Christians and Christian Nationalism

There’s been a lot of attention this week about the phrase “Christian nationalism” after a member of Congress said that “we” (ie, her party) “should be Christian Nationalists.” She explained. “I love my country and I’m a Christian … and there’s nothing wrong with leading with your faith.”

She’s absolutely right: Christians should lead with their faith. But “Christian nationalism” is so much more than that — a phrase that comes with a ton of historical baggage.

… which is why I wasn’t surprised when she was immediately accused on social media of being a “Nazi.” Nor was I surprised when she scoffed at her accusers: “They hate America, they hate God, and they hate us.”

Um, not a good way to start a good conversation … if, in fact, that’s what they wanted to start, which I doubt. After all, tribalism (ie, modern day politics) depends on angry demagoguery, not healthy conversation.

So how do we talk about “Christian nationalism?” Is it good, bad, worth our concern? It’s definitely worth our concern, but first let’s clarify what we mean by the phrase. Christianity Today (CT) published an excellent article on the topic in 2021. CT was founded by Billy Graham, so it’s always had a rather conservative bent to it; but it also has a strong reputation for tackling tough topics with great care. This article is a good example, diving deeply into the complexities and history of a phrase that, on the surface at least, sounds rather innocent.

Just click Christian Nationalism

What speaks to you in that article? Do you have a clearer understanding of Christian nationalism? Is there cause for concern? Why or why not? These are important questions, especially for Christians, so let’s be the ones who model healthy, informed dialogue rather than mean-spirited, uninformed rhetoric.

It’s a start … but any good movement has to start somewhere.

Abortion Woes

This is the time of year when Supreme Court rulings are rolled out, and boy was this a particularly challenging week. As you know, the court overruled Roe v Wade, leaving decisions about abortion up to the states, preferring legislative rather than judicial action. The question, of course, is whether a woman’s right to an abortion is a fundamental human right that is protected by the Constitution, in particular the 14th amendment. 

What matters to me a great deal is that we make room for moral and theological conversation when it comes to abortion. It’s far too easy to demonize one side or the other, making broad assumptions about political motives and core beliefs. That’s not helpful. In fact, it’s lazy. As a pastor, I’m always hopeful that “my” folks will make their own moral and faith informed decision about their body, health, and future. Those decisions should be rooted in several precepts: that we are created in the image of God, loved deeply by God, and called to be embody that love for the sake of the world. Can Christians arrive at different points of view while closely adhering to those precepts? Absolutely.

For example, conservatives and Catholics celebrated the ruling, while progressive Christians protested against it. Unfortunately, national media lumps “the church” and “Christians” into a single category. That’s hardly a correct – or helpful – reading of Christians in America today. There are many factors that inform one’s opinion on abortion, including political affiliation, race, gender, region, and, yes, religion. 

… although “religion” doesn’t simply mean Christian. Jews have long held that life doesn’t begin at conception, while the Catholic church believes it does. Islam teaches that the soul doesn’t enter the fetus until 120 days, thereby leaving room for abortion prior to but not after that moment, unless the mother’s health is in danger. Both Islam and Judaism defer to the mother’s health in all circumstances. Christians differ.

Clearly there’s no single “religious” response to abortion. So how should we approach the conversation? I wish I had an easy answer, but I don’t. 

When I have questions about my health, I seek the advice and expertise of health care professionals. Likewise, when wrestling with moral and ethical questions, it makes sense to seek the input of those who spend their lives and careers wrestling with such matters. If you’re ready to dive more deeply into the moral conversation surrounding abortion, I’d recommend the following. It’s not an exhaustive list, but a starting point. Kudos to by friend Trevor Eppehimer at Hood Seminary for his input. 

• Abortion Rights: For and Against, by Kate Greasley

• Abortion Policy and Christian Social Ethics in United States, by Mako Nagasawa

• A Critical Introduction to the Ethics of Abortion, by Bernie Cantens (a purely secular study)

• Defenders of the Unborn: The Pro-Life Movement Before Roe v. Wade, by Daniel K. Williams, which presents a balanced look at the pro-life argument.

May God bless us as we continue to wrestle with these critical issues. 

Learning to Give

I learned how to give from my parents. From an early age, I was introduced to a Sunday morning -- Saturday evening — ritual of watching dad write a check and place in that day’s offering envelope. I can still see his tongue wet the glue on back and seal it tight. After writing “Woolly” on front, he tucked it in his shirt pocket, an inch or so peeking out the top. Later in the morning my mom would give me a dollar bill that I’d put in my own offering envelope, seal it tight, write my name on the front, and tuck it in my pocket for church. Just like dad. 

Before leaving the house, I’d open the top drawer to dad’s dresser where he kept a wooden box filled with change. One quarter. That was for Sunday School. When I got to 5th grade, my Sunday School class was right next to the drink machine, loaded with 12 oz glass bottles of soda. The cost: 25 cents. A quarter. And I always had a quarter in my pocket. 

Even though I wasn’t a kid with particularly good discipline, I never dropped the quarter in my pocket into the drink machine. For whatever reason, I knew that that quarter was for Sunday School, and that’s where it went. 

Since I was a kid, I’ve always enjoyed giving, although the ritual itself has changed somewhat over the years. We still give weekly, but these days it’s through automatic draft. And although our own kids don’t see us writing the check, we talk openly about giving, so I hope that will make a difference. At the end of the day, I want them to enjoy giving too and see its tremendous impact — for the sake of the community we love, the church that has formed us, and the world that’s in such need of God’s love.

I’d give anything to watch my dad carefully make out his check one more time, signing his name so deliberately, faithfully, lovingly. Even as a kid, I could tell that it was never a burden for him. It was an opportunity and a responsibility. A true joy.

Krista and I feel so blessed to give, especially to our church, ministries we care about, and schools we love. We hope you’ll join us in responding to this year’s Annual Campaign. If you’d like to talk more about it, just let us know.

May God bless you with peace and light this month. Our very best to you.

It's time to play music together again

A sermon preached on January 10, the Sunday after the capitol insurrection. 

I’m here today, admittedly, with a feeling of emptiness. It’s been hard to figure out how to process the events of this past week. Sure, lots has been splattered on social media – outrage, anger, so many different opinions. But no common ground. The violent breach of the capitol came close, but even that moment quickly devolved into even more shouting and division as to who’s to blame, not just in Washington but around the country. 

 It feels like a civil war, which is why I have this deep sense of emptiness and sadness. 

 

Is there anything that will hold us together? 

 

On Friday night David Brooks spoke about the first time he visited the capitol. He was 11 or 12 years old, wide-eyed, filled with awe. History explodes before you, he said. The characters of our past loom over you. It feels like sacred space, which is why we call it our temple of democracy. 

 

I remember feeling the exact same way when I walked through its halls for the first time. It was 1976, and we were taking a bicentennial tour through DC, Monticello, Philadelphia, and Gettysburg. I’ll never forget standing in Statuary Hall, gazing up into the rotunda, or peering into the Senate chamber, the location of the most difficult, challenging, but important debates in American history. 

 

As I watched the video images of last Wednesday, I felt as though our temple had been desecrated – more than just breached or intruded, but invaded. Trampled upon. 

 

Whether you believe Wednesday was the act of very few or the collective act of many, it hardly matters. Whether you think President Trump should be applauded or held accountable, the challenge remains the same. We’ve got to ask: How did we get to this place? And where do we go from here? 

 

All of us: from those whose radical views have exploded into vitriol to those whose opinions feel smug and annoying. Sure, those who ransacked the capitol should and will be held accountable. But our national angst goes beyond this one particular moment and beyond one particular group of angry people. It touches us all and requires each of us to respond. 

 

I’m fully aware of my role. I’m a pastor in a church. And some of you have suggested that pastors have no place in political debate and that our political leanings should be kept quiet and unobtrusive. I agree to a certain extent. Very few if any of you know how I vote or what party I’ve affiliated with my entire life. But to suggest that pastors have no voice in political dialogue is absurd. The story of Jesus is the story of a man who engaged in social and political dialogue his entire ministry. He spoke truth to power. He railed against regimes that left the vulnerable behind. He abhorred violence, begging his disciples to follow the way of forgiveness and love for enemy. 

 

So as we try to figure out who we are and where we go from here, let’s start there – in the scripture.

 

In fact, let’s start at the very beginning – the very first story of faith, the first days of creation, when the book of Genesis tells us that the world was formless, and that only water covered the face of the deep. 

 

Water, the building block for life. We’d never survive without it …. so should we be surprised that the Bible takes water so seriously? It shows up 722 times, including the very first and very last chapters of scripture. 

 

These words, so familiar: “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the WATERS.”  

 

I grew up thinking that in the beginning was nothing … but Genesis tells us that in the beginning was … WATER … a “formless void” surrounded by “darkness” … water that was a place of chaos, fear and absence from God. It was a frightening place. 

 

“In the beginning” was that place. 

 

That’s the beginning of the OT. Now skip to the beginning of the NT – to Mark’s Gospel, the very first chapter. [Read verses 4-5]. ⁴ John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. ⁵ And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan [in THE WATER!].

 

You probably noticed that Mark’s gospel doesn’t begin in a manger or in the shepherds’ fields. No mention of angels or wise men. Instead, for Mark, the story of Jesus begins in WATER – and not just any water, but water that’s all stirred up and restless. Why? because the lives of the people who were there were all stirred up and restless.

 

That’s what I feel like right now: that we’re all stirred up and restless, loaded with sin and anger, confusion and craziness. 

 

Here’s the amazing thing: The Bible starts in that place .. in that deep, dark, messy place. But the Bible adds a twist. What does God do to that water? God speaks into it and says, “Let there be life.” And what does Jesus do to the messy water of the Jordan River. Does he walk away from it? Criticize it? Judge it? No .. he steps into the middle of it. Why? Because when GOD steps in the water, everything changes … and everything becomes new again. 

 

I don’t know about you, but I need to hear that at the beginning of every new year and especially after a week like we’ve just experienced .. because We need a reset. And “reset” is precisely what’s at the heart of God. No matter the situation, no matter how dark and grim it might be, no matter how chaotic or frightening … God is willing to step into the middle of the mess and invite us into a brand new beginning … a reset. 

 

Here’s the amazing thing: God offers us this reset not from afar, not as some distant diety, not by avoiding the mess we’ve created, but by getting as close to it as possible. Bryan Stephenson would say that he gets proximate to it. Eugene Peterson would say that he enters into its neighborhood and stays awhile. Not to fight, but to love. Not to condemn, but to heal. That’s the first thing Jesus does in his ministry: he enters into the mess, our mess, and then in verse 14 he says “Repent.” In other words, let’s start all over again. Reset.

 

The New Testament ritualizes this “first step of God” in the waters of baptism, where we are reminded that God has brought us into his family, sets a place for us at the table, gives us the fulness of his inheritance – then challenges us to “Follow me.” To walk in the way of Jesus. To be rooted in the way of God. 

 

But are we? 

 

It should come as no surprise when I say that as Christians we should care about the things Jesus cares about: love, forgiveness, justice, mercy, peace. And we should want to be rooted in those things … but sometimes, I have to admit, I go to bed and think, “What was I really rooted in today?” When I’m honest, I realize that there are days when I’ve been rooted not in the ways of Jesus, but in anger, fear, pride, self-righteousness. I realize that I’ve been more concerned about being right than faithful. I’ve spoken more than I’ve listened, I’ve expected from others more than I’ve given to others. 

 

What about you? What about us?

 

There’s a lot that went wrong last Wednesday, and in the days before and after. There are lots of opinions as to WHY we are where we are. But as we step into the future, I’d like to focus not as much on the WHY, but the WHAT: What are we going to care about the most? What are we going to be rooted in? Loyalty to a cause, a party, a person? or loyalty to Jesus. Politics that demonize or relationships that love? Causes that incite violence, or beloved communities built of peace. Which will you choose? 

 

On Friday, Mike Bitzer reminded us that we Americans have always been called to form “a more perfect union.” We have never been perfect, but it’s our charge to try to be more perfect. It’s not been easy and we’ve made plenty of mistakes along the way. But our call is to continue … to keep pursuing a basic notion: That all people are created equal. That all are endowed by God with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.  And if you care about this union, then you know that these things matter. it’s going to take a great deal of courage and conviction and common purpose, where we look at one another as fellow citizens, not enemies. With respect, not hate.

 

This last year has been tough. A pandemic, the brutal murder of George Floyd, a summer of protests and riots, a charged election, and now the desecration of our temple to democracy. 

 

It’s time for a reset, a new beginning. The best place I know to begin is at the waters of our baptism, when God steps into our messy lives and says “Let’s do this. Together.” 

 

When I was a kid, I loved to play in the ocean, unless I was alone. That's when it seemed so scary and murky. The waves were big. I didn’t know what was underneath the surface. But when dad would come into the water, suddenly it was a playground, and I never wanted to leave ... as long as we were together. 

 

Something special happened last Sunday night, just three days before the chaos at the capitol. [Tell the story of retiring Republican Sen. Lamar Alexander playing Christmas carols on a piano in a Senate office building; Democratic Sen. Tim Kaine shows up and begins playing along on his harmonica. Later we learn that they're very close friends and have played Christmas carols together for years. Why can't we play music together?] 

As we begin this new year, remember God’s promise to join us in this murky water … to walk with us into the dawn of a new day. Let’s do it. Together. 

 

 

Pray with me. Dear God, we need help and we need hope. In our nation’s time of uncertainty and grief, we need you to remind us that since the beginning of time you have been welcoming us out of chaos, out of fear, out of darkness, into the dawn of a new day. Remind us, Lord, that there is a river whose streams flow with grace and love, and there is a peace that tears down walls of division. Bring to us your peace. Unite us according to your purpose. Root us in love, ground us in hope, a hope that is built on nothing less than you, our rock, our strength, our redeemer. Amen. 

 

Democracy Under Attack

We’ve been told that an assault of that kind hasn’t happened since the War of 1812, when strong-minded loyalists to the British crown were determined to put an end to our country’s novel yet utterly risky attempt at democracy.

In similar fashion, loyalists to Donald Trump and his divisive and disruptive brand of politics embraced his call to action – to “march to the Capitol and … take back our country.” And march they did, to the drumbeat of the president’s claim of massive election fraud. Loyally, defiantly, angrily, violently they marched, draped in flags emblazoned with Trump’s image.

Decades from now we’ll be telling friends where we were in 2021 when our Capitol was under attack.

I have no idea what will happen between now and Joe Biden’s inauguration, but the men of my Thursday morning Bible study shared some words of wisdom as they set aside study of this Sunday’s scripture to spend time in conversation and prayer about our country. Their advice is worth noting:

• "Yesterday was an invasion of our liberty” that “must not be swept under the rug.”
• “A tremendous burden lies on our government to enter us into a healing process.”
• “We have a job, too. We have to create the atmosphere here” – an atmosphere that “inspires respect for each other and refuses to demonize one another.”
• “This is way beyond partisan stuff. We can’t allow untruth to hold sway.”
• “We have to recognize our common humanity and citizenship.”

The bottom line is this: we have work to do. All of us. Let’s begin in deep, earnest prayer for our country and ourselves – perhaps this one lifted up in Duke Chapel last night by chaplain Luke Powery:

 

O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come.

We need help and we need hope.

Though the earth should change,

though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea,

though its waters roar and foam,

though the mountains tremble with its tumult,

though violence seeks to tear apart this nation,

remind us, O Lord,

that there is a river whose streams flow with grace and love,

and there is a peace that tears down walls of division.

 

Break the bow. Shatter the spear.

and call us to be still in your eternal presence

that we may find wisdom for living together

today and tomorrow as your children.

Amen.

Removing a Confederate Statue

Fame will be moved. 

The “angel statue” across from St. John’s -- that predates the building of St. John’s – became a flashpoint in recent years because of its association with the Confederacy, slavery, and a Jim Crow era that severely limited the rights of blacks.

For others, it represented none of that. It was just a beautiful statue in the middle of town. “What’s the big deal?” they asked. 

The big deal is that a statue in a downtown community should be a unifying symbol for that community, not a divisive one. Some argue that Fame has not been divisive until recently; others argue that we’ve not sought the opinion of a large percentage of our citizens. 

But one simple fact remains: it will be moved one way or another, either by agreement or by force. I hope it’s by mutual agreement. I’m sure I don’t share the same opinion as many, but these last few weeks have taught us a lot about our community and the way we make decisions. 

There will be those who try to take credit, but what I find significant about this hoped-for agreement is that it was generated by the input, advice, and goodwill of a large variety of people and groups within our community. Did everyone get their way? No. After all, concessions are necessary when communities seek the common good. That’s how civil negotiation happens. In that regard, Salisbury’s approach could and should be a model for other communities wrestling with similar issues – a commitment to our common love for this community and a willingness to listen to one another out of respect, not fear. 

It’s important to note that a statue by itself doesn’t solve much, so let’s not fool ourselves into thinking that we’re done with the hard work of addressing racial inequities. We’re not. This work is “a marathon, not a sprint,” said NAACP president Gemale Black, and he’s right … as is Police Chief Jerry Stokes, who has spent four years listening, training, correcting, and reforming our police department. They both know this is hard work, and they both have the willingness to work together over the long haul in making our community a place we can all be proud of. That’s a band wagon worth getting on board. 

On Frederick Douglass

I’ve had a little bit more time to read these days, especially since our evenings have been mostly clear of school and church activities.

I’m currently enjoying David Blight’s excellent biography of Frederick Douglass, appropriately titled, Frederick Douglas: Prophet of Freedom. I'd definitely recommend it. 

Douglass was a slave in Maryland until he sought freedom at the age of 21, perilously crossing land, one river (the Susquehanna), and two bays (the Chesapeake and Delaware), finally landing in New York City. After marrying Anna Murray, they settled in New Bedford, Massachusetts, where he would become well known as a social reformer, abolitionist, orator, writer, and statesman ... and the most photographed 19th century American.

There’s much to tell about Douglass’s story, but one quote stands out. In one of his autobiographies, he wrote extensively about prayer and his great desire for freedom. “I prayed for 20 years and received no answer,” he wrote, “until I prayed with my legs.”

These days are loaded down with prayer, no doubt. The uncertainties of job, income, rent, and health have driven a lot of people to their knees, begging for help and advice, comfort and, well, divine intervention. It’s entirely understandable.

But Douglass’s words remind us of the beautiful connection between prayer and action. Through prayer, God helps us to discern next steps and gives us the courage to pursue them. In prayer, God grants us wisdom to respond for the sake of God’s Kingdom. In short, prayer leads us to act.

Sure, prayer provides comfort and gives room for our deep sighs and hearty celebrations; but St. Paul reminds us to “pray without ceasing,” which means that prayers are to accompany us in our daily actions, leading us to act according to God’s will and purpose.

As a teenager, Douglass persistently begged God to free him by literally loosing the bonds of his enslavement. Why was God being silent? he thought.

What Douglass didn’t fully understand was that this “silent God” had been preparing him for that moment of escape, that dark night when he prayed with his legs — legs that led him to freedom, thanks to the power of the Holy Spirit.

In our staff meetings, we have been praying that God will lead us to a faithful response to this crisis, and that the post- Covid19 church will be a Spirit-filled reflection of all that God is calling and needing us to be.

In Exodus 14:13, Moses tells the recently-escaped Israelites, “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” Those are words of great comfort and truth. But notice what happens next. God immediately says to Moses, “Why are you crying out to me? Tell the Israelites to move on! Raise your staff to divide the water.” In other words, pray for comfort ... but pray with your legs.

Might God be inviting you to pray with your legs these days? If so, I’d love to hear about it.