What If God Doesn’t Want to Make America Great Again?

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Recently I received an email stating that if Christians don’t support Donald Trump for president we can “kiss our country goodbye.” It said something to the effect of, “Sure he isn’t all that decent, but if that’s what it takes for our economy to be strong, our borders to be secure, and our nation to be great, then so be it.” It suggested God sent us Trump to preserve our capitalism, our patriotism, and general way of life; that perhaps Trump is God’s tool to save our country.

I’m not going to comment on whether any of that is accurate or not, but the email did get me thinking…

What if God doesn’t want to Make America Great Again? Or maybe, what if God’s definition
of great looks a lot different than what many of us are hoping for? What if saving our country (whatever is meant by that) is not really what God has in mind?

I’m not saying that God wants to see America destroyed, but I’m wondering if we make some false assumptions when we think God wants us rich and safe or whatever other things people mean when they say they want America to be great again.

Set aside the fact that many of us will disagree on what actually makes our country great and consider why we think God wants us wealthy, secure, and politically free. Jesus was none of the above. Nor were his first disciples or the early church or many Christians around the world today. None of those things are promised to us. None of those things are neccessary to live a faithful life.

Have we become so attached to our stuff that we are certain God wants us to keep it? Have we become so accustomed to having a vote that we assume that’s how God orders the world? Are we so desperate for security that we are willing to compromise our most basic values to acheive it? And so opposed to our enemies that we are confident God hates them as much as we do?

If so, we are misguided. These things do not line up with the Gospels where I learn of a Jesus who says to welcome the stranger, forgive extravagantly, give radically, and do not resist an evil person (and love them instead). A Jesus who erases cultural and political and religious divisions.

Jesus who flat out says, “Whoever wants to be great needs to become a servant of everybody else.”

But we have little time for that sort of greatness. “Be A Servant” isn’t an attractive campaign slogan. Not when we have elections to win and businesses to boycott and borders to secure. Jesus says his Kingdom is not of this world, but we would say our kingdom certainly is and, well, all that loving and forgiving stuff works in church, but this here is the real world.

And so we declare our allegiance. We choose earthly greatness and power and success and security over the way of the cross. We justify our lack of loving our neighbors because we have to protect our version of the American dream.  We cling to political liberty at all costs and find ourselves chained to platforms and politicians.

I’m not anti-American. I’m not an anarchist. I plan to vote in the coming election. I’m just not going to assume that God’s deepest desire for us is something as fleeting as prosperity or political freedom. I’m not convinced God is hoping we elect the proper candidate so he can finally get to work in our country.

While I strongly believe in “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” and want those things for all people (literally, all the people), I am not dependant on them. Nor do I think those are the highest things a person can acheive.

Not when our Savior started life as a refugee, lived under the military occupation of his enemies, spent his ministry years homeless, and was persecuted to the point of execution.

Not when the majority of our Scriptures were written to or about people with no freedom, no security, and no wealth. Peope who often neglected their faith whenever they had actually attained those very things.

And not when many of us are willing to ignore the teachings of Christ in order to make a nation great. If I can’t make America great by living the way of Christ, then I want no part in that greatness. And I don’t think God does either.

If we live and love like Jesus of Nazareth at the expense of privilege or safety, I believe America (and the rest of the world) will be greater because of it. Not because we have accumulated all the power and all the wealth, but because we have been faithful. Because being faithful to the way of Jesus is the only way to be truly great.

So inform yourself and vote if you feel so led. But long before and long after your ballot is cast, consider what things you are grasping for, what things motivate and excite you, and what things you assume God wants for you. And then compare them to the life of Jesus.

I imagine we will find we have spent a lot of time and money and energy and yard signs on a greatness that is at best temporary and at worst idolatry. We’ve been invited to something better than anything a politician can offer and we’ve been charged to live in such a way that it doesn’t ultimately matter where we reside or what we possess.

May we be faithful first. Even when the alternative sounds safer and more comfortable. May we choose Jesus and his cross today and every day. Even when it costs us elections and political power. And may we see the world become as great as its ever been.

 

Dads Don’t Babysit.

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Photo Credit: Jason Nelson, freeimages.com


Originally appeared online at Red Tricycle.



A little while back I made a comment about how I had to “babysit my kids.” My wife gently reminded me that watching my kids isn’t actually babysitting. Instead it is something called “parenting.” 

Dads don’t babysit. We parent. We are equally responsible entities who will, on occasion, need to care for our children without the presence of their mother.

We wrangle. We wrestle. We cat-herd. We don’t babysit. At least not when it’s our own children. 

Instead we father. We read. We play. We feed and bathe and build and tickle. 

It’s not a secondary role, but a primary one. Its not called babysitting when a mom spends her precious hours caring for children. Its just called being a mom. 

Men, it is the same for us. The mantle of responsibility does not fall solely to mothers. It is not the woman’s job to raise our children. We are in this together. 

This is what we do. We aren’t too macho or too unequiped or too busy doing man stuff. We are dads. This is man stuff.

We care for our kids. Even when mom isn’t around. Even when they scream or poop their pants or we’ve had a long day and just want to relax. 

Be a dad. Send your lady off with her friends or away for some quiet time. Take your kids out of the house without mom. Step up and help out. Share the wealth (and the burden). 

Your kids need you. Their mother needs you. It’s who you are. You are not a babysitter, you are a parent. We can do this.

Who to Blame for Orlando. 

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In response to the vicious attack in Orlando this weekend a lot of voices have been quick to blame somebody.

Blame Obama. Blame the NRA. 

Blame Muslims. Blame “the gays.” Blame Christians. 

The common thread is that we all like to blame other people. People unlike us. Those people.

Surely there is some blame to go around and there are things that need to be addressed in the coming days…

BUT…

The struggle for me is I can spend a whole lot of time blaming other people without ever addressing my complicity. How have I contributed  to a world where a young man decides to take this course of action? How I have failed to prevent this behavior from happening?

Have I loved my neighbors as myself?

Have I promoted violence in my words, actions, or ideologies?

Have I contributed to the idea that the LGBT community is somehow less valuable?

Have I neglected the need for sound mental health resources in our country?

Have I refused to learn about people from different worlds or who have differing opinions?

Have I driven a wedge between myself and people of different faiths?

Maybe those things can’t be traced directly to the shooting, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t contributed to the culture that led to this horrendous act.

I contribute to this type of brokenness when I close my mind and heart to others. I contribute when I dig in and draw lines in the sand. I contribute when I spend more time talking (or yelling) than listening.

I am a part of the problem when I let our differences weaken us rather than make us stronger. I’m the problem when I perpetuate “us vs them” thinking. When I reduce complex discussions to simple pat answers. 

I’m to blame when I fear other people because they have a different skin color or religious practice or orientation or political opinion or hair cut. 

I’m complicit when I misrepresent  what other people believe or do. And when I get all my best arguments from memes. And when I allow the loudest voices at the polar ends of the spectrum tell me what to think.

I’m guilty if I only listen to people who tell me I’m right. Or if I take offense to the fact that other people think I’m wrong. Or if I’m ridiculous enough to believe  I’ve already learned all there is to know about all the subjects the rest of humanity can’t agree on.

I may never pull a trigger or detonate a bomb or even throw a punch but I know how to be incredibly divisive. I know how to be arrogant and how to exclude and how to belittle others. I know how to be a bully and I know how to run my mouth and I know how to post inflammotary and dismissive things on Facebook.

When I do those things I am contributing to a world hell bent on being right and in control at all cost. A world that becomes divided and exclusive at the expense of others. A world that leaves people feeling unheard, alone, and out of options. A world where shooting people who are different too frequently becomes an option.

And when I do those things I am to blame. It is way easier for me to be part of the problem than to be part of the solution. And it is far too easy for me to point fingers at all those people who are wrong and neglect to examine my own self. 

Jesus said before we go about trying to get the speck of dust out of our neighbor’s eye we should remove the wooden plank from our on eye. Maybe before we go around blaming all the other people who are at fault we could stop and ask how we have been adding rancour and discouragement and anger to the world around us. Maybe we need to ask how much of our behavior we justify when it is the very same behavior that the Orlando shooter (and countless others) demonstrated long before they ever killed a person.

Hate doesn’t start with a bullet or a bomb. It starts in the heart. I want no part in that. Not in my heart or yours. So I’m asking myself: am I stoking the fires of division and hate and fear? Or am I working for peace, spreading love, and offering hope? For all peope? Even those people?

That’s the world I want. That’s a world worth working toward.