This past weekend I survived being the sole parent on duty for an entire 36-hour period. In related news, I’ve always advocated for a more narrow, careful definition of miracles. I think I need to revisit that view.
Help Save America?
Can I count on you to be 1 of the 10,000 Patriots needed to unlock 10x matching to take back the House?
Pelosi’s raising MILLIONS and spending MILLIONS MORE attacking freedom-loving patriots across the nation. We need each and every patriot who sees this to join the fight. If we fall even a dollar short, we will lose the House to Pelosi FOREVER. Can we count on you to step up?
I receive emails and text messages that sound like this practically every day. Such pleas are truly annoying, especially as one knows that the politician whose name is attached to the message had nothing to do with sending it.
The genesis of such political pleas goes back some time—approximately a decade. I made my first political contribution then. For obvious reasons, I’ve made few since then.
However, I don’t regret the perhaps half dozen I’ve made since. Nearly all were for vulnerable or semi-vulnerable senators whose eventual reelection helped shore up the United States Senate with more conservative senators. I’ve otherwise donated twice to presidential candidates who didn’t win, and to a senate candidate in a blue state who narrowly lost. So my track record in picking winners is decent, but far from impressive.
But the main reason I don’t regret making such donations is a more fundamental reason: because I could. Despite its many weaknesses and troubles, our nation has a political system in which the ballot and bucks of an average Joe like me matter. Please don’t misunderstand—I’m not naive. I know I can be easily out-contributed by a large swath of voters. I’m aware of how super PACs function, often eclipsing small-dollar donations of the kind I’ve made. And I’m certainly attuned to the fact that candidates often don’t deliver on their promises.
Nevertheless, I’m prepared to account for every dollar I’ve donated.
Christians regularly experience the frustration of having to choose between the lesser of two evils (admittedly, “evils” increasingly seems an understatement). We occasionally spot someone who we think would make a great congressman, governor, senator, or even president, only to see them lose during a bruising primary process, or refuse to run altogether.
I share these frustrations. They’re another reason why I think campaign contributions might be a slightly overlooked tool for supporting candidates. What would it look like for conservatives to pray diligently and vote regularly, but contribute at least occasionally? What if we even helped put out some yard signs, knocked on some doors, or made some calls?
Even as I type these thoughts, I recognize how problematic they can be. All-too-real concerns arise as to who we would feel comfortable showing this kind of public support for. Moreover, how can we focus on the Gospel and loving our neighbors without alienating them with political advocacy?
I haven’t worked out these issues fully. To be sure, I’m less favorable to the kind of public shows of support that characterize campaigns. I think they have the tendency to allow our neighbors to pigeonhole us. I find myself very wary to succumb to that when I’m mainly trying to tell them about Jesus.
The lesser nuisance associated with political contributions is the dirty little secret you don’t get clued into until after you’ve donated. Once you donate to a particular political party, your contact information is available to the entire party apparatus. Almost every other day I receive a text message asking me to “Help Save America” by giving some stated amount of money. When I’ve often just seen the latest antics of so many politicians in the news (which in most cases are hastening America’s demise), such pleas are laughable.
Financial contributions are undoubtedly a mixed bag. But I can’t help but think of how much money we give to massive corporations for their products and services even while their values are seldom aligned with our own. If we really want to see some people elected to at least give them a chance to make good on some promises, might it be worth rethinking our abstention from campaign contributions?
To Preach or Not to Preach
Here’s a well-kept secret for non-pastors: preachers don’t really like holidays. Actually, we do quite enjoy turkey and dressing, Christmas carols, and the empty tomb! But we don’t really like preaching holiday sermons.
It’s an interesting phenomenon. On the one hand, most listeners (including Christians who visit on holidays) expect to hear a sermon related to the holiday. So the idea of preaching to eager ears on a subject of relative importance—let’s say mothers or fathers—is somewhat attractive.
On the other hand, preachers are often torn over holiday preaching. First, thankfully a growing number of preachers are committed to expositional preaching, which often is expressed in book-by-book, verse-by-verse preaching. But there’s something about having to deviate from this on holidays that feels disruptive, especially if you’re in a mini-series within your larger sermon series.
Second, even preachers start running out of things to say by the fifth Mothers’ Day at the same church. Now this is clearly not accurate, strictly speaking. We know our messages derive from Scripture, and there’s a wealth of biblical material about motherhood, memorable mothers, and this sort of thing. But even then, one must choose this way or that way. It can feel stale, artificial, forced, or any number of unpleasant emotions.
Third, many preachers have larger concerns about treating civic holidays somewhat akin to religious holidays. The resurrection gets one sermon Easter Sunday; should veterans get the same number on Veterans’ Day weekend? More specifically, some preachers would rather minimize or ignore civic holidays altogether, leaving their observance to the cultural and social sphere. Words of public acknowledgment and pastoral prayers tailored to the cultural occasion are the preferred approach on such days.
I don’t think there’s an obvious answer to these tensions. I’ve heard incredibly compelling cases for avoiding holiday-themed sermons altogether, as well as for making the most of the days, knowing that it’s what’s on people’s minds regardless. Is there a middle way?
Is it possible that we don’t hold our pastors to some arbitrary standard of preaching topical sermons on Mothers’ Day, Fathers’ Day, Veterans’ Day, and the like every year? Might laymen recognize that our list of holidays is rather subjective and nebulous itself? If we feel that some kind of churchly acknowledgment and focus on such days is warranted, why not messages on social justice preceding Martin Luther King Day? How about a message on global missions following St. Patrick’s Day? (He was a missionary, after all.) Can we observe Sanctity of Human Life Sunday each January with a robust message on the dignity of human life, regardless of the political climate?
Some church traditions will navigate these tensions and questions by simply adopting the liturgical calendar (in some iteration) and moving on. However, I think we Baptists are going to have to think more intentionally and consistently about how to order our worship in ways that (1) recognize our place in a given cultural, civic, and social environment, appreciating God’s common grace through civic contributions, and (2) attempt seriously to observe the Regulative Principle of Worship, steering clear of service elements that are shaped more by the calendar than Scripture.
I would offer three pieces of advice to preachers. First, don’t violate your conscience when it comes to the pulpit. You’ll regret it. Second, calibrate your conscience by Scripture and the good sense the Spirit grants us through working with God’s people. To be sure, sometimes people’s expectations are off in left field. But other times God is speaking to us through them. Listen. Finally, sometimes when you know everyone is thinking about the same thing—whether an occasion, controversy, or event—you probably should address it. Conversely, sometimes when no one is thinking of something, you may just need to preach on that topic because God knows they need to hear it.
Preachers, keep in step with the Spirit, and keep in step with your flock.
Currently Reading:
Timothy Keller, The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness
Quote of the Week:
The high point of techno-democratic optimism was arguably 2011, a year that began with the Arab Spring and ended with the global Occupy movement. That is also when Google Translate became available on virtually all smartphones, so you could say that 2011 was the year that humanity rebuilt the Tower of Babel. We were closer than we had ever been to being “one people,” and we had effectively overcome the curse of division by language. For techno-democratic optimists, it seemed to be only the beginning of what humanity could do….In February 2012, as he prepared to take Facebook public, Mark Zuckerberg reflected on those extraordinary times and set forth his plans. “Today, our society has reached another tipping point,” he wrote in a letter to investors. Facebook hoped “to rewire the way people spread and consume information.” By giving them “the power to share,” it would help them to “once again transform many of our core institutions and industries.” In the 10 years since then, Zuckerberg did exactly what he said he would do. He did rewire the way we spread and consume information; he did transform our institutions, and he pushed us past the tipping point. It has not worked out as he expected. (Jonathan Haidt, “Why the Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid”)