Faith as political identity
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As of this writing, I am not a Mennonite. My faith has been rooted in the Wesleyan-Arminian tradition all my life. Not only I am accustomed to voting, singing the “Star Spangled Banner” with some degree of gusto, but annual Fourth of July worship services including actual flag-waving by congregations brightly colored by a patchwork of active duty military personnel and veterans in uniform.
As a member of the orchestra at one such congregation, I have to admit it was tough to stay focused on the music as we would play the “hymn” for each service branch. With nearly 3,000 people worshipping in this manner, I considered it normative. Well, maybe not the 3,000 part; it was a rather large church. Further complicating things, while trained professionally as a U.S. historian, I did not need to read about the past to know of the sacrifice upon which our freedom rests. With one Coast Guard person excepted, many of the men in my own family have been U.S. Marines, decorated for their valor and service — and this gratitude, expressed in medals and ribbons, presumably came from the “We the people” identified in the US Constitution.
I have recently started worshipping in a Mennonite church. I do so not because of my affiliation with Goshen College, but because I have encountered a faith tradition that is compelling me not only to ask new questions of myself, but how faith informs daily life. Quite honestly, I am not sure that I would be perceived as a potential candidate of choice, so to speak, for any Mennonite congregation. I hail from rural, red-neck people who just “do Church differently” (properly said in the vernacular, “do Church different”).
So, what does this election mean to me? Before putting my paper ballot in the envelope, I stopped to reflect on the fact that the slate of candidates was historic. This was a moment of joy. Yet, I also was reminded of the many who remain disenfranchised or are otherwise devalued by social, political and economic systems perpetuated by the very process in which I had just participated. This thought took some air out of my joy bubble. People were in line and growing somewhat impatient with my musings, so I moved on.
I come back, then, to John’s notion of a sabbatical from party politics. I’m not ready to go quite that far yet, but I better understand what he means. Having been able to bring my Wesleyan heritage with me to a Mennonite fellowship has impressed me greatly (without over painting the picture, Wesleyans have been struggling with an increasingly pervasive fundamentalism, which at times precludes the capacity to embrace “others”). The Anabaptist tradition has afforded me a new appreciation for engaging in civil discourse about the body politic — automatically creating a safe space for discussion about “nonresistant separatism” alongside the civil religion many of my friends and family celebrate through their expression of patriotism.
Regardless of who wins the political races, I pray that we might be willing agents of grace through whom God can work regarding a much difference “race.” For those who are not believers, I challenge you to entertain the possibility that a personal faith journey might be an alternative worth exploring. For believers, let us, like the Apostle Paul, “finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given [us]—the task of testifying to the gospel of God’s grace.” It is worth noting that this might come at the cost of “prison and hardships” (Acts 20:23-24).
I still keep a small U.S. flag on my desk (but I’ll leave my flag ties at home . . . yes, “my people” actually consider flag apparel both winsome and a necessary accoutrement, even if they would phrase that a bit differently as well). I am learning my way through this new ethnic and theological culture. I freely admit a major adjustment will be the loss of the post-Fourth of July service parking lot festivities capped with red, white and blue popsicles (unfortunately, but maybe it only underscores the disconnect, called “BombPops”). I am willing to make the sacrifice.
What might you be willing to give up? I wonder if it is possible that we need neither ballots nor political sabbaticals, but a willingness to listen and speak in such a way that we can engage serious issues with respect and dignity for one another.
