Boz Tchividjian

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Boz Tchividjian

Boz Tchividjian

@BozT

Attorney advocate for abuse survivors, Founder of GRACE (@netgrace_org), Adjunct professor, Author & Speaker.

Florida, USA Katılım Şubat 2009
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Boz Tchividjian
Boz Tchividjian@BozT·
Putting aside our “religious” work will often open our eyes & hearts to the beaten & bruised laying in the dirt who have given up hope.
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I couldn’t have said it better…capturing the great tragedy that has unfolded here in this country. I am increasingly convinced that we’ve crossed the point of no return…and so few realize it.
Gandalv@Microinteracti1

Robert Mueller died last night. He was 81 years old. He had a wife who loved him for sixty years. He had two daughters, one of whom he met for the first time in Hawaii, in 1969, on a few hours of military leave, before he got back on the plane and returned to Vietnam. He had grandchildren. He had a faith he practiced quietly, without performance. He had, in the way of men who have seen real things and survived them, a quality that is increasingly rare and increasingly mocked in the country he spent his life serving. He had integrity. And tonight the President of the United States said good! I have been sitting with that word for hours now. Good. One syllable. The thing you say when the coffee is hot or the traffic is moving. The thing a man who has never had to bury anyone, never had to sit in the specific silence of a room where someone is newly absent, reaches for when he wants the world to know he is satisfied. Good. The daughters are crying and the wife is alone in the house and good. I want to speak directly to the Americans reading this. Not the political Americans. Just the human ones. The ones who have lost a father. The ones who know what it is to be in that first hour, when you keep forgetting and then remembering again, when ordinary objects become unbearable, when the world outside the window seems obscene in its indifference. I want to ask you, simply, to hold that feeling for a moment, and then to understand that the man you elected looked at it and typed a single word. Good. This is not a country having a bad day. I need you to understand that. Countries have bad days. Elections go wrong. Leaders disappoint. Institutions bend. But there is a different thing, a rarer and more terrible thing, that happens when the moral center of a place simply gives way. Not dramatically. Not with a single catastrophic event. But quietly, in increments, until one evening a president celebrates the death of an old man whose family is still warm with grief, and enough people find it acceptable that it becomes the weather. Just the weather. That is what is happening. That is what has happened. The world knows. From Tokyo to Oslo, from London to Buenos Aires, people are not angry at America tonight. Anger would mean there was still something to fight for, some remaining faith to be betrayed. What I see, in the reactions from everywhere that is not here, is something older and sadder than anger. It is the look people get when they have waited a long time for someone they love to find their way back, and have finally understood that they are not coming. America is being grieved. Past tense, almost. The idea of it. The thing it represented to people who had nothing else to believe in, who came here with everything they owned in a single bag because they had heard, somehow, across an ocean, that this was the place where decency was written into the walls. That idea is not resting. It is not suspended. It is being buried, in real time, with 7,450 likes before dinner. And the church said nothing. Seventy million people have decided that this man, this specific man who has cheated everyone he has ever made a promise to, who has mocked the disabled and the dead and the grieving, who celebrated tonight while a family wept, is an instrument of God. The pastors who made that bargain did not just trade away their credibility. They traded away the thing that made them worth listening to in the first place. The cross they carry now is a costume. The faith they preach is a loyalty oath with scripture attached. When the history of American Christianity is written, this will be the chapter they skip at seminary. Now I want to talk about the men who stand next to him. Because this is the part that actually breaks my heart. JD Vance is not a bad man. I have to say that, because it is true, and because the truth matters even now, especially now. Marco Rubio is not a bad man. Lindsey Graham is not a bad man. They are idiots, but not bad, as in BAD! These are men with mothers who raised them and children who love them and friends who remember who they were before all of this. They are not monsters. Monsters are simple. Monsters do not cost you anything emotionally because there is nothing in them to mourn. These men are something more painful than monsters. They are men who knew better, and know better still, and will get up tomorrow and do it again. Every small compromise they made had a reason. Every moment they looked the other way had a justification that sounded, at the time, almost reasonable. And now they have arrived here, at a place where a president celebrates the death of an old man and they will find a way, on television, to say nothing that means anything, and they will go home to houses where children who carry their name are waiting, and they will say goodnight, and they will say nothing. Their oldest friends are watching. The ones who knew Rubio when he still believed in something. Who knew Graham when he said, out loud, on the record, that this exact man would destroy the Republican Party and deserve it. Who sat next to Vance and thought here is someone worth knowing. Those friends are not angry tonight. They moved through anger a long time ago. What they feel now is the quiet, irrecoverable sadness of watching someone disappear while still being present. Of watching a person they loved choose, again and again, to become less. That is what cowardice costs. Not the coward. The people who loved him. And in the comments tonight, the followers celebrate. People who ten years ago brought casseroles to grieving neighbours. Who stood in the rain at gravesides and meant the words they said. Who told their children that we do not speak ill of the dead because the dead were someone's beloved. Those people are tonight typing gleeful things about a man whose daughters are not yet done crying. And they feel clean doing it. Righteous. Because somewhere along the way the thing they were given in exchange for their decency was the feeling of belonging to something, and that feeling is very hard to give up even when you can no longer remember what you gave for it. When Trump is gone, they will still be here. Standing in the silence where the noise used to be. Without the permission the crowd gave them. Without the pastor who told them their cruelty was holy. They will be alone with what they said and what they cheered and what they chose to become, and there will be no one left to tell them it was righteous. That morning is coming. Robert Mueller flew across the Pacific on military leave to hold his newborn daughter for a few hours before returning to the war. He came home. He buried his dead with honour. He served presidents of both parties because he understood that the institution was larger than any one man. He told his grandchildren that a lie is the worst thing a person can do, that a reputation once lost cannot be recovered, and he lived that, every day, in the quiet and unglamorous way of people who actually believe what they say. He was the kind of American the world used to point to when it needed to believe the story was true. He died last night. His wife is alone in their house in Georgetown. His daughters are learning what the world is without him in it. And somewhere in the particular hush that falls over a family in the first hours of loss, the most powerful man and the biggest loser on earth sent a message to say he was glad. The world that loved what America was supposed to be is grieving tonight. Not for Robert Mueller only. For the country that produced him and then became this. For the distance between what was promised and what was delivered. For the suspicion, growing quieter and more certain with each passing month, that the America people believed in was always partly a story, and the story is over now, and there is nothing yet to replace it. That is all it needed to be. A man died. His family is broken open with grief. That is all it needed to be. Instead the President said good. And the country that once stood for something looked away 🇺🇸 Gandalv / @Microinteracti1

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BozLaw P.A.
BozLaw P.A.@bozlawpa·
“We are so thankful for Boz Law. They represented us and took on our case when every other law firm turned us away and made us feel that the neglect act towards our daughter was not worth pursuing accountability for. Boz and his team  made us feel like our family mattered and acted as our advocate during our trying time. Thank God for putting Boz Law in our lives and we are forever grateful for him and his team and the hard work they provided to get us justice and closure.” - [BozLaw client]
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Boz Tchividjian
Boz Tchividjian@BozT·
“He was, and is yet most likely, the wearisomest self-righteous Pharisee whoever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself and fling the curses to his neighbors. ‘This is what can happen if we adhere to the seductive adage, hate the sin but love the sinner.’” [B. Zahnd]
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Boz Tchividjian
Boz Tchividjian@BozT·
“Just because something is in the Bible doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a Christlike idea. Just because Elijah did it doesn’t mean it’s something followers of Jesus should do. Sometimes the Bible is like a Rorschach test, telling us more about ourselves than about God.”
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Boz Tchividjian
Boz Tchividjian@BozT·
“Wars of conquest, capital punishment, violent retribution, the institution of slavery, & women held as property are all “biblical,” but when seen in the light shining from the face of Christ, everything must be re-evaluated because Jesus is what God has to say!”
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Julie Roys
Julie Roys@reachjulieroys·
.@Paula_White's spiritual manipulation to get $$ is pure evil "This is about kids that will die without you being obedient" "I'm not going to lay hands on ppl till you're obedient &...bring up a seed" "If I can't trust you with mammon...I can't trust you with God's presence"
Ministry Monitor@MinistryOSINT

@reachjulieroys Paula White, Senior Adviser to the White House Faith Office, crashed out at her recent conference, because she couldn’t raise enough money.

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Boz Tchividjian
Boz Tchividjian@BozT·
“The kingdom of Christ is the anti-Rome and Jesus is the anti-Caesar. Caesar and all his successors come to power through conquest. But Jesus became King of Kings on Good Friday. The way of Christ is not the way of conquest and colonialism, but the way of co-suffering love.”
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Boz Tchividjian
Boz Tchividjian@BozT·
“Most of us are scripted to think that life is a game and the purpose of life is to win. This is the way that seems right. But the divine truth is that life is a gift and the purpose of life is to learn to love well.” B. Zahnd
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Boz Tchividjian retweetledi
Andrew Marinelli
Andrew Marinelli@AndrewMarinel10·
@BozT This study is no longer hosted at its original DOJ-NIJ link. However, it remains available elsewhere so I'll put that link below.
Andrew Marinelli tweet media
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BozLaw P.A.
BozLaw P.A.@bozlawpa·
Last week, the world lost a hero—though most never knew his name. Ray Mouton, an attorney from Lafayette, Louisiana, risked and ultimately lost nearly everything to expose and confront the Catholic Church’s epidemic of child sexual abuse. His efforts began nearly two decades before the Spotlight investigation in Boston brought national attention to the crisis. For his courage, he was minimized, ignored, and vilified. Years later, after he moved to France in search of distance from it all, I had the privilege of becoming his friend. Ray carried the cost of doing the right thing—but never the regret. His book, In God’s House, is essential reading for anyone committed to protecting children and holding institutions accountable. Anyone willing to lose everything to safeguard children is a rare kind of hero. We lost one of those rare heroes last week. Rest in peace, my friend. nytimes.com/2026/02/11/us/…
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Boz Tchividjian
Boz Tchividjian@BozT·
This.
Gandalv@Microinteracti1

This video should unsettle anyone who takes the United States seriously as a nation. Because it exposes something dangerous: the trivialization of the world's most consequential office. It shows how carelessly the power, credibility, and accumulated moral authority of a superpower can be squandered for a few seconds of viral attention. In any other major democracy, this behavior from a head of state would trigger a constitutional crisis. Paris would burn. Berlin would convene emergency sessions. In the Nordic countries, resignation would follow within hours. Across functioning democracies, the public, institutions, and political class would recognize this for what it is: an assault on the dignity of the state itself. Leaders are not free to perform as entertainers without consequence. National honor is not personal property, it's held in trust. But the United States is not just another country with a provocateur in charge. It is the linchpin of global order. It maintains formal alliances and security guarantees with forty to fifty nations. It underwrites the financial architecture, trade systems, and diplomatic frameworks that billions of people depend on daily. When the American president speaks—or posts—it doesn't land as satire, meme, or personal whim. It reads as a signal about what the country is becoming. American power has never relied solely on carrier strike groups or economic output. It has rested on something more fragile and more valuable: trust. The belief that beneath domestic turbulence lies institutional seriousness, predictability, and a baseline commitment to dignity. That belief is now disintegrating in real time. Millions of American companies operate globally. They negotiate multibillion-dollar contracts in environments where reputation is currency. Boardrooms in Frankfurt, Singapore, and Dubai aren't debating whether a post was clever—they're asking whether the United States remains a reliable partner. Whether agreements signed today will be honored tomorrow. Whether American leadership has devolved from institutional to purely theatrical. Consider tourism, which sustains millions of American jobs—airlines, hotels, restaurants, museums, entire regional economies. Soft power isn't an abstraction. It materializes in flight bookings, conference locations, study-abroad programs, and decades of accumulated goodwill. A quiet, decentralized boycott doesn't require government action—only a collective sense that a nation no longer respects itself. Now picture this image being studied by foreign ministers, central bank governors, defense strategists, and sovereign wealth fund managers. Picture them asking a coldly rational question: How do we write binding thirty-year agreements with a country whose public face will be this, relentlessly, for years to come? How do we plan for the long term when the tone is impulsive, mocking, and unbound by the gravity of office? This is where the real calculus begins. Trillions in foreign capital depend on confidence that America is stable, credible, and rule-governed. That confidence is now being traded for what, exactly? Applause from an online mob? A dopamine rush from manufactured outrage? Content designed to dominate the news cycle rather than serve the national interest? Every serious nation eventually confronts this choice: burn long-term credibility for short-term spectacle, or safeguard the reputation previous generations bled to build. The United States spent eighty years constructing an image of reliability, restraint, and leadership under pressure. That image wasn't born from perfection—it came from a visible commitment to standards that transcended impulse. This isn't a partisan issue. Europeans who value democratic norms recognize something ominously familiar here. Americans—Democrat and Republican alike—who believe in responsibility and restraint should see it too. Power attracts scrutiny. Leadership demands discipline. A superpower cannot behave like a reality TV contestant without paying a price. The presidency is not a personal broadcast channel. It's a symbol carried on behalf of 330 million people and countless international partners who never voted but whose lives are shaped by American decisions anyway. Every post either reinforces or erodes the idea that America can be counted on when it matters most. So the question is no longer whether this is offensive. The question is whether this is who America chooses to be: a nation that trades a century of hard-won reputation for viral moments. A country that replaces statecraft with content creation. A republic governed like a season of reality television. History offers a harsh lesson here. Great powers don't fall because enemies mock them. They collapse when they begin mocking themselves—publicly, proudly, and without grasping the cost until it's far too late. Stay connected, Follow Gandalv @Microinteracti1

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