What do we do when our faith is co-opted by White nationalists?
Can our history and theology help us or is it part of the problem?
How do we keep our sanity amid a chaotic political climate?
How do we claim our voice and agency without adding to the noise?
In the run-up to the 2024 election season, these have become my 2 a.m. questions: the ones I can stifle by day with the busyness of solo pastor work, only to have them rouse me at night with the persistence of a hungry infant. I hear versions of these questions echoed at church and on social media. Christians see the unholy union of American exceptionalism, White supremacy and Christian identity parading across stages at rallies and worship services alike, and we are left wringing our hands. What is a faithful and reasonable response?
I probably would have settled for inserting a few veiled references to politics in my sermons and praying for the Holy Spirit to do the rest if my friend Jeny Carlson hadn’t reached out a couple of months ago with an idea: a joint summer sermon series on Christian nationalism. It turns out, Jeny, who pastors a neighboring Presbyterian church, has been chewing on questions about Christian nationalism too. In her search for answers, she realized that the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)’s Book of Confessions includes wisdom from communities who have dealt with parallel challenges.
Christians see the unholy union of American exceptionalism, White supremacy and Christian identity parading across stages at rallies and worship services alike, and we are left wringing our hands. What is a faithful and reasonable response?
Over the past months, Jeny, Joe Sheeran (another local Presbyterian pastor), and I have used the witness of the Barmen Declaration, written by the Confessing Church in Germany, and the Belhar Confession, written by the anti-apartheid church in South Africa, as a guide to help the church today. We’ve called the summer sermon series, “From Barmen to Belhar: Why We Reject White Christian Nationalism.”
The logistics were simple enough. We all preached on the same Scripture and confession texts in our respective churches. On three special Sundays, each church took a turn hosting a shared worship service.
The challenge came when we began to wrestle with the content. We gathered around Jeny’s dining room table a few weeks before the series began and started to dig in together. We got real about our fears (How will my congregation respond? Am I up to this challenge?) as well as our frustrations and insecurities (Why doesn’t Barmen talk about the Nazi regime directly? Why don’t I know this part of church history better? Did you learn this in seminary?). As solo pastors, it felt like a rare gift to work through these questions in community and to know that we wouldn’t be out on a limb by ourselves as we took this on.
As solo pastors, it felt like a rare gift to work through these questions in community and to know that we wouldn’t be out on a limb by ourselves as we took this on.
As the summer got underway and we all started writing and preaching, our text thread was peppered with more questions (How are y’all handling this text? Do you think I went too far? Not far enough?). Having wise and trusted collaborators in this series has built my confidence as a preacher. Knowing that I was not alone emboldened me to explore new territory, and my initial sense of overwhelm was replaced by growing curiosity.
My congregants have reflected a similar experience, sharing that they, too, feel less alone. As we studied Barmen and Belhar, we saw that the church has been through this before. We have a history and legacy of resistance that we are invited to embrace and embody. Beyond that, our specific churches are not alone! The churches Joe, Jeny, and I pastor have been neighbors for many decades, but this summer we were all focused on the same theme, asked the same questions, and intentionally practiced being together. This has made a palpable difference.
We have a history and legacy of resistance that we are invited to embrace and embody.
The series is winding down, and one of my main takeaways is the resurgence of hope I feel as a pastor. As we rooted down into the history of our tradition, our confessions and our forebears in faith, I have been nourished by what we find together.
Faith and resistance do not guarantee “success.” Despite writing the Barmen Declaration, the Confessing Church was disbanded, and many leaders were imprisoned and even martyred by the Nazi regime. Apartheid was officially ended in South Africa, but to this day the White Dutch Reformed Church has not accepted the invitation to join with the Black and mixed-race South African church. This series won’t determine the outcome of any elections, and White Christian Nationalism seems to be growing. And yet…
When ordinary people stand together in love and follow the call of God to “loose the bonds of injustice … to let the oppressed go free,” (Isaiah 58:6) it matters. Our Book of Confessions bears witness to that, and if we stand in solidarity together, so too can our churches.
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