The New York Times reported on Saturday that John McCain doesn’t want President Trump to attend his funeral. I respect Senator McCain, and I understand his reasoning given the history between the two. However, while I have my own disagreements with President Trump, I want it to be said for the record—President Trump is welcome at my funeral.

President Trump is welcome at my funeral because, in my tradition, my funeral will not principally be about me. It will, instead, be a witness to the power of the resurrection. It will be a proclamation of the good news of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. And God knows President Trump could stand to hear a little gospel.

Good News to the Poor

At my funeral, President Trump would hear about the time Jesus inaugurated his ministry at the synagogue in his home town of Nazareth. He would hear how Jesus read from the scroll of Isaiah:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me
because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

And then said, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

The Gospel of Jesus Christ is good news to the poor—not to billionaires. It is release to the captives—not harsher sentencing for petty drug crimes. It is recovery of sight to the blind—not denial of healthcare to the poor.

A gospel that isn’t good news for the poor, the sick, and the oppressed is no gospel at all.

President Trump would hear that at my funeral.

The Judgment of the Nations

At my funeral, President Trump would hear about the time Jesus described the final judgment to his disciples. He would hear how Jesus will stand at the pearly gates separating the nations, the sheep to his right and the goats to his left. He would hear how Jesus invited those on his right into the kingdom of heaven saying,

Come, you that are blessed by my Father inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.

He would hear how the nations responded, “Lord when did we do these things?” And he would hear Jesus’s response: “Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

A gospel that isn’t good news to the least of these—the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, the imprisoned—isn’t the gospel of Jesus Christ. It is a manipulation of religion for the sake of the wealthy.

President Trump would hear that at my funeral.

A Gospel of Nonviolence

If the preacher were really on a roll, President Trump would hear the story of the time Jesus refused to defend himself when the Romans came in the night to arrest him. He would hear that when Peter drew his sword to defend him, Jesus made him put his sword away. “Put your sword back into its place,” Jesus said, “for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.” He would hear how Jesus, who could have called down heavenly armies to defend him, chose instead the way of peace, even though it meant his life.

A gospel of violence—a gospel that relies on the sword—is no gospel at all. The only way to break the cycle of retribution is for life to spring forth in the place of death. The only way to peace is through the power of the resurrection.

President Trump would hear that at my funeral.

The Heavenly Banquet

At my funeral, President Trump would hear one of my favorite stories about what heaven will be like. In Luke 14, Jesus tells the story of a man who gives a great banquet. The host invites all “the best people,” the one-percenters, the real estate tycoons, the ones who go on TV to talk what great Christians they are. When the day of the dinner arrives, the man sends his servants out to welcome the invited guests.

But no one comes.

All the best people are too busy. One has made a real estate investment and wants to go out to see his property. One has purchased some new farm equipment and wants to take a test drive. One has fallen in love and can’t be bothered to come.

Infuriated, the host sends his servants out into the streets again—this time to bring in anyone who will come. “Go quickly to the city’s streets, the busy ones, and the side streets,” he says, “and bring in the poor, crippled, blind, and lame.” The servant replies, “Sir, we’ve already done that and there is still room.” So the host commands, “Go to the highways and back alleys and urge people to come in so that my house will be filled. I tell you, not one of those who were invited will taste my dinner.”

What a vision of heaven! God’s kingdom is a place of enormous hospitality. There’s room for everyone. The servants go out into the streets—not once, but twice—to bring in everyone they can find. And yet there is still room. The doors of heaven are thrown wide open for everyone who will come to the table.

Not only that, but the host sends the servants out specifically to find the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame. The servants go not just down Main Street but down all the side streets, as well. They go south of the highway that divides the rich from the poor. They even venture into the back alleys. They shake awake the people sleeping in cardboard boxes and invite them into the banquet. They find people digging for a meal in the dumpster, and bring them in, too.

The bounty of God knows no ends. Everyone is welcome.

Everyone, that is, except for the rich ones who are so distracted by their pursuit of wealth and power that they cannot recognize the overflowing generosity that God has extended to them. They were invited to the banquet, too—the ones too busy with their real estate deals, with their business investments, with their personal lives. But in the end they did not come.

All “the best people,” it turns out, are the only ones left on the outside.

I think the preacher will tell that story at my funeral. If she has paid attention to my life, she will. She will know that my vision of heaven is to find myself at a great banquet with all the people I have tried my best to love—the poor, and the downtrodden, and the homeless. What a glorious feast that will be!

An Invitation to the President

My funeral will be a celebration of the victory of life over death. It will be a celebration of the limitless abundance of God, extended especially to those who have not experienced abundance under the rule of the Empire. It will be a declaration of the special welcome God extends to the poor and the oppressed, to the sick and the imprisoned, to those considered least by a world that idolizes wealth and power.

So Donald Trump is welcome at my funeral. I think he needs to hear a little Gospel.