A Pastoral Letter From a Bishop Who Refuses to Be Quiet

My spiritual siblings and beloved siblings in the human family,

Grace and peace to you in a season that feels anything but peaceful. We gather today under the shadow of yet another death. Another name. Another body placed on the altar of what our nation dares to call “order.” The execution of Alex Pretti is not merely a tragedy. It is a mirror. And what it reflects back to us is a society that has grown dangerously comfortable with brutality.

What makes the footage unbearable is not only that a man was killed by agents of the state. It is that, even while choking, burning, staggering, disoriented, Alex kept reaching. Reaching for another human being. Reaching for protection. Reaching for solidarity.

While his lungs were on fire, his conscience was not. While his body was collapsing, his soul was standing tall. He was not performing. He was not posturing. He was loving.

And in that moment, when the nervous system is screaming “save yourself,” his spirit whispered, “save someone else!”

That is what terrifies unjust systems. Because love like that cannot be managed. Compassion like that cannot be controlled. Solidarity like that exposes every lie.

The state did not merely shoot a protester. It shot a man in the act of mercy. It executed a posture of protection. It silenced a reaching hand. And yes, I will say the word: execution. Because when armed power meets unarmed conscience, and conscience is destroyed, that is not “law enforcement.” That is moral collapse with a badge. And yes, he did have a conceal carry and through various video perspectives one of the ICE officers disarmed him before another arbitrarily just walked up and shot him.

We must tell the truth: We are becoming desensitized. We scroll past suffering. We watch violence between commercials. We analyze corpses like sports statistics. We have normalized the abnormal. We have baptized cruelty in bureaucratic language.

We have turned state violence into background noise.

And meanwhile, law enforcement; untethered from accountability, inflated by militarization, shielded by silence; has too often become an occupying force in communities that are already wounded. This is not what public safety looks like.

This is what fear looks like with funding. And we must also speak plainly: Our current political leadership reflects deep instability. When cruelty is policy, when chaos is strategy, when empathy is mocked and lies are amplified, we are not witnessing strength - we are witnessing sickness. A “deep state” of mental unwellness. A nation led by unwellness becomes unwell.

And friends, let me be clear: this is not about any one party. This is about morality. This is about sanity. This is about the soul of a democratic republic.

Now, some will say, “Bishop, stay in your lane.” Well, beloved, my lane is conscience. My lane is the Gospel. My lane is the bruised body on the roadside. And Jesus is already standing there.

Christ is not hiding in palaces. Christ is not whispering in boardrooms. Christ is bleeding in the streets. Christ is reaching through tear gas. Christ is choking under boots. Christ is standing with those who are told they do not matter. And if you want to find Him, you will find Him where Alex was, between danger and the vulnerable.

We are told to be afraid. Afraid of speaking. Afraid of organizing. Afraid of resisting. Afraid of being labeled. But Scripture says, “Perfect love casts out fear.” And love is not passive. Love is not polite silence. Love is not spiritualized surrender.

Love is muscle. Love is voice. Love is presence. Love is courage with skin on it. Do not mistake meekness for weakness. Jesus flipped tables before He carried a cross.

And let me remind you, with both prophetic fire and a little holy humor: this is not the first toxic administration we have survived as a spiritual people, and it will not be the last.

Empires rise. Empires rot. Truth keeps showing up anyway. We have been here before. We survived Nixon. We survived Reaganomics. We survived wars built on lies. We survived policies dressed up as patriotism.

And we are still here because ordinary people kept standing up and saying, “No. Not in our name. Not with our silence.” Every generation is given its test. This is ours. Will we be comfortable? Or will we be faithful?

Will we be quiet? Or will we be courageous? Will we protect our reputations? Or will we protect our neighbors?

Do not tell me protest is un-Christian. The Exodus was a protest. The prophets were protestors. The Resurrection was God’s ultimate act of resistance.

Peaceful protest is prayer with feet. It is liturgy in the streets. It is the Church remembering who she is.

And so, beloved, I leave you with words from the poet Dylan Thomas, words that echo the

Gospel more than some sermons ever have:

“Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Not rage of hatred. Rage of love. Not rage of destruction. Rage of conscience. Not rage that burns others. Rage that burns injustice.

Do not go quietly into indifference. Do not go softly into silence. Do not tiptoe past suffering.

Raise your voice. Link your arms. Use your gifts. Show up. Christ stands firmly in our midst when we do.

And like Alex, may we be found, until our last breath, still reaching.

With faith, fire, and fierce love,

+MATTHAIOS