On a Frightening Evening, a Few Honest Words

From the Pastor’s Desk

April 7th, 2026

Friends

I don’t write blogs. I hope I never have to make a habit of this. But here we are.

By now most of you have seen the news. President Trump has announced that the United States will launch an attack on Iran tonight.

As I write this, nothing but a continued war or words is occurring.
Yet. 8PM EST looms.

We are in that terrible in-between space — the moment before, when you know something is coming and there is nothing left to do but wait, and pray, and try to be honest with the people you love.

I’ve spent much of today doing something I haven’t done in a very long time: reading back over the vows I made at my ordination. The promises I made before God and the church about who I am supposed to be and what I am supposed to do — especially in moments like this one.

I won’t pretend that exercise left me feeling confident.
Mostly it left me convicted.

But it also reminded me why I’m writing this instead of just sitting quietly with my fear. You deserve honesty from your pastor. That’s what I promised. So here it is.

So let me just be honest with you.

I’m scared.

Not because I lack faith.
I’m scared because I have it —
because I take seriously what Scripture says about what human beings are capable of when we harden our hearts, reach for power, and convince ourselves that God is fully on our side.

Every leader in the Bible who ever said “God is with us” found out sooner or later that being human comes with error, miscalculation, and a need for humility that power makes very hard to practice.

King David knew this.
The enemies of Israel knew it.
And our leaders — every one of them, whatever party, whatever national flag they fly — know it too, whether they admit it or not.
I won’t claim God’s blessing for any side in this — and I’d be suspicious of anyone who does. And I think anyone who tells you they do know, with total certainty, is selling something.

What I do believe — what I have to believe, because I’ve staked my life on it — is that sin, death, and all the forces that tell us violence is the only answer will not have the final word.

Forgiveness will.
Repentance will.
The slow, stubborn, grace-soaked amendment of our human lives will.

“Where sin increased, grace increased all the more, so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”— Romans 5:20–21

Paul didn’t write that from a comfortable chair.

He wrote it from chains, from shipwrecks, from the inside of a story where empire always seemed to win. And yet he believed — not naively, not with his eyes closed, but with the kind of faith that has been through the fire — that grace gets the last word.

I choose to believe that too.

And I’ll tell you why I’m able to say it: because I know what it’s like to nearly destroy everything. I’ve been the person who ran from God because I was so angry and so lost. I’ve smiled and said the right things when I should have been honest. I’ve preached it, taught it, and still couldn’t reach it. And I nearly lost my family, my work, my dignity — all while telling myself I was doing it for everyone else.

What put me back together wasn’t certainty.
It wasn’t a clear political position.
It was grace.
It was a God who didn’t let me go even when I was doing my level best to walk away.

So tonight, before whatever happens at 8 o’clock happens,
I choose to pray for peace over war.
I choose to pray that hardened hearts — our leaders’, our enemies’, and yes, my own — might be softened just enough to let something go.

I can’t stop whatever it is may be coming. I can’t hold back the fear and powerlessness that come with watching forces you can’t control move in directions you never would have chosen.

But I can show up.

I can sit with the dying, the sick, the scared, the grieving.
I can stand in the pulpit and tell you the truth:
that we are not always on the righteous side just because of who we say we are,

that God is not our tribal mascot,
and that the same grace that has been picking broken people up off the floor for two thousand years is still at work tonight.

God is going to need people to help clean up the mess we make. And who better than those of us who know what it’s like to be put back together?

That’s all I’ve got — me, my faith in Jesus, and my love for you.
All of it imperfect.
All of it human.
All of it, I hope, enough.

Pray for peace.
Pray for wisdom.
Pray for the people on all sides of this who will suffer.
And love and take care of each other.

Pastor Marty Milne
Christ Mertz Lutheran Church  ·  Fleetwood, PA