Archives For anabaptist

Is there any reason to believe that Jesus would want you to vote?

This seems to be the critical question that American Christians have overlooked.  The conversation has primarily been based on the belief that Jesus would vote, and he would either vote democratic or republican.  But is this based in theology or patriotic tradition?

Jesus taught that his followers should subvert the military of their government by going above and beyond when the military enforced labor on them.  His primary sparring partners were Pharisees, Sadducees and the Sanhedrin whose offices were often both religious and political.  He referred to King Herod as a fox.  He questioned the authority of Pilate, and thereby, the Roman government.

For the next ten month the news, air waves, and social media feeds are going to be focused on the Presidential election.  Both sides will do everything they can to garner the affection of segments of the population, especially those with religious affiliation.  Conversations will take place at work, at bars, coffee shops and on-line.  People will expect you to pick a side.

The most important thing Christians can do this election year is decide what they trust in: is it the powers of government?  Business? Media? Military?  Themselves? Or is it in the kingdom of God?

And if the power is in the kingdom of God, how does that effect how we will live for the next 10 months?

Jesus does not often address the State, except for his famous words on taxes “render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.”  It seems that Jesus is drawing a clear line between the State and the Kingdom of God.  The State is an unavoidable part of life, with its requirements, but it is neither from God nor for God.  Notice that Jesus did not say “when you serve your country, you are serving God.”

Paul and his contemporaries continued to undermine the state.  Phrases salted throughout the New Testament like “Jesus is Lord” are a direct mockery of the political slogans of the day such as “Caesar is Lord.”

The church of the next few centuries saw itself as it’s own nation.  Origen said that  “in each city” the church formed “another sort of country, created by the Logos of God.”  Tertullian pulled no punches saying, “Nothing is more foreign to us than the State.

It’s easy to see why the early church found themselves in direct opposition to their host.  They were worshipping Jesus in a empire that mandated the worship of many gods, including Caesar.  They were actively breaking down barriers such as Jews, Greeks, slaves, free, male and female.  Looking to Jesus teachings, they refused violence, and shied away from military service.

But aren’t there drastic consequences if we don’t love our country?  When Origen was hit with the accusation that if everyone acted like Christians the entire empire would go to rot, he responded “If everyone were the same as I, the barbarians would also be converted to the word of God, and would be the most law abiding and mild.”  It wasn’t a question of being anti-Rome.  They just believe all the answers were found in Jesus.

So how would Jesus celebrate independence day?

I won’t pretend to speak for him on the matter.  But for me, I’m going to work like every other day of the week.  I’ll grill with some friends, because they happen to have a day off.  I’ll join with Abraham, Jesus, Paul and Tertullian, and unknown writer of Hebrews:

“They were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.”

The quotes from the ancient fathers were drawn from Gerhard Lohfink’s excellent book Jesus and Community, which I read as part of the MAGL.
You should catch up on Part One and Part Two.

These questions begged a much bigger one:

Could the Church be involved in politics at all?

Here we were, responding to a jihad by declaring a crusade. I began to wonder how any of the words that Jesus ever said, especially in key teachings of the Sermon on the Mount that could warrant even the most just war.  Moreover, could a Christian even be an American (or a Brit or Afghani or Brazilian)?  What if we went beyond politics to lifestyles?  Could a Christian pursue the American dream?  Buy products produced unethically?  Eat food slaughtered violently or grown in a way that endangers the environment?  Prize safety and good neighborhoods over proximity to the poor?

These are questions I still struggle with today.  On one hand, I believe that there is value in cultural engagement.  The church cannot abandon culture.  Yet history and experience teach us that in our attempts at relevance, we quickly take up the morays of the culture, and become something much less than the Church.

The Anabaptist movement, for centuries, has stood for unpopular things.  They were martyred for their belief that an adult chooses their faith, not their family or the State.  Even today, their mennonite and amish and christoanarchist descendants fight against the constant creep of civic religion. During Vietnam, Mennonite Conscientious Objectors were sent to staff psychiatric hospitals.  Their humanizing treatment of the mentally ill has led to many advances in patient care.

When I asked an mennonite preacher what their hermeneutic was, he responded “The Sermon on the Mount.”  As a person wanting to live like Christ in the midst of the longest war in American history, their way of life just makes sense.

My dream is to be a part of a community shaped by the story and teachings of Christ.  The Church does this both in spite of the world, and simultaneously for the world.  This may mean abandoning the comfort and structures that America has to offer, and living as a stranger in one’s own land.  It may be that this countercultural, underground radical community grounded in obedience to the teachings of Christ is the best hope of us, our churches, and our neighborhood. We can thank Osama bin Ladin for teaching us.

Part 3

I have never understood how the Church and the Republican Party became synonymous.  The Religious Right was nothing new, but it seemed like the culture wars reached a new high during the 2000 election.  I often felt alone when I tried to explain why I believe that single issue voting does not make you a better follower of Jesus.  The blurred lines between pop-Christianity and the Bush administration, as well as the enormous flag greeting us every morning, the imminent wars produced a new message: Being a good Christian meant supporting your country in war.

This began to churn something inside me.  I could see why understand dismantling Afghanistan, but chasing WMDs in Iraq was harder.  It seemed that whenever such concerns being voiced, it resulted in one’s patriotism, and likewise their faith, being called into question.

My graduate studies in theology began in the midst of the 2004 election.  There were wars of two fronts.  About the time John Kerry was being demonized for his participation in anti-war protests, I was taking an ethics class.

We read Reinhold Neibuhr, the father of modern Just War theory.  Then we read Stanley Hauerwas’ The Peaceable Kingdom. For the first time I encountered a way of being the church, in the midst of a war torn world, that seemed completely in line with the way of Jesus.

This wasn’t about individual morality or proper ecclesiological structure.  It was a vision that

the church existed to stand with, and alongside the lost world,

as an inviting example

of what the universe would look like when the Kingdom of God was complete.

This was a different way to answer the questions that had flared up since bin Ladin had interrupted our lives.  What if, instead of railing against the prevailing culture, we lived lives that showed how it was lacking? We could respond to abortion by setting an example in adoption.  We could respond to marriage and sexuality discussions by working on our own marriages and standing in contrast to the American divorce epidemic.  We could respond to violence by addressing the root issues of hatred and inequity.

This question begged a much bigger one:

Could the Church be involved in politics at all?

(Because of the declarative and perhaps even controversial nature of this post, I’ve sat on it for a few weeks.  I hope you’ll read it in its entirety, and in it’s spirit of seeking how Christ-followers are to live in a time of war.)

In the midst of the news of the death of bin Ladin was the story of the reactions of the millennials.  Across the country, college students who have never known anything but an America at war with a shadowy religious army exploded into celebration.

My parents, surprised by the stories of young people taking to the streets in celebration, asked if bin Ladin’s death meant anything to me.  I was a sophomore at at my small Christian college, on my way to chapel, when I overheard people talking about the first tower falling.  I hadn’t really thought about the question.  So, after a long pause, I responded:

“Bin Ladin is why I’m an Anabaptist.”

Now to be fair, I’m probably jumping the gun in describing myself as an Anabaptist.  I neither grew up in an Amish or Mennonite church, nor have I really wrestled with the writings of theologians like Yoder (it’s on my list, I promise.)  However, I always have felt a sense of camaraderie with the anti-mustache peace lovers.  The tradition I grew up in placed a high value on adult baptism, and even stood against the Civil War.  I remember family members saying they would have rather gone to Canada before he than be drafted.  So Third Way thinking has always been in my blood.

A day or so after September 11, a giant American flag was draped across the back wall of the stage of our chapel.  Everyday, when we came to chapel for a time of worship, the flag filled most of our vision.  It remained there for months to come, and made frequent appearances in the coming years.

Part 2