Christianity and Democracy: A Statement of (ever evolving) Values and Priorities

Over the last few years, I have spent a large amount of time thinking about the interplay of public form of Christian expression, and modern liberal democracy in America. During that time, I have had ideas spanning the range of ideas from those in support of full Christian involvement in regular politics, to complete withdrawal from political engagement by people of faith. This idealogical drift has been the normal result of a seminary education; I have had the time and freedom to explore widely, to find what it is I really think and believe about a variety of topics. This interplay of Christianity and democracy is just the one most at the forefront of my own priorities.

Recently, I have drifted towards an ethic of radical difference; that is, I have been deeply influenced by the post-liberal ideals of people like John Howard Yoder and Stanley Hauerwas, among others, in believing that the church must be an alternative polis to that of the world. The church has a duty not to the structures of worldly power, but instead to the creation of a radical alternative to the commons ways of the world. The association of the faith with any one party, ideology, movement, or position is a dangerous and heretical perversion of the radical love and acceptance of God as exemplified in Christ.

For too long, I have seen up close the perversion of Christianity into some bastardized form more reminsicent of culturally conservative American politics than that of the Way of Christ. This always has and always will make me intensely skeptical of the interplay of Christianity with politics. This is a healthy skepticism, I believe, and I don’t see myself shedding my ethic of radical difference when it comes to the role of the church anytime soon.

On the other hand, I have a strong background and interest in American politics, and the workings of our nation and government. The hardest thing I find for myself time and again is my ability to hold some sense of pride and loyalty to our Constitutional form of government, without that shading over into some form of idolatry. I actively eschew both public and private shows of patriotism, including my daily decline to say the Pledge of Allegiance with my students. My faith is more important to me than any national identity, and I understand well that my family in Christ shows no partiality for national origin or ethnic background. Its for this reason that one of my absolute favorite parts of the Bible is Paul’s refrain that “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” The unity of Christ’s body is a first order priority for all Christians, and any other calls of allegiance from worldly structures and institutions must come a very, very distant second.

Nevertheless, I have always believed in the the importance and power of democracy as a form of governance. I have been very clear here, and in my academic work, that I understand the dangers and shortcomings of democracy, especially in its inability to impart moral and ethical guidance on its adherents, and of liberalism writ large. The classical liberal emphasis on individual actualization and freedom from any authority as the ultimate good is inherently at odds with some of the most basic tenants of Christianity. But I also recognize that our Constitution, and the form of government it prescribes, is an amazing creation, and one of the best statements of ideals formulated by humanity. Our inability as a people to live up to those ideals should not sully the good to be found in our governing document.

I also have a long held admiration for, and deep fascination with, our Founders and the ideas they advanced, formulated, and fought for, both on the battlefield and in the legislative chamber. While I reject any idea that they were somehow divinely guided or inspired in writing our Constitution, I do not deny their monumental achievement and the lasting impact they and their ideals had on our world. Yes, they were sinful, and shortsighted at times, and trafficked in some of the worst practices and ideas of their time as well. But they were also visionary, and they articulated a view of human dignity and possibility that they often failed to live up to, but which has been an inspiration to millions fighting for freedom and dignity around the world ever since. It is no coincidence that words of Jefferson, Madison, Henry, Washington and Franklin have been echoed freedom fighters everywhere from Vietnam to El Salvador.

I am writing all of this to say that I am still actively struggling with how to write as someone who is simultaneously a Christian who believes in radical difference, and also an American who believes in Constitutional values of governance. These past three years have been an especially formative time of struggle and thought, as I have observed the effect of Donald Trump on our world, our nation, and the values of freedom, democracy, and liberalism. They have radicalized me as a person of faith, pushing me away from Christian-backed political engagement. They have also crystallized for me how deeply I believe in the power of democracy, in the value of free speech, in the importance of the rule of law.

Going forward, I want to not only write about faith as a standalone interest. That has been where I have been over the last few years, and it has locked me into a frustrating time of writers block and timidity at the keyboard. I have shied away from public writing because I have been terribly unsure about how to write about my faith in light of the political, cultural and social issues and happenings that animate and engage me. I am trying now to shade back towards my previous commitment to comment on politics and current events in light of my faith, and as a result of it as well.

Am I going to get it right all the time, in terms of staying true at all times to my competing commitments and values? Not at all. There are times I will most assuredly shade into the overtly political, or times I shy away from commenting because I’m worried about subverting my faith. But I need to try. I want to write about how what I find most important and powerful about Christianity and theology; I also want to write about what’s happening politically, how I feel about it, and about my belief in the efficacy of our constitutional democracy, and my admiration for and fascination with the history of our national founding and those who participated in its construction.

One last word, which I believe to be perhaps the most important for me at this point: I have strong policy beliefs and positions, regarding everything from health care and inequality, to LGBTQ+ issues and (especially) our looming environmental crisis. I will write about these, and present my views rather unashamedly. What I won’t be doing, however, is endorsing or supporting, publicly, any one party or politician. While I have a background in Democratic Party politics (including formerly as a paid staffer for the party), I am not writing here as a Democrat. When my views align with any party, that is not an endorsement of that party. And the intense critical attitude I have towards our current administration is something I am committing to having no matter who the next president is (even if its my preferred candidate, who will remain unnamed here.) That said, I am someone who more often than not (but not always!) will be classified as “liberal” or “progressive” as it’s understood today, and as a result, I am more critical of conservative politics and positions, especially their moral and ethical underpinnings. But again, these criticisms, when I make them, do not constitute an endorsement of the opposing party or position. I’m sure I won’t always be read with the charity and good will I am hoping for in this case, but by writing it here, I am hoping to have something I point back to as a statement of values of sorts in the face of criticism.

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Amber Guyger and Christian Forgiveness

I wrote this piece a couple of months ago, after the Amber Guyger conviction, so it is a little dated. I never did anything with it, but I like it, and I think the points I make stand, so I’m posting it now.

What is the state of the specifically Christian virtue of forgiveness in our world today?

Recently in the news, the story of Botham Jean and Amber Guyger returned to the headlines, following Guyger’s conviction and sentencing for the shooting death of Jean in their apartment building one night several years ago. Guyger was a white police officer who was off-duty and entered Jean’s apartment one night (mistakenly taking it to be hers, according to her own account of the incident) and fatally shooting what she thought was an intruder, but in reality was simply a man in the supposed safety of his own home.

Guyger became another symbol of the continuing problems of racism and the inability of people of color to occupy spaces – both public and private – free of harassment or even the threat of harm due to their skin color or ethnicity. This young, white, blonde woman is an easy caricature of both white fragility and naivety, but also of the problems with the relation between policing, guns and race.

So, for those (like myself) concerned with the state of race relations in our country in 2019, and who accept as truth the idea that racism still plays a potent and important role in American public life, the scene of Botham Jean’s brother, Brandt, embracing and forgiving Guyger at her sentencing hearing last month is one that is difficult to contextualize, to say the least. The avalanche of praise heaped on Jean’s act from media organizations and representatives who are white or who present a view of the world that historically is white, brought up questions of both the responsibility of POC to practice forgiveness and whether doing so does more harm than good to race relations.

I want to leave those questions aside, and address one more nakedly sectarian in nature: what is the state of the specifically Christian virtues of forgiveness and reconciliation in a world that is becoming more and more cognizant of the historical problems related to power relations around race? To be more specific: is Christian forgiveness still a virtue worth being practiced? This question is especially relevant when we think about the ways in which forgiveness has been wielded as a manipulative tool of false healing by those who have long benefitted from the subjection of one group of people based on their skin color. Is forgiveness an outmoded and quaint relic of the past, one that must, according to some, be sublimated beneath the seemingly more pressing virtues of justice and equity? Do Christians even have the right to encourage an ethic of forgiveness when it comes to these issues of immediate socio-political concern?

My own leanings in favor of forgiveness are probably evident in the framing of these questions. These questions arose for me in the days after The Hug as I watched progressive Christian friends and acquaintances on social media (many of them white) lambast the scene as one that was unjust, unfair, and manipulative, and the accompanying screeds against the necessity of historically marginalized groups to forgive those who have historically committed wrongs. What happened, I wondered as I read post after post, to Jesus’ directive to his disciples (of which we Christians today are to still consider ourselves) to “forgive others as your Father forgives”? Where did the imperative to “forgive our sins as we forgive the sins of others” go? What happened to the reversal of power imbalances inherent in the act of forgiveness freely given? Did we learn nothing from the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, to say nothing of the words of Christ himself? Why does a beautiful act of forgiveness – one not performed, as far as I can tell, due to coercive outside forces – spark such anger, and frankly un-Christian responses, from those I consider siblings in Christ? When did forgiveness become something to avoid for fear of the release of anger and hate that such a freeing act conveys? Why must the praise directed at one man’s act be equated with those acts of deceit and deception I referenced earlier?

Questions upon questions upon questions, all struck up by one act that should have been a beacon of light in a very dark time. I suspect I am not the only one asking such questions. And I suspect I am not the only one who gets whiffs of not totally true outrage at a specific wrong, but rather, an eagerly seized opportunity to practice virtue signaling.

None of this questioning is meant to dismiss the honestly articulated concerns and questions raised by POC about the way people with less-than-honest motives manipulate these kinds of scenes to quash down any actions or conversations that may actually address issues of race relations. I completely understand and sympathize with these arguments; I too have seen where bad actors have been able misuse false scenes of forgiveness to further oppress POC.

On the other hand, none of that very real danger should allow us who claim the mantle of Christianity to set aside the need to practice forgiveness, and to practice it when it is especially hard, inconvenient or dangerous. Our example for life comes from him who forgave his murderers as they crucified him on a cross. His act of forgiveness was an act of seizing power from his oppressors, even as they continued to oppress. The forgiveness he showed – an act that was the culminating moment of a public ministry that was by and large predicated on the need for oppressed peoples to practice radical forgiveness towards those who were afflicting them – initiated a world-changing revolution, powered by a love for the other that is not dependent on that other performing some act worthy of love. In fact, the radical nature of that dangerous love is made all the more earth-shattering because of the reluctance, inability and/or refusal of those with power to forgive first. When one chooses to be the breaker of the cycle of violence through an act of unsolicited and unfairly given forgiveness, they become in fact the bearer of a new kind of power, a power more akin to that wielded by an non-coercive and completely loving God. It really is the only kind of effective power that an oppressed people has that can really begin the process of correction and healing. God’s kingdom – a Kingdom predicated on love, on mercy, and on justice –  cannot be initiated by the sword. It can only be brought about by laying down one’s self for others, to show what is in fact possible to a world that only sees impossibilities. That Kingdom  is one where reconciliation – the joining together of those once separated by the powers of sin and death – is present, because reconciliation can only come from a people willing to forgive, no matter the cost.

When Christians see the act of forgiveness that Jean practiced towards convicted murderer Amber Guyger, we should see an act that is in harmony with our own story of how the world works. Rather than sacrificing our story in order to be relevant to the political concerns of the world – no matter how right and just those concerns are – we must instead recognize that the liberation we want for the world, and for all the oppressed peoples who inhabit it, will only come from countless small acts of unsung forgiveness, forgiveness given when it seems completely uncalled for or unfair. Forgiveness, and the attendant reconciliation it entails, is the only way to achieve the justice and love of God; in short, it is the only first step possible towards the world we all want.