“I get anxious about being a liberal evangelical. I’m so afraid to voice an opinion for fear that I will be rejected. Yet, sometimes I want to say something when I disagree so fervently with what is going on in our nation.” This was my complaint to my pastor a week ago. His answer surprised me: “I think there are a lot of conservative evangelicals that feel really vulnerable now, too.”
My first response—unspoken, of course—was “Really?” I know my church. It’s a solid red mass of balloons when it comes to politics with a little blue deflated balloon poking through here and there. Most of my church friends say whatever they want about their political views, simply because they assume that everyone around them agrees with them. I, on the other hand, keep my mouth firmly shut most of the time, biting my tongue, afraid that my voice would not be heard in the present environment.
But, as I have pondered my pastor’s words, I’ve considered the alternatives to the impasse that has come to our nation. The political divisions have become so deep that the chasm seems fathomless—and so wide that to try to span across the divide would mean instant death to either party who would risk reaching across.
How can the body of Christ be so divided? The hallmarks of Christianity are love, reconciliation, and unity. And I am not talking about the divisions somewhere out there in the wide world of red v blue. I’m talking about the body of Christ that worships together in the building (and, at present, online) in my hometown, in other words, my home church. Most evangelicals support a particular political party, which has, as its leader a man whom I consider arrogant, rude, and dismissive of those who do not share all his views.
In good conscience, I cannot share many of those views. I cannot ignore behavior and speech that does so much harm to so many. In truth, I do not know how my conservative evangelical friends can do so, but I have no doubt that they do. And, so, for the past several weeks, I’ve been stuck in this dilemma—how to write something about my feelings and thoughts without offending and alienating my conservative evangelical Christian friends.
I still don’t have an answer, but I decided I could not stay away from the keyboard any longer. Writing is an outlet that helps me clarify my thinking; avoiding writing has, therefore, done nothing to help me clarify anything. I will have to write my way into some kind of solution.
I was reading a book by former missionary Kay Browning, who, with her husband, served in the Middle East for more than thirty years. She recounted the story of one of their Israeli Arab pastors who was struck with the need for reconciliation between Arabic Christians and Jewish Christians. He joined a group of pastors that wanted to work on such issues. At one meeting, to show his love and sense of Christian unity with his Christian brothers, both Arabic and Jewish, he grabbed a towel and a basin, asked the men to take off their shoes, and washed their feet. In turn, one of the Jewish pastors washed his feet. What could be more humbling than the honesty of such a gesture.
Our church doesn’t practice foot washing as part of our demonstration of our love for one another, but all of us, in all Christian settings, participate in receiving the Eucharist. What could be more unifying that eating from the common plate and drinking from the common cup, recognizing our oneness as we partake of the body and blood of the Lord Jesus Christ.
So, how do I move forward in these seven weeks until the election? I keep my own counsel about political matters, but I show love for my evangelical friends who think so differently from me. I recognize that all of us in this American culture cannot help but feel vulnerable. The culture feeds on the escalation of divisive rhetoric. Our 24/7 news cycle, available to us in so many different formats, gives us what we want to hear. This culture that prizes consumers’ choices makes sure that we can find our comfort zone, our safe cocoon that insulates us from viewpoints we don’t want to recognize. The result, of course, is that we hear more and more of what we already like—but we may not be hearing all the truth.
I admit that I expect the worst when I hear that our current president has done something. But I was pleasantly surprised to hear that he had given the medal of honor to a young Army captain who had led a force that rescued about 40 troops from where they had been held hostage. The medal was presented on the anniversary of the tragedy of 9/11. Was the time and choice politically motivated? Perhaps. Was it a good time and choice? Yes, it was. I was reminded that no man is all good or all bad. We are all complex human beings who have the capability to do good or ill. Most of us do some of both.
My pastor gave me another word last Sunday: the reminder that we all “see through a glass darkly.” Usually when I hear that phrase from 1 Corinthians 13, I connect it with the idea that we cannot know all that we will know when we are united with Christ in the final resurrection. But when the pastor said those words this past week, I realized that none of us see anything purely and clearly. We are an amalgam of our past experiences, our joys and sorrows, our traumas, our emotional scars, our cultural heritages, and our unconscious biases, however unintended we might think they are. All of us, liberal, conservative, uninformed, or sincerely ignorant, we all see through the glass darkly from our own skewed perceptions. I doubt any of us know where all our ideas and beliefs come from. Of course, some are more aware than others, but none can claim purity and clarity of that glass.
For the near future, I want to remember that my good evangelical friends see through their glasses darkly. I want them to remember the same about me. Above all else, we realize that we need to see the world through a Christian lens, that upside-down lens that points beyond earthly values to kingdom values, the values taught by our Savior Jesus.
A Myriad of Things 