The Gospel According to St. Tom
In the beginning was the word . . . of a song.
Eli Mercer is 52 years old. A well-known podcast host based in North Carolina, he grew up Baptist and still considers himself a “Jesus person,” though he’s suspicious of organized religion. His podcast, The Civic Soul, explores religion, politics, and American history with an irreverent but searching tone.
Dr. Thomas ("Tom") Galen is 60 years old. He’s a retired head of the Environmental Protection Agency. Quiet, almost monkish, Tom reads theology and philosophy alongside the latest in environmental science. He’s a Born Again Christian in the tradition of C.S. Lewis believing science is a way to honor God’s creation. Tom still plays guitar most evenings, favoring J.S. Bach, old gospel hymns, and the occasional Joni Mitchell tune.
Setting:
A porch in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The two men are meeting at Eli’s family cabin—something of a yearly ritual. It's dusk. A bottle of bourbon is open, but only two fingers have been poured. Tom strums a guitar idly. Fireflies mark the tree line.
Eli:
I read a headline this morning—some congressman in Texas wants to “reconsider the doctrine of separation of church and state.” He says it’s “not in the Constitution.” I choked on my coffee.
Tom:
(Plucking a slow, descending line on the guitar)
Was it good coffee?
Eli:
It was!
Tom:
I try not to mix the news directly with the finer things in life. Technically, he’s right, of course. The phrase isn’t in the Constitution. Jefferson used it in a letter to the Danbury Baptists. But I suppose you’re not here for constitutional exegesis.
Eli:
Not tonight. Tonight I’m here for bourbon and the Gospel according to St. Tom.
Tom:
Oh that book is apocryphal. Like the Book of Enoch.
Eli:
Oh, come on. You’ve spent half your career defending federal science funding from the same folks who want to put the Ten Commandments in every biology classroom.
Tom:
(Setting the guitar aside)
You want my sermon? OK. The Founders weren’t saints, but many of them understood one thing better than we do: that state power and religious zeal make a dangerous mix.
Eli:
Amen. But here’s what troubles me. These folks calling for “Christian nationalism”—they’re not fringe anymore. They’re mayors, judges, school board members. They speak like they’re restoring something noble. It’s nostalgia for a theocracy that never was.
Tom:
Or for a world where doubt wasn’t so painful. Certainty is addictive.
Eli:
You think that’s it?
Tom:
Partly. And fear. Fear of losing place, identity, the promise that the universe is on your side.
Eli:
See, this is what I like about you, Tom. You speak with charity, even toward the people undermining everything you worked for.
Tom:
They’re not all bad actors. Some are just... epistemically stunted. Raised on unexamined authority, given no tools for doubt.
Eli:
Yeah, that’s what I want to talk about. You remember last year—my dad passed?
Tom:
I do. I’m sorry.
Eli:
Thanks. At the funeral, I kept thinking: I was taught things as true that were never questioned. About the world, about God, about good and evil. Not just that things might be right or wrong—but that they were unquestionable. That’s not just ignorance. It feels like... abuse. Epistemic abuse.
Tom:
(Quiet)
Yes. I know that terrain.
Eli:
For you too?
Tom:
Of course. I was raised in a house where evolution was called Satanic. Where asking too many questions made my mother cry. Where truth was fixed and deviation was sin. It takes decades to undo that wiring.
Eli:
So where’s the line? When does belief become abuse?
Tom:
When it cripples curiosity. When it punishes honesty. When it substitutes fear for wonder. You know, Eli, one of the hardest things I ever did was teach my children how to doubt me.
Eli:
That’s . . . beautiful.
Tom:
It’s also painful. Because they’ve rejected parts of the faith I still hold dear. But I wanted them to be free in a way I wasn’t.
Eli:
(Filling his glass again)
I’m ashamed of something. Had a state senator on the podcast a while back. She started spouting the usual stuff—how climate science was “the new Marxism,” how biology classes were “erasing Christian children.” I nodded. I laughed. I didn’t push back.
Tom:
Why not?
Eli:
I told myself I was being civil. Letting her speak. But really? I didn’t want the backlash. Didn’t want to lose listeners. I didn’t lie, but I didn’t tell the truth either.
Tom:
You were afraid.
Eli:
Yeah.
Tom:
I understand. Fear’s no sin. But it’s not the end either.
Eli:
You ever have to choose? Between the truth and the job?
Tom:
Once. I was still director. New administration came in, and I got a call—a quiet suggestion to “de-emphasize” a study on climate resilience. Nothing direct. Just soften it. Shift the language.
Eli:
And?
Tom:
I said no. Politely. Didn’t raise a fuss. But I made sure the report went out as written. I lost a few briefings after that. But three junior staffers later told me it helped them hold their ground. They soon resigned though.
Eli:
Damn, Tom.
Tom:
It’s what I could do.
Eli:
My niece—she’s ten—asked me if angels are real. I wanted to tell her the truth, but I also didn’t want to kill her wonder. I just froze.
Tom:
You wouldn’t have killed anything. Magic survives inspection. Real wonder deepens under the weight of a question.
Eli:
You make it sound easy.
Tom:
It’s not.
Eli:
You know, sometimes I think the worst thing that ever happened to me was being raised to believe things I wasn’t allowed to doubt.
Tom:
Same here.
Eli:
So what’s our responsibility, Tom? As public thinkers, former scientists, recovering believers?
Tom:
To witness. To tell the truth—even when it unsettles. Especially then.
Eli:
Even if it means admitting we were misled? Or worse, that we misled others?
Tom:
Yes. And to forgive ourselves. Because silence, too, is a form of survival.
(Pause. The fireflies are thick now. Tom resumes playing, this time a gentle rendering of “Wayfaring Stranger.”)
Eli:
You ever wonder if truth and kindness are at odds?
Tom:
Every day. But I believe they’re lovers, not enemies. They quarrel often. . . What is this, a podcast interview?
(Tom begins singing.)
Eli:
(Chuckling)
Here’s the big question. Do we ever stop being children of our first epistemic world?
Tom:
(Breaking the song)
No. But we can become stewards of a new one.
(Sings again)