Learning from the Women of Buckhannon: A Conservative’s Reflection on the Legacy of the Women’s March

huddlegroupPBS NewsHour feature published this week focuses on the small but growing movement of women protesting the policies of the Trump administration in the heart of self-proclaimed Trump country: Buckhannon, West Virginia. I find this article inspiring for two reasons.

First, it is a heartening example for anyone who finds themselves holding a minority position within their community, or to those who fear they are the only one.

Second, it is illustrative of some of the most powerful aspects (in a good sense) of what we saw and heard at the Women’s March. You don’t have to agree with all their policy preferences to value or be touched by their courage, tenacity, and desire – in the case of some – to finally have a voice.

What I feel like so many of my conservative friends missed at that time, while busy feeling insulted by cat ears – yes, cat ears – for hats and widely sharing memes and posts declaring that pro-life women are more beautiful (and often apparently whiter and blonder) than pro-choice women, was this widespread sense, a groaning of sorts, of helplessness in the face of a genuine moral wrong.

It was never really about Hillary Clinton losing (although some turned it into that for sure), rather it was about Donald Trump winning. It was a collective grieving for all that had transpired in the 18 months leading up to that moment and how so much was sick and twisted and reprehensible and yet somehow that didn’t matter in the end.

I realize it got all muddled – I realize it is a message that will likely continue to get muddled – by a buffet of DNC pet policies, some of which I would certainly label as moral wrongs in their own right.

But what I think really drove so many people out that day, what I think compels people like these women to speak up even now, is a sense that something was condoned and empowered in this country which is not right. That somehow this past election said to the world that the bullies and abusers and mockers and hurters and liars of the world were just fine.

In fact, it said they were more than fine, it said that they were admirable. It said that so long as you keep on winning, so long as you are successful, so long as you promise the right people the right things, you too can say and do whatever you want to whomever you want and you will not have to pay any consequences for even the worst behavior.

And so what I saw in January, what I see in these people in WV, is a collection of the bullied, and abused, and mocked, and hurt, and lied to, all coming together to just say “this is wrong, and we won’t stay silent anymore.”

I don’t think you have to join the Resistance, or even approve of it, to hear that message and have some compassion. To know that even amidst the politicization of their response there is something deeply human here, something we could all take some time to listen to and learn from. To understand that some of their points need to be heard, and to cry for the brokenness of this world and the yearning inside us to be whole once more.

Maybe we look for this wholeness and healing in all the wrong places. Maybe no matter who won this last election there would have been an outpouring of collective grief (I certainly think so). But to understand each other we need to try to look past the political talking points and look at the people, look at their stories. We have things to teach each other. We have people to find and get to know. And we have work to do together.

“At first we all felt like we were little creatures crawling out from under rocks, just reaching out to each other,” said Hollen. “Then we found a few, and a few more.”…

…An older woman speaks up next, her voice trembling a little. “I was sitting here earlier thinking, I never really had a voice before.” She begins to cry, and another woman comes over and takes her hand. “I was raised to be seen and not heard. Then I got married right out of high school and it was the same thing. And I was abused for 14 years. [You all] gave me a voice again.” The woman touches her chest. She is still crying. “So sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry,” Hollen says.

“It’s like we were all sleeping,” says Howard-Jack. “Now I think we’re awake.”

This post originally appeared here on my Facebook account 

Proceed With Caution: National Division, President Trump, and Bull Run

bullrun3It is not lost on me this week that I live but a few miles from the site of the first battle of our civil war. No doubt the creek I stare at each day from my kitchen windows was once trod by both the blue and the gray; men who shared the kinship of country and yet also the enmity of war.

We like to think our current world is too refined, too developed, and too safe to see such sights again in this land. The violence that once tore this country apart and cost the lives of at least 1 million Americans is a mere memory and tale of the past.

But I can’t shake the image of those men and women of Washington society who packed up their picknicks one morning and headed out for a country carriage ride to watch what they assumed was just a mostly harmless chapter in the political debates of their age. What were they thinking that morning? What were they seeking?

An entertaining diversion? A laugh? An easy answer to the country’s problems? A sense of satisfying superiority against the other side?

One thing I know they weren’t expecting was the extent of the destruction, division, death, and chaos that followed.

There, on the very dawn of the bloodiest conflict that this nation has ever known, was just a group of refined men and women who thought they could have a little fun witnessing a skirmish of partisans and then go on with their lives unchanged. To them, on that morning, the reality of what that conflict so infamously became was foreign and unthinkable.

I believe we must be very careful in these times. Perhaps open war is still a distant or unlikely reality, but the nature of our divisions is stark and alarming. We must be on guard for the ways that we are increasingly coarsened to the callings of our common life, our common good, and our common virtue.

I see little point in trying to convince each other about our differences right now. What language can we even use with one another when we have our own sets of facts, our own headlines and news outlets, our own moralities, and our own truths?

There is no clear right in these confusing political times. At least not in the choices before us within this temporal kingdom. And if someone tells you they know for sure which side is best beware them most of all.

But what we can do in the midst of our conflict is choose empathy. What we can do is choose to see the inante dignity of all men and women, most especially within each person with whom we disagree. What we can do is choose first to listen and then, when the time is right and the message vital, we can choose to speak truth with love.

We can choose a path of caution. Caution with our protests and caution with our accolades. Caution with the battles we seek to wage and the swords we choose to draw. Caution with our words and our memes and our thoughts and our actions.

Lest one morning we wake up to laugh at twitter or duel on facebook or demonstrate in our streets only to find that our war of words has turned into something all the more darker, something all the more painful, something we can’t just take back, something we will all regret.

Originally published here on Facebook, January 19th, 2017.

O Come Emmanuel: After November 8th, 2016

We look around at our world right now and there is so much that breaks hearts, plays on fears, and isolates those who are different than ourselves.

Many this week legitimately question if they are really welcome in this country or their communities. Others rightly fear if they are safe in a world where violent protests follow the outcome of a lawful and legitimate election.

On the right and the left, you are weary of being labeled all kinds of evil just because of the political party you vote for. Many of us are confused, for our understandings of the world and our competing narratives of facts can’t fully account for the polarizing and angry actions or thoughts of our peers, our neighbors, our family members, or our fellow countrymen. 

Some are wondering if anyone is left who will stand up for us and our hurts and wounds. Loss, of all kinds, rises to the surface only to pour out into the streets and onto our screens exposing our inner pain. Others finally feel vindicated, only to discover that power does not shield you from the sting of criticism. Victory, it turns out, may not be so sweet when it is bought at a price.

Most ponder if we could have done something, anything, long before November 8th, to have helped make this country less divisive, less reactionary, less hateful; more understanding, more empathetic, and more kind.

We are a bruised and bruising people, searching for some guidance in the midst of our collective pain.

It’s been a difficult week in this country. Sadly, there may be many more yet to come.

But the real truth is that there is a Healer seeking to bind our wounds; there is a true Savior who can and will redeem us in the midst of all this mess.

Come, let us adore Him. Hallelujah!

 

Postures We Use: Colin Kaepernick, National Solidarity, and the Wounded in Worship

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Last Sunday I sat through the entire church service.  This might not sound that strange to you, but I attend an Anglican communion where constant change of posture is commonplace as part of our liturgical worship.  Yet at thirty-three weeks pregnant with our third child in three years, I wasn’t feeling quite up to full participation in the usual ways of standing, kneeling, and constantly changing positions throughout the service.

As I sat still while others moved, I marveled at the freedom of bodily expression in worship we enjoy as Anglicans, especially in the confines of a predetermined liturgy.  Sit or kneel.  Stand or sit.  Come forward or stay where you are.  Raise your arms in song or stand still.  Partake in communion or cross your arms for a blessing.

So many ways to be united in worship; so many ways to fellowship together.

Colin Kaepernick started a national controversy when he choose to sit for the playing of the national anthem at NFL games.  Some identify with his reasoning and have joined him in various acts of solidarity.  Others are appalled by his choice and his perceived message of disrespect and openly choose make their displeasure known.  I’d rather we first take a step back and question why we expect others to stand united in the first place, and what it means when people choose to act differently during public acts of solidarity.

Our bodies are vessels of human expression. If you have ever had the pleasure of traveling overseas, working within a community of non-English speakers, or interacting with children too young to speak, you likely know just how effective body language and expression can become as a tool for communication.  We can have entire conversations without speaking a single word.  Waves, smiles, frowns, pointing, jumping, dancing, hugging, tugging, kneeling – all these actions and so many more communicate something to the world around us.  Our bodies are vessels of human expression.

Posture can wound. Unfortunately, because our bodies are used as a form of speech, they can be used to hurt others.  Yes, through physical violence toward one anther but also – more simply – in our choice of gestures or posture.  Crossing our arms, literally turning our backs, walking away, giving the finger, these are all ways that people use their movements to communicate something negative, offensive, or obscene.

Likewise, we can use different postures to wound ourselves.  This often occurs through uses of our body which violate our conscience, undermine God’s intended good for us, or belittle our existence and self-worth. Consider the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego and how they understood that to kneel before a false idol would both wound the honor of God and wound their own belief and testimony in Him.  Unlike that silly adage goes, words most certainly can hurt and so too can the ways we use our bodies to speak to the world around us.  Posture can wound.

Posture can heal.  The good news is that while we can use our posture to hurt others, we can also choose to use our bodies as vessels to help heal ourselves and those around us. Be it through physical touch, open arms, or a stirring sign of humility, surrender, or love, the ways we choose to move about this earth can touch hearts for the better.  Like many forms of healing, these physical expressions of positive communication don’t always come easy or without conflict.  As a reflection of divine love, sometimes the act that brings healing can first bring a healthy or necessary form of pain.

Perhaps there is no better expression of this form of healing love than the symbol of Christ’s posture on the cross.  Arms nailed open to the world, His pain (and the pain of our sin) became a crucial precursor to His victory.  Each time a follower of Christ finds themselves in prayer and worship reaching out their arms like those upon the cross – be they standing, sitting, or lying down prostrate – they both embody that pain and that victory at the same time.  Be it to address a need for a personal victory over sin or in contrition for relational or societal hurts, postures such as this touch hearts through both experience and witness.  Posture can heal.

Posture is powerful. Since posture can both wound and heal, it is a vital part of how we live together in a society.  Many of our postures we take for granted.  Yet even when we are not intentional about how we use our bodies, we still speak volumes in each moment of the day.  When we pass other people on the street or in an elevator do we look them in the eye and smile, or do we keep our heads down and eyes averted?  It is remarkable how just tiny adjustments in our our body language can impact those around us, or even our own hearts, for better or worse.

For example, when we choose to kneel in prayer it is an act of submission.  To do so communicates to our hearts that we are choosing to come before God with surrender and reverential fear, and it communicates to those around us that we are choosing to make ourselves lesser before the One who is greater, often uniting the body of Christ in a common act of humility.

The physical act of kneeling not only prepares us for our times of prayer or confession, but it can also be a crucial part of the prayer, or even a prayer in and of itself.  Moreover, when done in public, kneeling in prayer acts as a sign to remind the community of our place before God and to point us all back to the heart of His glory and grace.  Posture is powerful.

Posture demands authenticity.  Because of the very power entailed in how we use our bodies, it is important to use our bodies truthfully.  We can lie with our bodies just like we can lie with our tongues.  This means that when I fake a smile, a hug, or a salute, I lie.  It might be a small lie, we might classify many of these actions as white lies, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am still expressing an untruth.

There are certainly situations when we will choose to use our bodies in a way that doesn’t perfectly match how we feel, and this isn’t always the same thing as a lie.  In fact, some of the most powerful uses of our bodies come through disciplined acts, like the decision to kneel in prayer even when we feel rebellious, angry, confused, or full of doubt.  By intentionally and willfully choosing to be disciplined to a specific kind of service, act of worship, or to a reverential commitment, regardless of our shifting emotions, we are still true to that higher goal with our bodies even when our hearts are wary or rebellious. Marriage, I am learning, is full of such moments.

However, there are many more times when we do not intentionally honor a prior choice or commitment.  Rather, we just move in ways that are contrary to our authentic selves.  Perhaps it is out of routine, perhaps it is out of disappointment, or fear, or vanity, or manipulative motives, but when we tell lies with our bodies we wound.  It reminds me of an old Casting Crowns song:

Are we happy plastic people
Under shiny plastic steeples
With walls around our weakness
And smiles to hide our pain
But if the invitation’s open
To every heart that has been broken
Maybe then we close the curtain
On our stained glass masquerade

When we hide the truth of our hearts, when we use our bodies just to play a role or to convey a false image, we cut off the potential for healing to occur.  By doing untrue things with our body we choose to wound ourselves and our wider community with our lies.  Being “happy plastic people”, for example, can help to maintain a certain image or comfort level for the fellowship of a church as we all follow along and act exactly as everyone else does.  Sit together.  Stand together.  Shake hands together.  Smile on cue together.

There is an element of these programed movements that even appears on the surface to build solidarity and unity, but for the sake of what exactly? For the sake of a lie.  When there is no room for our communal traditions to be broken, for one or many individuals to question, to doubt, to cry out, or to act differently when in public, there is no room for healing to occur.  And where healing cannot occur, wounds will fester and painful divisions will take hold.  Posture demands authenticity.

Where just one is hurting, we all hurt with them.  Church, where we go to commune with Christ and His children, is meant to be a safe place to express our innermost thoughts, feelings, and beliefs.  It is meant to be a place where we can show great devotion and love, but also great doubt and sorrow.

I can’t tell you how many times I have sat in church and questioned.  Questioned God’s love, questioned my purpose and worth, questioned the nature of the church and the evil of mankind.  And because I have questioned, I have sometimes sat still while others stood.

I have wept while others sang out with joyful hope.  I have lain prostrate while others danced.  There have been entire seasons – weeks, months at a time – where I chose to not receive communion as an intentionally outward sign of my inner struggles.  When I do these actions, all crucial aspects of authenticity in posture, I do so to be vulnerable before God and within my community.  I do so with the heart of healing, even in the midst of my anguish.

When I or others display our weaknesses, doubts, or brokenness with our bodies it is not meant to invalidate the more joyful or reverential behavior of the rest of the community.  Rather, it is about finding ways to still be a part of our community even while we struggle.  It is about still trying to know God, even when we honestly question his very existence or goodness.

Crucially, my times of sitting out or using my body in ways that differ from others in worship aren’t – first and foremost – about the truth of my grievances.  They are about the truth of my heart.  God is good, all the time.  But more than once in my life I have not seen or felt His goodness.  When you wrestle with that question it can be over-powering.  Anger, fear, resentment, sorrow, and endless streams of questions pour forth.  How we choose to reveal our internal struggles with our bodies or our words won’t change the truth of who God is.  But the more authentic we are in our posture, the more likely we are – in time – to encounter His healing touch and come to know his genuine goodness.

If we hide from our grief and our doubt, choosing instead to go through the motions and not acknowledge our true thoughts and feelings, we risk never finding the answers we need most.  Moreover, we limit our opportunities to build stronger and more authentic relationships and communities.  Lament, while often deeply personal, can also be powerfully communal.

When I am honest about my heart, most visibly through my posture, it offers the chance for others to come along side me to help.  Perhaps they will grieve or question along with me.  Perhaps they will respectfully challenge me.  Perhaps they will encourage me.  Perhaps they will pray for and with me. But, when done with love and grace, a healthy community always welcomes our differences in action for they understand that these postures offer a starting place for all of us to heal and grow stronger.  Where just one is hurting, we all hurt with them.

So if I am free to question God through how I use my body, why can’t Colin Kapernick – or anyone else for that matter – question our country through their choice of posture during a national moment of solidarity?  Surely the act of honoring God is far higher than honoring a country, no matter how much we may love our home.  If God does not demand a robotic allegiance to him through our posture then we should not demand it for the sake of our nation.

This is not to say it is wrong to choose en-mass to show respect and love for country and all that means to us through standing during songs or placing hands over our hearts during a pledge.  Just because one, or even millions, reveal their authentic doubt about the problems we face as a nation doesn’t mean that all people in that moment must stop do the same, or even feel the same toward the country that they love.

Neither does it mean that those who choose not to stand do so because they hate their country.  I may doubt God at times but I still love Him in my weakness.  To search for God, to be truthful regarding our questions about God, is to love Him.  Why should it be considered any different in how we choose to love our country?

Moreover, it matters how we reveal our true selves through the public display of our bodies.  I said that posture wounds, but do actions like Kaepernick’s actually wound our country, or more specifically our veterans?  I am not sure there is anything inherently offensive, aggressive, or hateful about choosing to sit while others stand.  Especially, perhaps, when it was originally done without fanfare or grandstanding, but instead quietly as a matter of personal conscience.    If anything is rightly wounded by his actions it is our sense of solidarity.

But where our societal unity is built on lies, it does not actually exist.  So when, say, a large group of Americans question if their country is a safe or equal place for them to dwell, yet they are told to hide those emotions in public so they won’t risk offending the majority, our country is made weak.  We are made weak because we are not truthful.  It doesn’t matter at the outset if you think their grievances are real or justified, what matters is that they do not believe that they belong.  What matters is that they are hurting.

If what we desire is to be stronger or more unified as a nation, we can achieve those ends exactly through authentic moments like Kaepernick’s choice to sit.  In so doing he chose to signify with his body the true state of our lack of solidarity as a nation.

And even if his posture was unquestionably offensive and meant to wound, like standing up with his middle finger extended toward the flag, how then should we respond?  Well, if someone did a similarly offensive act in the middle of a church service directed at the cross how would you respond? Would you glare with judgmental distaste and disapproval?  Would you demand said offender be removed from the sanctuary? For surely they, with their ingratitude and dishonor, should not be welcome in the house of the Lord.  Would you respond in kind and curse the offender with your body or your mouth?

Or, might you choose to turn your cheek, bless those who curse, and approach the offender to ask what is troubling them that day?  Would you offer to pray for them with a genuine concern for the state of their heart, soul, and mind?  Would you extend to them a place to be heard, a place to be truthful, and a place to encounter God? Would you choose to show them respect and love?

Perhaps one of the most beautiful parts of this whole Colin Kaepernick debacle is the role played by Nate Boyer, a former Green Beret and NFL player.  Not only did he respectfully open a dialogue with Kaepernick when this controversy first captured the attention of the county, but he actually met with him in person.  He spoke with him for over an hour and listened to the grievances and doubts of Colin Kaepernick’s heart.  And then, as part of their honest dialogue, he helped find an even better posture for Kaepernick (and now many others) to use when they wish to express the truth of their doubts and hurts in moments designed to engender national unity.

To take a knee has long been a sign of respect.  And if I understand football culture correctly, it is also commonly used as a sign of solidarity among players.  Is it the same as how the majority of Americans have chosen to respect the flag of this country over the years?  No, and it is not supposed to be.  Yet it is possible that in choosing an alternate sign of respect in our posture we can still love our country even while we question it.  Questioning and doubt, be it in our thoughts, or our words, or our posture, can still be a form of love.

To encourage Kaepernick to find this middle ground, a way to still express a form of respect through his body while remaining true to his internal struggles and doubts, is a beautiful picture of community.  Even more powerful is how Boyer then joined Kaepernick at the next game and stood by him during the national anthem, standing with hand over his heart, while his new friend took a knee.  Two different postures – two different experiences, emotions, and views – both united together.

Would that more of us will choose to be like Nate Boyer.  You don’t have to surrender your loves, your beliefs, or your traditions to take the time to listen and stand beside those who hurt, question, or doubt.  You don’t have to accept all that someone asserts in order to respect and love them.  You don’t have to believe someone is right, or intuitively understand their perspective, to care that they are struggling or in pain.

Our bodies are vessels of human expression.  Because that is true, our postures can wound, and our postures can heal.  Let us choose, even when it’s hard to understand, to use our own postures and bodies to heal.  When we do so we can change individual hearts and even whole communities, for posture is powerful.

Never forget that truth is required for healing, even when that truth is messy, painful, hard, or looks different than what others expect.  In order to be used for acts of healing, both personal and communal, posture demands authenticity.  So when we encounter neighbors, be they in football stadiums or in our churches, who convey the unexpected with their posture, instead of judging them, let us listen to them.  Let us reach out and stand beside them, even in their true pain, doubt, or confusion.  Let us leave room for the notion that we can find unity with one another, even as we express that unity in different ways and with different emotions.

All people struggle with loves, devotions, and beliefs throughout the course of their life.  Some of us choose to wear those internal battles more openly on our bodies than others.  When we encounter a person whose posture suggests that they are experiencing some form of pain, anger, doubt, or grief, let us bless and not curse.  Let us have the courage to not be offended for our own sake, but rather be concerned for sake of someone else’s heart. For, in the spirit of 1 Corinthians 12:26, where just one is hurting, we all hurt with them.

 

 

 

Of Two Swords and Two Evils: Trump, Clinton, and Chesterton’s Nightmares

bc_ch1_2__15813-1392762861-1280-1280The breeze off the Bosporus calmed my nineteen year old nerves.  I was having tea in a garden at the residences of a historic Ottoman mosque with the Turkish son of an imam and an American pot-smoking sorority member, my female travel companion for the day.  As all three of us talked about life, beliefs, and interests, I came to realize that I had far more in common with this devout and polite young Muslim man than I had with my fellow female American college student.

In one breath she told stories of breaking international drug-smuggling laws while studying in Paris, in the next she declared her intention to become a lawyer to fight for “justice”.  I still have no idea what that word meant to her, especially given her decided relativism on just about every topic of ethics we encountered.  Hers was a sadly vapid and transitory worldview, one that was almost impossible to engage directly for its sheer lack of discernible foundation.

The son of the Imam, on the other hand, believed in universal absolutes and moral law.  He asked questions about matters eternal and how they related to this present world, genuinely interested in hearing my perspective while defending his own.  We engaged on the perceptions about our faiths versus the actual teachings we claimed as truth, and discussed the vapid and rootless dangers found in secularism.  As we spoke, my fellow American was fairly bored, apathetic, and disinterested.

He was a young student who kindly opened his home and life to two foreigners with the solitary goal to exchange thoughts and ideas.  He did so in a way that respected our dignity and sheltered us from the ugly behavior that runs rampant in the tourist quarters of his city.  We did not need to minimize the critical theological differences between our creeds in order to recognize in each other a kinship.  Ours was a kinship forged in an earnest search for truth and righteousness.

You see, that young man sought after truth, knowledge of God, and the root dignity of man, with more passion than most people I have encountered in my life so far – in or out of the American church.  I still pray to this day that he is an Emeth, be it either on this earth or before the thrown of God.

How certain are you about who is on your side?  As we approach a major election in this country I often hear the imagery of teams used to suggest a clear discernible line between who or what is defensible and who or what it not.  Those on the “other side” are evil, while those deemed to be on our own political side – no matter how flawed – are seen as fundamentally good, perhaps just misguided.  The people most like us are surely the ones who are for us.  Those who are the most different are met with suspicion and often fear.

But what if our sense of teams is wrong?  What if we’ve chosen to join a movement that actually undermines everything that we claim to hold most dear?  What if we aren’t looking clearly enough for the dangers of our own teams and our own battles?  Then what are we to do?

For those who feel caught between two evils, for those who wish to speak against lies but find precious few willing to join them, for those wondering how to stand for truth and justice in a depraved and cynical world, this is for you.

In 1910 G.K. Chesterton penned an allegorical tale, The Ball and the Cross, about two Scotsman dueling for truth in the streets of London and throughout the British countryside.  Evan MacIan, a devout Catholic, and James Turnbull, a devout atheist, both take up swords with the intention to fight the other to the death in defense of their core beliefs.  Labeled madmen by their fellow countrymen, the two embark on a fanciful journey of engagement that leads to some surprising conclusions, including the formation of an indelible companionship based on their common defense of eternal truth.

Toward the end of the novel both MacIan and Turnbull are met with dreams that promise to show the fulfillment of what each is fighting for only to reveal two different, yet similarly rooted, evils.  Each are led away in flying boats by men with no names to the frontline of two dystopian visions for the future of London.  In these depictions of evils we find a reflection of our own times, and our own temptations.  To see them, to understand them, and – finally – to forsake them both for the embrace of Christ: this is our calling.

We long to be drafted for a fight.  In the opening sequence of both dreams, Chesterton’s dueling Scotsmen are met with appeals to come and join the real fights their hearts have longed for.  As the mysterious man first tells MacIan, “you have remained here long enough, and your sword is wanted elsewhere.”  There is something in these lines that speaks to those of us who desire to be wanted, needed, and appreciated.

It beckons to those of us who are dissatisfied with the life we are living or who deeply desire to be a part of a greater cause.  The men with no names in both dreams know of this temptation and desire, for they know the hearts of their would-be warriors.  The call to come fight in their battles is how they lure each truth-fighter into their midst.

Sometimes I think we are drawn to politics because of all it seems to promise.  The power, yes, but also a sense of importance or mission that maybe we don’t feel in our day to day work.  Think of the common political rhetoric we hear and how elevated the language has become, how grandiose the goals are for a better tomorrow.

Politicians promise to fix our problems, ease our fears, and provide hope and purpose for our lives.  When a political candidate asks for your support, for you to join their team and fight for their visions of a certain kind of country, it can be compelling in ways that we are rarely moved.  We all want our lives to mean something greater than ourselves.

And for many, the temptation is strong to believe that how we vote, who we support, or what policies we advance, presents just such a battle to wage that will reward us with the dignity and honor our hearts desire.  We may not have swords of steel, but many of us are called upon by the political causes of our day to rise up with the swords of our mouths, our intellect, our social influence, our pens, and our votes.

When we choose to become a surrogate for a certain politician, when we decide that we will support them for one reason or another, we can often find ourselves enlisted in a battle where our sword is wanted and our life appears to have new purpose and fulfillment.  Perhaps at first we are reluctant or disillusioned, but once suited in the armor of these wars our instinct and heart’s desire for mission leads us to fight on their behalf.

The truth is that it feels good to have a tangible cause to claim as our own.  To have a visible enemy and a measurable path for declaring victory.  We desire to be on the winning side and to feel all that comes with hard fought success.  We long to be drafted for a fight.

And yet…

Without God, security forged in the name of law and order leads only to tyranny.  Donald Trump has declared himself the law and order candidate, and his claim is that this mission will keep us safe and secure as a nation.  But he is not the first to use these terms or proffer these ideas.

In MacIan’s dream, the man driving the flying ship told Evan, “I must not say who I am until the end of the world; but I may say what I am.  I am the law.”  This figure, who claims to represent the law, notably as we shall discover, a law without God, reveals what a world under his dominion would be like.

Claiming that “The king has returned”, he takes MacIan up through the stars.  Foreshadowing the state of the nation, the man who is the law notes of the heavens:

“There is an answer to all the folly talked about equality.  Some stars are big and some are small; some stand still and some cycle round them as they stand.  They can be orderly, but they cannot be equal.

“They are all very beautiful,” said Evan, as if in doubt.

“They are all beautiful,” answered the other, “because each is in his place and owns his superior.  And now England will be as beautiful as the heavens, because our kings have come back to us.”

In this world there is no equality, merely order. Perhaps, at first blush, this doesn’t sound so bad.  Isn’t it supposed to be that way, after all?  The man who is the law claims that the world he is creating with the return of the king is one that reclaims “…all that was ever lost by insolence and overwhelmed in rebellion.”  It is a world with pageantry, cathedrals of armed guards, and stoic greatness.

When the sole object is the law, the borders of one nation can be managed with ease.  As they draw closer to London in their journey, MacIan asks if the war is still raging.  The response of his would be captain is telling and somber:

“It rages like the pit itself beyond the sea wither I am taking you,” answered the other.  “But in England the king enjoys his own again.  The people are once more taught and ruled as is best; they are happy knights, happy squires, happy servants, happy serfs, if you will; but free at last of that load of vexation and lonely vanity which was called being a citizen.”

“Is England, indeed, so secure?” asked Evan.

England won her security in this dream, but at what cost?  At the cost of an enduring chaos and war for the rest of the world, a world completely left behind when the goal of establishing the might of the ancient kings and kingdom was made paramount.  At the cost of their own dignity as citizens.  At the cost of a hard earned freedom, all relinquished in order to become secure from the battles of the outside and the fears from within.

The picture offered of this secure world is one of ordered domestic tranquility with a unsettling undertone:

“As they were sailing down Ludgate Hill, Evan saw that the state of the streets fully answered his companion’s claim about the reintroduction of order.  All the old black-coated bustle with its cockney vivacity and vulgarity had disappeared.  Groups of laborers, quietly but picturesquely clad, were passing up and down in sufficiently large numbers; but it required but a few mounted men to keep the streets in order.  The mounted men were not common policemen, but knights with spur and plume whose smooth and splendid armor glittered like diamond rather than steel.

Only in one place – at the corner of Bouverie Street- did there appear to be a moment’s confusion, and that was due to hurry and rather than resistance.  But one old grumbling man did not get out of the way quick enough, and the man on horseback struck him, not severely, across the shoulders with the flat of his sword.

“The soldier had no business to do that,” said MacIan sharply.  “The old man was moving as quick as he could.”

“We attach great importance to discipline in the streets,” said the man in white, with a slight smile.

“Discipline is not so important as justice,” said MacIan.

At first, you might think, ‘how splendid!’  The criminals, the beggars, the unruly crowds all cleared away for the sake of order, safety, prosperity, and efficiency.  And yet there is a darkness that lingers.  A darkness that silently queries as to the fate of the drunkards, the poor, and the foreigners.  A darkness that wonders at the nature of the people’s hearts and souls working under this state of discipline.  As the man who is the law enlightens:

“The people must be taught to obey; they must learn their own ignorance.  And I am not sure,” he continued, turning his back on Evan and looking out of the prow of the ship into the darkness, “I am not sure that I agree with your little maxim about justice.  Discipline for the whole society is surely more important than justice to an individual.”

Where respect for the individual dignity of all men is traded for law and order, where discipline is bought with the currency of fear, there can be no true justice.  The man in white, who is the law, continues:

“In our armies up in heaven we learn to put a wholesome fear into subordinates.”…

“Besides,” continued he, in the prow, “you must allow for a certain high spirited haughtiness in the superior type…Just as the sight of sin offends God,” said the unknown, “so does the sight of ugliness offend Apollo.  The beautiful and the princely must, of necessity, be impatient with the squalid…”

And here is revealed another truth of the law without God.  The value of people is determined not by their character or innate dignity, but by their physical and material worth.  The spiritual value of each life ceases to matter, at least not with dignity or reference to a greater dominion than the one created on earth.

Thus we see the creation of two laws and two standards, one for the leaders and the beautiful elite and one for the common people.  What began as resurgence for the supposed good of the people to reestablish the greatness of their nation ends in a horrific vision of inequality and elitism enabled by a rule of fear.

Faced with claims and actions of this nature, the defender of truth, a lover of Christ, will speak out.

“Why you great fool!” cried MacIan, rising to the top of his tremendous stature, “did you think I would have doubted only for that rap of a sword?  I know that noble orders have bad knights, that good knights have bad tempers, that the Church has rough priests and coarse cardinals; I have known it ever since I was born.  You fool! You had only to say, ‘Yes it is rather a shame,’ and I would have forgotten the affair.  But I saw on your mouth the twitch of your infernal sophistry; I knew that something was wrong with you and your cathedrals.  Something is wrong, everything is wrong.  You are not an angel.  This is not a church.  It is not the rightful king who has come home.”

The law, instituted by a return of an earthly king and peddled by the as yet unknown man, is false.  The horror of this dystopian world represents more than the failings of a single person or leader.  It represents the wholesale surrender of justice, freedom, and individual dignity, all in the name of security and a restoration of mythical greatness. It represents the death of the soul, a callousness that demeans and destroys the inner life and worth of men for the sake of external order.  Without God, security forged in the name of law and order leads only to tyranny.

Without God, revolution for the sake of humanity leads only to death.  Hillary Clinton has declared that we are stronger together.  But what if someone is unable or unwilling to move in the direction of what is deemed fair or best for all?  What if some lives are an inconvenience to the whole?

James Turnbull, like his dueling partner, was met by a man with no name who came with news that Turnbull had been waiting his whole life to hear.  After declaring, “I want you”, the unknown man wearing a red scarf clarified:

“I want exactly what you want,” said the newcomer with a new gravity. “I want the Revolution.”

Turnbull found himself conflicted, for he started to worry about the fate of his new friend.  Yet he was ultimately persuaded to leave him behind for it would interfere with the mission “to destroy the Pope and all the kings.”  In contrast to the world of surreal order revealed to MacIan, this was a world of chaos.  As the unknown man explained:

“The heavens are full of revolution – the real sort of revolution.  All the high things sinking low and all the big things looking small.  All the people who think they are aspiring find they are falling head foremost.  And all the people who think they are condescending find they are climbing up a precipice.  That is the intoxication of space.  That is the only joy of eternity – doubt.”

In this world of revolution, God is the ultimate enemy to be overthrown.  As the unknown man says, “I mean nothing in God’s name.”  Traveling over the city of London, he explains to Turnbull just what is taking place below:

“We arrive at a happy moment,” said the man steering the ship.  “The insurgents are bombarding the city, and a cannonball has just hit the cross.  Many of the insurgents are simple people, and they naturally regard it as a happy omen.”

With the cross and all it stands for demolished, the glory of mankind is meant to rise.   Such rising is not without great cost, however.  The unknown man clarifies that he has brought Turnbull to London “to take part in the last war of the world.”

“The last war!” repeated Turnbull, even in his dazed state a little touchy about such a dogma; “how do you know it will be the last?”

The man laid himself back in his reposeful attitude, and said:

“It is the last war, because if it does not cure the world forever, it will destroy it.”

Seeking to cure all the ills of the world, it seems, is a dangerous task.  A task destined to either great success or complete failure.  Wars of totality, wars of annihilation, wars aimed to supplant the dominion of God that claim His work of completion and perfection as their own, can only end in this way.

James, looking to understand the uprising at hand and the nature of the fight, seeks clarification from his guide:

Turnbull wrinkled his forehead.  “Are all the poor people with the Revolution?” he asked.

The other shrugged his shoulders.  “All the instructed and class-conscience part of them without exception,” he replied.  “There were certainly a few districts; in fact we are passing over them just now – ”

Turnbull looked down and saw that the polished car was literally lit up from underneath by the far-flung fires from below.  Underneath whole squares of solid districts were in flames, like prairies or forests on fire.

“Dr. Hertz has convinced everybody,” said Turnbull’s cicerone in a smooth voice, “that nothing can be done with the real slums.  His celebrated maxim has been quite adopted.  I mean the three celebrated sentences: “No man should be unemployed.  Employ the employables.  Destroy the unemployables.”

The reign of Science and “equality” had come.  Without God, without an anchor or a compass other than the collective good of mankind, hell on earth had arrived.  If the world is to be perfect, if progress is to be final, some lives must be sacrificed for the good of the whole.

There was silence, and then Turnbull said in a rather strained voice: “And do I understand that this good work is going on under here?”

“Going on splendidly,” replied his companion in the heartiest voice.  “You see, these people were much too tired and weak even to join the social war.  They were a definite hindrance to it.”

“And so you are simply burning them out?”

“It does seem absurdly simple,” said the man, with a beaming smile, “when one thinks of all the worry and talk about helping a hopeless slave population, when the future obviously was only crying to be rid of them.  There are happy babes unborn ready to burst the doors when these drivelers are swept away.”

Perhaps the revolution began with the intent to help these very people, but as they started progressing toward a godless, rootless, social justice an irreverence for the weakest life set in.  Turnbull began to object:

“These people have rights.”

“Rights!” repeated the unknown in a tone quite indescribable.  Then he added with a more open sneer: “Perhaps they also have souls.”

“They have lives!” said Turnbull, sternly; “that is quite enough for me.  I understood you to say that you thought life sacred.”

“Yes, indeed!” cried his mentor with a sort of idealistic animation.  “Yes, indeed! Life is sacred – but lives are not sacred.  We are improving life by removing lives.  Can you, as a freethinker, find any fault in that?”

What a poignant and direct condemnation of the philosophy behind the pro-abortion movement.  Then again, what poignant and direct condemnation of any philosophy that degrades, devalues, or destroys the life of any individual for the sake of the whole.

Think of the fear of disability in the young and the subsequent advocacy to end life before it has begun on the sheer basis that their life might be hard, diseased, or imperfect.  Think of the one-child policy and all the human pain that has caused. Think of those who advocate that we must limit human life for the sake of the planet.  Think of the glorification of euthanasia as a way to ease the pain of an individual and the collective burden such pain presents the wider community.  Where individuals are not loved unto life, death shall reign.

The dialogue continues, after Turnbull replies that he can, indeed, find fault with that argument:

“Yet you applaud tyrannicide,” said the stranger with rationalistic gaiety.  “How inconsistent!  It really comes to this: You approve of taking away life from those to whom it is a triumph and a pleasure.  But you will not take away life from those to whom it is a burden or a toil.”

Turnbull rose to his feet in the car with considerable deliberation, but his face seemed oddly pale.  The other went on with enthusiasm.

“Life, yes, Life indeed is sacred!” he cried; “but new lives for old! Good lives for bad! On that very place where now there sprawls one drunken wastrel of a pavement artist more or less wishing he were dead – on that very spot there shall in the future be living pictures; there shall be golden girls and boys leaping in the sun.”

Such is the vision of a social revolution without God.  It starts with seeking justice for the oppressed.  Kill the kings!  Kill the bankers! Kill the powerful! Kill the rich!  But then the mission quickly becomes about maximizing the best life for the most number of people.  Kill the weak.  Kill the unwanted.  Kill the inconvenient.  Kill the unproductive.  Kill the uncooperative.

Their sacrifice is needed for the good of the whole, is it not?  Surely equality for most is worth the destruction of a few.  Such is the logic of the godless revolution. Such was the horror of the godless authoritarian regimes of the 20th Century.  It happened in our past, in some corners of the world it is happening in the present, and it can most certainly happen again in our future.

Where only certain lives are valued, no one can be truly loved or loving.  To honor all life means to honor the innate dignity of each human being as creations with a Creator.  Without God, revolution for the sake of humanity leads only to death.

The goodness of God always respects and loves the dignity, sanctity, and equality of every individual life.  The dystopian visions offered by Chesterton over 100 years ago remain remarkably relevant, for these are the extremes of a world without truth and without God.  I have a feeling that to some of you one outcome likely seems worse than the other, but such an assessment would fundamentally miss the point.  Both are evil.

Both revoke the sovereignty of God for futures where men seek to take His authority as their own.  One offers the vision of a pretender, a human savior who alone can fix all that ills us.  The other offers the vision of a revolt, the overthrow of God and His standards of life for the supposed good of the whole. Both turn the State and its rulers into gods, creating an idolatrous worship of man and government in the place of Christ.

Our current candidates for president and the ideals they represent may fall along different places on this spectrum of danger and death.  It is up for interpretation just how close to each nightmarish future the current candidates comes in their policy prescriptions and personas as supposed balms to our fears and unmet desires.

You may see a little of each dream in both candidates, or perhaps you see this election in stricter ideological terms.  Regardless, neither candidate espouses a vision of life and authority that aligns with the love and truth of God.  The goodness of God always respects and loves the dignity, sanctity, and equality of every individual life.

All evil leads to the same place.  The notion of the “lesser” evil is typically a false concept.  Either your options represent true evil, and therefore are all equally bad, or they really aren’t evil to begin with.

I fear we have deluded ourselves into buying into a great lie of civil religion, a lie often claimed to have God on its side.  This lie tell us that our desired policy preferences are all moral goods, and therefore those of the other side are inherently evil or immoral.

What if both sides to a policy solution are legitimate moral goods, for their ends are morally desirable?  What if they are just different ideas on how to walk out similar principles?  Or what if they are just preferences?  What if both sides to a policy solution are merely secular in nature, for the stated goal carries little to no moral significance?

I genuinely believe in the economic efficacy and importance of free trade, but are those who are against it fundamentally evil?  Some people believe the government has an obligation to take care of those struggling at the margins of society while others see this as the work of private organizations.  Perhaps we disagree about how best to achieve the goal, but do we not both agree that those who are in pain or poverty need to be helped?  Why create enemies where there are none?

We live, for now, in a democratic republic.  We compromise and work with people who have different ideas of how to achieve similar ends.  Just because we disagree about how to solve problems does not mean we must also disagree that there are specific problems most Americans want to address.  Compromising on issues like healthcare, immigration policy, taxes, or criminal justice reform does not automatically make you an enemy of truth or a hypocrite in representing your fundamental values.

In contrast, because it seems every deviance from our chosen party affiliation is labeled an apostasy to not just the political good but also the moral good, we have obscured the true evils that dwell among us and ask for our allegiance.  Sure, we can usually identify the dangers present in our political opposition.  But when we, say, list praise for abortion alongside the embrace of food stamps, a dovish foreign policy, or a particular tax rate, all as evil things worthy of equal condemnation, we weaken our voice and testimony on the issues that truly matter.

Moreover, when we obsess over the particular evils of the “other side”, we risk blinding ourselves to the evil that dwells within our own causes and among our fellow compatriots.

An exclusive and authoritarian nationalism, the flagrant abuse of power, an unashamed display of greed and success at all costs, a desire to torture or even kill innocents for our own security, a callousness to the suffering or failure of others, a disregard for personal virtue in political leadership, the superiority of one culture, ethnicity, or person over another, all these evils must be guarded against no matter the bearer.

Likewise, a socialist mindset that values the collective “good” above the individual, that labels some life as less important than others because of the pain, inconvenience, or financial drain they represent, a belief that truth is relative and therefore lies are permissible, a denial of a common morality or the existence of a creator, these are all evils that cannot be endorsed or advanced.

In the contrast offered by Chesterton’s dreams there are no lesser evils.  Both dreams are equally unrighteous and worthy of condemnation.  Both dreams were designed to warn each truth fighter of the dangers in their own thoughts and to bring them closer to the true king and the true battle, a battle won through surrender of self.  Both dreams served to bring each man closer together, to remind them of the goodness they shared, and to instruct them about the evil they needed to reject.

Lack of equality, justice, and freedom for individuals as found in the fight for “the law” is not rendered right or good because crime and vulgarity is banished from the streets (although perhaps not in the rulers themselves) and authority and order reigns supreme.

Lack of protection for the sanctity of all life – no matter how inconvenient, ugly, or painful – as found in the fight for the “revolution” is not made acceptable just because institutional abuses of power are finally upended or avenged.

Don’t fool yourself.  All evil leads to the same place.

In the end, we always have a choice.  Contrary to the popular lies spreading throughout our contemporary discourse, when brought face to face with representatives of evil we have a choice to say no. We have a choice to do the unexpected.  We have a choice to take the narrow path and the hard way.

Chesterton understood this point well.  When told that he had no choice but to see the returned king, presumably in submission, Evan MacIan refused:

“Do you desire death?”

“No,” said Evan, quite composedly, “I desire a miracle.”

“From whom do you ask it? To whom do you appeal?” said his companion sternly.  “You have betrayed the king, renounced the cross on the cathedral, and insulted an archangel.”

“I appeal to God,” said Evan, and sprang up and stood upon the edge of the swaying ship.

The being in the prow turned slowly round; he looked at Evan with eyes which were like two suns, and put his hand to his mouth just too late to hide an awful smile.

“And how do you know,” he said, “how do you know that I am not God?”

MacIan screamed, “Ah!” he cried.  “Now I know who you really are.  You are not God  You are not one of God’s angels.  But you were once.” The being’s hand dropped from his mouth and Evan dropped out of the car.

Likewise, Turnbull has a similar moment of revelation where he, too, decides to jump out of the flying ship taking him to the frontline of a battle that was not his to fight.  Both came face to face with the epitome of evil and rebellion.  Both visions, both worlds – of law and of revolution – came from the same fallen angel.  Once the source of their evils was revealed, the two truth duelers knew how to respond.

But what are we to do?  This is the resonating question that remains unresolved by much of our national discourse at present.  Drawn from Chesterton, I have a few tentative suggestions of how best to proceed:

Step 1: Find your Turnbull 

Chances are that you are not alone in the passions now cultivated in your heart as you confront these societal questions of goodness, evil, dignity, and truth.  Perhaps your life is full of Turnbulls, of fellow travelers seeking after truth with the same earnest questioning and resistance to popular movements and ideas that hold others captive.  Or perhaps you need to go out and find at least one other person with whom you can engage.

One of the Turnbulls in my past was the imam’s son.  Be they fellow Christians, or those seeking from starting places outside of divine revelation, find your friends and dialogue with one another.  Band together.  Sharpen each other.  Help each other.  Bless, minister, and engage.  In a world gone mad, these friends of truth are a great gift from above.

Step 2:   Don’t be deceived

It would have been so easy for MacIan and Turnbull to say yes to the fights they were recruited to join.  These were, after all, earthly manifestations of the battles their hearts had dreamed of and yearned for.  These were great narratives wrought in an attempt to address all they felt was wrong with the world.  How desperately our hearts want to be given a mission and told that we have an important role to play.

It is empowering to believe that we can be a part of something great, be it the ordering of the world in the name of security or the last battle of the world in the name of the common good.  But we err when we let our desire to fight overlook the root evil that lies behind those who would beckon our swords.

Ask yourself, who is calling you and for what purpose?  Keep your eyes open in this treacherous world and resist the cunning spirit who would use your best intentions to enlist your services for a cause that is neither just, nor holy, nor righteous, nor true.

Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting. And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.  –  Galatians 6:7-9

Step 3: Jump out of your ship

We live in a world that often assigns us to certain kinds of boats.  Our race, our citizenship, our families, our denomination, our favored sports team, our political affiliation.  We can choose different labels at times, but no matter where we find ourselves it is easy to go along with a human narrative or cause because it is the rallying call of the ships that we sail within.  Sometimes these boats are harmless, for they provide our sense of community or identity.  But sometimes they seek to take us to places that are contrary to the calling of the Lord.

When we find that our boats of birth or choice seek to sail upon winds counter to the glory of God, to take us to the frontline of battles we are not called to fight, then we must be like MacIan and Turnbull.  We must call out to God for help, pray for a miracle, and jump out of the supposed safety of these berths into the protective arms of our Savior.

In a world that treasures labels and tribes of all kinds, this can be a frightening prospect.  Perhaps you have always been a Republican or a Democrat and to not vote as such (or for at least one of the two) seems like a direct challenge to your identity or your very calling in this world.  How desperately we want to believe that our causes and boats are right and true!  But this is where we must recall that our true identity is found in Christ, not in any label or power or battle the world can offer.  Dare to jump, dare to leave all labels and vessels behind but one: Christ follower.

It’s time to reevaluate what the work of God in this world is meant to look like.  It’s time to question our preconceived notions of what God is asking of us as a people.  I cannot tell you what that future will look like, but I can promise that as we forsake the boats of this earth, we will be met with the power of God, not man, that shall rise us up on wings like eagles to carry us and – we pray – our Turnbulls, to our true eternal home.

Step 4: Put down your sword and kneel

In the final pages of Chesterton’s saga, in the midst of a great battle against those who wish to silence the cause of truth, MacIan, Turnbull, and the friends they made during their crusade encounter another man without a name – the one who was labeled by the authorities as both the most dangerous and the most insane.  Yet this man turned out to be the true King, the true answer to all the world’s ills.

Both MacIan and Turnbull find their swords cast aside as they and their companions fall to their knees before his Holy presence.  Having resisted the temptations of evil battles and evil leaders, they found the true battle and the true leader their hearts longed for.

It is through surrender to Christ, through death in Him, that we will conquer the ills of the world.  It is in rejecting calls to join in these worldly fights as the false gods they really are that we will be fulfilled and our heart’s desire shall be met.

Come before the Lord in prayer, worship, and holiness.  Stay true to Him regardless of the cost, regardless of what others call you, regardless of the temporal consequences some are quick to proffer in admonishment.  Fear not the ways of man.  Rather, take heart in the ways of God.

No eternal fate of a community or country or soul is won or lost in a single worldly election.  No fate of a country or a court, no earthly fight, is worth selling your soul or compromising your values and your Spirit-breathed conscience.

God is in control and He is sovereign.  He always has been and He always will be.  We know the end of the story.  Let’s choose to serve the One who has already overcome and work for the advancement of His kingdom, which is not of this world.

O God of earth and altar, Bow down and hear our cry, Our earthly rulers falter, Our people drift and die; The walls of gold entomb us, The swords of scorn divide, Take not thy thunder from us, But take away our pride.

From all that terror teaches, From lies of tongue and pen, From all the easy speeches, That comfort cruel men, From sale and profanation, Of honour and the sword, From sleep and from damnation, Deliver us, good Lord.

Tie in a living tether The prince and priest and thrall, Bind all our lives together, Smite us and save us all; In ire and exultation, Aflame with faith, and free, Lift up a living nation, A single sword to thee.

~ A Hymn: O God of Earth and Altar, 

We must refuse to call something “good” that is not in any way representative of God’s goodness.  We must reject any temptation to believe that because we, or our favorite church leader for that matter, is a part of one of these fights that certainly renders the battle worthwhile.

Unless God is present, and He is not present in the evils set before us, no amount of our perceived personal light or the supposed goodness in one facet of a candidate’s platforms, will be enough to overcome their own wretched ends.  Our swords, once commissioned for a battle of darkness, will be used only for the advancement of the evil we choose to represent.

We can remain mindful that each person of faith, each person actively seeking truth, may walk out the four prescriptions above in slightly different ways when it comes to the upcoming election.  Not voting.  Supporting third parties or write-in candidates, of many different types and varieties.  Voting for a leading candidate with a humble and silent grief.  But the most important feature for us to embrace is the refusal to take up requests to fight on behalf of the fallen angels of law or revolution, on behalf of these angels of death.

In the context of our times and our communities, those who engage one another for the sake of truth, those who choose not to be deceived by the popular movements of our times, those who will jump out of the safe categories and labels offered by our culture to instead lay down their swords at the feet of Christ, could well be deemed lunatics.  We may be cursed, or mocked, or criticized.  But such is the calling of Christ.

We cannot afford to loose our witness to this madness.  And yes, the truly mad are those committed to the lies proffered by the philosophies of tyranny and death, found on both the political left and right.  We must disregard attempts to make those who resist or stand apart look like the ones who just don’t understand or who aren’t doing their share to save the country or save the world.

Take courage friends! Our identity is not found in our political allegiance, nor is it found in the fate or morality of our country.  We have a Creator in Whose image we are made.  We have a Savior in Whom we can find refuge.  Look to Him.  Look for Him.  And leap into His arms in times of trouble, believing in the miracle of His salvation and the power of His dominion.

The good news is that God has already conquered and Christ has already won.  His Bride will rise resplendent and His Body shall one day be made whole.  We can follow Him into the fire knowing that He will protect us from the flames.  In the end we always have a choice.

 

* Image credit to Ben Hatke

How We Mourn: Grieving in a World of Division, Gossip, and Calls for Action

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Late last Fall I was watching Gretchen Carlson’s show on FoxNews one afternoon (a choice by default due to nap times) when a segment came on about the tragic murder of Amanda Blackburn and her unborn child.  I had heard about the case through a mutual friend on Facebook and prayed for her and the Blackburn family while she was in the hospital fighting for her life.  Naturally, I was interested in what they would say.  Carlson, a Woman of Faith guest speaker who is very open about her Christian faith, interviewed a fellow FoxNews legal analyst about the investigation.

The two, completely unprompted by any shred of known evidence, proceeded to besmirch the name of Davey Blackburn, Amanda’s husband and pastor of a local Indiana church.  They called into question the nature of his testimony as shared in a few national interviews.  They then suggested that his ability to publicly profess a calm hope in the midst of heartbreak was suspicious.

In fact, Carlson, who noted her Christianity in the segment as a sign of her understanding, went on to say that she couldn’t fathom how Davey could honestly have such peace in the face of overwhelming tragedy.  She suggested that his words of hope and perceived lack of emotion called into question the truth of his statements.  In the minds of these “Experts” this was reason enough to suspect him of involvement in his own wife’s murder.

Never mind that the police had already issued a statement publicly ruling him out of suspicion, never mind that less than a week after this segment aired the real killers were taken into custody and confessed.  To them, Davey Blackburn was a suspect of pure evil because his story was too good to believe.  Moreover, they had the audacity to suggest that we, as the general public, ought to think so too.

He was “analyzed” because the lies they wove and the gossip they created in this segment was more sensational and thereby more newsworthy than the goodness of God in response to evil articulated by Davey Blackburn. They didn’t care about truth or about the hope and peace offered by this courageous and faithful man.  They cared about themselves and their ratings.  With that recognition, I was done.  The TV went off and I never tuned into FoxNews again.

For those of you struggling to understand how to respond in the face of tragedy, for those of you questioning how to express hope in the midst of our dismal public discourse, for those of you tired of politicization and gossip who just want room to grieve and pray, this one is for you.

All people matter.∗  On one hand I think I shouldn’t have to say this.  Of course all people matter.  But if we are honest about ourselves, and honest about our sub-culture of choice, that is rarely how we act or speak.  People matter when we like them, when we agree with them, and when we understand them.  People matter when we can sympathize with them or when we look up to them.  People often do not matter to us when they look different than us, when they believe different things than us, or when they do or say something we cannot understand or condone.

Yes, someone may choose to do a terrible thing and they – like us all – will have a price to pay for their evil deeds.  These costs and consequences come in many forms, both temporal and eternal.  But the existence of justice does not change the fact that even our enemies, even the criminals who shoot and maim and kill, are people who matter.

God loves them all.  His grief is not just for the victims.  God’s grief is also for the tragedy of the perpetrators.  He grieves that their life’s purpose turned so contrary to His plan for their story.  He grieves the many ways that we hurt and wound one another as creations made in His image. God does not hate any soul and neither should we.

We may hate the evil in the world, we may grieve for the destruction left in its wake, we may need to enforce a painful consequence against another, but we are not to hate anyone.  Just like God, we grieve for all who are involved in the man-made tragedies of this life, the innocent and guilty alike. All people matter.

Human dignity demands respect for truth.  In the era of 24-hour cable news and internet reporting there is little room for patience in how we interpret tragedies.  Given that most of our news outlets have dismissed reporting in favor of endless analysis, the tendency toward rumors, slander, and gossip (like the FoxNews story on Davey and Amanda Blackburn) runs rampant. It brings us all to low places in our thoughts and words.  I think gossip is one of the most undiscussed yet pervasively  destructive sins in our culture today.

Gossip is not only talking about others without their knowledge or using information about others and their circumstances for our personal gain, but it is about projecting motives or thoughts upon others in a way that transcends our personal knowledge of the situation.  Gossip is talking in an underhanded or unkind way about people we know or about total strangers, often with the intention to wound or suppress.

Because gossip distorts truth and has the potential to hurt and ruin lives, it undermines the innate dignity of humanity.  So much of the way we take in, receive, and relay information about news, be it personal or public, quickly devolves to this low level.

Therefore, when in doubt stay silent.  This is hard to do given the reactionary platform of social media that most of us carry in our pockets and purses everywhere we go. But the fact remains that we don’t need to have an opinion on everything, and we certainly don’t need to publicly express those opinions every time we encounter an opportunity to do so.

I know some charge that silence in the face of tragedy is a sign of disrespect or lack of engagement in the world’s atrocities.  But I suppose the question to ask is, what kind of silence is it? Sometimes the wisest course of action when met with tragedy, apart from prayer and offering condolence, is to remain quiet and leave room for those impacted to grieve. Truth takes time to be revealed in this messy world, and often special or personal knowledge is required for an event or a choice to be correctly understood.

We each encounter many situations in life where we will never know all the facts required in order to speak with authority and certainty about another person or their actions.  We should be cautious in our response to pain and controversy.  Because all people matter, the way we talk and think about them matters too.  Human dignity demands respect for truth.

No one is defined by how they die. It is easy in this world that glorifies the gruesome to view how someone dies as an integral part of their identity.  To do so belittles our personhood and ignores the truth Christians claim regarding the eternal nature of all human life.  Everything that comes before and everything that comes after death is what matters most.  Our deaths, and particularly their means, are mere footnotes to our entire glorious story.

I am not defined by either my most embarrassing failure or my most amazing triumph.  Our eternal beings are a totality of life in both this world and the next.  While it can be hard to remember this perspective, and it is certainly not our place to render the eternal judgement reserved only for God, I think we are each called to look to the entirety of a person’s existence, as best as we know and understand.

Were you kind or righteous on this earth? Did you know and give love? Or did you hurt and use and abuse?  What about after death?  How will you respond when you stand before Jesus and see Him face to face?  These are the questions that matter most.  The way that we leave this world is not the be all and end all of our existence.  No one is defined by how they die.

Hope is real.  It was shocking for me to hear Gretchen Carlson, a woman supposedly so matured in the faith, unable to recognize the peace and hope God gifts to us in in the face of evil when expressed so poignantly by Davey Blackburn.  I am sure he sobbed and cried out to God in private those days following his wife’s death.  He probably still cries when grieving for his tremendous loss.

But he also knows that the pain wasn’t pointless and it wasn’t the end.  He knows what all Christians are meant to claim.  For all the unanswered questions, for all the tragedies of life, and for all horrific acts of violence this world has to offer, we have a profound reason to find peace and healing in the forgiveness and salvation of Jesus Christ.

The awesome truth of Christianity is captured in the hope of a future where there will be no more mourning and no more pain as we worship before the throne of the Lord.  Hope and faith is comprised of our assertion that a future eternity with God is real and that this reality is more beautiful than any joy or delight found on this earth.  Once reunited with our Savior, the purpose of hope and faith are fulfilled and only love remains in its fullest and most complete form. There we shall dwell together shrouded in this love for all eternity.

Some evil is just too awful for us to comprehend a response or know what to say.  That’s why God gives us His words, even when those words come out as groans and silent yearnings in the Spirit.

I believe the Holy Spirit gave me words to remember Christina Grimmie, just as he gave Davey Blackburn the words to remember his wife, so that He could point all of us to the place from whence the shadows fall.  When God uses you for such a powerfully important task, be it person to person or on national TV, it is moving, humbling, and life changing.

Testifying of His goodness in the face of darkness is a miraculous way to embody the message of the Gospel.  It is a working out of the promises God expresses to all of us each time we spot a majestic rainbow after a storm.  Hope is real.

Grieving is enough.  Our culture likes to put emphasis on doing and achieving and not quite as much on simply being.  The temptation when faced with life’s tragedies, big or small, is to feel like we have to “do something” in order to give meaning to the pain.  While calls for action in the face of evil can lead to good things, like sending flowers or donating blood, they can also distract from the heart of the matter.

When the unspeakable occurs, where there is heartbreak and sorrow, there is often very little that can be done to make it better or help the pain disappear. I think this is where our discourse goes astray.  The minute we try to fix the heartbreak in order to give a tremendous loss some kind significance, we belittle the most important calling and response available to us: grief.

Grief doesn’t have to do, it can simply be.  Grief sits beside you while you cry, often in silence.  Grief gives space and time and opportunity to feel the pain.  Grief lets us each process what has occurred in our own ways and in our own time.  Grief walks forward while still acknowledging a loss.

I understand why so many look for answers in the form of social action or public debates, especially in a world that struggles to recognize as truth messages of hope spoken in the midst of grief.  And there may be room, in time, in certain circumstances, to seek action in some way to prevent further evil.  But the immediate aftermath of any tragedy is rarely a time to fix, rather it is a time to feel.

In reality, when faced with wounds created by a great evil, no amount of fixing will ever be full enough to infuse sense into the senseless.  We shouldn’t belittle the importance of grieving, even when that grief is silent, for the sake of some greater “cause.” The cause of remembrance, fellowship, and condolence is sufficient.

Because hope is real, we can grieve with hope.  To do so, in and of itself, is a powerful and consuming act.  Grieving with hope asks us to live within the tension of the already and the not yet.  We can affirm that hope is real and yet still find the losses of today difficult to bear.  Picking ourselves up in the face of tragedy to walk onwards with hearts full of sorrow, yet choosing to remain faithful still, is one of the most powerful forms of Christian witness gifted to man.

In order to give tragedy purpose in our life or the lives of others we don’t need to do any more than what each traumatic situation begs of us in order to bring about healing.  We mourn by acknowledging that all people matter and that human dignity demands respect for truth.  We heal by proclaiming that no one is defined by how they die and that hope is real.  Grieving is enough.

 

∗ This is not in any way, shape, or form a reference the #AllLivesMatter vs #BlackLivesMatter media “debate”.  It is a statement of fact regarding the foundational human dignity and worth of human life that undergirds our society.

Confronting the Tashlans of Our Time: Wheaton College, Miroslav Volf and the Name of Allah

There are many ways to engage and respect people of different faiths. However, in our efforts to bring forth temporal harmony and find common ground, how do we know if we have gone too far?

This timeless question emerged in recent days amidst the controversy of a Wheaton College professor’s attempt to reach out to the Muslim community by pledging to wear a hijab for the duration of Advent.  As part of her plublic comments regarding this decision she noted that she was inspired by the fact that Muslims and Christians possess a unique bond across these two faiths as “people of the book” who, in the words of Pope Francis, “worship the same God.”   She is now suspended from teaching duties pending a review of these statements and how they align with the college’s statement of faith; a decision considered prudent and necessary to many and offensive to others.

Sadly, as a former graduate student of Wheaton College, I am not surprised to hear these reports of theological confusion on the nature of Allah sprouting at the very institution founded as a bastion of  Christian orthodoxy.  Several years ago I witnessed first hand the planting and tending of these thoughts on campus, notably led one evening by the renowned theologian Miroslav Volf.  In certain ways I feel for this suspended professor, whose statements are only the most recent product of a culture of thought kindled and allowed to smolder unchecked for many years.  The following is an edited version of my thoughts during my time at Wheaton, thoughts which seem all the more prescient given current events.

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In the opening pages of C.S. Lewis’ conclusion to the Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle, King Tirian, the last king of Narnia, comes to believe that he sinned against Aslan, who is rumored to have returned. However, Lewis has already revealed to his readers that this so-called Aslan is false. The creature paraded to the Narnians as their lord and savior is none other than a mere donkey dressed in the skin of a lion.   Unable to do more than mimic the movement of a lion behind a smokey shroud, this false Aslan is created and controlled by a talking Ape who seeks to manipulate the creatures of Narnia into doing evil for his personal gain. Even though the new commands mouthed by the Ape seem inconsistent with the message the true Aslan proclaimed throughout all of time, King Tirian’s submission to the lion’s sovereignty initially leads him to accept these rumors as true and to bow before the farce.

While the king awaits his fate for defying the will of “Aslan”, the Ape explains to the gathered creates of Narnia that he has inked a new partnership with Calormene soldiers from the south, formerly sworn enemies of Narnia, and suggests that they are now friends and compatriots. A little lamb who could take the Ape’s words no longer then chose to speak up:

“I can’t understand. What have we to do with the Calormenes? We belong to Aslan. They belong to Tash. They have a god called Tash…They kill men on his alter. I don’t believe there’s any such person as Tash. But if there was, how could Aslan be friends with him?”

All the animals cocked their heads sideways and all their bright eyes flashed before the Ape. They knew it was the best question anyone had asked yet. The Ape jumped up and spat at the Lamb.

“Baby!” he hissed. “Silly little bleater! Go home to your mother and drink milk. What do you understand of such things? But you others, listen. Tash is only another name for Aslan. All that old idea of us being right and the Calormene’s wrong is silly. We know better now. The Calormenes use different words but we all mean the same thing. Tash and Aslan are only two different names for You Know Who. That’s why there can never be any quarrel between them. Get that into your heads, you stupid brutes. Tash is Aslan; Aslan is Tash.”

The resulting effect of his announcement upon the gathered Narnian beasts is described by Lewis as one of sadness and defeat. Through the pronounced creation of an imagined diety later named Tashlan, the Ape turns the entire meaning of the Narnians’ history and beliefs on its head. To their king, this effect did not go unnoticed nor could he let it stand unchallenged.

…as Tirian looked round on the miserable faces of the Narnians and saw how they would all believe that Aslan and Tash were one and the same, he could bear it no longer.

“Ape,” he cried with a great voice, “you lie. You lie damnably. You lie like a Calormene. You lie like an ape.”

It is from the single claim, that Aslan and Tash are one, that Tirian was able to see past the charade and reveal the very heart of the Ape’s lie.

A few weeks ago I attended a lecture at Wheaton College by the well-known theologian and professor at Yale Divinity School Miroslav Volf where he introduced the central thesis of his latest book, Allah: a Christian Response.  Namely, he addressed the claim that Muslims and Christians both worship the same God, who is one.

The heart of his comments touched on the notion that, for all practical purposes, the god most Muslims have in mind when they speak of him and pray to him is the same as that of most Christians when they say and do the same. His argument, simplified, focuses on how both faiths are monotheistic and teach that God created the world, that God is good, and that God will judge the world.  Therefore, a Muslim’s understanding of Allah, while not quite equivalent to that of the Christian God, is similar enough in conception and essence to argue that we pray to and worship the same deity, albeit in different ways. His purpose for this conclusion was to provide common ground so that he could forge a new friendship between Muslims and Christians; one where we can focus on our similarities over our differences, one where we can create a peace between our faiths, one where Allah and God are one. Beginning to sound familiar?

Volf chose to “bracket out” the question of eternal salvation and/or damnation. As pure conjecture, I would guess that by deciding to “bracket out” this factor he intended to make his comments more palatable to his audience.  Or rather, in his mind he was choosing to avoid what seemed to be the more dangerous and controversial ground so that the rest of his message might be more deeply considered by those in attendance. Yet the implications for salvation deeply concerned me throughout his entire address and continue to do so today.

It is in the testimony Lewis provides for his controversial character of Emeth, the infamously saved Calormene, that I found a clear answer to Volf’s implication that his work can be considered separately from questions of eternal life. As Emeth describes to the returned Sons of Adam and daughters of Eve regarding his loss of joy and eventual turn to Aslan:

“And most of all when I found we must wait upon a monkey, and when it began to be said that Tash and Aslan were one, then the world began to be dark in my eyes. For always since I was a boy, I have served Tash, and my great desire was to know him and, if it might be, to look upon his face. But the name Aslan was hateful to me.”

Emeth does not come to love Aslan through the newly forged concept of Tashlan, nor do any of his fellow Calormenes. He thought of this union as an abominable mockery of Tash and “wondered that the true Tash did not strike down both the Monkey and the Tarkaan [his leader in the Calormene army] with fire from heaven.”

Emeth was a true believer. He was earnestly seeking eternal truth and therefore he could see the notion of Tashlan for the lie that it was because he understood that if you really believed in either Aslan or Tash you could not accept this amalgamation without fundamentally altering the character and essence of both.

Volf’s new claims regarding the nature of Allah arise from a desire, as he explained that night, to make way for respectful dialogue between faiths. He asked us at the time, “should we not want to treat others as we would also want to be treated?” In this query he is very correct, for just as Tirian heard of the notion of Tashlan and felt compelled to cry out against it, so too did Emeth. Our similarities are not found in a common God, not in the way that Volf’s work seems to direct us. Instead, our similarities are found in a mutually zealous search for, and adherence to, the Truth.

The search for the Truth is one which commands we respect the differences between us, for we understand that these differences dispute ideas that hold eternal value and therefore carry with them eternal consequences. Our beliefs are not platitudes to be molded or manipulated by the shifting winds of culture and politics. We uphold them as absolutes, shout of their truth in the wilderness, and respect those who respect the fact that we really mean what we say.

What alarmed me most about that lecture – and, truthfully, what I am deeply ashamed of for my own part – is that there was not a single person present that night, at an institution which is supposedly one of the epicenters for evangelical thought, who was willing to stand up and say, “You lie. You lie damnably.” Instead we all just sat there and simpered and smirked for our celebrity guest. Perhaps some of us silently looked on with distrust or disagreement but, like the Narnian beasts, a great many that night appeared to accept his message as truth. And why shouldn’t they? For it was coming from a renowned authority figure with a Phd who possess excellent stage presence and the ability to tell stories that will make your heart melt and your reason fly away.

I believe those of us who knew better failed that night. And this is a lesson I hope to learn from and never repeat. There is a notion out there among the educated elite that we need strive to meet cleverness with cleverness. That the only way to question or address the teachings of someone as well endowed intellectually as Volf is through his own methods and in his own language.

Being clever in apologetics isn’t always a bad idea. But there are some times when the best thing to do – the most truthful thing to do – is to simply stand up and say “You lie.” Many of us have lost sight of the value of speaking the truth with a bold simplicity. In fact, I fear we are often guilty of tearing apart some of those little lambs whose stuttering comments strike more deeply at that which is true and good than anything our fancy terms and wry comments could ever achieve.

We also forget that in cases such as this lecture any challenge issued is not fundamentally about changing the mind of someone as well prepared and clever as Miroslav Volf. Rather, it is about speaking out for the sake of the people who are listening to him and, when there are no ears to hear, speaking out for the sake of defending truth itself.

The power lies not in the messengers or in the ways they choose to articulate the message. The power lies in the living Word, in the Truth. Tirian was attacked, silenced, and imprisoned by the Ape and his Calormene companions for speaking out, but in time he was rewarded for his attempt to defend the true faith and the true Alsan.

We need speak out because there is much to loose. Tash, in the story, did turn out to be real. He was not just some idea to be manipulated but a distinct and evil creature who did not care for his followers and was destined to be vanquished by the might of Aslan’s roar.  Lewis may have chosen for Aslan to save a single Calormene with the line, “Child, all the service thou has done to Tash, I account as service done to me.” Yet he also continues on with Aslan directly answering the claim that he and Tash are somehow the same:

“It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him, for I and he are of such different kind that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and it by Tash his deed is accepted.”

Volf built upon this notion of deed of good versus evil in his lecture, particularly in drawing parallels between modern day Muslim terrorists and Christian crusaders who so mercilessly slaughtered the inhabitants of Jerusalem in 1099 AD.  He claimed that such blood thirsty acts must certainly be examples of worshiping the same god of violence regardless of who they claimed to be perpetrating the acts for. Where Volf and Lewis clearly differ is that Lewis saw no need in the penultimate end of time to somehow enlist or defend other deities in order to forge common ground between good Calormenes and the Narnian creatures so beloved by their Creator.

It is one thing to creatively imagine that our sovereign God, in his great mercy and love, will extend salvation to those who genuinely seek after him while on this earth.  It is quite another to claim for the sake of an entire religion that their god and ours are one and the same. Such efforts, while undertaken to forge peace and understanding, will do nothing but distort the very truth of God and lead us away from eternal and lasting peace.

I do not know whether Lewis is correct in depicting God’s salvation as inclusive of those who do good acts in the search for truth, nor is it something we will ever truly settle among us on earth as it is God’s judgment to exact. But I am confident that we are commanded to have no other God than the one who is revealed to us in holy scripture. And as much as there may be similarities between God and other deities such as Allah, there are even greater differences. When we trample over these differences to such an extent that we can no longer speak of them in meaningful terms, we risk our ability to openly proclaim the unique wonders of our God to a world who so deeply hungers for him.  Moreover, once set down this path, we may come to no longer believe in these foundational differences as needed or even as true elements of our faith.

Our words, both of love and truth, will not always be met with open arms or respect. But we are not here to be loved by this world. We are here to follow after the heart and, yes, the fate of our Lord and Savior as he was scorned and rejected and killed.

May we be little lambs who know the truth well enough to boldly question its perversions, even while being spat upon. May we be Tirians and Emeths and not falter in our ability to call out these efforts of diluting delirium for what they truly are: lies. May we so love our Creator that we find the strength and wisdom to love all his creation in ways that engage our neighbors with kindness and compassion in truth, just as he seeks after all of us with faithful abandon and selfless love.

tumblr_ljk9y3kbjn1qgjpkaI am the LORD, and there is no other;
apart from me there is no God.
I will strengthen you,
though you have not acknowledged me,
so that from the rising of the sun
to the place of its setting
people may know there is none besides me.
I am the LORD, and there is no other.
Isaiah 45:5-6

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An earlier version of this post first appeared here, published in Spring 2011