I remember when I thought it improper to discuss politics in church. But the more I endeavored to avoid political rhetoric, the tougher it was to talk about Jesus.
I don’t think all politics are religious or theological. But I do think that all religion and theology is political.
When I say “political,” I do not mean “partisan.” I am not talking about conservative/rightwing or liberal/leftwing ideologies as we’d often understand them. When I say “political,” I mean the activities, positions, and philosophies associated with making decisions in groups. I’m referring to the allocation of resources and power distribution.
Our religious frameworks say a lot about the politics we inherit. Our theologies say much about the politics we affirm, work towards, and reinforce.
And there is nothing apolitical about the gospel of Jesus of Nazareth.
From his humble birth in the Judean town of Bethlehem to his crucifixion on a Roman cross, the story of Jesus speaks loudly to political realities.
If a baby who was born in a stable and fled—with his family—to another country to avoid political unrest & persecution (as one gospel account attests in Matthew 2:13-15) is to be regarded as the savior of the world, then we must sit with the idea that the fulfillment of time is first observable when our attention is directed toward the marginalized and imperiled.
If the Sermon on the Mount was delivered—not from the most heralded temples and amphitheaters of the region—but to crowds of people who’d brought their sick & shut-in to hear a Galilean healer preach on a hilltop, then we must reckon with the notion that Good News begins with those who are intimately familiar with the reality of bad news.
If the messenger of such a gospel readily spoke of the value of self-sacrifice in service of others (“No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends”) and the personal obstacle that wealth presents (“it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God”) also knew that this message would cost him (and others who carried it) their lives, then we must wrestle with the possibility that the theological claims we have gleaned from the story of Jesus are grounded in his particular political reality.
The reason that I refuse to mute my Blackness in my theological discourse is because Blackness is my political reality.
While my biological ethnicity would never be mistaken as anything other than Black within the United States, the reality of Blackness has no real basis in biology. It is a category constructed by those who aimed to find a clear marker for a people they perceived to be inferior. From its very inception, “Black” has been a political label. I was born to a people that society tried to stand on top of. A theology that ignores that reality is a theology that is not relevant to the lives of the people I am most often in community with. Thankfully, the story of Jesus speaks loudly to that reality.
Jesus’s gospel begins with the people who’ve been buried by society. It is the very politic of divine renewal. It is the declaration that what we’ve inherited is not at all just, and that the Creator is in the process of setting things right. It is the acknowledgment that the world has led us to move in ways that do not honor the essence of who we are, and the promise that we have not lost our value as a result of that fact. It is the affirmation that we are loved just for being, and that we are indeed worth fighting for.
Salvation is a political declaration.
It is a declaration that the dehumanization wrought by the status quo is not our destiny.
It is the promise of a holy, radical redistribution of values, resources, power, and priorities.
So when it comes to electoral politics, I do not hold an allegiance to a party. I am guided by a theological commitment that suggests that the Son do move. I am animated by a faith that actively seeks the remaking of the world around me and calls me to follow a savior that is yet marching forward.
I can avoid partisanship in the pulpit. But I cannot avoid politics in the pulpit. To do so would require me denying Jesus. And the love of Jesus will always put you in conflict with the power structures. Because the law of Jesus is love itself. When love is the highest power, we are confronted with the impotence of systems that regard love as an ornament.
As we head into yet another election season full of empty promises, partisan mudslinging, and polarized discourse, I find my resolve in one prayer:
And that prayer rests on the promise of Christ:
“Behold, I make all things new.”
Love this message so much.
Amen.