A Time for Overcoming?

“He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; to him that overcometh will I give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God.”
Revelation 2:7 (The King James Version of the Bible)

Citing the yet published work of Robert Putnam and David Campbell (American Grace: How Religion is Reshaping Our Civic and Political Lives), former Bush speechwriter Michael Gerson made the following observations about religion and civic life in a May 9th op-ed published on line at Real Clear Politics:

“The politicization of religion by the religious right, argues Putnam, caused many young people in the 1990s to turn against religion itself, adopting the attitude: “If this is religion, I'm not interested.” The social views of this younger cohort are not entirely predictable -- both the pro-life and the homosexual-rights movement have made gains.”

“The result of the shock and aftershocks is polarization. The general level of religiosity in America hasn't changed much over the years. But, as Putnam says, “more people are very religious and many are not at all.” And these beliefs have become “correlated with partisan politics.” “There are fewer liberals in the pews and fewer unchurched conservatives.”

I’ve given thought to these ideas over the past few days, asking myself whether or not the notion that religious belief/faith has been increasingly politicized by the religious right and that the result has been polarization. I’ve also considered whether or not religious beliefs in America are increasingly being identified with “partisan politics.” In seeking answers to those questions, a far more important question has risen. “If American religious faith is indeed increasingly political in its expression, increasingly partisan, and increasingly polarizing, what do such conclusions mean for the Church in America?

The questions I’m asking myself are a natural outgrowth of my (so far) cursory reading of the work of Robert Higgs, some of which I outlined in last week’s post. While I can’t say I agree with everything I’ve read to this point, I am almost certain that Higgs is correct in his assertion that American government over time is becoming more and more powerful, more and more intrusive, and more and more collectivist. Could this then mean that the bases of social power have shifted from institutions like the Church and been supplanted by organs of government power? Could this be one of the reasons for the focus leaders like Jerry Falwell and other Evangelicals placed on gaining political power a generation or so ago? Could it be that they felt the Christian faith was becoming endangered and that the only avenue of social power available to them was politics?

If this shift has been true, or even close to being true, the paradigm shift from then to now has been enormous, far more so than any of us who were close to the movement could see while the wheel was still in spin during the heyday of the Moral Majority. The shift may have been so dramatic that the Church inadvertently reaped the whirlwind in exchange for gaining more and more political power. Time will tell whether or not that’s true, but I believe one thing is certain – current trends are not encouraging for the Church?

One of the signposts of the Church has been the slow abandonment of its societal mission in favor of government intervention in that mission. Ask most Americans, particularly those affiliated with the Church, what they mean when they insist that “someone must do something” about the societal crumbling they see all around them, they will inevitably talk of government programs or legislation to fix the problems. The “someone” they see solving our problems is government. That’s true whether one is conservative or liberal in their belief. One group wants more and more power to legislate morality. The other wants more power to craft programs that will cure social ills.

What happens when people of faith abandon their natural base of power for one seen as more tangible, like politics? The answer is obvious. The traditional basis for power is seen as less and less important, less viable, and less powerful. In essence, politics and ideology, whether left or right, replaces faith as the foundation for the life of the believer. The shift is subtle. The language of faith may remain the same for both groups, but the outworking of faith in society is seen as the task of government, not the Church.

As I’ve thought about this I’ve come to a tentative conclusion. The real root of the Church’s problem is a fear of loss, manifested in many ways. There’s a fear that if we don’t solve the nation’s morality problems politically, society will disintegrate. There’s the fear that we’ll lose our place at the table of power. There’s the fear that if we lose power we’ll lose the trappings that go with power – the prestige, the privilege, the fame, the wealth. While we wouldn’t admit to such fears, I believe they are real drivers for America’s contemporary faith communities.

In addition, politics is the venue of the concrete, the here and now. Religion is increasingly seen as the domain of the bye and bye. Why would one wrestle with the esoteric principles outlined in the Sermon on the Mount when the promise of a legislative solution from a politician will bring almost immediate results?

One of the great anthems of the civil rights movement was “We Shall Overcome.” Pete Seeger’s simple words found their way into the hearts of millions and shook conscience of the nation to its core. “We shall overcome.” “We are not afraid.” “We’ll walk hand in hand.” The words spoke of a firm belief, grounded in brotherhood. They were religious, prophetic in tone. The words went far beyond the promise of legislation, although legislation was one expected output.

As I listen to the words today I find myself thinking that the Church needs a fresh infusion of those hopeful words. In an increasingly chaotic world it ought to be comforting to know that there is room for the overcomer in the Almighty’s plan. Unfortunately, I think that’s becoming less and less true. Faith seems to be waning, replaced by a temporal belief that the real gauge of our security and comfort lie in political power and the possessions we hold.

Could it be that the time for overcoming is at hand? Could it be that the time for returning to our natural roots has come?

I believe it may well be!

Can Leviathan Be Tamed?

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. Those things, which ye have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, do: and the God of peace shall be with you.”
Philippians 4:8-9 (King James Version of the Bible)


One of the great benefits of the past few months of rehabilitation from open heart surgery has been a renewed appreciation for the gift of life. It really is good to be alive! Another has been the opportunity to spend large blocks of time thinking, then re-thinking the great issues of my times. Time away from the media spin doctors, contemporary culture, and the pressure of common sense has been quite medicinal.

One of the things I’ve become very aware of since December has been the enormous influence our mass media, culture, and public opinion exert on us. The ability these institutions have on us is pervasive and often pernicious. They often shape our opinions so that they conform to standards we would never reasonably accept if we took the time to think about whether or not the standards we so readily accept are right or that conformity is healthy.

Over the past few weeks I’ve been reading Robert Higgs’ Crisis and Leviathan (Critical Episodes in the Growth of American Government. Two things have become clear to me in the reading. First, I believe Professor Higgs is correct in his notion of the ratchet theory. Briefly stated, Higgs believes that one of the prime movers in the growth of government over time lies in government response to a crisis. A war, for example, warrants a government stepping in and often stripping citizens of fundamental rights. The pretext for the expansion of power used by political leaders at such times is that the powers to be exercised are necessary to protect the nation’s citizens. The thesis seems reasonable at the time of the crisis and few citizens complain, believing that government is acting in their best interests. Then, when the war ends or the economic crisis passes, government’s power wanes ever so slightly, but never back to where it was when the crisis began. The other thing that accompanies the crisis is a shift in public opinion, or ideology. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the United States was far more conservative in its outlook than it is today. That is not to say that there isn’t a form of conservatism alive today, but it is to say that today’s conservatism is far from the conservatism of Edmund Burke or our Founding Fathers. A couple of hundred years ago conservatives held to notions like the value of individual liberty and limited government. Today, when airwave conservatives decry liberal ideas like the welfare state they don’t necessarily mean to limit government. Government must be fashioned to suit their ideology in the same way government from the left must conform to the ideology of the leftist. The end result is that government becomes more and more powerful. The government may be left of center or right of center, but one thing is certain. It has been, and is becoming more and more powerful with each inevitable crisis.

My interest in Higgs’ work lies less in his theories of government than it does in the ideological shifts he sees taking place in the public square over time. As I think about the enormous changes in ideology I’ve seen in my lifetime many questions come to mind, particularly as they apply to matters of faith. The most important of them for me is whether “American” religion has shaped ideology or whether ideology has re-shaped religion and un-pinned it from its historical moorings. At a personal level I find my self asking – “How much of my faith is historically rooted and how much of it has fallen prey to the whims of politicians, media ideologues, or the pressure to conform to the rapid changes taking place in ideology and culture?”

Seeking the answer (or answers) to that question will take some time, but I am certain about one thing. Along with the shifts in ideology have come coarseness, stridency, anger (sometimes rage), and hate. It has happened at almost every point along the current ideological spectrums, including religious thought. The debates and public discourse have become mean spirited.

In his work, Higgs doesn’t hold out a great deal of hope for the future. Future crises will come and that will mean, as he sees it, more and more power over our economic and social affairs being taken by government. Whether that government is conservative or liberal in its character is far less important than the fact that government power will continue to increase. As Higgs put it in his conclusion, “Can such an outcome be avoided? I think not, but I hope I am wrong. Americans have been brought to their present inauspicious circumstances by, above all else, changes in the prevailing ideology.” (Crisis and Leviathan, page 262)

What does all of this mean for people of faith? What role should we play in this social drama? Have prevailing ideologies re-shaped our notion of public responsibility? Have they re-shaped our faith? If so, how do we extricate ourselves from the trap?

Go With Throttle Up

“We have always known that heedless self-interest was bad morals, now we know that it is bad economics.”
- Franklin D Roosevelt

The terms being tossed about in this global crisis are mind boggling – mark to market, credit default swaps, collateralized debt obligations, teaser rates, ARM’s, Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, sub-prime, derivatives, Sarbanes-Oxley, Gramm-Leach-Biley, negative feedback loops, mortgage backed securities. With each passing day come new terms and increasingly frightening news about financial exposure. A month ago, the Fed began injecting billions of dollars into the “system.” A while after that regulators hoped that $85 billion to prop up A.I.G. might solve the problem. A few weeks ago public exposure was about $700 billion. Shortly after that, in testimony before the House, we learned that exposure in credit default swaps is somewhere in the neighborhood of $60 trillion, more than the entire world’s annual G.D.P!

While the exposure numbers reach into the stratosphere, the stock market is flirting with a crash. In the past month the Dow has lost between fifteen to twenty percent of its value. In some parts of California entire communities have been foreclosed on and abandoned. Here in Lyon County, Kansas, foreclosures for the first nine months of this year have increased by 57% from the previous year. Credit markets appear to be seizing up. Inventory needed for production hangs in the balance. The well of credit desperately needed to meet payroll is running dry. As business leaders meet in board rooms to slowly hammer out solutions and our Congress holds hearings, the crisis spirals downward, moving at the speed of the internet.

Is it any wonder, then, that we’re every bit as angry as we are confused? A Pew survey taken a few days ago revealed that 54% of us are paying a lot of attention to this crisis, yet 43% of us are confused by it. In fact, the more information we get, the more confusing and conflicting it seems to be.

The strange mixture of interest and confusion is becoming every bit as toxic as many of the sub-prime mortgages entwined in this crisis. The only avenue many of us feel we have left is to express our outrage. Democrats blame Republicans; Republicans blame Democrats. Proponents of regulation blame laissez-faire capitalists and vice versa. The cycle of blame seems to stretch to infinity, but it may only be the tip of the iceberg. As the anger mounts it’s becoming more personal, more visceral. As author/futurist Francis Fukuyama noted this past Sunday, “The quality of political debate has been coarsened by partisans who question not just the ideas but the motives of their opponents. All this makes it harder to adjust to the new and difficult reality we face.”

One of the constants in this crisis has been our uncanny ability to hold ourselves guiltless. We assume that we had nothing to do with this mess. Yet, many of us took second mortgages on our homes to fund that dream vacation we just couldn’t live without. We bought meals at Applebee’s and trendy bistros, Hummers and SUV’s, or designer clothes and shoes using plastic, to the collective tune of $2.4 trillion!

Warren Buffet, the sage of Omaha, once observed “it is only when the tide goes out that you find out who’s been swimming naked.” Well, the tide has gone out on the global economy and we’re finding out that there an awful lot of naked people flopping around in the driftwood and seaweed that’s been left behind.

There’s a sad truth at the heart of this mess - lies. In 2006, author/risk consultant Satyajit Das described it as a hierarchy:

“There are salespeople – they lie to clients. Traders lie to sales and risk managers. Risk managers? They lie to the people who run the place – correction, think they run the place. The people who run the place lie to shareholders and regulators. I remembered the quantitative colleagues. ‘I forgot the quants – our fabulous rocket scientists! When last heard from, they we trying to develop a model for lying.’”

While it would be easy to blame it all on a chain of skilled liars, the truth is we’ve also lied to ourselves. We’ve bought into the naïve notion that consumption built on a mountain of debt and bull markets were inalienable rights.

It all sounds eerily familiar in the light of history. Many in the 17th century mortgaged their homes so they could buy a single tulip bulb for $75,000, betting that their investment would reap huge rewards. During the “roaring twenties,” millions bought stock “on the cuff,” certain the only direction was up. On January 28, 1986, after days of delay, internal wrangling, and public impatience, NASA mission STS 51L lifted off from Cape Canaveral. About a minute into the flight mission control issued the command, “Challenger, go with throttle up.” At 73 seconds, Challenger disintegrated.

Since the early nineties it has been, economically speaking, “Go with throttle up.” In the wake the economic disintegration we’re confused, angry, trying to make sense of it all. We’re groping in the dark, hoping that there is a Churchill, an F.D.R., or a Reagan who will help us navigate the troubled waters. We hope, but no one seems big enough to answer the call. John McCain was clearly no match for the problem. And, I suspect time will tell that this crisis is well above Barack Obama’s pay grade.

In the face of crisis and recriminations I think back to stops made at mile marker 109 on the Kansas Turnpike a few years ago, gazing out along the tallgrass, keenly aware of my smallness and vulnerability, yearning for the consolation of the ages, realizing there are places where “moth and rust don’t corrupt.” In this age of Fukuyama’s “new reality” I find myself once more crying “Maranatha,” clinging to the age old hope of the eastern sky being split at dawn by the Parousia.

The Persecution Complex

“While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay
There are frail forms fainting at the door.
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say.
Oh, hard times come again no more.
‘Tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my cabin door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.”
- Bob Dylan – “Hard Times” (Stephen Foster) - 1992

The election is over. In keeping with American tradition, rampant speculation has become the order of the day. Will President Obama govern from the left? The center? Will America become a socialist state? Will the Democrats start sending out the goon squads to squelch any signs of dissent? What will Obama’s agenda be? Not to be outdone, some Evangelicals are speculating far into the future. In a letter that’s making the internet rounds, a Christian, circa 2012, laments the impact Barack Obama’s presidency has had on people of faith, particularly Evangelical Christians. A few samples follow”

“I can hardly sing “The Star Spangled Banner” any more. When I hear the words,

“O say, does that star spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”

I get tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. Now in October of 2012, after seeing what has happened in the last four years, I don’t think I can still answer, “Yes,” to that question. We are not “the land of the free and the home of the brave.” Many of our freedoms have been taken away by a liberal Supreme Court and a Democratic majority in both the House and the Senate, and hardly any brave citizen dares to resist the new government policies any more.”

“Personally, I don’t know how we are going to get through tomorrow, for these are difficult times. But my faith in the Lord remains strong.”

Heart wrenching, wouldn’t you say? Well, be strong my brother…be strong!

I don’t know whether the author of the letter was prompted by some special prophetic insight or was projecting his/her fears for the future. I profess no special insight into the future, nor do I harbor an overwhelming sense of dread. I can say that as I walked the dogs this morning the sun still rose in the east. I can also say that my wife, Nancy, still loves me. She even told me so before she left for Topeka at 6:30. It’s now about 11:00 A.M. and no one from the thought police has descended on my home to confiscate my Bible. I’d even read from it a couple of hours ago, from Paul’s second letter to the Church in Corinth, in which the apostle provides some valuable insight into what one of his average days looked like.

“Are they servants of Christ? I know I sound like a madman, but I have served him far more! I have worked harder, been put in prison more often, been whipped times without number, and faced death again and again. Five different times the Jewish leaders gave me thirty-nine lashes. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I was stoned. Three times I was shipwrecked. Once I spent a whole night and a day adrift at sea. I have traveled on many long journeys. I have faced danger from rivers and from robbers. I have faced danger from my own people, the Jews, as well as from the Gentiles. I have faced danger in the cities, in the deserts, and on the seas. And I have faced danger from men who claim to be believers but are not. I have worked hard and long, enduring many sleepless nights. I have been hungry and thirsty and have often gone without food. I have shivered in the cold, without enough clothing to keep me warm. Then, besides all this, I have the daily burden of my concern for all the churches. Who is weak without my feeling that weakness? Who is led astray, and I do not burn with anger? If I must boast, I would rather boast about the things that show how weak I am.”

Who really had the tougher road to hoe, the first century apostle or our hypothetical Christian in 2012?

Do we really believe we’re being persecuted? Can we really convince ourselves that a three percent hike in taxes rises to the level of being beaten with rods? If our hypothetical Christian is be believed, apparently so.

Well, I guess if our future Christian can engage in flights of fancy, I can to.

I wonder what things might look like in an imaginary meeting room for martyrs in heaven designed so that new arrivals can get a taste of what things are like just beyond the pearly gates. The year is 2009, a short time after the election of Barack Obama, liberal Democrat. Several new American arrivals have been ushered into the meeting room. There, seated before them, are men and women dressed in garb from the first century all the way to the 21st. They are an amalgamation of nations, ethnicities, races, and ages. There are even children.

Once the new arrivals are seated, a short, balding man comes to the podium. He clears his throat and announces, “It’s good to meet you new arrivals. Make yourselves at home. I’m Paul. I’m told I’ve been here a couple of thousand years now, but, to be honest with you, I’ve lost all track of time.” After a moment or two of polite laughter, Paul goes on. “I’m going to begin by telling you how I got here, then letting a few others describe their entry. Once they’re done, we’ll open the floor to you new arrivals to acquaint us with the circumstances surrounding their arrivals. Does that seem good to you all?” Everyone nods in agreement. “Good, then. I’m Paul. I spent a good part of my life getting whacked around like a piñata for professing my faith in Jesus. Why, once I got thrown on a pile of garbage and left for dead. The Romans finally got me and lopped off my head.” The new arrivals begin to feel lumps forming in their throats. Paul goes on. “I’m going to ask young Mary to describe her circumstances for you.” A young woman, circa fifteenth century, stands. “Hi, I’m Mary. I lived a quiet life of faith and contemplation in Spain until Torquemada got a hold of me and thousands of others like me. He had me ripped from limb to limb and here I am.” The new arrivals feel the lumps in their throats getting bigger. Paul then introduces a couple of young children, a boy and a girl. “We were thrown to wild beasts.” The lumps in the throats now seem to inhibit the breathing of the new arrivals. But, on and on it goes. One martyr recalls being covered with grease and lit up as a torch to light the Appian Way for Nero. Another describes being burned at the stake for reading an unauthorized translation of the Bible in the 16th century. A recent arrival, a 20th century North Korean woman, recounts how she and hundreds of her fellow Christian villagers were run over and flattened by tanks and bulldozers. Paul caps it all off by reminding the new arrivals that there is Someone with nail pierced hands in heaven who’s suffered more than all those assembled.

By now the new arrivals can hardly breathe. Paul encourages them to calm down so that they can tell their tales of woe. It takes a few minutes, but the testimonies begin. A fortyish man, dressed in an Armani suit, describes, in lurid detail, being taxed to death. “Early in 2008 my marginal rate was 36%. By 2009 it was 39%. The minute the first deduction hit my paycheck I had a heart attack and keeled over, dead.” The testimony is greeted with stunned silence. Next, a man dressed in bib overalls, apparently a farmer, defiantly declares, “I tried my best to live life under “librull” rule, but I could only hold out for a few months thinking of life without a gun before I blew my brains out. Yup, the librulls got me.” Icy silence follows. A woman, dressed to the nines, Ann Taylor, I think, tearfully describes how the interruption in her life of conspicuous consumption led to her untimely death. “Why, money was so tight I could only shop at Bloomingdale’s three or four times a week. I died of a broken heart.” By now, Paul and the others have heard enough. “Do you mean to tell me that you believe that a three percent jump in taxes, a liberal Democrat, and a shortage of money for high-end consumer goods got you here?” Knowing now that they have no good reason to be in a room full of martyrs, the lumps in the throats of the new arrivals now appear to be the size of softballs. They are gasping for breath. All they have to say, in muffled tones, at this point is, “Get us outta’ here, things are feeling very uncomfortable.”

I don’t know what things are going to be like in this country four years from now, but I can’t work myself into a state of hysteria because of a change in political administrations. I just can’t do it. I don’t believe that Barack Obama is the end of the world. I’m no candidate for martyrdom, but neither am I in any frame of mind to embrace a persecution complex for what seem to me to be trivial reasons. History has shown that we Christians can be a pretty hardy lot if we put our minds and hearts to it. Why, on our collective paths to heaven we’ve been burned at the stake, bludgeoned, torn into pieces, flattened like pancakes, sawn in two, thrown to wild beasts, drowned, beheaded, hanged by the neck, drawn and quartered, cooked in boiling oil, suffocated, and stretched on the rack. Knowing this, I find it less than amusing to think that having a liberal Democrat and his family occupying the White House will undo our faith in Jesus Christ. I’d like to think our faith is made of better stuff than that.

The Winds of Change

“Don’t use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them. And do not bring sorrow to God’s Holy Spirit by the way you live. Remember, he has identified you as his own, guaranteeing that you will be saved on the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of evil behavior. Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.”
- Ephesians 4:29-32 (New Living Translation)

There’s a stiff breeze coming up from the south this morning. I hear the occasional rattle of my windows and the rustle of the few remaining sycamore and mulberry leaves as they’re blown from their respective branches. Seasons come, seasons go, and another season is changing. Summer has passed. Fall is slowly giving way. The winter snows will soon follow, to then be trailed by the blessed relief of spring in March. The sycamore and the mulberry will once more come to life. The crocuses will break through the sleepy ground. The sights and sounds of life will be everywhere.

As it is with nature, so it is with nations. The winds of change have swept over America. Barack Obama is our President-elect. The poet has won the day.

Change always strains at the status quo. This election cycle has had its share of vitriol. For months the internet and the airwaves have buzzed with slander, rumors, and lies, reflecting the deep sense of bitterness and anger that has descended upon us like a death shroud. For far too long we’ve embraced the bitter and refused the cup of brotherhood. We have gone beyond division; we have begun to tear ourselves asunder.

But change has come and with it, I believe, hope. The man of my choosing did not win this election, but the man who won is now my President-elect. It is time for the season of bitterness and hate to end. It is time for the balm of healing to be poured out on this wounded land.

Shortly after the electoral milestone was passed, Senator John McCain graciously accepted the will of the people. He seemed to understand the historic nature of what had happened and he rose to the moment. His words overflowed with grace, seeds for the grace we will all need in the months and years ahead:

“I urge all Americans who supported me to join me in not just congratulating him, but offering our next president our good will and earnest effort to find ways to come together to find the necessary compromises to bridge our differences and help restore our prosperity, defend our security in a dangerous world, and leave our children and grandchildren a stronger, better country than we inherited.”

In victory Barack Obama was equally gracious. Echoing the words of Dr. King he called us to embrace a difficult, yet promising future. “The climb will be steep,” he said. “We may not get there in one year, or one term, but I promise you as a people we will get there.” He reminded us of Lincoln’s words – “We are not enemies but friends. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection”

While the road ahead has become overgrown with the weeds of bitterness, hate, and self-indulgence, it is clear that our task now is to pluck them up by the roots and make straight in the wilderness a highway of brotherhood and common grace.

It has taken us a long time to get to where we are, and it will take time to undo what we have done. We who profess faith must now set our hands to the plow. For far too long we’ve sown the seeds of discord rather than plant words of healing. We’ve used our freedom to speak as a license to slander rather than as an avenue of blessing. As the apostle James observed:

“But no one can tame the tongue. It is restless and evil, full of deadly poison. Sometimes it praises our Lord and Father, and sometimes it curses those who have been made in the image of God. And so blessing and cursing come pouring out of the same mouth. Surely, my brothers and sisters, this is not right! Does a spring of water bubble out with both fresh water and bitter water?”

The winds of seasonal change are still rattling my windows. The leaves of the sycamore and the mulberry continue to fall. Change is coming. We cannot fight its inevitability, any more than we can hold the winds in the palms of our hands. We must embrace them as part of God’s righteous plan. And so it is with these winds of political change in America. We must now shed the outdated notion that we, as people of faith, are this nation’s sole arbiters of what is right and wrong and clothe ourselves anew with humility and grace. Only in walking that path can we become the people of faith and servants we have been called to be.

The Mad Prophet and the Media

Isaiah 30:8-11 (New Living Translation)
“Now go and write down these words. Write them in a book. They will stand until the end of time as a witness that these people are stubborn rebels who refuse to pay attention to the Lord’s instructions. They tell the seers, “Stop seeing visions!” They tell the prophets “Don’t tell us what is right. Tell us nice things. Tell us lies. Forget all this gloom. Get off your narrow path. Stop telling us about your ‘Holy One of Israel.’”

I’ve been steering clear of the goings on in the political arena for over a month, but events have overtaken me and I once again feel the stirring in my soul. As we Evangelicals put it, I feel the “unction.”

In the early days of his failed presidential campaign Mike Huckabee spoke to a gathering of Evangelicals, noting that he’d come to them as one speaking the language of Zion as a mother tongue, not as one who’d recently learned clever Christian catch phases so that he could benefit politically. As his campaign lurched between the giddiness of success to the inevitable defeat he became a center of media attention, often misunderstood, sometimes mocked, occasionally disdained. When it was all over the media never could fully understand what the point was. They failed to see that the real point of Mike Huckabee wasn’t about him. What his campaign revealed was that there really is a significant Evangelical culture or sub-culture, or perhaps even a counter-culture in this country, that there is real value in being a smooth stone or a widow’s mite.

I think the media must have breathed a collective sigh of relief when John McCain went over the top and secured the Republican Party’s nomination. The talk of Zion, smooth stones, and widow’s mites was past. It was time to settle in to politics as usual.

For a time things went according to the script. On the heels of Hillary’s tears in New Hampshire, we were treated to the endless math lessons and delegate counts. There was little talk of the issues, and that was alright. After all, that’s what political campaigns and the news business are all about: the shallow and meaningless. I think it was Will Rogers who once asked, “If stupidity got us into this mess, then why can’t it get us out?” That was the operative doctrine in Rogers’ day, and it’s even truer today.

Then, Jeremiah Wright burst upon the scene. For the media, it was a godsend, a ratings bonanza. His sermons, or selected snippets of them, became fuel for the media wildfires. I’m not sure where they first appeared. I think it might have been on FOX. But once it all got started the talking heads from networks and cable outlets began to douse the flames with gasoline. It seemed to subside for a while, but the dying embers have been re-kindled in the past few days. Reverend Wright has decided to speak out and the flames are once again leaping across the airwaves.

I didn’t look too deeply into what Jeremiah Wright had said when this controversy began. Like most Americans I was furious. It was clear from the snippets that this man was unpatriotic, un-Christian, angry and bitter, a distorter of the truth, a megalomaniac. I didn’t need any more evidence; I’d seen enough. He was a guilty man and richly deserved the scorn being heaped upon him. I think my frame of mind back then was that if Sean Hannity, Lou Dobbs, or Joe Scarborough had given me the rope, I’d have hung the man.

But, when the controversy was re-ignited I decided to drop the rope and listen as carefully as possible to everything Jeremiah Wright had to say. Once I did, something in me changed. I didn’t become an apologist for him. I didn’t miraculously find myself nodding my head in agreement with everything he said. In fact, I still disagreed with a lot of his assertions and accusations. But, once I began to peer through the lens he was offering I began to see some of the things at the heart of his message. Once I saw my way past my personal distaste for the messenger I began to understand the context he said he was framing his remarks in.

Just what is that context?

It is, first and foremost, the tradition of the Biblical prophets. One of the things that becomes evident from Holy Writ is that God is the champion of the oppressed, the widow, the poor, the alien, the orphan, the grief stricken, the weary, the hungry, the thirsty, the captive, the blind, the lame, the infirm, the sinner desperately seeking absolution. It’s a rich tradition. It becomes clear early on when Moses, at God’s bidding, stands before pharaoh and proclaims the word of the Lord on behalf of a nation within a nation that is living in bondage. “Let my people go,” he declares. The tradition is powerfully evident when the prophet Nathan confronts Israel’s greatest king, David, when the king commits adultery and has an innocent man murdered in a vain attempt to hide his sin. The tradition carries through the nation’s history, from Isaiah to Ezekiel, from Amos to Micah to Joel. When Israel turned away from her mandate to be a “light to the nations,” the prophets spoke forcefully to the sins of commission and omission being committed. They spoke, as Jeremiah Wright said, the truth to power. They chastised the people for neglecting the poor and needy, for turning away from the widow in need, and profaning holy things. They warned the nation that God was going to use Israel’s enemies as an instrument of justice against them for the sins they refused to turn away from. They rebuked the princes and leaders who enriched themselves while tearing at the poor like a wolf tearing at its prey. They held nothing back. And, what was their reward for speaking the “word of the Lord?” For Moses it was exile and conflict, followed by years of leading an unbelieving nation through the wilderness. For Jeremiah it meant being thrown into a cold, dark well and later being placed in stocks. According the Jewish tradition Isaiah’s reward was being sawn in two. The Old Testament prophet’s lot for telling the truth was universal – scorn, ridicule, abandonment, isolation, and punishment.

The pattern continued in the New Testament as well. John the Baptist trudged up and down the Jordan River, crying out about the coming of a new kingdom. “The axe is laid to the root,” he said. “Let them man with two coats give one to the poor.” The religious leaders of the day followed him with great interest. He spoke a stinging “word of the Lord” to them. “You snakes, you vipers. Who warned you to flee the wrath that’s coming?” He railed against King Herod, only to be beheaded for exposing the king’s sin. Jesus himself came in the tradition of the Old Testament prophets and John the Baptist. He began his public ministry by declaring that he’d come to fulfill what the prophet Isaiah had said hundreds of years before – “The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me; because the LORD hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.” He held out wonderful promises to all in the Sermon on the Mount. Yet, in that same sermon he challenged those listening to see the world, and themselves, in a new light. “You have heard it said” was followed by “But I say unto you.” He equated murder with anger, adultery with a lustful eye. He said that a man who called his brother a fool was every bit as much in danger of the fires of hell as the man who committed murder. He spoke of turning the other cheek rather than exacting an eye for and eye or a tooth for a tooth. He called those following him to love their enemies and to bless those who persecuted them. The poor heard and embraced his message. The powerful very rarely did. In fact, the air almost always crackled with tension when Jesus and the religious authorities of His day interacted. They tried to trap him with clever questions only to be revealed as the fools they were when Jesus answered their questions with a question in return. His words to them weren’t soothing at all. In fact, He called them children of their father the devil. He overturned the tables of the money changers in the temple and said that the religious authorities had turned what should have been a house of prayer for all people into a den of thieves. When they’d had enough, the ecclesiastical leaders plotted to kill him, and succeeded. In order to kill the message and stabilize the nation, they reasoned, it was necessary to crucify the messenger.

And, so the history and the lot of prophets have proceeded unbroken throughout history. From the Old to the New Testaments, then the Church fathers to Luther and Wesley, from Wilberforce to the abolitionists, from Azusa Street to America’s storefront churches, from Dietrich Bonheoffer to Martin Luther King, the tradition has held. The prophets who came before us spoke forcefully to the evils of their times and paid a heavy price for being messengers of God’s truth

There’s another thread to this context. It's culture. Reverend Wright’s message has been greatly informed by his experience as an African-American. That’s the lens through which he sees the world. It’s a picture painted in part by the history of oppression and slavery his forbearers endured in this country. The pallet of his experience includes Jim Crow and lynching. It includes being segregated in the civilian sphere while being expected to die for all on the field of battle. While I try to look at that experience objectively, Reverend Wright looks through that experience subjectively. While I see it from a distance, it is close and personal for him. For those listening outside of that context it’s difficult to weave through the rhetoric to the message intended. As I listen I feel myself wanting to respond – “Haven’t things improved?” “Isn’t America a better place now for African-Americans than it was a generation ago?” “Why should I feel guilty about things I’ve never done?” But, as I read the words of the Sermon on the Mount or the prophets I realize that I must examine my own heart and ask the difficult questions. What is the lens through which I see the world? How do my feelings as an Irish-American toward the injustice of the British to my ancestors from ages past fit into my scheme of things? Why does the history of the potato famine play such a prominent role in my thinking? After all, I’ve never gone hungry a day in my life. Why is the diaspora that brought the Irish to this country so important to me? Why is it so embedded in my soul? When I ask these questions I begin to understand. While we all, African-American and Anglo-Saxon American, have a common history, we also bring the things long since woven into our genes by personal experience and history. We are who we are by the grace of God and each of us has an important story to contribute to the well being and advancement of the whole community.

Most often in life the rewards we receive come through great difficulty and trial, when we’re provoked into action. This, it seems to me, is the role of the prophet in our midst. It is his/her lot in life to say the things we’d rather not hear, to expose the darkness clinging to the unseen crevices of our hearts. This past Sunday I listened to a sermon that brought me to tears. Jannie Stubbs, our co-pastor, spoke about grace, comparing it to the impossible demands of the Old Testament law and oral tradition. She spoke of how we create self-righteous, legalistic dividing lines between ourselves and those we don’t approve of. The dividing lines may be between left and right, between the ugliness of someone else’s sin and our “righteousness,” or between those we disagree with and ourselves. Once we create these dividing lines we have the uncanny ability to create the highest wall we possibly can between us. It’s a wall of separation that reads “I’m good and you’re bad. I’m saved and you’re lost.” As I listened I found myself wanting to shout, “Stop! In the name of God, stop!” But, the more I listened the more the words pierced. I found myself recalling he words of the Sermon on the Mount, about the equality at the bar of God’s justice between the man who murders and the man who calls his brother a fool. I tried to find comfort in the fact that I hadn’t committed any great sins, but then the words of the Book of Common Prayer from my Episcopal roots came to mind – “We have done those things which we ought not to have done and we have left those things undone which we ought to have done and there is no health in us.” I realized that for every sin of commission I could find in someone else, I could in turn find a sin of omission in me.

What does this have to do with Jeremiah Wright? One of the things he spoke about yesterday was the possibility of reconciliation. While it might be easy to dismiss him as a hate filled fanatic, it’s not so easy to dismiss the reconciliation offered by the prophets and Jesus. While it’s true the message they brought was one seemingly laden with doom, it’s also true that they brought a message filled with hope. “Come let us reason together,” Isaiah said. Ezekiel railed against the sins of Israel, but he also saw the possibility of a valley of dry bones coming to life. Joel spoke of the devastation of the canker worm, but also saw the promise of a time when God would send His people corn, wine, and oil, and a time when God would “no more make you a reproach among the heathen.”

You see, it is the role of the prophet is to provoke and be provocative, of living and speaking in the tension between judgment and reconciliation. It’s a message whose context is, if we can hear it, love and grace.

In the end, the message I think we’ve had great difficulty hearing in all the media sound bytes these days is that message of reconciliation. As I said earlier, I’m not an apologist for Jeremiah Wright, but I do think the message hidden from us in the media’s rush for ratings and profits is that reconciliation is possible. This is the message from heaven, that God was/is in Christ, reconciling the world to Himself and wants us to reconcile ourselves to one another. At a time when the dividing lines and walls have been so skillfully drawn and erected and the airwaves are crackling with hate it’s almost impossible to hear. I think it’s understandable. The business of reconciliation is difficult. If it weren’t so, there would have been no reason for Jesus to die on the cross to open the door to grace and absolution to all of us.

I believe, then, that the task before us in the wake of Jeremiah Wright is to open that door and begin the long process of reconciliation and healing in our time.

Whither To, Iraq?

“In the presence of a relentless pageantry of hideous behavior, something in the moral imagination shuts down, or acquiesces, or else denies that all of this gaudily squalid awfulness should be described as evil at all. We absorb more horrors than our systems can tolerate. We overdose on horrors; eventually, inevitably, horrors begin to cease horrifying us. The moral system, and with it the capacity for outrage, shuts down.”
- Lance Morrow – Evil: An Investigation (Page 84)

Like no other writer I’ve read in the past five years, Lance Morrow described much of the thinking that gripped the world in 2003. The horrors of World War II were becoming ancient history. America had passed from Korea to the Cold War to Vietnam, from the Gulf War in 1991 to the Balkans, then to Rwanda, and, finally to the horror of September 11, 2001. By 2003, most of the world had had enough. Afghanistan was one thing, but Iraq was a step too far. Few doubted the evil going on in Iraq, but it seemed to be an acceptable level of evil. While the debate about weapons of mass destruction raged, fewer still asked whether the oppressed people of Iraq preferred a diplomat or a gunboat to come to their rescue. The brutalization of the Sunnis, the Marsh Arabs, and the Kurds was an evil the world had just come to accept. In fact, we’d come to the place where we could watch it all unfold casually while pitchmen sold us Pampers and the Dow soared into the stratosphere. In the face of all that, what argument could those being run through Saddam’s shredders make? Thus, when America and its coalition partners invaded and weapons of mass destruction weren’t found, international anger mounted. Then, as a brutal insurgency and terror attacks followed the liberation of Baghdad, fueled and perpetrated by Osama’s faithful, the moral question that should have been considered in the run-up to the war got turned on its head. America, and its coalition partners, became the embodiment of evil and the practitioners of terror began to gain cult hero status. From then, till now, George Bush and America haven’t been able to shed the mantle of the bad guy.

Earlier today I read a piece penned by E.J. Dionne on the heels of the testimony of Ambassador Crocker and General Petraeus a few days ago. He’s an excellent writer, appropriately provocative. In the piece he posits the idea that it is the war’s supporters, and not its detractors, who are caught in the past, justifying a war that could never be justified.

Upon reading Mr. Dionne’s piece I decided to send him a response. In closing, that response follows.

Mr. Dionne

I just finished reading your op-ed.

I've been a supporter of our effort in Iraq from the beginning. My support wasn’t/isn't based on whether or not Iraq had weapons of mass destruction or geopolitics. It was based in the principle that Saddam's genocide had to be stopped. It was clear to me from the beginning that the United Nations wasn't going to act on behalf of the Kurds, the Marsh Arabs, or the Sunnis, and that someone had to.

While I don't believe I'm “stuck” in the past, I do think there is an element of truth in what you say. The past means something to me. The history of unchecked aggression and its consequences also means something to people in my generation. I was born a year after the Pearl Harbor attack. I remember nothing of the war and its consequences until the early fifties. My first encounter with that cost came one morning as I was walking. I noticed a window with a gold star placed on it. When I got home I asked my mother what the star meant. She explained that it was one of the country's ways of honoring a mother whose son had died in the battle to protect the world against fascism. As time passed I read about the war and its toll - hundreds of thousands of American lives lost, the millions lost on both sides, the millions of Jews, Gypsies, Poles, Russians, homosexuals, religious dissenters who had died in the concentration camps. Even at that young age questions occurred to me. Why didn't we just leave the fascists alone? Could this terrible war have been avoided through diplomacy and containment? After all, they weren't directly threatening us. Questions also came from the other side of my thought process. If what the fascists were doing was so terrible, why didn't someone stop them earlier? If we knew what was going on in the early thirties, why didn't we confront them when the human cost wouldn't have been so staggering?

I suppose they’re not fair questions to ask. We can't turn back the clock. The history has been written. The battles have been fought; the bombs have been dropped. The death toll has been calculated. The crosses, stars of David, etc mark the graves of the fallen. As they say in New York, “it is what it is.”

But those who lived through those days have passed on a great lesson to us - unchecked aggression has deadly consequences.

As I listened to the testimony the other day I thought one person, Barack Obama asked one half of the really important question - How much al Qaeda influence are we willing to accept in Iraq and how much Iranian influence? The senator assumed, correctly, that even in a best case scenario there would be some. I agree.

But, as I watch the Democrats, particularly Hillary Clinton, pull to the left, I realize more clearly that the Democratic plan will almost certainly be a rapid withdrawal from Iraq, and consequences would follow from that.

That brings me to my questions. How much al Qaeda influence are the Democrats willing to allow under a worst case scenario? What will the Democratic thinking be if we withdraw rapidly, al Qaeda and Iran then sweep in to fill the power vacuum, a new cycle of genocide in Iraq begins, the region is destabilized, and Israel is placed in real danger of annihilation? What do you suppose the next move might be on the international stage once all that takes place? What expectation will you and the Democratic president have of America's sons and daughters if/when that scenario plays out? What will our strategic, geopolitical, and moral obligations be in such a circumstance?

That scenario seems improbable right now, but I suspect that thinking is grounded in wishful thinking. I'm sure that in the early thirties Hitler's evils seemed containable through dialog. The world was so fearful of confrontation it was willing to cede sovereign nations to Germany. By the time all the compromising was done Hitler and his fascist allies were powerful beyond measure. The six years that followed Germany’s invasion of Poland were the bloodiest in human history.

I do think Senator Obama asked crucial questions. If we can't eliminate all the evil forces arrayed, how can we best contain them? Just how much are we willing to accept? How do we measure it? What is our best case scenario?

The questions are fair.

I also think it's fair to ask what the consequences of withdrawal would be in a worst case scenario. Would the eventual consequences of rapid withdrawal too terrible to imagine? What would the eventual cost of inaction be?

Neither you nor I nor anyone in power can fully answer those questions. In that regard, the lessons of history and our collective consciences are all we have to guide us.

In a few months the question of direction will be answered. I'm certain that a Democrat will be elected to the presidency, and that Democrats will gain enough seats in the Senate and House to form a filibuster-proof majority. That will mean, almost certainly, that we'll withdraw from Iraq unconditionally. When that happens I will hope and pray for the best. I'll do my utmost to support the decision. I'll even be there if the worst case scenario plays out. When the call comes to my sons and my grandson to stem the tide, I'll be loyal, as will they. If God forbid, they were to fall and my wife was given a gold star in the name of a Democratic president and a grateful nation, I'd say all the right things. But in the recesses of my aching heart I'd be asking, “Why did it have to come to this?” “Why didn't we act before it became so bad and the cost of purging the evil was so great?”

Under those circumstances, what would you, as a journalist, tell my wife and me that would soothe our grief?

So, I labor under the burden of history, as I see it. As you put it, I'm stuck in the past. I'm torn between the costs of current action and plagued by what history has taught me about the terrible cost of inaction. I've tried devising geopolitical and moral equations to come up with some certain, mathematical answers to the questions. Unfortunately, this is not a circumstance like calculating the time of convergence at point C if John leaves station A at 9:00 going east at 25 MPH and Sally leaves station B at 9:12 going west at 31 MPH.

I wish for all the world, as do our senators, congressmen, and journalists, that I could see the end with certainty. But, none of us can. In the end, this war's opponents will in all likelihood get their wish. I hope and pray that point C will be success. But if point C is disaster what would you ask of me, my sons, and my grandsons? What will you say to me when I ask the inevitable questions – “why did you let it come to this?” “Why are so many more going to have to die when we could/should have acted before the unthinkable happened?”

I've prattled on far longer than I originally intended to, wrenching words out of my gut. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to engage in this task daily as a journalist. I doubt that you'll have time to read this, but that's alright. It's been cathartic for me. The questions I've asked come from a sincere heart, much like Senator Obama's questions the other day. We all have a stake in the outcome in Iraq. I believe your thoughts come from a sincere heart as well. We're all grappling with the questions and a very uncertain future. Mine are rooted in the moral lessons passed on to me through history. Perhaps my thinking is archaic, with roots tangled in history that is slowly being choked out by weeds of “now.” I have no power to carve out our course. I leave that to generals, politicians, and journalists who do, and will. In the end, I'm going to go where the tide of history takes me. Unfortunately, I see disaster on that horizon. I hope and pray that I'm wrong.

Regards

Phil Dillon

Emporia, Kansas