This is a sad story, but it also has a happy tale, so prepare your tissues as you may need them. Kiya Mclaurin and Tucker Nelson are dating. Tucker was recently diagnosed with a brain tumor and was scheduled for surgery to remove the tumor. Before his brain surgery, Kiya and several friends and family members gathered in Tucker’s room to offer comfort. @kiyamclaurinn The love of my life forever and ever. ♬ What Was I Made For? (Epilogue) [Instrumental Version] – Mark Ronson & Andrew Wyatt The small room was packed with people as Kiya shared the small hospital bed with Tucker. She was fulfilling one of his wishes — to read one of his favorite childhood books before having his brain surgery. The book was The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. It is a story of unconditional love and giving. The other visitors were quiet as Kiya read. Although most in the room have no blood relation to Tucker, some would argue that they are “family.” The somber group was there to support Tucker and let him (and Kiya) know that he was not alone. The surgery was a success, and Tucker is now home continuing his recovery journey. Image from TikTok. At just 22 years old, both Kiya and Tucker have their lives ahead of them. They are awaiting biopsy results from his surgery. He may need additional chemotherapy if they discover it is cancerous. Kiya is operating her business as a wedding planner while finishing her last year in school. Tucker is working on career goals. To help defray the medical costs, a friend started a GoFundMe for Tucker. You can follow Tucker’s story as he recovers from the brain tumor on Kiya’s TikTok page. Although sad that these young people are dealing with this, we are happy they have each other and a tremendous support group. Please share. You can find the source of this story’s featured image here. The post Man’s Friends & Family Gather To Comfort Him In The Most Beautiful Way Before Brain Surgery appeared first on InspireMore.

Golden retrievers can be many things, and being dramatically emotional is one of them. Meet Wally Dog, the most emotional golden retriever on the planet. Wally has all the feels, all day, every day. When his pawrents leave him, there is no consoling the emotional wreck for hours after returning. After watching a couple of videos, we have concluded that Wally has the emotions of about 20 dogs rolled into one dramatic package. When Wally discovered his pawrents missing, he searched the whole house. He even went upstairs, which is not a normal routine for him. He was so sad, moping around looking for his missing people. When they returned home, they consoled the poor dog, assuring him of their love. It won’t keep him from acting the exact same way the next time they leave him, but it did seem to help momentarily. Wally loves it at the park so much that he never wants to leave. The cute thing is that he doesn’t run and play like a normal dog at the park. Nope, he just wants to sit with his mom and snuggle in the fresh air. It doesn’t matter that he could do the same thing at home. He was not getting in the car to go home for any price. In addition to having emotional meltdowns, Wally has plenty of adventures. He does sleepovers at Grandma’s house, and his mom rented him a pool for the whole day! If you can’t get enough of this overly emotional golden retriever, you can follow Wally on all his social media pages: Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, and YouTube. Please share. You can find the source of this story’s featured image here. The post “Coming Home To My Very Emotional Golden Retriever After A Night Out” appeared first on InspireMore.

To protect the identity of Chinese Christians, all names are pseudonyms. “Who is my neighbor?” Two thousand years ago, a young Jewish leader brought this question to Jesus. The query still resonates today: In a world of such great need, how can anyone make a dent in the scale of suffering? Whom should we serve? A few years ago, Sean, a house-church pastor in a major Chinese city, asked almost the same question. But instead of “Who?” Sean asked, “Where is my neighbor?” The answer: “Right next door to the building where our church gathers, there was a hospital.” Before long, Sean began visiting the hospital. Soon, other believers joined him. Now, a team actively serves in hospice ministry at area hospitals. They pray and sing; they clean vomit; they hold hands and brush hair. They do all this with the blessing of hospital staff—even though as house-church Christians, their churches are illegal and any ministry could get them in serious trouble. Telling Their Story I work for China Partnership, a ministry that resources Chinese house-church Christians. We also try to motivate global believers to pray for and learn from their brothers and sisters in China. This past year, as I worked on a podcast about mercy ministry in China, I spent hours talking with Chinese Christians sacrificially pouring out their lives in mercy work. Sean is just one of those people. Some, like Sean, serve the ill. Others work with abandoned children, while teams of women reach out in red-light districts. These believers don’t serve out of an abundance of time, resources, or money. Many are persecuted. All are marginalized because of their faith, with some facing additional social stigma because of the company they keep through their charitable work. These believers don’t serve out of an abundance of time, resources, or money. Many are persecuted. All are marginalized. Yet many Christians continue to engage in these labor-intensive, deeply relational acts of mercy and presence. Why are they doing this when their own position is so tenuous? What does it look like for the persecuted church to serve its communities? Is it worth the high cost when Christians are limited and powerless to enact large-scale change? Theology of Mercy Chinese house churches regularly debate these questions. Their answers stem from how they define “mercy.” Last year, in a closed-door meeting of house-church pastors, they passionately debated what mercy ministry is and how it’s lived out. One minister, Pastor Wang, said he believes mercy is perceiving and feeling the needs of others. Wang said, “Jesus Christ himself is God’s mercy incarnate, and Jesus calls his followers to imitate his life and live out his mercy. . . . I personally believe the antithesis of mercy is indifference.” But others say mercy is more than simply rising above apathy. Liu, a minister in another city, pushed back: “Righteous mercy isn’t simply that you love someone and therefore show mercy to them, but rather that God has mercy on all the people of the entire city.” Liu believes mercy isn’t a matter of individual action but a call on the entire church to proactively display God’s charity in the public sphere. Mercy ministry is complicated in China, where nongovernment churches already face severe pressure merely trying to worship together. How can persecuted churches publicly show mercy? Huang Li, a third pastor, says mercy ministry reminds him of the testimonies of elderly house-church Christians who lived through severe persecution. Their stories of following Jesus through trial tend to be simple, and today they might sound like moralizing. But Huang says mercy, like those testimonies, is a way to share the gospel—even if the gospel isn’t precisely spelled out. Huang says, “When older believers shared their experiences in a seemingly moralistic way, it naturally exuded Christ-centeredness. They didn’t need to explicitly bring things back to Christ at the end—their stories naturally emanated his fragrance.” Huang also tied house-church forebears to Western missionaries who came to China to share the gospel and built a legacy of compassion. Within China, the Communist Party emphasizes the injustices Westerners perpetrated, as many missionaries came to China when the nation was forced to accept outsiders after its humiliation in the Opium Wars. But Chinese believers point to the hospitals, elementary schools, and universities that missionaries established as they sacrificially cared for the destitute. Many of those institutions still exist and are among the most important in the nation. That legacy has had an enduring influence on how the house church views mercy today. Freedom of Christian Mercy As believers understand that mercy flows from Christ’s love, they’re free from pressure and can sacrificially love others without expecting specific results. Chinese Christians practice mercy because they follow Jesus, not because their religion tells them to “be good.” Chinese Christians practice mercy because they follow Jesus, not because their religion tells them to ‘be good.’ Huang Enqing added that traditional Chinese see religion as a way to encourage good works: “Without the gospel as a foundation, this kind of mercy can lead to pride, self-righteousness, or inadequacy: ‘If I don’t do it, I feel guilty; if I do it, I feel morally superior.’” Chinese Christians don’t have money, power, or freedom. But they have Christ. Their gospel-based mercy is motivated by gratitude. Thus, Huang says, mercy ministry brings joy and peace—not burdens—to those who practice it. That’s freeing for Chinese believers, who can’t build large-scale ministries. Instead, they walk, one by one, with the hurting. Huang says a gospel foundation helps believers persevere despite difficult circumstances. When mercy is rooted in Christ’s accomplished work, he says, you won’t feel like the character in Schindler’s List, who saved many Jews but at the end agonized . . . as if he never did enough. Within the gospel, there is profound security—what we call rest. The power that flows from this is very strong.

While our family was out eating dinner, my 11-year-old sister, Katie, was eager to share what she’d learned at school that day. Taking her napkin, she began to draw a few crisscrossed lines. Suddenly, the whole family was staring at a swastika. Immediately, my mother took the napkin, crumpled it, and placed it on the far side of the booth. But Katie wasn’t finished. She looked into my eyes as she unfolded the napkin and declared, “This is the most evil symbol in the world, Glenn. You should never draw it.” That left an impression on me as a 7-year-old. It was perhaps the most morally serious moment that has ever taken place at a TGI Fridays. According to Alec Ryrie, professor of the history of Christianity at Durham University and author of The Age of Hitler and How We Will Survive It, Katie was the voice of her culture: We in the West have built our entire moral system on one foundation—that Nazism represents pure evil. From Tolkien’s heroic tales to recent American foreign policy and commitment to human rights, these fruits have grown from the anti-Nazi tree. The secular West detests Hitler with religious certainty. “Perhaps we still believe Jesus is good,” Ryrie writes, “but not with the same fervor and conviction that we believe Nazism is evil” (50). But this age is ending, Ryrie argues, as rising hatred shows on both political extremes. He believes a new moral foundation is coming—a blend of progressive and conservative ideas that has yet to appear. While Ryrie excels at tracing how defeating the Nazis became the West’s favorite story about itself, his solution is the widespread adoption of Protestant liberalism, which seems unlikely to solve the problems he describes. Evaluating ‘Anti-Nazism’ Much of what Ryrie calls “anti-Nazism”—the Western world’s commitment to human rights, gender and race equality, and individual autonomy—actually has a longer history. One hundred and fourteen years before Hitler’s birth, the Declaration of Independence proclaimed that “all men are created equal” and that “they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.” While Ryrie mentions this document, he’s reluctant to name anti-Nazism’s real ancestor: Enlightenment liberalism. Yes, the post–World War II world expanded liberalism’s basic ideas into new areas of race, gender, and sexuality. But these pioneers didn’t appeal to anti-Nazi rhetoric. Martin Luther King Jr. drew on Christian and Enlightenment language to argue that African Americans are equal individuals under the law. Second-wave feminists argued that since women are equal individuals, they deserve the same public rights as men. These movements were logical extensions of liberalism, not reactions to Nazism. Taking this into the present day, our moment isn’t best understood as Hitler leaving the stage but rather the weakening of liberalism—battered by a society that’s violently splitting over basic questions of morality and culture. James Davison Hunter makes this argument in his excellent book Democracy and Solidarity, but Charlie Kirk’s assassination and the polarized response to it is a case in point. We’re not treating each other as equals with rights to life, liberty, and happiness. The problem runs deeper than Ryrie suggests. Resuscitating Protestant Liberalism Ryrie’s prescription for dying political liberalism is to adopt a more theologically liberal Christianity. He believes the West may turn toward a religion that’s “not about doctrines and creeds” but “more about belonging and behaving than believing,” flexible enough to bend on “issues like sexual ethics, gender identity and abortion” (138). Our moment isn’t best understood as Hitler leaving the stage but rather a weakened liberalism. He hopes a union between the progressive moral consensus and Christianity will save civilization. “Unlikely as [such a synthesis] may seem,” he speculates, “I am confident both that it should and will be” the solution to our cultural woes (138). It would indeed be unlikely, as this form of Christianity is dying in America, nearly dead in the broader West, and disconnected from the forms of Christian faith growing worldwide. In fairness, Ryrie’s book isn’t about Christianity’s future but about his desire to save a version of liberal Western culture. His final chapters offer something like couples counseling for progressive secularists and conservative traditionalists, with Protestant liberalism positioned as the magical compromise. But this solution is like telling a couple fighting over vacation plans to skip both the big city and the national park for a nearby suburb. What looks like a happy medium is actually a dead end. The core problem with Protestant liberalism is that it’s built on liberalism’s lie: the notion that we can all get along once we set aside our particular religious convictions. The curtain hanging over this lie—the broadly shared cultural and moral consensus of the American elite throughout most of the 20th century—has been lifted. And bad news: Emperor liberalism has no clothes. Return to Orthodoxy What can Christianity offer to a dying liberalism and decaying culture? More than a century ago, Herman Bavinck observed that any social order built only on individual choice will eventually collapse under relativism and fragmentation. We need a reason—or, better, a doctrine—that grounds individual rights, beyond the United Nations’s blind faith. Theologically orthodox Christianity offers exactly that: Every human being bears God’s image. The core problem with Protestant liberalism is that it’s built on liberalism’s lie: the notion that we can all get along once we set aside our particular religious convictions. More than that, a robust orthodox Protestantism provides a transcendent authority. Picking and choosing doctrines sounds refreshing until you realize that, functionally, people will choose to dispatch all the most politically inconvenient ones. Religion then loses its power to restrain selfishness and cruelty, to push stiff-necked humans toward forgiveness, sacrifice, and love of neighbor—the civic virtues most necessary for a healthy body politic. Ryrie’s diagnosis is sharper than his prescription. He correctly identifies our fragmenting anti-Nazi moral consensus, but his solution—a watered-down Christianity mixed with progressive politics—doesn’t meet the moment. The future belongs not to those crafting the most agreeable religious compromise but to communities providing meaning, purpose, and transcendent authority in an age of drift. The Age of Hitler serves as a useful mirror, showing how our moral moment took shape. But society would be better served by looking toward a historically orthodox, doctrinally robust Christianity to chart where we need to go.

What is the worship music “sound”? Most of us probably conjure a similar aesthetic when we ponder that question. But John Van Deusen wants to expand our horizons, giving Christians a bigger vision for what worship music can be. I’m here for it. Are you? Van Deusen’s ambitious new project—a 33-song, two-part magnum opus titled As Long as I’m in the Tent of This Body I Will Make a Joyful Noise—is a “genre-mashing dose of exploratory worship music,” as his official Spotify bio describes it. That puts it mildly. Part 1 of the album releases today, and it’s an 18-track roller coaster of sonic twists and turns: straightforward worship anthems, guitar-shredding instrumentals, hymnlike ballads, even an interlude of ribbiting frogs. It’s a constantly surprising but always stirring journey—one of the most devotionally rich musical expressions I’ve heard in years. John Van Deusen wants to give Christians a bigger vision for what worship music can be. Joyful Noise is a sort of companion piece to Van Deusen’s magnificent 2017 worship album, Every Power Wide Awake, which landed at number 4 on The Gospel Coalition’s list of the best Christian albums of the 2010s. But this album feels even more monumental—more musically daring, more desperate in its devotion. Recorded in a basement tanning room over the course of a year, in a season of thriving faith but fragile mental health, the album is deeply personal for the native of Anacortes, Washington. Yet it’s a labor of love—one which will bear fruit and make waves for years to come. Many of the songs are singable worship melodies not unlike youth group praise-night staples, but filtered through a grunge-punk aesthetic of someone who grew up on Nirvana, The Ramones, and The Clash. If it sounds weird and radical, it’s because it is. Even the album cover art is ambitious. Handmade by Van Deusen, the massive collage project went through 100 drafts before the final version. It’s just one example of the meticulous, quirky craft of one of Christian music’s most visionary artists. I sat down with Van Deusen recently to chat about the album and how it fits into the larger “worship music” conversation. Read excerpts from our conversation below. Subscribe to my arts and culture newsletter to get exclusive access to even more of the interview. And when you have a chance, be sure to listen to the album—all 18 songs of it, in one sitting. Volume up. You found early success with a secular indie rock band, The Lonely Forest, starting when you were a senior in high school 20 years ago. When did you become a Christian, and how did that change the trajectory of your music career—to the point where you’re now releasing double albums of worship songs? The Lonely Forest had a lot of momentum and energy for maybe three or four years, where we toured quite a bit and were playing in front of a lot of people. And then it kind of plateaued. This coincided with my personal journey, where in my early 20s I became a real believer in Christ and my life just shifted. I needed change in my life. My personal ambition, my reckless, chaotic nature when I was younger, just became this out-of-control thing. In my need, I came to Christ, really poor in spirit, saying, “Hey, you can have your way in my life.” My priorities shifted. I suddenly worked a lot harder to preserve my marriage, which, when you’re a touring artist, is a difficult thing to preserve. And I didn’t care quite as much about becoming a successful musician. It’s been an interesting journey for me, because I grew up in a music scene where being a Christian artist was by far the least cool thing you could ever do. And so I was really nervous when I became a believer and I wanted to start singing about it. I was really afraid. And to be clear, since I’ve been really honest about my faith, at least regionally in the Northwest, a lot of the people I collaborated with and were friends with, they’ve remained friendly to me, but they’ve very politely taken a step back. Which is fine. I understand it. But I used to be very, very connected in the Northwest indie rock scene. And faith and rock and roll just don’t mix up here. You serve as a worship director at Christ the King Church in Anacortes. How does that experience influence your own worship-music songwriting? I can’t stand most [recorded] worship music, but I actually really love leading worship. There are a lot of songs I love so much. I absolutely love leading “Holy Forever,” for example. I love hearing the congregation sing it. It’s a well-written song. Would I put Chris Tomlin’s “Holy Forever” recording on in my car? Never. That’s not a critique of him. It’s just that I’m shaped by my own tastes and impulses, and I like something really hyperspecific. So I live in this fascinating tension between loving leading worship and actually just kinda despising worship music as a genre. That’s pretty much why this record exists. You’re getting at an important difference between the mode of congregational singing—tied to a specific place, for a particular gathered people—and the mode of song recordings that individuals listen to in their car or headphones. What’s the overlap there for you, in terms of the worship songs on your new album? Could you see them working in congregational worship? I would argue that a lot of the songs, if filtered through a different aesthetic, would work really well in a congregational setting. Probably much to the chagrin of my record label because I’ll write a song that Chris Tomlin could sing in a broadly appealing way. But I want it to sound like The Lemonheads, Death Cab for Cutie, Tears for Fears, or The Clash. But the song itself, the chord progression, the lyrics, the melodic choices are adaptable to mainstream settings. I’m just filtering it through my aesthetic. There are songs on both part 1 and part 2 that I cowrote with really strong worship writers. There’s one song on part 2 that I wrote with Matt Maher. It absolutely could be a song you might hear performed from any mainstream worship artist. When I play some of these songs at our church in Anacortes, they don’t sound anything like what they sound like on the record. That’s intentional, because my hope would be that maybe one or two of these songs would be picked up by another artist and they’ll do their rendition of it. What motivated you to make such an ambitious double album of worship? Making this record has been really personal and honestly, really difficult. I’ve struggled a lot with depression while making it. It took a lot from me. I’ve joked that it has felt like a Horcrux. Like a piece of myself was lost to it. But one of my key motivators has been, I wanted to make an artistic statement. I love Jesus with all my heart. I do like leading worship. But I can’t stand worship music. So I decided to make this big thing that spans a lot of my personal tastes. I wanted to see if I could make something I would want to listen to. It is kind of an artistic statement. How would you articulate what that artistic statement is? Hey, look, you can do it too. Hey, your worship record doesn’t have to sound like Phil Wickham. And it shouldn’t, because Phil does Phil Wickham. He does it perfectly. We don’t need another Phil. We don’t need another Brandon Lake or Chris Tomlin. And that’s not saying you can’t use them as creative touchstones, because I do too. It’s really just, You can make a worship record that can be called worship music as a genre and it can have, like, two minutes of distorted noise. Or a song that sounds like Peter Gabriel, or name whatever indie rock band. I think the moment when that ‘statement’ becomes really clear is track 15, ‘I’m Coming Back to the Heart of Worship.’ When I first saw that title I was like, ‘Oh, is he covering that old Matt Redman worship song? Interesting.’ And then I listened to it, and I couldn’t stop smiling. It’s just an instrumental piece, hard-hitting guitar shredding. It’s your statement that this, too, is worship. It’s how John Van Deusen worships. When I was making this record, I was down in an empty tanning bedroom, which was too cold or too hot. It’s the size of most people’s walk-in closets. I would just chase ideas. I would take a lot of risks. I would push everything to the limit. And that’s when I found myself worshiping the most. Nobody else is there. It’s just me and the Holy Spirit. In the tanning bedroom that is not a real studio. Every day I’d chase another song. I was having so much fun. That’s why the record became so long. It feels incomplete to me if you start taking songs out of it. Because part of what makes it fun is that from point A to point B, if point B is the end of part 2, it feels like a rollercoaster. It has a sense of adventure. That was a very worshipful experience for me. I love the emphasis on ‘joyful noise,’ which is in the album title and pervades the project in so many ways. It’s so you. Your music is noisy in a good way, but it’s joyful noise. The first song, ‘I Was Made to Praise,’ kicks off the album in that way, and throughout both parts of the album, there are joyful noises of every sort—even frogs singing in marshes. Opening with “I Was Made to Praise” is like the thesis. When I’m making noise, like literal guitar feedback noise through a fuzz pedal and a delay, I am worshiping. I have a sense that I am doing what I was made to do. And that’s what the frogs are doing when they’re serenading me to sleep. But also, I like noise music because noise embraces dissonance. And this has been such a process of dissonance for me because I am worshiping while being depressed. I am making music within a genre I don’t like, but trying to make it work. I want the songs to be singable by Brandon Lake, but I also don’t want it to sound anything like Brandon Lake. And then in my mental health struggles, I’m feeling increasingly sensitive to noise pollution. There are moments on this record where I’m incorporating a field recording of a jet or a train or cars or things that are making terribly dissonant sounds. I’m stealing those sounds and using them for my purposes—and then blending them with sounds that I think God made at the beginning of time. God was like, There’s gonna be a time when man-made, human-made sounds are gonna be so transgressive and so unrelenting, that to sit in a marsh and listen to frogs is gonna be one of the most important and healing things you could do. That’s also why there’s the recording of my son [in “All of Me/All of You”] reciting Psalm 23. Are you familiar with metamodernism? This album strikes me as a sort of metamodern worship expression. It’s deeply earnest and hopeful, but also playful and evokes (especially in the sound) some of the grunge/alternative angst of ’90s postmodernism. I would say that song you mentioned—“I’m Coming Back to the Heart of Worship”—is the metamodern moment on the record. Because it’s sincere. I am truly worshiping. When I recorded it I was like, “Praise you, Jesus.” But I’m also being a little tongue in cheek, a little puckish. I knew what would happen if I titled it “I’m Coming Back to the Heart of Worship.” Now, also, I sincerely like that original Matt Redman song. I played at a metamodernism summit a couple years ago. They invited me because they saw my music as metamodern. I’m a very sincere guy, but I also like poking fun at things. I don’t know enough about postmodernism, or modernism in general, to talk a lot about metamodernism. But I did grow up in a very postmodern world of art—music that is about nothing, music that is about the void. When I was younger especially, I was a somewhat cynical person: everything is broken; the government is broken; utopia is impossible. But now I kind of embody both sincerity and the punk contrarian ethic I grew up on. Speaking of contrarian, what has led you over the last 5 to 10 years to shift to making more explicitly Christian, worshipful music? Yet you’re also still making albums like Anthem Sprinter. Are you intentionally trying to be hard to pin down? I was told growing up, by my peers and the people who were older than me in the scene, “You just make what you wanna make. Don’t apologize to anybody about it.” I’m still carrying that torch for myself as an artist. I’m just making what I want to make. I love worshiping, and I love making music about Jesus. It is a blissful experience for me to just feel free, like I’m honoring my Creator by making something that I like and that I think brings him pleasure. Because I feel the freedom to release a record like Anthem Sprinter and then release this record, I don’t feel tethered down to whether or not I’m a Christian or a secular artist. And yet, because our world is so quick to categorize anything that says something loudly, I’ve been categorized really clearly. I am a Christian artist. Whatever that means. Old John would’ve been irritated at that. New John recognizes that I’m a Christian artist because I’m associated with my Lord and my Savior. I literally profess with my mouth that he is my God and my King. That is a badge of honor. Has it closed doors for me? Absolutely. Has my desire to release secular and Christian music simultaneously been a terrible business decision? Probably. But now that I’m releasing a massive worship record, it’s especially going to be clear: “Hey, I’m a Christian artist now, guys. Here I am.”

In this talk from TGC25, Jeremy Pierre looks at Scripture’s vision for mental well-being and offers suggestions for how to talk about mental health wisely and avoid common errors. Rather than accept or reject specific terms, he looks at the purpose of language and argues we should use language that aligns with our purpose: to know God. Pierre provides practical guidance for pastors and counselors to help Christians use biblical categories to understand and address their struggles.

I am happy to announce the inaugural class of fellows for The Carson Center for Theological Renewal. Senior Fellows: Greg Beale Gary Millar Fellows: J. V. Fesko Mary Willson Hannah Matthew S. Harmon L. Michael Morales Patrick Schreiner Brian Tabb The Carson Center exists to foster spiritual renewal around the world by providing excellent theological resources for the whole church—for anyone called to teach and anyone who wants to study the Bible. In keeping with this goal, we’re thrilled to announce The Carson Center’s fellows program that convenes leading evangelical professors, teachers, and thinkers to collaborate and encourage one another to refine, develop, and promote biblical and systematic theology. The fellows aim to produce accessible resources, such as books, essays, articles, and cohorts, to strengthen the church and serve the next generation of leaders. Learn more about each of the fellows. Sign up for our newsletter to stay up to date on resources from The Carson Center on our homepage.

If the national media can be counted on to spin anything dramatically toward the Democrats, it’s a government shutdown. They feel passionately that the Democrats are the Party of Government, and the Republicans are the Haters of Government, so who naturally favors shutting it all down? Even before the shutdown occurred, NPR and PBS issued their poll warning Republicans would get more of the blame than Democrats. That’s why those partisan hacks deserved defunding. A substantial minority would blame both parties, because the independents told NPR “They're just fighting like two little kids." But pinning blame on Republicans is the perennial goal of press coverage. During the 1995-1996 shutdown, ABC, CBS, and NBC evening newscasts (and CNN’s evening World News) ran 48 stories in which reporters assigned blame: 23 blaming Republicans, and 25 blaming both Republicans and then-President Clinton. Not one single story blamed Clinton alone. Broadcast networks blamed Republicans in the 2013 shutdown under Obama, and the 2019 Obama under Trump. It wasn’t just there. In 2013, Republicans were “putting on their suicide vests,” said British journalist Tina Brown on CNN. They’re called “the suicide caucus,” proclaimed NBC anchor Brian Williams on David Letterman’s show. It’s “economic terrorism,” insisted MSNBC blowhard Ed Schultz. They don’t hide whose side they are taking. CNN anchor Pamela Brown – whose dad was a Democrat Governor of Kentucky – tried to “fact check” Speaker Mike Johnson on Thursday morning. “Alright, we’re listening here to Speaker Johnson. He's trying to frame the shutdown as a Democratic shutdown. He also falsely claimed that Democrats want to give health care, extend health care to illegal immigrants. That is not true. Illegal immigrants are not eligible for federal health care programs.” Hours later, after House Democrat leader Hakeem Jeffries spoke on the Capitol steps, CNN turned to repeater-not-reporter Arlette Saenz on the Hill, and she merely regurgitated all of the Democrat talking points. No one “fact checked” anything.   The ”independent fact checkers,” including CNN’s Daniel Dale, pounced on any claims that the Democrats shut down the government over their favoritism toward illegal aliens. PolitiFact threw a “False” flag at Vice President Vance. Actually, it is true that the federal government currently pays for health care for “noncitizens.” Democrats object to Trump’s moves to stop it. Republicans posted video of a 2019 Democrat presidential debate where Savannah Guthrie nudged:  “Raise your hand if your government plan would provide health insurance for undocumented immigrants.” Joe Biden and Kamala Harris and everyone else on that stage raised their hand. Republicans also posted the state government of New York – home of Jeffries and Senate Democrat leader Charles Schumer -- advertised that it has an insurance program through "Medicaid Managed Care" that gives health insurance to illegal immigrants over 65. They promoted “a more comprehensive benefit package for this population….The new insurance adds preventive and primary care benefits, including routine doctor visits, recommended screenings, lab tests, wellness services, prescription drugs and supplies, and more.” The actual details over the trend of federal spending – always rising dramatically – are treated as boring. How many journalists fixate on the annual deficit, or the accumulated national debt? That’s not a serious question. Don’t be a nerd. Reporters just want to cover this like it’s a rhetorical boxing match that Republicans are always going to lose. Democrat politicians feel the media bias enables them to be self-righteous holdouts in a shutdown, knowing they have a protection racket in the press corps. They pose as the reasonable moderates facing extremist “terrorists.” Then they wonder why the media’s trust ratings are in the toilet. 

The friends and family of 60-year-old Joey Alexander are grieving his violent end allegedly at the hands of a drug user in San Francisco.Alexander worked for Urban Alchemy, a nonprofit tasked by the city to prevent crime and drug abuse through community-based initiatives rather than the use of law enforcement officers.Alexander was the first of the nonprofit's workers to die on the job, but he was the third to get shot. ... Workers were sent into dangerous places of the city without law enforcement training.On Friday, Alexander confronted a man outside the library in Civic Center Plaza just before 5 p.m. and asked him to stop using illicit drugs in front of children.That man allegedly pulled out a shotgun and shot Alexander in the gut.He died four days later at a hospital.Police arrested 42-year-old Edmund Bowen and booked him into jail.Urban Alchemy recruits people with a criminal past who are trying to fix their lives and pays them to be street ambassadors and help deter crime as well as drug abuse. Alexander reportedly served 23 years in prison prior to working for the nonprofit for two years."That was his beat, in front of the main library. He showed up to work every day when it was his shift," said Jess Montejano, a spokesperson for Urban Alchemy.He went on to say that the incident has scared other ambassadors."It's a tight-knit team. There's definitely some fear amongst Urban Alchemy practitioners right now. It's very easy to see themselves in Mr. Alexander," he said.Montejano also told KQED-TV that Alexander was the first of the nonprofit's workers to die on the job, but he was the third to get shot. He said workers were sent into dangerous places of the city without law enforcement training."They are trained with their lived experience," he said, "to bring more peace, safety, and cleanliness on the streets. It's an unfortunate reality that, yes, we do experience hate and sometimes violence in the line of work that we do."RELATED: Fight erupts right in front of city 'security ambassadors' — who stand on sidewalk and watch it go down The nonprofit won contracts from many cities to operate homeless shelters and implement its community-based solutions, but it has been plagued with criticism about alleged financial mismanagement as well as improper conduct by workers. On Tuesday, about 100 workers were laid off by the group in Texas."As we mourn his loss, I am grateful for all of our ambassadors, including those from Urban Alchemy," reads a statement from Mayor Daniel Lurie. "Every single day, they work alongside our city outreach workers and law enforcement to help those on the street and keep all of us safe."Like Blaze News? Bypass the censors, sign up for our newsletters, and get stories like this direct to your inbox. Sign up here!