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Category: Exile

Is there any hope for America? Should that even be our focus?

Over the last several weeks, I have wrestled with a question that just will not go away: is there hope for America?

I taught high school history and government for almost twenty years, and I have always concluded that the idea behind the United States was a good idea.

The United States was by no means perfect. There are several black spots on our history: slavery, the relocation and/or slaughter of the American Indian, the internment camps of Japanese Americans following Pearl Harbor, McCarthyism, Jim Crowe…

The list goes on. I am not naïve enough to pretend we’re perfect. No nation is.

However, what makes the American idea unique is that it is based on an accurate understanding of human nature. The framers of the constitution knew human nature is fallen.

They were aware that power corrupts, so they made sure to instill a system of divided government and checks and balances, using the strengths of different forms of government while heading off the weaknesses.

It can feel clunky at times, frustrating at others. But I truly believe it works.

No form of government can or will establish utopia. Human nature is by default greedy for wealth and power. That default must be kept in check.

In a word, human nature is sinful.

There was only one utopian kingdom, and that existed only in Genesis 2 when God (the Creator) co-ruled with humans (created in his image) in the Garden of Eden.

Then a serpent, a piece of fruit, and a bad decision wrecked all of that.

Now, a fallen humanity needs a fallen human government to meet objectives that individuals cannot do alone.

Over the course of history, several different forms of governments have been tried.

Monarchy, or power in the hands of single individual, has usually been regarded as the most stable form of government. However, monarchs easily become arbitrary and corrupt. A tyrant might be able to solve a national problem, but then must turn his or her attention to keeping their power.

An oligarchy, or rule by a few, can be used  slow down reckless legislation through careful debate. In the United States Congress, only roughly 3% of all proposed bills even make it out of commitee and onto the floor for a vote. In other words, there is a lot of stupid bills purposed. However, oligarchs can also become corrupt through bribery and looking out for their own self-interest.

Even democracy, or rule by the people and hailed as the most noble form of government, is terribly flawed. Of course, the people must have a voice in their government. The power of government must come from the people. However, democracy has regularly been deemed the weakest form of government going back to the early Athenian philosophers. A pure democracy will establish “a tyranny of a majority,” where 50.1% of the citizens can force their will on the other 49.9%, who won’t simply roll over. A simple majority could declare stealing legal.

So, essentially, every form of government is corruptible and far from perfect.

For me, this is what makes the American experiment work. It utilizes the strengths of each type of government while putting a 3 on its weaknesses. No one branch can have too much power, and the people ultimately have the final say.

This works.

That is, with one caveat.

The second President of the United States John Adams once wrote, “Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious People.”[1]

And therein lies the problem.

Sadly, we a no longer a moral people.

Now, please don’t misunderstand me: I am not making this claim from a holier-than-thou, hypocritical throne. If you think that, then I assure you you’ve missed my point.

I don’t see myself as better than anyone. I am a sinner saved only by grace. I struggle with my sins daily. I am ashamed of my sin and, were it not for the cross, I would be lost.

I am saying that the collective we are no longer a moral people because our moral compass is gone. No longer do we see ourselves as fallen short and striving to be a more perfect union. Instead, we demand our sin to be accepted lest we risk being called hateful and bigoted.

We have no apprehension toward speaking out of both sides of our mouths, redefining commonly held definitions, moving goal posts when it suits us, and spouting excessive rhetoric that we would find offensive and demand heads roll should those same words are used against us.

This last week alone, in a girl’s locker room at a public school in Wisconsin, an 18-year-old male identifying as trans showered with four Freshmen girls in–let’s just say–all his glory. To criticize this taking of the girls’ innocence is to be slapped with the label homophobe or bigot.

Then, hundreds of teenagers went on a rampage in downtown Chicago, smashing windows and beating up tourists. One six-year-old boy was even shot in the arm. The newly-elected Chicago mayor Brandon Johnson condemned the attacks for making the eyebrow-raising claim: “It is not constructive to demonize youth who have otherwise been starved of opportunities in their own communities.”

This national loss of our moral compass appears at levels of our country, whether in the individual or the highest levels of office (I am still reeling from the White House’s idiotic response to a trans person shooting up a Christian School in Tennessee). Washington, D.C., is little more than a clown show, and given the potential leading presidential candidates, I truly fear the clown show will likely continue after 2024 no matter the winner.

Of course, this begs the question: can America come back from this?

I would love to say yes. We came back from a civil war. Anything is possible.

However, upon completion of the temple in Jerusalem, God tells the people of Israel, “if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land” (2 Chronicles 7:14). So, there is always a chance.

Yet, sadly, further reading of the Old Testament shows that Israel split into two nations, wherein the kingdom of Israel disappeared following an Assyrian invasion, and then the kingdom of Judah was sent into exile by the Babylonians.

Further, history has shown that superpowers generally crumble from within. Countries come and countries go, and there are no guarantees.

It would take a miracle of God.

I would love to yes but am just not sure. History doesn’t give us good odds.

However, I wonder if that should be the Christian’s primary focus. The body of Christ has a mission and saving one’s country from itself doesn’t seem to be it.

The Christian church has to recalibrate and see our battles are against “the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms” (Ephesians 6:12) and not against each other. It’s not Democrats or Republicans, or the left or right, the wealthy or poor, or even socialism or Big-Whatever.

Satan and Satan alone is our enemy.

For Christ-followers in the USA, our primary objective is not the American ideal but the kingdom of God. The North American continent could look very different in the coming years, but the kingdom of God remains constant.

That is what we should live for.

That is our mission.

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The outsiders: Faith and exile in America

5130991619_5f2a3bd38d_zLately I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to live as an outsider, marginalized by society.

Being an outsider is the focus of a chapter I am currently working on for my next book: when I am not researching, I am writing and reflecting on the topic.

I have always struggled with a feeling of “outsiderness,” but the feeling has been getting stronger recently. I really don’t “belong” anywhere. Academically, I wear the scarlet letter of a failed PhD. Philosophically, I am a small-town Montana boy whose beliefs and values go against those of my city (Portland, Oregon). Temperamentally, I am an introvert in a society which prizes extraversion. And politically, I find the most popular candidates for president to be either childish and vulgar, or lacking in credibility, or both. So even in my own country’s political process, with “outsider” candidates capturing huge numbers of votes, I feel like an even bigger outsider than they are because I don’t understand what their supporters see in them. I don’t get it; I just don’t fit in. I keep thinking, Why am I so out of step with everyone else? What am I missing?

For most of my life I have been “on the outside,” but like most people I have never wanted to be – and I have wasted much time and energy fighting to get “in.”

I wasn’t always an outsider. In grade school, I was the “it” kid (whatever “it” is); my house was the happening place. I reached out to everyone, and every prepubescent person in our neighborhood congregated at the Hochhalters. At church I won every “bring-a-friend” contest, and each summer they sent a Vacation Bible School bus directly to my front door to carry all of the friends I invited (true, the bus did make a few other stops, but not many).

But after my parents’ divorce, everything changed. I became bitter, shy, and fat. I definitely wasn’t popular anymore. Kids no longer came over because I had “it”. They only came over because I had a BB gun.

I flunked sixth grade and started my journey as the reject, always dreaming about what it would be like to be cool again.

4268300971_baf56e495d_zAnd then I added yet another undesirable “outsider” trait to my already-long list: gradually, over time, I decided that I was serious about being a Christian. This choice has only increased my “outsiderness”. Culturally, I long to be accepted and live in the center; but—especially in Portland, one of the most “unchurched” cities in the U.S.—I am marginalized. The harder I resist being rejected for my faith, the more society insists that Christians like me are outsiders, relegated to the margins.

Yet as much as I dislike my “place” on the outside, at the edges, in the margins, I see that it is here where God is the most comfortable—the most intimate and redemptive. It is here where grace shines the brightest. It is here where Jesus lives.

Jesus is the epitome of an outsider. At his birth he is laid in a manger (Luke 2:4-7), certainly not the hippest choice for a crib. He grows up in Nazareth, a town held in low regard (John 1:45-46). He lives to upset cultural and religious norms (Mt 10:34-39). He dies as a reject (Isaiah 53:3). And he says that, in this world, his followers will experience the same. Instead of status and prestige, he promises us hostility, saying: “You will be hated by everyone because of me” (Matthew 10:22).

Not the strongest recruiting line I’ve ever heard.

Throughout scripture, God is always working in the margins. In Genesis, he chooses as his people a bunch of nondescript nomads who become slaves in Egypt (Exodus 1:8-14) and, to lead them, Moses – a fearful, stuttering individual (Exodus 3:11, 13 and 4:1, 10, 13) with anger issues (Numbers 20:9-12, 27:17). After Moses dies, the people inhabit the Promised Land and eventually grow into the great nation of Israel, led by a succession of three great kings – Saul, David, and Solomon. But their golden age of wealth and expansion as a superpower lasts only a couple of generations; then Israel fractures into a divided kingdom and ends in another form of rejection and outsiderness: exile.

While the Israelites are living in exile, as outsiders in pagan Babylon, God does not promise immediate rescue but instructs them to embrace their “outsider” status for the long haul:

“Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper” (Jeremiah 29:5-7, NIV).

During this time, God never tells his people to seek recognition or acceptance in the center of society. He never tells them to fight for their rights – not even the right to worship him. In fact, he almost seems to prefer the times when they live as nomads, slaves, and exiles. If so, I don’t know his reason, but it could be that those are the times when his people are the most humble, teachable, and dependent on him.

In our time, God’s people are again being pushed to the margins. Many previously “Christian” countries, including the U.S., are now post-Christian; Christians have lost the culture war. More and more, we are in exile. We are outsiders.

This reality, though painful, is not necessarily a bad thing. Like the Jews in exile, maybe we are meant to accept and thrive in our outsiderness – because it is on the outside, in the margins, where the church really thrives.

Political pundit and former presidential speechwriter Peggy Noonan writes:

Pagans have been trying to kill Christianity for two thousand years, and each day it dies, and each day it rises. Force it underground and you empower it. You draw rebels, real rebels, the kind society doesn’t acknowledge till half a century later, but powerful people nonetheless. The faith will not only endure but flourish, and, as it does in times of adversity, produce real saints.[1]

110631988In fact, the most powerful periods in Christian history are not when Christians are in the center, but when Christians are on the outside looking in – or better yet, looking up.

So we must develop a higher worldview – a kingdom worldview. Our instructions are actually quite simple, but somehow very easy to forget: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” (Luke 10:27).

It’s only natural to try to avoid rejection if we can; I’m not saying we shouldn’t. But I am saying two things: First, we must stop confusing hurt feelings with real persecution (for example, stop complaining about losing our “right” to say “Merry Christmas” – while Christians elsewere are losing their heads). And second, according to Jesus, we should expect rejection and persecution, and face both as he did – with grace and courage (Philippians 2:5-8).

So being an outsider, much as I resist it, is part of the terms and conditions of my faith. Therefore, instead of fighting so hard against my outsiderness, I believe it’s time for me to start embracing it and trying to understand God’s purposes in it.

Following Jesus is not primarily about winning court cases, getting the right politicians elected, or being accepted by the culture. It’s not wrong to care about those things – but it is wrong to make legal and political victories our primary goals, because those things are not what matter most; Jesus is. Instead of raging against our post-Christian world, we should be loving it as he did – yes, even if it hates us.

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