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Baptist News Global | Aug. 13, 2026
In 2019, I was diagnosed with a rare disease, which is now more likely severely undiagnosed than rare. I was told the disease would progress and the only treatment was for me to become so sick I would qualify for a heart transplant. Not a terribly encouraging prognosis.
This disease is not the result of an attack of some foreign invader. Instead, the enemy is from within. In my body, a protein common to us all decided to misbehave, deforming itself and embedding in various organs. Wherever it finds a permanent residence, it ultimately destroys.
In my body, that’s my heart and connective tissues, ligaments and tendons. At present, the aberrant proteins cannot be evicted, and the damage they have caused is irreparable.
The good news is that medications have been developed to slow the progression of the disease, either by diminishing the production of the protein or corralling the misbehaving proteins before they attach to any organs. I take both medicines — a belt-and-suspenders approach to manage my disease.
I don’t look like anything is physically wrong with me. My impairment is most noticeable on airplanes as passengers stare at me while my wife lifts our carry-ons to the overhead bins. I cannot heft the luggage to head height because of ligament damage caused by the disease, but no one on board knows that except my wife and me. My chagrin as I fall into my seat is embarrassing and unavoidable.
“Our nation has suffered and continues to suffer from a grievous disease that I first thought was rare but have come to believe has been severely undiagnosed.”
For this unscripturally anchored sermon, consider my story a parable. Our nation has suffered and continues to suffer from a grievous disease that I first thought was rare but have come to believe has been severely undiagnosed over the years.
The damage done
I don’t have a particular name for the malady, but I am aware of the damage it has inflicted. This disease causes moral injuries, the kind of gaping wound that takes forever to heal, a condition for which there is no known cure. It is a progressive disease, and thus far there has been no assured way of slowing it down.
As a child, I was taught to love others, even those I didn’t like. I was taught to be kind to everyone, respectful of all, courteous and compassionate. I was told the ends don’t justify the means and meanness isn’t acceptable behavior. One should stand up to a bully, for if we capitulate to a bully’s demands, we empower the bully.
Honesty is to be valued and considered the norm. Dishonesty diminishes the standing of the one who speaks it as truth. Might does not make right and most often one’s heart pulls for the underdog. Those who have less of the world’s riches should not be targets of criticism but compassion.
The folks who don’t look like me are actually like me since all of us are God’s children. The teachings of Jesus aren’t a cudgel to inflict harm but a way of supporting, encouraging, helping and loving each other.
I thought these were common beliefs and values. I was wrong. They aren’t common.
“I thought these were common beliefs and values. I was wrong. They aren’t common.”
When folks have recognized this deviation from the norms, a common response is, “But that’s not who we are!” Yes, it is.
We have traded our national heritage for a mess of lies. We fashioned a golden national calf while declaring our allegiance to God. We substituted displaying the Ten Commandments for obeying them.
We declared we were persecuted as we persecuted others in Jesus’ name. We belittled the faith of others as we failed to live the faith we claimed. We treated the disadvantaged with contempt, believing they deserved poverty.
We honored those who dishonored our principles, pardoned those who deserved punishment and punished those who should have received grace and mercy. We ignored the clearest commandments of Jesus and focused on the diatribes offered by those either ignorant of or unconcerned with Jesus and his teachings.
‘Jesus wept’
“God help us!” we cry, and God reminds us we made this mess and we need to clean it up. The Scripture that reverberates in my heart is “Jesus wept.”
This disease that has swept our nation is not from foreign intruders, although some would have us believe most of our troubles have come from immigrants, forgetting all of us were at one time foreign intruders — unless we are Native Americans. Somehow something that is part of each and every one of us has become horribly malformed.
“Somehow something that is part of each and every one of us has become horribly malformed.”
Much like my disease, no one knows why the protein misbehaves or why we are so caught up in fear, hatred and distrust. Whatever it is that has afflicted us, it is damaging our vital organs — our organizations, our nation, our lives, our children and our future. Wherever its deposits of animosity, hatred and bigotry reside, it destroys.
To this point we have not found any remedy to remove the disease. King David asked for a new heart, a transplant of a kind required by the damage he had done to his heart with treachery, deceit and lust. I hope we didn’t have to wait until a transplant is the only alternative. I’d prefer a remedy to stop the progression of the disease.
Many days I feel there is a gaping hole in my soul, the consequence of that grievous moral wound. Everything I once hoped and believed in has been challenged; common decency has become uncommon. The wound is painful and always present.
In those moments when I believe our situation is a bit better, something happens to remind me the wound is unchanged. I thought most people were good, compassionate, kind and unselfish, and most every day I see or hear evidence to the contrary.
I know there are stories recounting the goodness of humanity, but they seem to be in the minority. Not all those proteins in my body become aberrant; but too many do, and they appear to be in the majority.
“Physician, heal yourself,” was a taunt directed at the Great Physician. That has reverberated in my heart and mind, too. I have struggled to heal myself, to bind up my grievous moral wound, to find some spiritual medication or practical advice that will lead me to wholeness. So far I haven’t had much success.
Stopping the spread
Perhaps we have to treat moral wounds like we treat other injuries when our flesh is splayed and the pain intolerable. Perhaps the best we can do is keep contaminants from further infecting the wound. There are a multitude of opportunistic bacteria ready to make things worse.
I no longer can listen to or read much of current events. When I do, it’s like pouring salt into the wound, or tossing dirt into the open sore. When the wound festers, so do I, and I develop a fever of hatred and animosity that shames me. If I leave the wound untreated, there is no hope for getting well. I don’t think time does heal all wounds.
I doubt I ever will be the same as a result of this moral wound. It will be more difficult to trust others, to accept what is said at face value, to give myself to others without reservation. I am afraid it will make me more withdrawn, more selfish, living with a quiet arrogance believing I was right all along about the disease and wrong about the goodness of people.
I am convinced our nation will not be the same. We will remain divided for as long as I can peer into the future, and I wonder what the country will be like for my grandchildren. It doesn’t matter that much to me since my days are far fewer than theirs and I will not suffer the wound as long.
I turn to God, the Healer. Yet God will not do for us what we can do for ourselves, and will likely not undo for us what we have done to ourselves. This moral wound was self-inflicted. I believe in God’s grace, mercy and love and find it is more difficult for me to live that way with this open moral wound.
The Scriptures tell us Jesus’ side was pierced when he was dying on the Cross. I think he was dying long before that. I think he walked this earth with a grievous moral wound. He saw how Samaritans were treated, how women were treated and how the poor and marginalized were treated. His anger most often was directed at religious folks who failed to recognize every person is a child of God.
“I wonder if the more destructive atheism is not the failure to believe in God, but the unwillingness to believe each person is made in God’s image.”
I wonder if the more destructive atheism is not the failure to believe in God, but the unwillingness to believe each person is made in God’s image and is a person of inestimable worth. I think disbelief inflicted the greatest wound to Jesus.
Our national disease, like my disease, has affected our hearts and our connective tissues. We are more divided, less connected, than ever. The gap between rich and poor never has been greater. Race, ethnicity and national origin separate us. We feel estranged from our government. We sometimes feel abandoned by God.
Our hearts are torn by hatred; compassion is the exception, not the rule. We watch as families are separated, as our neighbors are taken from their homes. We see the videos recording the deaths of American citizens at the hands of officers of the lawless. We are not indivisible, and liberty and justice are not for all.
‘Don’t bend it that way’
Perhaps the best encouragement I can offer is the counsel a physician gave in an old joke. A man went to his doctor and said: “My arm hurts when I bend it this way. What do you think I should do?” The doctor responded, “Don’t bend it that way.”
If you find your moral wound is inflamed by the news — cut back on your consumption. If listening to our political leaders makes your wound burn, don’t listen to them. Stay informed but not immersed.
Sometimes exercise can help with healing. Physical activity in many cases is as good as medication for the treatment of depression. And exercise your rights — vote, march and peacefully demonstrate, and perhaps some of the symptoms and pain will be alleviated.
Pray, not for the destruction or demise of those who have wounded you, but for yourself so you don’t become infected with the disease of hatred. Animosity is difficult to eradicate, especially if one finds satisfaction in it.
Keep filth out of the wound, and perhaps the pain will get a bit better. I doubt the wound will ever fully heal. Perhaps it shouldn’t. Perhaps I need a reminder, a scar of sorts, so that I am not tempted to wound others.
Karl L. Moore
Michael Catlett (Courtesy Photo)
Michael Catlett is pastor emeritus of McLean Baptist Church in Northern Virginia.