Pastor: Homeland Security's use of Bible verse in video is blasphemy
The verse I kept seeing, Isaiah 6:8, also happens to be one of my favorites. The prophet is telling the story of his commissioning or call to ministry. He has an ecstatic vision of God seated on the heavenly throne, surrounded by flying seraphim singing 'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord.' Isaiah is filled with dread and confesses, 'Woe is me! I am a man of unclean lips and I live among a people of unclean lips.' The Lord cleanses the prophet's mouth with a live coal and then he hears God say, 'Whom shall I send, who will go for us?' and Isaiah replies, 'Here I am, Lord. Send me.'
Like a lot of Christians, this passage resonates deeply with me. I've never had a vision like Isaiah's, but I have heard the Lord 'calling in the night,' as the old hymn goes. I have, with fear and trembling, prayed those words, 'Here I am, Lord. Send me.' Whenever I hear them, I remember my decision to follow Jesus, who quoted Isaiah at the beginning of his public ministry, saying, 'He has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor, he has sent me to proclaim freedom to the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to set the prisoners free and to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.' Usually I love to hear Isaiah 6:8. It speaks to what is most sacred in my life.
But I was disgusted when I heard those words last week in the Department of Homeland Security's new recruitment video.
The ad opens with marine helicopters traveling down a runway at dusk, preparing for take off on a mission. A genial male voice with a slight southern accent says, 'There's a Bible verse I think about sometimes, many times.'
Now the camera cuts to the inside of a helicopter, the light grows dimmer but we can make out DHS secretary Kristy Noam surrounded by agents in body armor. The narrator intones Isaiah 6:8, 'Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, Who shall I send? And who will go for us?' Ominous music swells up, but the voices aren't singing 'Holy, holy, holy,' they chant again and again, 'You can run on for a long time, sooner or later God's gonna cut you down.'
Then a rapid montage of shots: agents chasing people in boats, a Customs and Border Patrol patch on a uniform, armored vehicles, rugged terrain surveilled through night vision goggles and the brightest light–the gleam of plastic zip tie handcuffs in an agent's belt.
In choosing to use Isaiah 6:8, the video suggests that the Trump administration's mission to capture a daily quota of undocumented immigrants, deny them due process and imprison them in 'Gator Gulags' is God's mission.
God didn't send the prophet Isaiah to hunt down the poor and vulnerable. In fact, in chapter 16, God puts these words in the mouth of the prophet; 'Hide the fugitives, do not betray the refugees, let the fugitives stay with you; be their shelter from the destroyer.'
God sends the prophet Isaiah on a dangerous mission to speak judgement against the powerful, announcing 'Woe to you who add house to house and join field to field til there is no space left and you live alone in the land. Woe to those who are heroes at drinking wine and champions at mixing drinks, who acquit the guilty for a bribe, but deny justice to the innocent.'
Department of Homeland Security and Customs and Border Patrol agents are sent by the federal government, not the sovereign Lord. To suggest otherwise is the textbook definition of blasphemy.
Kate Murphy is pastor at The Grove Presbyterian Church in Charlotte.
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Miami Herald
a day ago
- Miami Herald
Pastor: Homeland Security's use of Bible verse in video is blasphemy
My social media channels were flooded with the words of the prophet Isaiah last week. That's hardly unusual. I am a pastor and the algorithms feed me a steady stream of sermons, articles and even memes based on scripture. The verse I kept seeing, Isaiah 6:8, also happens to be one of my favorites. The prophet is telling the story of his commissioning or call to ministry. He has an ecstatic vision of God seated on the heavenly throne, surrounded by flying seraphim singing 'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord.' Isaiah is filled with dread and confesses, 'Woe is me! I am a man of unclean lips and I live among a people of unclean lips.' The Lord cleanses the prophet's mouth with a live coal and then he hears God say, 'Whom shall I send, who will go for us?' and Isaiah replies, 'Here I am, Lord. Send me.' Like a lot of Christians, this passage resonates deeply with me. I've never had a vision like Isaiah's, but I have heard the Lord 'calling in the night,' as the old hymn goes. I have, with fear and trembling, prayed those words, 'Here I am, Lord. Send me.' Whenever I hear them, I remember my decision to follow Jesus, who quoted Isaiah at the beginning of his public ministry, saying, 'He has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor, he has sent me to proclaim freedom to the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to set the prisoners free and to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.' Usually I love to hear Isaiah 6:8. It speaks to what is most sacred in my life. But I was disgusted when I heard those words last week in the Department of Homeland Security's new recruitment video. The ad opens with marine helicopters traveling down a runway at dusk, preparing for take off on a mission. A genial male voice with a slight southern accent says, 'There's a Bible verse I think about sometimes, many times.' Now the camera cuts to the inside of a helicopter, the light grows dimmer but we can make out DHS secretary Kristy Noam surrounded by agents in body armor. The narrator intones Isaiah 6:8, 'Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, Who shall I send? And who will go for us?' Ominous music swells up, but the voices aren't singing 'Holy, holy, holy,' they chant again and again, 'You can run on for a long time, sooner or later God's gonna cut you down.' Then a rapid montage of shots: agents chasing people in boats, a Customs and Border Patrol patch on a uniform, armored vehicles, rugged terrain surveilled through night vision goggles and the brightest light–the gleam of plastic zip tie handcuffs in an agent's belt. In choosing to use Isaiah 6:8, the video suggests that the Trump administration's mission to capture a daily quota of undocumented immigrants, deny them due process and imprison them in 'Gator Gulags' is God's mission. God didn't send the prophet Isaiah to hunt down the poor and vulnerable. In fact, in chapter 16, God puts these words in the mouth of the prophet; 'Hide the fugitives, do not betray the refugees, let the fugitives stay with you; be their shelter from the destroyer.' God sends the prophet Isaiah on a dangerous mission to speak judgement against the powerful, announcing 'Woe to you who add house to house and join field to field til there is no space left and you live alone in the land. Woe to those who are heroes at drinking wine and champions at mixing drinks, who acquit the guilty for a bribe, but deny justice to the innocent.' Department of Homeland Security and Customs and Border Patrol agents are sent by the federal government, not the sovereign Lord. To suggest otherwise is the textbook definition of blasphemy. Kate Murphy is pastor at The Grove Presbyterian Church in Charlotte.
San Francisco Chronicle
2 days ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
'God understands us': Inside a Nigerian church where deaf people find faith and community
People interact using sign language during a church service at the Christian Mission for the Deaf in Lagos, Nigeria, Sunday, July 13, 2025. Sunday Alamba/AP Remi Akinremi, a pastor, preaches using sign language during a church service at the Christian Mission for the Deaf in Lagos, Nigeria, Sunday, July 13, 2025. Sunday Alamba/AP A member of the choir uses sign language during a church service at the Christian Mission for the Deaf in Lagos, Nigeria, Sunday, July 13, 2025. Sunday Alamba/AP Imoh Udoka, a pastor, preaches using sign language during a church service at the Christian Mission for the Deaf in Lagos, Nigeria, Sunday, July 13, 2025. Sunday Alamba/AP A woman reads the bible during a church service at the Christian Mission for the Deaf in Lagos, Nigeria, Sunday, July 13, 2025. Sunday Alamba/AP LAGOS, Nigeria (AP) — It is like any other church in Nigeria 's megacity of Lagos. A lectern faces rows of plastic chairs. A biblical quote is written on a beam above. There is a music section, with a set of drums. Sash-wearing church wardens move around to enforce order. But it is also different. For hours, the only sounds are exclamations and thunderous bursts of drums, with their vibrations the cues for when to pray, kneel or respond to the preacher's calls for 'Hallelujah.' This is a church for deaf people in Somolu, a mixed-income suburb, where about 50 to 60 people worship weekly. Advertisement Article continues below this ad Imoh Udoka, a father of two children, has attended the church for 36 years. He was 9 years old when he contracted meningitis, losing his hearing as well as access to his faith. Most churches in Nigeria do not have accommodation for deaf people. Then Udoka, now a teacher of sign language, discovered the church via community outreach. 'Here in this church, we have access to worship God in our sign language,' he told The Associated Press. 'God also understands us' Remi Akinrenmi is one of the pastors. Every Sunday, he mounts the pulpit with charismatic energy to preach in sign language. His big frame makes for a commanding presence. On one Sunday, he preached about the sinister consequences of jealousy. On another, he preached the importance of faith. Attendees waved their hands above their heads in response to 'Praise the Lord.' Advertisement Article continues below this ad Most important for Akinrenmi is that members see the church as a community. 'There was no community for us before the deaf church started," he said. 'Now, we see each other and say, 'Oh, you are deaf, too. I am also deaf.' And we are now together and have formed a community.' God understands every language, he said: "With sign language, God also understands us.' Disability advocates say that in the absence of inclusive churches and institutions, churches like this and a handful of affiliates in southern Nigeria are crucial, especially in African societies where the perception of people with disabilities is influenced by traditional beliefs. Some see a disability as a divine punishment. 'An exclusive space like this church offers them an opportunity for a safe space to be able to connect and relate,' said Treasures Uchegbu, founder of Speaking Fingers, a sign language advocacy group in Lagos. 'They can say, 'I am not a deaf person just standing alone, I have other deaf people around.'" Advertisement Article continues below this ad How the church came to be The church organizes evangelism outreach programs to other deaf communities in Lagos. It also runs a teaching unit for sign language, a vital tool for understanding the world better, according to Akinrenmi. Hearing children of church members also attend the classes to better relate to their parents and others, and some hearing students attend church services for immersion learning. The church started in 1956 in colonial Nigeria as the Christian Mission for Deaf Africans. In today's Nigeria, an estimated 10 million people out of the population of 220 million are deaf or have difficulty hearing. There is limited infrastructure in Nigeria for people with disabilities, and laws to improve their welfare and prevent discrimination are barely enforced. Efforts by advocates to push for more inclusive legislation have not materialized. They blame a lack of political will. Oluwakemi Oluwatoke-Ogunjirin, a 49-year-old worker with the Lagos state government, was born deaf. She attended hearing churches with her family but always felt lost. Advertisement Article continues below this ad Depending solely on public infrastructure in other parts of life, she struggles to get by. But at the church, she said, she has found a community where she can feel safe and understood. 'The church goes beyond faith; we have people like ourselves that we can talk to as friends,' Oluwatoke-Ogunjirin said. With the church's help, she has improved her sign language and can communicate widely, breaking the isolation she grew up with. 'The sign language makes life very easy for us," she said. 'It helps us communicate beyond the church.' ___ Advertisement Article continues below this ad For more on Africa and development: The Associated Press receives financial support for global health and development coverage in Africa from the Gates Foundation. The AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP's standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at
2 days ago
'God understands us': Inside a Nigerian church where the deaf find faith and community
LAGOS, Nigeria -- It is like any other church in Nigeria 's megacity of Lagos. A lectern faces rows of plastic chairs. A biblical quote is written on a beam above. There is a music section, with a set of drums. Sash-wearing church wardens move around to enforce order. But it is also different. For hours, the only sounds are exclamations and thunderous bursts of drums, with their vibrations the cues for when to pray, kneel or respond to the preacher's calls for 'Hallelujah.' This is a church for deaf people in Somolu, a mixed-income suburb, where about 50 to 60 people worship weekly. Imoh Udoka, a father of two children, has attended the church for 36 years. He was 9 years old when he contracted meningitis, losing his hearing as well as access to his faith. Most churches in Nigeria do not have accommodation for deaf people. Then Udoka, now a teacher of sign language, discovered the church via community outreach. 'Here in this church, we have access to worship God in our sign language,' he told The Associated Press. Remi Akinrenmi is one of the pastors. Every Sunday, he mounts the pulpit with charismatic energy to preach in sign language. His big frame makes for a commanding presence. On one Sunday, he preached about the sinister consequences of jealousy. On another, he preached the importance of faith. Attendees waved their hands above their heads in response to 'Praise the Lord.' Most important for Akinrenmi is that members see the church as a community. 'There was no community for us before the deaf church started," he said. 'Now, we see each other and say, 'Oh, you are deaf, too. I am also deaf.' And we are now together and have formed a community.' God understands every language, he said: "With sign language, God also understands us.' Disability advocates say that in the absence of inclusive churches and institutions, churches like this and a handful of affiliates in southern Nigeria are crucial, especially in African societies where the perception of people with disabilities is influenced by traditional beliefs. Some see a disability as a divine punishment. 'An exclusive space like this church offers them an opportunity for a safe space to be able to connect and relate,' said Treasures Uchegbu, founder of Speaking Fingers, a sign language advocacy group in Lagos. 'They can say, 'I am not a deaf person just standing alone, I have other deaf people around.'" The church organizes evangelism outreach programs to other deaf communities in Lagos. It also runs a teaching unit for sign language, a vital tool for understanding the world better, according to Akinrenmi. Hearing children of church members also attend the classes to better relate to their parents and others, and some hearing students attend church services for immersion learning. The church started in 1956 in colonial Nigeria as the Christian Mission for Deaf Africans. In today's Nigeria, an estimated 10 million people out of the population of 220 million are deaf or have difficulty hearing. There is limited infrastructure in Nigeria for people with disabilities, and laws to improve their welfare and prevent discrimination are barely enforced. Efforts by advocates to push for more inclusive legislation have not materialized. They blame a lack of political will. Oluwakemi Oluwatoke-Ogunjirin, a 49-year-old worker with the Lagos state government, was born deaf. She attended hearing churches with her family but always felt lost. Depending solely on public infrastructure in other parts of life, she struggles to get by. But at the church, she said, she has found a community where she can feel safe and understood. 'The church goes beyond faith; we have people like ourselves that we can talk to as friends,' Oluwatoke-Ogunjirin said. With the church's help, she has improved her sign language and can communicate widely, breaking the isolation she grew up with. 'The sign language makes life very easy for us," she said. 'It helps us communicate beyond the church.'
