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Segregated Sundays

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“For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility.”
—Ephesians 2:14

There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.
—Galatians 3:28

Why are our churches so segregated? Not just by race, although that is bad enough, but by political affinity? The early church was made up of people from all walks of life. There were rich widows and poor layabouts. There were Greeks, Jews, and barbarians. There were slaves and slave owners. There were young and old, rich and poor, male and female, smart and stupid, tall and short, native and alien, slave and free, extroverts and introverts, dark-skinned and light-skinned all in the same church. They had arguments and offenses and jealousies and lawsuits, but they still met together and worshiped together. Could it be that we have missed some central, unifying truth in the gospel?

I met Marv Sauers in 2006 a couple of years before he died. He was 80. He had been a pipeline technician (or engineer, I’m not sure what his job would be today) in northern Minnesota. He fought in World War II. He grew his own tomatoes and shared them with friends. (He grew and shared zucchini too, but—let’s face it—everyone who grows zucchini shares it.) We attended the same church, a nondenominational evangelical church near Hastings, Minnesota. He used to say that he was their token Democrat. When he died the church lost a little of its diversity. It became even more Republican.

I understand the need for a Credo. Without a statement of belief spelling out exactly what we stand for, the church could become a social club, standing for goodness in some unspecified way. Yet somewhere along the way being Republican has become a tacit tenet of evangelical faith. Why? It comes down to just one issue: abortion. Republicans are against it, and Democrats are for it. For many evangelical Christians, abortion is non-negotiable. If you are for it, it is like being for serial murder: you don’t deserve a voice in civil discourse about anything else. How can you vote for someone who favors killing babies just because they haven’t been born yet?

Yet there are plenty of liberal Christians who are also Democrats. They are brothers and sisters too. Some favor abortion—not, of course, because they favor killing babies—because they favor women’s autonomy. They see a world that wants to make childbearing the defining characteristic of women and use that characteristic to exclude them from full participation in other areas of life. Abortion may be an imperfect solution, but it is a solution within the control of the woman, and they favor letting a woman control her own destiny rather than letting others control it who do not have to bear the consequences of their decision. For liberal Christians, abortion is not a litmus test in the same way that it is for conservative Christians. It is one issue among many, not the one issue that defines a candidate’s—or a party’s—character. (It is plain, however, that a Democrat who opposed abortion would have as tough a time getting elected as a Republican who favored it. As with so many issues that divide America at present, there seems to be no middle ground, no room for imagining that those who disagree with you might have the best of motives instead of the worst.)

Our churches are as politically segregated as they are racially segregated. The same is true of economic class and, basically, any indicator by which we commonly self-segregate. The church is just like the world. The only difference seems to be that the Christians think they are better.

The reasons for this self-segregation are partly technological. In the first century, if you wanted to go somewhere, you walked. Everyone walked to synagogue. Everyone walked to church. Everyone walked to hear the latest theories discussed in the marketplace. If you went to church at all, you went to one that was nearby. For the same reason, people were more connected to their neighbors and communities. The people you lived near were the people with whom you worked, talked, celebrated, and worshiped. You were forced to get along with people who did not share your views. Our technology has made it possible to go to a church miles from where we live where the people are as like us as possible. Unless we deliberately seek out people who differ from us, we quite naturally drift into insular relationships that never challenge our prejudices about anything. Our churches even become adept at excluding difference merely by being unwelcoming to those who are not like us. This makes it possible to go to a church where you never encounter a dissenting political view to say nothing of different theological or philosophical views. We can go to a church where there are no feminists and talk about feminism as if it were hell’s agenda. Meanwhile across town a church of feminists is meeting and discussing how patriarchy is pure evil.

Somehow—and it can only be by conscious, deliberate effort—we have got to get out of our cocoons. We have got to accept that everyone who loves Jesus, no matter their theology or political party, is part of the family of God. I’m not suggesting we should not fight. Let’s fight among ourselves. Let’s bring to bear our best arguments and our strongest defenses. But let’s fight like brothers and sisters who love one another, not like warring camps who hate one another. Let’s open our minds and hearts to one another and learn that we might just possibly be wrong about some things.

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Let’s Get the Vote Out in 2018! #80in18

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One effect of complaining is that it diminishes our capacity to find effective solutions to the very problems we complain about. It leaves us “feeling helpless, hopeless, victimized, and bad about ourselves.” This is no good state of mind for taking positive action to change our situation. Yet we love to complain, and social media makes it not only easy but attractive to complain to those who agree with us. We trade complaints for affirmation from our friends that our complaints are justified.

A favorite source of our complaints is our government. We seem to forget that our government answers to us, that we live in a democratic republic where those who make and enforce our laws are our elected representatives. We, the people,—the voters in this republic—have the power to call our representatives to account. We act instead as if we have no power, as if our vote does not matter, as if we are helpless to change the things we don’t like.

During the last midterm election in 2014, about 40% of eligible voters actually took the trouble to cast a ballot. More than half of eligible voters did not think it worth their while to express their opinion about who would represent them in Congress, yet many of those same people complain bitterly about what Congress is doing now. To maintain our republic, we need much more than 40% participation from voters. Ideally, we want 100%, but that may seem unattainable. I propose we shoot for 80% turnout in 2018. I believe this is an attainable goal. If you agree, start using the hashtag #80in18 on Twitter and Facebook in any posts calling for the people to take back the government. We’ve tried letting special interests and corporate lobbyists run things for too long. It’s time for we, the people, to make our voices heard.

  • Vote your mind.
  • Vote your conscience.
  • Vote your values.
  • Vote your self-interest.
  • Vote your party.
  • Vote for the most reasonable candidate.
  • Vote for the most passionate candidate.
  • Vote for the best-looking candidate.
  • Vote against the candidate you don’t like.
  • Vote against sexism.
  • Vote against racism.
  • Vote for the status quo.
  • Vote progressive.
  • Vote so you can complain.
  • Vote according to whatever criteria you deem important.
  • Vote!

Don’t just vote. Encourage others to vote. Whenever one of your friends complains about the government, ask them how they voted. If they say they didn’t vote, refuse to listen to their complaints. Ignore political ads and do your own research. You can find resources about how your representatives have voted and what positions they have taken on issues you care about here, here, and here. In the Internet age, there’s no excuse for voter ignorance.

If you want to make a difference beyond your vote, consider ways you can help. Volunteer to help unregistered citizens register to vote. Research early voting and absentee voting laws in your state and work to change them or help others navigate the system to make sure their vote counts. Offer rides to the polls on election day. Join a political party or an issue-oriented political action committee. Write and call your representatives about the issues you care about, especially before important votes are scheduled. Write letters to the editors of your local newspapers.

Don’t complain; do something. Make a difference. Vote!

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The Weakness of God

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“…the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.”
—1 Corinthians 1:25

It is tempting to regard what Paul said in 1 Corinthians as meaning that God, at his weakest, is still stronger than all the strength humans can muster. After all, God is reputedly all-powerful. Surely human strength can be no match for God’s infinite power. Yet I don’t think that is what Paul had in mind at all. This whole passage argues that God’s wisdom and power displayed in Jesus Christ is of a different order altogether from the wisdom and power of human beings.

Our heroes are men and women whose accomplishments stand out from those of their peers. Generals who lead troops into battle, statesmen who avert war, women who overcome misogyny and make significant contributions to science, famous poets or novelists, even accomplished athletes—these are our heroes. They makes us want to emulate them. Jesus was like none of these. He did not lead a nation or an army. His followers were mostly poor and of little account. He made no significant discoveries, never wrote a poem or a book. He didn’t even do what his enemies accused him of: he didn’t lead a rebellion against Rome. If you ignore his teaching, the only noteworthy things he did are almost too improbable to be believed: healing the sick without medicine and feeding the hungry with scant resources, walking on water, raising the dead. Most improbable of all, his followers claim he rose from the dead after being tortured to death and buried for three days. Everything about his life and work reveals a man who was evidently a lunatic with nothing to show for his years on earth except an unusually devoted following. As a representative of God, he comes across as weak, even feeble.

His strength, which became the true strength of the Church, was in two things, both of which Paul goes on to foreground in 1 Corinthians 2, his teaching and the power of the Spirit of God. Yet even his teaching was weakness and foolishness. He taught that we should love our enemies instead of trying to get the better of them. He taught that we should forgive those who offend us instead of retaliating. He taught that we should oppose violence with acquiescence to violence. If we made movies with Jesus’ conception of how to live a good life, at the end the good guys would lay down their weapons and submit to being killed. Likewise, the power of the Spirit of God was not to subdue evil in the world but to overcome it in one’s own heart. God’s Spirit enables Jesus’ followers to live, however imperfectly, in accordance with his teaching.

When Paul lists Christian virtues, they are too weak to even be called virtues. Paul calls them fruit of the Spirit: “love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control” (Galatians 5:22, 23). Notably absent are classical Greek virtues such as courage, prudence, and justice. Only self-control gets a mention, and it is last. Paul even boasts about his own weakness. and declares that when he is weak, he is strong. We tend to value defiance, seeing it as a sign of courage. Our movie heroes are almost always defiant when captured and almost always have to be physically subdued. Yet Jesus taught meekness and humility and persistence in the face of powerful injustice. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. learned from Jesus’ example and used nonviolent protest to dismantle segregation and Jim Crow in the American south. His followers, far from being defiant, endured beatings and police brutality to awaken the conscience of the nation and shame the powerful for allowing injustice to continue.

Again and again throughout history the weak prevail against the strong not by force but by persistence and love. It is not the rich and powerful who end injustice; they too often benefit from its continuance. It is the poor and weak who unite against injustice and shame the powerful into doing what is right.

We Christians are taught to expect persecution for our faith. Some have taken that to mean that we suffer for our moral high-mindedness and piety, but those were characteristics of the Pharisees and religious hypocrites whom Jesus excoriated. No, the persecution we Christians—especially American Christians who enjoy so many protections under our Constitution—should expect to endure is for standing with the weak and powerless, for lifting up the cause of the widow and orphan, for advocating for people of color, for taking to the streets to protect the rights of women and immigrants and poor people, for continuing to feed the hungry when city ordinances forbid it.

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