(Note: this is an article I wrote in February of 2017. As the sermon this week is about hope, I think this article is just as apropos today as it was last year. We have a plenteous mission field in which to immerse ourselves.)
I have had the glorious gift of retreat for the past week
and a half. Six days on an island/key with two old and wonderful friends, and (so far) three days at a Trappist
monastery. I have purposefully surrounded myself with creation, friendship,
religious icons, solitude and silence, and prayer offices. I have purposefully
avoided the news and social media banter. Time and distance has allowed for
thought and reflection, and I’ve come to believe that the Church, and more
specifically the United Methodist Church, is missing – and has been missing –
some grand opportunities.
I’ll preface this by saying I was raised and am a social and
political oddity. My father was a lone Democrat in a family of Republicans, yet
wouldn’t avoid the draft for the Korean War even at the insistence of my grandfather,
who had lost a son in World War II. My mother was a social liberal as well,
growing up a coal miner’s daughter and whose mother’s only sources of income
were social security and the Black Lung Benefits Act. Both of my parents grew up in
poverty, and while social liberals they were fiscally conservative - yet very
generous with their own money in their community and in helping aging parents.
My father became a college professor. My brother and I are well educated as well;
my brother has four degrees and I have two. We grew up in a small southern
college town that hosted students of many different nationalities. Our
neighbors were Cuban refugees, and their youngest son and my brother became
best friends (in fact, my brother’s Spanish became nearly as good as his
English). He, like my father, went into academics and is a college professor and
research scientist in immunology. You could probably call both of us “educated
rednecks” – my brother has a farm where he regularly hunts and fishes. I gave
up both early in life and became a motorcyclist and shade tree mechanic instead, at least where hobbies are concerned.
Unlike my Midwestern parents, my brother and I became
products of Southern culture. We hunted,
fished, and hauled hay in the summer. At the same time, we also played baseball,
tennis, and golf. At home we were surrounded with books, intellectual
conversations, and political discussions, yet we also went out in the evenings
and ran around with friends whose parents were white-collar and blue-collar, upper-middle class and lower-middle class, and (because of the
university) of every color and nationality: white, black, Cuban, Indian,
Korean, Arabian, Lebanese - and we all did things that were wholesome as well as
the things that can often land young people in trouble. We both went to the
same college where our father taught, and met and became friends with even more
diverse folks: Japanese, Venezuelan, Iranian, African, and Russian. We were
both active at the Wesley Foundation. It was a unique childhood and education.
As I reflect on where I’ve been, and where I am now, I see a
lot of angst and fear. Not just in the rural area in which I serve as a
district superintendent/shepherd of a few counties in far Western Kentucky, but
across the world. So much anger and division around politics – and not just
here in the U.S., but also in the United Kingdom, where the Brexit campaign has
caused great chasms amidst its citizenry. This spring France will have an
election that has the potential to be as divisive as our own U.S. election. And
immigration woes are not unique to the U.S., as the U.K., Germany, and Sweden
are struggling with how to handle refugees. Some of it is logistics, for others
it involves cultural biases, and for still others, fear. There are no easy answers.
It becomes more complicated when you try to live in the tension of logistical
and political realities versus a Christian faith that embraces the Beatitudes and
Great Commandment not as suggestions, but as a way of life.
The temptation is great to pick a “side” in all this – and
in the U.S. we tend to think and align ourselves in polar terms, using an either/or logic. Picking either
side would make my life easier, and either side would probably win me more
friends. But there is a reality that, as one who is both Christian and a pastor, I can’t escape: on any given Sunday, either in the United Methodist
Church or most other churches, the folks in the pews are usually split 60/40 on
political alignment, one way or the other (at least, according to a study
quoted in a recent issue of Christian
Century). There are of course exceptions, but it’s fair to say that
God-fearing and believing people are Democrats and Republicans alike, and both
attend our churches. My own denomination finds itself in the same ideological
camps beyond Democrat or Republican: are you Good News/Confessing Movement/WCA or are you RMN/MFSA? Preaching partisan politics or alignment, at
least to me, just seems pointless and possibly violates the vow to do no harm. But more
importantly, it’s just plain ineffective - and I believe - theologically and
biblically unsound.
As my friend Allan Bevere wrote a few weeks ago, if you read
Romans 12 AND 13 in context, we pray for our leaders that they might be
godly people, and then - pretty much - pray that they might leave us Christians
alone to do our work: sacrifice, don’t allow ourselves to be transformed by the
world, please God. Let Caesar, the President, and the Prime Minister be about
their work, but know as Christians that love fulfills the law and does no harm to a
neighbor. We put on the robe of Jesus the Christ. That’s our task; not to be about a
political party’s business, but to be about the Lord’s business.
That may mean that we willingly and sacrificially place
ourselves in the middle of the fray; in that
messy middle isn’t a fence, but a cross, and a cross we are commanded to bear.
Not in a martyr, “look at me” sort of way, but in a servant, sacrificial way.
And it’s not to avoid being political, but in fact to EMBRACE a politic: the
many, many folks for whom the Church may be saying
it is doing something for, but when it comes to doing, has done damned little. I would add that I have to indict
myself as well. The Church has not filled a vacuum – it has created one.
The very same people who are in “backlash” politically have
seen (a) the government fail them, and (b) the Church fail them. Why or how that’s
occurred, or even if their reasons are “right” or “wrong,” matters little.
People are hurting. In the area I live in, I’ve watched factories and
industries dry up in the 50+ years I have been alive. Hopelessness turns people
to drugs and addictions. Nones and Dones either found the Church wanting, or
(worse) shooting their wounded. Secondary and tertiary doctrinal matters have
become idols while the primary Gospel message of love, grace, and hope has been
lost. That’s less my observation, and
more the observation of the growing number of people who love God and Jesus
Christ, but have come to the conclusion that the Church sucks. Some of those
same people have concluded that government sucks, too. I grew up with these
folks, lived with these folks, and now seek to shepherd and pastor these folks.
Many of them no longer attend a church, or have never attended to begin with – and in their minds, for good reason. You can learn a lot by occasionally hanging out with people outside of the Church. Jesus did some - most - of his best work there.
Charles R. Morris, a columnist for Commonweal, wrote a great article in the January 6th issue, “Backlash:
Trump’s Rise Is Part of a Pattern.” It discusses the historical and present
political sways endemic to our world. One takeaway is this: things are
very broken – both in government and in the Church – and those who have been
ignored and hurting for a long time are now responding. In response to a perceived void, the void is being filled - for better or worse. One fact is undeniable: nature abhors a
vacuum.
This could be an opportunity for the United Methodist Church - as well as any other church or communion - to shine. Instead of continuing the
mostly insular argument about who’s theologically and ideologically correct, we
could decide to make disciples and
let God sort it all out. In short: progressive folks? Go make disciples who are
progressively minded and need a place of hope and refuge. Conservative folks?
Go make disciples who are conservatively minded and need a place of hope and
refuge. Pastors? Go shepherd wherever you’re sent and love your people, even if
some of them have politics you don’t like. Let your call and your love outweigh
your opinions (wow, that even sounds Wesleyan!). Build bridges across the gaps. Outdo others in showing love and
compassion (wow, that even sounds biblical!). And everyone: realize that as a Church, we are a minority that more
and more people have less and less respect for, and even less inclination to be
a part of. We are called to minister to the least, the last, and the lost – of
which the number continues to grow. Our world needs hope. Our Church used
to be in the hope business. Jesus still is.
There is no shortage of people who need saved from despair,
pain, and hopelessness. They are rural and urban alike. But we DO have a shortage of professed Christians who are willing to ditch their own politics and partisan theology and go tell people that they are
children that God loved and cherished since the day that they were born.
The reality is that there aren’t just two sides. This world
and the people in it represent a multifaceted reality that needs hope, love,
grace, and peace. We don’t have to compromise our faith, morals, or ethics to
offer Christ to others. The question is: what are we willing to give up that is
a stumbling block to those who are already stumbling? Are we willing to jump
into the fray rather than take a side in it?
“They will know we are Christians…”
Pax,
Sky+
Abbey of Gethsemini
Season after the Epiphany, February 2017
