No Kings Rally
Good afternoon. I’m Rev. Luana Cook Scott from the United Methodist Church of Morristown. I come to you today not only as a pastor but as a citizen—and as a person of faith deeply committed to truth, love, and justice.
Today, I make a public witness.
Why? Because the Church has too often been part of the problem—a vehicle for racism, sexism, homophobia, and violence. And so, while I am a strong supporter of the separation of church and state and I reject Christian nationalistic ideals, I believe the Church must be part of the solution. We must speak out.
Some will say this is political. But I am not being political. I am being ethical. I am being pastoral. I am being prophetic.
I am calling out evil when it takes root in hearts. I am naming the ways my own faith tradition has sometimes lost its way—has turned its eyes away from cruelty and injustice, and sometimes christened it.
I’m not endorsing a party. I’m protecting the vulnerable, resisting the normalization of force and fear, and calling the Christian Church back to Christ’s way of compassion and justice.
As a pastor, I am called to protect the vulnerable, to speak truth in love, and to shepherd people toward mercy, accountability, and justice.
Violence is easy. Force is easy. Lies are easy.
But love? Truth? Courage?
That’s harder. But that’s the call.
We are here today because we’ve answered that call, we’re here today because we believe in something better. We believe that a nation, like a church, can be flawed but still striving. That we can name the truth of our past—not to erase it, but to learn from it. To grow. To do better.
We believe in a standard that is higher than force. A standard rooted in dignity. In compassion. In shared humanity.
…We believe in the power of public witness—not to dominate, but to invite.
Not to control, but to heal.
Not to divide, but to build something better—together.
So thank you— for being here, for lending your voice, for standing with courage and compassion.
Because when we show up—like this—we grow stronger.
We grow stronger in our convictions, stronger in our hope, and stronger in our determination to build a more just and loving world.
Let’s keep showing up. Let’s keep lifting each other. Let’s keep moving forward—together.
Thank you.
Good Trouble Rally
Morris Township, NJ – July 17, 2025
Good Trouble Rally Speech — Pastor Luana Cook Scott
Good evening, friends.
My name is Reverend Luana Scott, and I have the joy and the calling to serve as pastor of the Morristown United Methodist Church. And I am here tonight because I believe in Good Trouble.
Not the kind of trouble that’s reckless or cruel—but the kind that shakes foundations built on injustice. The kind that exposes what’s been hidden, unsettles what’s been too comfortable, and demands a new way forward.
The late Congressman John Lewis called us to this work—to “get in good trouble, necessary trouble”—and tonight we remember that call not just as history, but as present-tense marching orders. Necessary trouble is what changes the world.
Now, most of us weren’t raised to be troublemakers. We were told to behave, to keep the peace, to avoid conflict. But peace without justice is not peace at all—it’s just quiet oppression. And so, we must become a different kind of troublemaker—holy troublemakers. Strategic peacemakers. Persistent soul-stirrers. People who disrupt violence with compassion and systems of greed with truth.
John Lewis once said, “Get in good trouble, necessary trouble, and help redeem the soul of America.”
As a pastor, I think a lot about redemption. And I want to be clear—redemption is not just about being forgiven. In the Christian tradition, redemption begins with repentance—a turning away from what is harmful, unjust, or sinful—and then choosing to live into a new reality.
To be redeemed is to be transformed. To not just say “we’re sorry” but to live differently because we know better now.
So when John Lewis called us to help redeem the soul of America, he wasn’t talking about a simple apology or symbolic gesture. He was talking about deep change—a full turning away from the systems that harm, and a collective movement toward a new, life-giving future.
What would that new reality look like?
It would look like justice—not just for some, but for all.
It would look like compassion that overrides cruelty, and truth that silences propaganda.
It would look like policies shaped by human dignity—not profit.
It would look like a nation finally living into the ideals it has never fully met.
As Lewis reminded us, “Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic… Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year—it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.”
Redemption is not a one-time act. It is the work of our lives. And if we are willing to do that work—of repenting, repairing, and reimagining—then maybe we will help this country become something it has never truly been: just, compassionate, and whole.
Let’s be honest: we’ve never fully lived up to the words “liberty and justice for all.” But Good Trouble is what closes the gap between the dream and the reality. Good Trouble is what redeems the soul of a nation—not once, but over and over again.
So let me say this clearly: this work is not just for tonight. It’s not just about who’s in office. This is the work of our lives—and the next generation’s lives—and the generation after that. Making justice and peace a reality is a long, strategic, exhausting, and beautiful labor.
And every one of us has a part to play.
As a pastor in the United Methodist tradition, I want to say this clearly: the Church has a sacred responsibility—not just to comfort the afflicted, but to confront injustice. Our calling is not only to preach love on Sundays, but to live it out loud every day—especially when laws and policies fail to protect the vulnerable.
The Social Principles of The United Methodist Church declare that “the Church should continually exert a strong ethical influence upon the state, supporting policies and programs deemed to be just and opposing policies and programs that are unjust.”
When cruelty is normalized…
When lawlessness parades as power…
When systems harm rather than heal…
The Church must not be silent.
Because silence in the face of injustice is not neutrality—it is complicity.
Faith communities are called to be moral witnesses—to speak the truth, to protect the dignity of all people, and to help bend the arc of the universe toward justice. That’s not politics. That’s Gospel. That’s Good Trouble.
Some of you will march. Some of you will write. Some of you will vote. Some of you will cook. Some will fund, organize, teach, shelter, protect, preach. And yes—some of you will cause just enough trouble to shake the conscience of someone who thought they could stay asleep.
Don’t underestimate your power.
But let’s be honest—there will be consequences. Not everyone will understand. Some may push back. And some of us may lose comfort, status, or even safety by standing up for what’s right. As the theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer warned, there is no such thing as “cheap grace.” True discipleship, true justice, true love—they all cost something. So yes, making Good Trouble may come at a price. But the cost of silence? The cost of doing nothing? That price is far greater. It costs lives. It costs souls. It costs our very humanity. So let us be willing to risk discomfort—for the sake of righteousness. Let us be bold enough to pay the price—because freedom, justice, and redemption are worth it.
And don’t underestimate how you spend your money. If we want to challenge injustice, we must be willing to challenge the systems that benefit from it. That means practicing responsible consumption—being intentional about where we shop, who we support, and what industries we fund.
It won’t be easy. It will be inconvenient. It might mean changing habits, doing research, or spending a little more—or less. But that kind of disruption is part of the work too. It’s another form of Good Trouble. Because if we truly want to redeem the soul of the nation, we have to confront what this nation has always been driven by: the bottom line.
So get in Good Trouble. But also—get home safe. Think it through. Be wise. Be bold. Be faithful.
The road ahead is long, but we don’t walk it alone.
And as we continue together tonight, we are blessed to be joined by members of the Harmonium Choral Society—a community of gifted artists who are using their voices, their training, and their passion to stir something deep in us.
Music, after all, is more than entertainment. Singing is soul work. It gives shape to what words alone cannot carry. Music is how we tell the truth about the human condition—our longing, our pain, our hope, our fight. It has the power to lift us up, to push us forward, to remind us of who we are and who we’re still becoming.
So as they offer their gifts tonight, may we receive this music as more than performance. May it be our call to courage. Our invitation to compassion. Our reminder that art, like Good Trouble, changes things.
Please join me in welcoming these members of the Harmonium Choral Society!
NO KINGS RALLY October 2025
First — we must remember.
We are here to remember who we are — and who we are NOT.
We are not here to become numb.
We are not here to be entertained by cruelty.
We are not here to mirror the violence of the powerful.
We are here to remember.
Because I am shocked. I am gobsmacked. I am sickened
by the lies, the cruelty, the violence of this regime.
These are strange times. Ugly times.
This is not normal.
It is certainly not Christian.
And we refuse to let it become normal.
Christianity was never meant to be a form of government — not ever.
It was born as a spiritual movement under occupation — not to seize power, but to free people from it.
So we root ourselves — not in reaction — but in formation.
In the First Amendment — not as an abstract right —
but as a spiritual discipline.
Just your presence is courageous.
Your face is not hidden.
You have nothing to hide.
You will NOT be painted as a threat.
Come on. Come on. We are one step away from singing Kum Ba Yah!
Gathering is a spiritual practice.
Spiritual practices for the rebellion:
We sing — because where they want silence, we make sound.
Before anything else — let’s express gratitude to the Morristown Police Department and the Director of Public Safety.
On three — 1, 2, 3 — Thank you!
We keep Sabbath from the news — because our attention is holy and cannot be owned.
We make playlists that return us to joy, memory, defiance.
We create mantras — breath prayers — that anchor the truth before the lies arrive.
I was made for such a time as this.
We build internal sanctuary first — because if they cannot colonize the soul, they cannot conquer the future.
Those tall steeples you see all over town — (where I work, there is scaffolding.)
Before there were sanctuaries with high steeples, we met in houses.
Home sanctuaries. Upper rooms.
Where words of a different way were shared,
and stories of building something new were spoken.
When they tell lies — we do not lie back.
We respond with Kindness, Creativity, and Courage.
Because we were made for such a time as this.
When they cover their faces in fear,
we show our faces to the light — unmasked, unafraid, named and unhidden.
Unless you’re in an inflatable frog costume. You get a pass. Brilliant.
Where my amphibians at?
Look at the faces around you.
Smile at your sibling citizen witnesses
who are here to use their bodies as a display of courage and resistance.
Say it: Hello, sibling citizen!
We respond with Kindness, Creativity, and Courage.
Because we were made for such a time as this.
When they go low — weaponizing chaos, pitting neighbor against neighbor —
we rise higher — in discipline, in focus, in dignity.
We do not respond in kind.
We respond with Kindness, Creativity, and Courage.
Because we were made for such a time as this.
Listen —
Do not mistake our gentleness for weakness.
Our restraint is not surrender.
Our empathy is not apathy.
Our compassion is not compliance.
We have inherited the sacred fire
of prophets and poets, midwives and freedom singers —
those who laughed in the face of empire
and built new worlds from the ashes of the old.
And I think of Hanna Reichel, in her book For Such a Time as This: An Emergency Devotional,
who reminds us that we have been here before —
when Christians looked away,
when the church grew silent in the face of Nazism,
when faith was twisted to sanctify empire —
and how ordinary people — not just prophets — kept the light alive anyway.
We remember: this is not the first time — and it will not be the last.
This is not a sprint.
This is not even a marathon.
This is a way of life.
Empire is not eternal.
Cruelty is not inevitable.
Hopelessness is not destiny.
The Christian faith was forged under the Roman Empire.
The stories of Jesus were never written for those in power —
they were written for those under its boot —
to help them slip free toward liberation.
Zip-tying children — regardless of status, language, paperwork, or birthplace — is not a Christian act.
Nope. Uh uh. Nein. Nyet. Non. No.
Is separating children from their parents Christian? No.
Is turning away the hungry, the refugee, the unhoused — Christian? No.
Is mocking the disabled — Christian? No.
Is laughing at the suffering of another human being — Christian? No.
Is rejoicing in the misfortune of your neighbor — Christian? No.
Is inciting or celebrating violence — Christian? No.
Is loving power more than people — Christian? No.
Is worshiping a flag or a politician as if they were God — Christian? No.
Is using the name of Jesus to dominate, humiliate, or control — Christian? No!
Absolutely no.
And we know better.
Our eyes are wide open.
So we do not merely react — we build.
When they build walls — we build tables.
When they hoard power — we build sanctuary.
When they weaponize scripture — we embody mercy.
When they demand that we harden our hearts — we deepen our humanity.
And still — and always —
We respond with Kindness, Creativity, and Courage.
Because we were made for such a time as this.
And when someone in a car or truck rolls down a window to spew hate at you on the way home —
you do not respond in kind.
We respond with Kindness, Creativity, and Courage.
Bless your heart.
Do you talk to Jesus with that mouth?
Repent — before it’s too late.
And don’t be ironic — be sincere.
This is not the end.
This is ignition.
And we answer — YES.
Here. Now.
We respond with Kindness, Creativity, and Courage.
Because we were made for such a time as this.
“May your courage be contagious, your kindness prophetic, and your hope ungovernable.”
luanacookscott 