I am writing this essay at 9:37 on Wednesday morning, November
4, 2020. It is important, for my purposes, to note that as of this moment,
there is no clear winner in the presidential election. It is important because
I would like to address my Christian brothers and sisters—as many of you as
will listen, about what I believe is the lesson for us to learn in this moment.
It is a hard lesson and one we have ignored, to our peril, for as long as
Christianity itself has been legal to practice in public. The lesson is this
one: we have no dog in the fight for governmental power. No president, no governor,
no mayor, no councilperson is “Godly.” Many people are practitioners of an
active life of faith, the mores and values of which they apply to their service
in government. I know many public servants like this. But to work for the
government and to take public money is to wed oneself to American law, to
prioritize law. To do it well, a person must be—must be—impartial. That
person must have their eyes and ears open to many voices, to be serving as
broadly as possible, which, at points, might mean actively working against
values that the person him- or herself holds dear. The hard lesson for
Christians, and really, for all people of faith, is this: we have put our faith
in governments, when we should have been keeping our eyes on God.
What is our role in regard to government and worldly power?
For Christ followers, we have been tasked with following the example and call
of Jesus. So, What Did Jesus Do? Jesus largely ignored the governmental powers
of his day. He had little to say about Herod, even when Herod blithely murdered
his cousin. He had less to say about Rome, except to tell people to let Rome
have what belongs to Rome and to give to God what belongs to God (which is one
of the best moments in Jesus quotes, because, according to Psalm 24, what
belongs to God is everything). Jesus emphasized the two rules which are also
emphasized in the scriptures to which he had access, the scriptures he had
hidden in his own heart, which were 1)Love God with everything you have; 2)Love
those around you the same way you love yourself. Recently, I had a conversation
with a friend who said that it was amazing how the sermon dealt with the same
thing they had talked about in Sunday School. This happens with some regularity
to pastors, whether we plan for it or not. The reason this happens is that
there are really two rules which, as Jesus pointed out, summarize all the prophets
and the law. They are the two listed above.
Interestingly, the second of these two rules is what we have
most in common with the other world religions. We differ on some points, but
the thread that runs through most of the world is that what it means to be a
good human is that we love others the way we love ourselves. That we treat
others the way we would want to be treated. That’s our job. It’s not our job to
make sure other people do this. It’s not our job to have our government enforce
these two. The model of the prophets is that they spoke these words to power,
that they called their leaders to fulfill this law. Most of them are under
constant threat of death—most of them are chased out of the kingdom or spend a
fair amount of time in caves or lions’ dens or furnaces. The model does not
offer a fat and comfortable seat next to the king or potentate or emperor, adorned
in gold and snapping fingers for servants. We are not to be in cahoots with
power.
So, this morning, the word I would like to offer is this:
whoever wins this election, it is no triumph or failure for us. Our job is the
same, no matter the outcome. If the guy we voted for wins, our job is to hold
his feet to the fire, to be outside his system and demand justice and peace and
the sharing of wealth and food for the hungry and good healthcare and fair
housing practices and care for the environment. If the guy we did not vote for
wins, our job is to hold his feet to the fire, to be outside his system and
demand justice and peace and the sharing of wealth and food for the hungry and
good healthcare and fair housing practices and care for the environment. Whoever
wins, our job is to advocate for the protection of lives, the most lives
possible. Whoever wins, our job is to advocate for the outcasts and those
oppressed by the system he represents. That’s our job. It never changes.
I’ve heard so many people—people voting for both candidates—talk
about how they will leave the country if their candidate does not win. I say we
should remember the lesson taught by the great female philosopher, Phyllis Diller:
“Never go to bed angry; stay up and fight.” I say we stay here and do our jobs.
I say we keep talking to each other, helping each other see the priorities of
those who voted differently than we do. I say we stop obsessing about
Presidents—we treat them as if they were celebrities on the cover of Teen Beat
rather than mere civil servants who are supposed to do the job we hired them to
do. If we want a celebrity President, I recommend we go the route of Zaphod
Beeblebrox and be done with the idea that our president serves us. Give POTUSes
a gold car and a big pair of scissors and let them open malls. What he or she is
supposed to do is care for us, guide the government to good policies that care
for the most people possible. It is the job of a civil servant—the job of a
truly humble person if it is to be done well. We are the ones who make the
celebrities—we could stop doing that. And, really, these civil servants are not
our problem in our lives of faith. Both the Old Testament and the New Testament
reveal God disdaining kings, sighing in frustration when people obsess over
kings and kingdoms. I had a professor in seminary who used to say that he
believed Jesus’ forehead was flat because of all the times he looked around at
what people were doing and slapped his head in frustration.
We do not hope in presidents. We do not hope in kings. We do
not hope in state legislatures or senates or representatives. We are on the
outside, the constant burr in their saddles, poking and prodding whoever is in
those seats to do justice, to enact mercy. That’s our job. It’s time we stopped
doing the thing we are expressly forbidden (including the spiraling anxiety we
permit ourselves over these elections) and get to work on the job we’ve
actually been given. Whatever the outcome of this election, our job is the
same. Let’s get to it.
