Vile enough to be faithful: A pastoral word to Montana

There are moments when a pastor must speak not because it is comfortable, but because silence would betray the gospel.

I am troubled—deeply troubled—by the rise of anti‑union and anti‑labor sentiment forming here in Great Falls and beyond. This concern is not ideological. It is pastoral. It comes from listening to workers, families, and elders who remember what this community has endured and what it took to survive.

This is not simply about economics. It is about dignity.

Scripture does not bless isolation. From the beginning, God’s work has been communal. Abram was called away from comfort so that all families might be blessed. Jesus called workers into community, restored their dignity, and challenged systems that treated people as expendable. When faith became disruptive, Jesus did not retreat. He declared, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”

History tells us the same truth.

Great Falls was built by labor—by people who worked dangerous jobs along the river, in smelters and mills, often at great cost to their bodies and their families. When those workers stood alone, they were easily discarded. When they stood together, conditions changed. Lives were protected. Dignity was defended.

We dishonor that history when we dismiss solidarity as selfish or portray collective voice as a threat.

The wages, safety protections, and basic rights many now take for granted were not handed down out of generosity. They were won because ordinary people refused to believe that suffering in silence was God’s will.

John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement, understood this cost.

When Wesley prayed, “Lord, make me more vile,” he was not asking to become immoral. He was asking to be freed from the idol of respectability. Wesley was called “vile” because he stood with workers and the poor, preached where polite religion would not go, and refused a faith that sounded beautiful but left people crushed by injustice.

“Vile” is often the word comfortable religion uses when faith gets too close to real suffering.

As a pastor, I cannot ignore what scripture and history make plain: When workers are discouraged from standing together, dignity erodes. When shared voice is mocked, fear fills the space where community should be. And when the church remains quiet, it risks blessing harm through its silence.

This does not mean every union is perfect. It does mean that the instinct to stand together—to protect one another, to speak with shared voice—is deeply consistent with the gospel’s call to love our neighbor not only in word, but in structure and practice.

The question before us is not whether solidarity is disruptive. The gospel has always been disruptive. The real question is whether we will choose comfort or courage.

If faithfulness in this moment costs us respectability, then perhaps we should remember Wesley’s prayer. Not because we seek conflict—but because we seek justice. Not because we desire division—but because we refuse to abandon our neighbors.

May we be a community that remembers who we are, honors those who came before us, and is brave enough to stand together for the dignity of all.