After the tumultuous election season of 2016, my co-pastor and I wrote “a letter of solidarity” to our congregation. Many had been emotionally impacted by the campaign rhetoric, and we worried the political fissures would affect the unity of our diverse community. The letter did more damage than good. Some were offended, others concerned. “The letter” ushered poisonous bipartisan politics into our community of faith. I regret this deeply. The words that caused the most pain were these:
While the world around us has continued to polarize, we have maintained a community of mutual respect and love which is rooted in the gospel and expressed in our commitment to Christian unity above all else. Mercy, justice and love for all of God’s children are central to the Christian faith. … The despair so many feel is in response to Donald Trump’s particular brand of exclusion, misogyny, racism, sexism and fear. … Words matter. It is our hope that we are able to stand together in Christ, looking ahead with hope. This time in history calls us to be the church without fanfare, division or fear. We are neither Republicans nor Democrats. We are One Body, together in Christ.
Donald Trump’s particular brand. Words do matter, and ironically my words hurt people I loved. Worried and grieved, I laid awake many nights. The source of my anxiety was theological, not political. If we were one in Christ, how would we reconcile such volatile political rhetoric within the narrative of our faith?
Jesus spent his life literally challenging the political status quo and institutional powers. Yet words like truth, peace, mercy, justice and love always defined the essence of who he was and whom he served.
Disoriented, we met, listened, prayed, discovered blind spots and forgave. While we are more resilient for navigating such rocky terrain, three years later even common words of faith have been sucked into the vortex of our politicized culture. Truth, by whose authority? Peace, for whom? Radical hospitality, how radical? Justice, yes, but social justice, no. Values, yes, but family values, no.
James Davison Hunter suggests, “This language of politics [now] frames our understanding of our common life, our public purposes, and even our selves individually and collectively.” In the coming year, the vitality of our congregations will rely on a renewed commitment to transcend this false framework of us-and-them. If we approach the Word of God with partisan lenses, we will continue to reduce the gospel to nothing more than co-opted propaganda.
Mainline churches, which are mostly white, might be afraid of unraveling from within, but it is impossible to prophetically proclaim the Good News when our tongues are divided by pride or tied by fear. Now is the time to strengthen our relationships in Christ — finding commitment, trust and love together in worship, prayer and service. Only in communion with the Holy Spirit will we find the courage to unite our voices and exhibit the Kingdom of God to the world.
Lori Archer Raible is co-pastor of Selwyn Avenue Presbyterian Church in Charlotte, North Carolina.
