignations of board members, staff and the right to censor library materials. They outed one staff member as gay, demanding she be fired. They have gone to businesses demanding their employees who oppose them be fired. At one meeting, a man demanded that city police patrol local parks to ensure that our gay and trans neighbors were not using these public facilities. They want to approve the plays the local community theater produces. They have been radicalized, are loud and angry, and some of them are armed.

Locally, as it is nationally, those who have been radicalized know the names of their enemies and the supposed enemies of God. They are the names of librarians, of teachers, board members, city council members, and yes, me. And maybe you.

Guns will always be a legitimate part of rural life. But weakened gun restrictions, permitless carry, the fetishizing of weaponry, and stand-your-ground legislation turns any controversial meeting into a potential powderkeg.

Especially if participants are white “Christian” nationalists, who have been radicalized in the name of God.

I walked out of the service with a young family member. I asked him, “what did you think of the eulogy?”

“Christian Jihad,” he replied.

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I’m grateful to my lefty Christian friends and pastors for sharing the beauty of their faith as well as their friendship. For more reading related to the radicalization of right-wing Christianity, please consider subscribing to my friend Dan Henderson’s Substack; Things We Don’t Talk about Like Politics and Religion, and buying his amazing new book, Confessions of a Recovering Evangelical.

I’m honored to be a member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative, and am grateful that the Iowa Capital Dispatch publishes some of our work.

Iowa Writers’ Collaborative Columnists 

1.  Laura Belin: Iowa Politics with Laura Belin, Windsor Heights

2.  Doug Burns: The Iowa Mercury, Carroll

3.  Dave Busiek: Dave Busiek on Media, Des Moines

4.  Art Cullen: Art Cullen’s Notebook, Storm Lake

5.   Suzanna de Baca Dispatches from the Heartland, Huxley

6.   Debra Engle: A Whole New World, Madison County

7.   Julie Gammack: Julie Gammack’s Iowa Potluck, Des Moines and Okoboji

8.   Joe Geha: Fern and Joe, Ames

9.   Jody Gifford: Benign Inspiration, West Des Moines

10.  Beth Hoffman: In the Dirt, Lovilla

11.  Dana James: New Black Iowa, Des Moines

12. Tar Macias: Hola Iowa, Iowa

13.  Pat Kinney: View from Cedar Valley, Waterloo

14.  Fern Kupfer: Fern and Joe, Ames

15.  Robert Leonard: Deep Midwest: Politics and Culture, Bussey

16.  Kyle Munson, Kyle Munson’s Main Street, Des Moines

17.  John Naughton: My Life, in Color, Des Moines

18.  Chuck Offenburger: Iowa Boy Chuck Offenburger, Jefferson and Des Moines

19.  Barry Piatt: Behind the Curtain, Washington, D.C.

20.  Mary Swander: Mary Swander’s Buggy Land, Kalona

21.  Mary Swander: Mary Swander’s Emerging Voices, Kalona

22.  Mary Swander: Emerging Voices, Kalona

23.  Cheryl Tevis: Unfinished Business, Boone County

24.   Ed Tibbetts: Along the Mississippi, Davenport

25.  Teresa Zilk: Talking Good, Des Moines

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