I admit, I'm scared for what the next few years are going to look like for our communities. My fear doesn't stem from what policies will change or be enacted under a Trump super-majority of two years. Nor does it come from who will or won't be nominated to the Supreme Court or even what other countries we will upset or be laughed at by. It really has nothing to do with the politics that will or won't come from this democratically elected president. My fear comes from a deeper rooted division seeping through the church that pulls neighbors from neighbors and keeps us distracted from being with "the least of these." In a day where evangelicals have wed themselves to a particular party platform (regardless of who the actual candidate is), my fear is that we have become so convinced that the American government should or shouldn't be dictating Christian beliefs that we aren't actually living those out in our interaction with one another. In a space where assumptions are made about your character because you don't like Trump or Clinton, we as the church are forgetting how to extend grace to the world and one another. In the scandalous economy of grace, we offer Trump a second chance. We offer Clinton a second chance. We offer our mom who voted for Trump a second chance. We offer our sister who voted for Clinton a second chance. We walk alongside our brothers and sisters around the world and down the street who are being persecuted for the color of their skin, their zip code, their religious beliefs, their sexual orientation. And we still proclaim the only way to heaven is through this Jesus who cares about even you. We care for the orphan and marginalized and politician and Pharisee and extend the same grace that paid workers the same wage for a full day's work as one hour's worth of work. It's not fair. And that is a beautiful thing.
My fear is that the church has lost sight of Jesus in the demand for a Christian president. Or one who will enact Christian policies. We are Israel begging God for a king. My fear is that when we don't get our way, the world sees Christians as just another group of people trying to fix the system for their own gain and miss the Jesus who will save their lives. Our lack of compassion for our neighbors with different opinions will continue to be what defines us to the world instead of our overflowing grace and peace and acceptance that comes only through Jesus. My fear is our Facebook posts and likes and blog pleas and debates with friends and family members will end there--our acts of compassion won't follow. Especially as a Nazarene, my fear is that we have lost our willingness to part from our 'rights' and places of privilege to be present in the midst of our country's deepest places of need and despair. That we've chalked it up to the government's responsibility or people's personal responsibility to pull themselves up by the bootstraps. Or that we've gotten so caught up in our social justice movements that we don't have the difficult conversations about our salvation coming only from Jesus. My fear is that this election has divided the church in a way that Satan is very excited about and leaves me torn in my identity with the church here in America.
So while I am offended by the things that our President-elect has said and done and don't know what to expect in the next few years, my fear is that we as a church, as supposed followers of Jesus, will spend our energy vehemently opposing or supporting his comments or decisions to each other instead of being the hands and feet of a savior who is love. My fear is that I am part of the problem because I don't spend enough time with individuals who are deeply hurt and upset by not only this election, but things they struggle with on a daily basis to know how to be Jesus to them. My fear is that we have built up an “us vs. them” mentality where extending love is near impossible because it’s “those Clinton supporters who are so ridiculous for protesting” or “those Republicans who are so ridiculous for voting for Trump, just because he’s the party’s candidate” (both actual statements I have heard from people I love dearly).
In a space where the most marginalized I’ve felt is because I cannot have children, I can only glimpse into the anguish of what it’s like to be ostracized for something I can’t control when people brazenly joke about being “robbed” of having a fourth child or give weird, pity looks and awkwardly change the subject when I’m asked when we are going to have kids and I respond, “we can’t.” Or the fact that the last time I’ve had a deep conversation about how I’m managing was four months ago with a mother of a kid I used to babysit who also has dealt with infertility. I’m not accusing, merely giving context for a small piece of my fear for our community in a polarizing church environment that spends more time defending Facebook posts than engaged in the hard work of solidarity.
May my actions of grace and offering of peace reflect the Jesus who has radically changed my life in spite of my fear and the divisiveness that has permeated our country and the church. May Jesus shine all the brighter through the cracks of my failures and contributions to the problem. And may He pave the way for His resurrection power to draw people to Himself for His glory.
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