Politics in the Pulpit

Here we are, just eight days away from the presidential election. For us preachers, that means only one more Sunday before our parishioners head to the ballot box (even though many have already cast their votes early).

Recently I found myself reflecting on how much consternation I felt five months ago when our church staff sat down to prayerfully discern our fall sermon series and how we would navigate another contentious election cycle. Do we tackle it head on? Or just ignore it? How do we stay faithful to the biblical witness without adding to the deep divisions? Is that even possible? While our church is nestled in a politically conservative region of the country, we have a good mix of red and blue in our congregation.

With the 2020 presidential election, my approach was to hit things head on. I dared to be more “prophetic” you might say. But after a while I noticed something. Each Sunday I’d look at out and see the same group of people smiling and nodding as I declared my prophetic utterances from the pulpit. And then I’d see another group of people (also the same) with arms folded and scowls on their faces. I couldn’t help but wonder if my efforts, though well-intentioned, were only fueling the forces that were pulling us apart. I had a clear sense that God was calling our church to a ministry of bridge-building and reconciliation, but my tactics started to feel more and more out of sync with this calling.

This time around I’ve decided to take a different approach. One more indirect but no less prophetic. What if we tried telling all the truth, as Emily Dickinson famously said, but telling it slant?

An illustration that Martin Luther King Jr. used in one of his early sermons kept coming to mind. King contrasted the different techniques of two heroes in Greek mythology when their ships sailed the treacherous waters in earshot of the seductive siren songs. Ulysses’ approach was to put wax in his sailors’ ears and strap himself to the mast of the ship. But Orpheus took another approach. When his ship drew near the sirens, he pulled out his lyre and played a more beautiful song, so his sailors listened to him instead of them. (Taken from James C. Howell, The Beauty of the Word (Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), p.6).

What if we could play for our congregation a more beautiful song? I wondered. What if we could tell a truer story than all the partisan vitriol and the chaos of disinformation? What if we could invite them into a more expansive vision of God’s intention for the world?

So we decided to preach through Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, playing out a song of what life looks like under the reign of King Jesus. We’ve hardly mentioned partisan politics at all, and yet every Sunday we’re getting a heavy dose of another kind of politics in the pulpit–the politics of the kingdom of heaven. The politics (or polis) of a new community transformed by the Holy Spirit to walk in the way of Jesus.

In their excellent book Jesus and the Powers, N.T. Wright and Michael Bird insist that the primary task of preachers and church leaders is to “think and pray through the missional vocation and kingdom witness of the Church in our contested political theaters.” They write, “The Church carries a gospel which is not reducible to this-worldly political activism, nor so heavenly minded as to live aloof from the trials and terrors of our times” (p.xvi). Rather, this gospel we carry (and that carries us) calls us as disciples of Jesus to bear witness to “God’s kingship over every facet of human life” (p.8).

To that I say, “Amen!” It is what I’m trying my best to do by preaching through Jesus’ great Sermon. And cheers to all you preachers out there who are struggling so hard to do the same. This is no easy task. May God give us wisdom, grace and courage.

Perhaps you’re wondering: How’s this “tell the truth slant” approach working out? I don’t know yet. I guess we’ll see. We preachers preach by faith and not by sight, and I’m trusting, with old Isaiah, that God’s word will not return empty. A parishioner said to me the other day: “Wow, pastor! These sermons have been really hard! Good, but hard! You haven’t said one word about the election, but you’re making us all uncomfortable. Keep it up!”

I couldn’t help but smile. Her comment reminded me of something that Jerry Sittser said to me years ago, soon after I came to Trinity Church in 2017. “Your job as a preacher is to faithfully preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. And if you’re doing that, the Republicans in your congregation will be uncomfortable. And so will the Democrats.”

Then he added this: “But through this gospel they will also find each other. They will find each other at the cross.”

That’s my hope and prayer. Regardless of the outcome next Tuesday, may we find each other at the cross. May we find each other because we’ve been found. Found, ransomed, and made into one new humanity by the “King of kings and the Lord of lords.” The Righteous One whose kingdom is not from this world but is, in the end, irrevocably for it.

Even so, come Lord Jesus.