Ever since the days of the Roman emperor Constantine in the 4th century, the precise nature of the relationship between “the church” and what we might call “the state” has been… well, complicated to say the least.  Constantine of course was the emperor whose conversion to Christianity transformed Rome from a pagan state to a Christian one.  This arrangement (known as “Christendom”) has persisted down through history right up until at least the middle part of the 20th century.  It wasn’t more than 50 years ago that many states (particularly in the South) still had so-called “Blue Laws” on the books: laws that functioned as a sort of political legitimization of Christian belief and practice, making, for instance, doing business on Sundays illegal, or prohibiting the sale of alcohol on Sundays.  Whether one agrees with these laws or not, the important thing to notice is their “Constantinian” shape: the State is to provide a sort of “canopy” for the Christian religion, privileging its status in society.

“Christendom”, however, is breaking up.  The church no longer enjoys the privileged status it once did, and many in the church want to sound the alarm over this new state of affairs.  “We need to take back America!” they shout, sometimes adding “for Jesus.”  There’s a discomfort we seem to have that now, for the first time, we’re not in a position of power, and so we wage “culture wars” to try to reclaim our “turf.” 

Honestly, as a Christian, I’m not sure what to make of all the bluster.  In the first place, it seems to mask a thinly-veiled, seldom-acknowledged “fear of the other”.  We don’t want to have to deal with genuine “others”, and if we do have to deal with them, we’re going to make sure they become more like us—in other words, we accept them on the condition that we can blunt their “otherness.” 

Secondly, I gather that this fear of the other stems from a strange need we have for self-preservation.  I say “strange” because it seems to me when I read the New Testament that the people of God are precisely those people whose “inheritance is in heaven”, who are called “aliens and strangers” awaiting the hope of a “better country, a heavenly one.”  So why do we feel the need to protect our little corner of the universe from outsiders when our inheritance is in heaven?

Thirdly, what I find most strange about this anxiety is (what seems to me like) a hypocrisy that underlies it all.  We fret the loss of political power because we won’t be able to influence things the way we once did.  But I’m inclined to ask why we fret this inability to influence through the levers of political power.  Is it because we were really interested in securing “liberty and justice for all” regardless of skin color, religious preference, or sexual orientation, or because, again, we were merely trying to make life more comfortable for the average white middle-class person?

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not sitting here feeling “bullish” about the days ahead.  Having more voices at the table means that more BAD voices will be at the table.  I get that.  But what concerns me is when Christians buy and sell hysteria in the open market because of this changed arrangement.  Fear-mongering among Christians is always evidence that our priorities are out of line somewhere, and I suggest we get them back in-line PRONTO, because I’ve got news—we’re not going to “get America back”, no matter how hard we try.

Now some automatically think that this means Christians should no longer “be involved in politics”.  “What’s the use?” they moan.  But I think that we SHOULD still be involved in politics, though the nature of that engagement is going to need to change a bit.  So let me suggest a few guidelines for the nature of our “political involvement” that may provide a framework for us to engage the conversation without emptying our witness or losing our sense of priority:

1) WE MUST SEE THE CHURCH ITSELF AS THE PRIMARY CATALYST FOR SOCIAL CHANGE.  In the oft-repeated words of Duke ethicist Stan Hauerwas, “The first task of the church is to BE the church.”  Prophetic influence in the book of Acts, where the church was lived on the fringes of power, came because of the vitality of life and witness that sprang from the church itself, not because they formed a coalition to get a Christian Caesar into office.  We need to remember that the church is called to be an alternative society that shows up the social arrangements of the world as the shams they are.

2) WE MUST RELEARN THE VALUE OF “SPEAKING TRUTH TO POWER” (to use Tony Campolo’s words), and we must learn to do it in the stealthy ways that make for influence.  That is to say, we need to seek “truthful speech” not only in the overt ways of the prophets, but in the subversive way of Jesus, whose brilliance was that he took familiar narratives and subtly, subversively, turned them on their heads (and in so doing turned a few hearts too).  The 2007 movie “Juno” (a movie about teenage pregnancy) is a great example of the kinds of subversive narrative games we Christians ought to be playing.  “Juno” turned a cultural “story” (that the best thing to do, in order not to mess up your life with an “unwanted pregnancy”, is to terminate) and turned it on its head.  I’m suspicious that countless pregnancies that may otherwise have been terminated were saved because of Juno.  Christians need desperately to learn the art of subversive story.

3) WE MUST ENGAGE THE POLITICAL PROCESS, BUT, FOLLOWING JESUS, NOT TO SEEK OUR OWN GOOD BUT THE GOOD OF OTHERS.  This will result in a widening of the issues that we come to see as important in the political conversation, and I dare say we may find, if we take this principle to its logical conclusion, ourselves taking sides with people we never imagined taking the side of.  But that will be a good thing, since Jesus himself was a friend and advocate of “prostitutes, tax collectors, and sinners.”

In the words of Dorothy, “We’re not in Kansas anymore”, and I think this new situation we as God’s people find ourselves demands a new, better way of being “political”, a way based not on power but on love.  Will we have the courage to embrace Kansas with all its demands?  That’s the question.