Responding in Faith

We are made to exist in a delicate network of interdependence. We are sisters and brothers, whether we like it or not. To treat anyone as if they were less than human, less than a brother or a sister, no matter what they have done, is to contravene the very laws of our humanity. And those who shred the web of interconnectedness cannot escape the consequences of their actions.

—Archbishop Desmond Tutu

In the last several years, I’ve grown increasingly concerned about polarization in America and how Christians are contributing to the rising tide of anger and intolerance in our civic life. This is particularly evident on social media. I see the faith that animates my life being used to justify things I regard as antithetical to that faith: discrimination towards members of the LBGTQ community, immigrants, those of different religions and political ideologies, anti-science rhetoric, and misogyny towards women. I see my faith distorted in ways that render it nearly unrecognizable. This angry rhetoric belies the hope, light, and inclusive message our faith should bring.

I’m disturbed by the growing insistence of some Christians that we should blur the lines between church and state, trying to convince the rest of us that their counterfactual version of American history is correct. They would have us believe that they alone have managed to intuit what the founding fathers intended. The America First movement is grafting with some Christian groups to create a form of Christonationalism. This truly frightens me (and should frighten us all.)

I’ve been reluctant to write publicly about this for many reasons. My family believed religious and political beliefs should be held privately and discussed at home. I’ve also questioned my qualifications to weigh in: I’m not a theologian or a religious scholar. I am Episcopal and do not have the lived experience of my Evangelical friends. As a result of all these things, I tend to shy away from actions that might offend people. There’s also this: as a deeply flawed person, who am I to cast stones?

And finally, I’ve been fearful about speaking out after seeing how women are often savaged on social media. We’ve all seen that trolling, ranging from being dismissed to receiving violent threats. No one is exempt. Not even American evangelist and teacher Beth Moore, whose wildly popular bible studies have been used in my Episcopal women’s group.

I follow Mrs. Moore on social media. I admire her immensely. I recently logged on to Twitter and saw a self-proclaimed Christian woman issue a series of tweets attacking Mrs. Moore. The tweet author discredited Mrs. Moore’s life experiences, questioned her faith, and asked this, which I imagined hearing in the meanest middle school girl whisper: “Is she even saved?”

The messages I see on social media from those claiming to be Christian are often racist, condemning, prescriptive, and exclusionary. The experience of faith in my life is the opposite: inclusive, expansive, full of light and love. I try to consider these things:

We have wildly divergent views of the Christian faith but are interconnected; what we do impacts one another. What, then, should my response be?

These messages frighten me. Others regard us as being monolithic: Christian. So even the worst messages stick to all of us. How can I counter these messages?

Should I engage? If so, how?

I am a cradle Episcopalian, a lifelong member of The Episcopal Church (TEC). I’ve tended to identify as an Episcopalian first and Christian second. In some ways, I’ve used that primary and secondary identification to “distance” myself from “those other Christians.” (I’m not proud of this.)

In my early years, my family attended church regularly. My sense of faith as a child was God, the Father. Jesus, the Son, was discussed more frequently in Sunday School. I was raised in the Episcopal Church when evangelism was not emphasized and, in fact, was suspect. When my parents divorced, my mother remarried and converted to Judaism. My parents’ divorce also precipitated a move to a rural community with many churches—Evangelical, Catholic, congregational—but no Episcopal church.

As a teen, I was interested in the faith communities surrounding me. I attended church with friends. I attended some Women’s Aglow meetings with my friend’s mother. A favorite high school teacher took us to Christian rock concerts in the summer months. I learned about Mormonism from friends and a couple of really terrific missionaries. In deference to my step-father, my family observed Friday sabbath as frequently as high school activities would permit. There were religious celebrations with extended family that showed me so many different and beautiful ways to practice faith.

When I was in my late 20s, my husband and I bought our first/forever home. It is three blocks from a lovely Episcopal church. I returned as an adult confirmand1, infused with a passion and excitement about my faith that has continued to grow.

TEC has a thoughtful approach that informs nearly every aspect of my life: the via media, the middle way. I’ve seen this approach criticized. To some, it appears we are too willing to compromise or unwilling to take firm positions. But this is not the case. Lacking the philosophical grounding to explain this concept in theory, I can only tell you how it feels: like a path that can accommodate many kinds of travelers.

Here’s another thing I love about this tradition: the concept of the three-legged stool. Faith is organized around three highly-interdependent sources: scripture, reason, and tradition. These sources interplay in dynamic ways to uphold and critique one another. There’s a certain tension in all of this, of course, but the tension is informative.

This lead to one of the most important life lessons I’ve gained from my years as a member of TEC: learning to hold things in tension. It’s been a process, learning to become comfortable with ambiguity and differences, learning to “love the questions,” as Rainer Maria Rilke urged. Becoming whole through the process of holding opposites in tension. English theologian Richard Hooker wrote,

God hath created nothing simply for itself, but each thing in all things, and of every thing each part in other have such interest, that in the whole world nothing is found whereunto any thing created can say, ‘I need thee not.’

“...each thing in all things…”

I think of these words often.

I was elated when Bishop Michael Curry was elected Presiding Bishop of TEC in 2015. I went to hear him preach. It was transformational. He identified our church as being squarely in the “Jesus Movement,” emulating His “loving, liberating, life-giving way.” Bishop Curry’s focus on centering Jesus and that model of radical and sacrificial love has inspired me and energized my faith. Bishop Curry often tells us, “If it’s not about love, it’s not about God.” His message has sometimes left me giddy, breathless with hope and possibility, possessing a new and profoundly simple understanding of my faith: “If it’s not about love, it’s not about God.”

That message is the lens through which I view the cruelty and hate espoused by some of my fellow Christians, especially those who use elected power to attempt to legislate extremism. Legislation to further isolate trans youth? Limiting people’s access to healthcare because of political ideology? That’s not about love. “Othering” the immigrant and anyone different? Criminalizing homelessness? Harming the environment? None of this is about love.

Love is not limiting food assistance in the most food-abundant nation on earth. Instead, love is a gaggle of joyful young children at Sunday coffee hour packing lunches for the unhoused in our community.

Love is not villainizing the poor and unhoused for social and economic conditions beyond their control. Instead, love provides a place for volunteers to do laundry for these individuals and feed them.

The Reverend Dr. Dick Swanson is a member of the clergy team at my church. Ordained 58 years ago, he has a lifetime of experiences as a priest, military chaplain, and scholar. Several years ago, he said something that realigned my understanding of our purpose in the world.

The Gospel reading that day was Mark (10:35-45). In reflecting on that scripture, Dick said this:

When all is said and done, the Kingdom of God is what you can do for someone else.

Some current trends—the ugly anti-democratic, Christonationalistic, anti-science, anti-woman, anti-other impulses—represent a real threat to American democracy. They also represent a serious threat to Christianity because their messages about our faith are false and turn many people off. People won’t see what we have to offer, or they will go away.

Years ago, many Catholic friends in Southern California were disheartened and discouraged by the abuse scandals that rocked the Diocese of Los Angeles. They were angry about the damage wrought on victims’ lives. They resented the hypocrisy of church leadership and thought it all profoundly wrong. Over the years, I noticed that many of those friends quietly quit attending church.

There’s been a great deal written in recent years about declining church membership and changes in denominational affiliation. In particular, Pew Research Center has published a wealth of research about religion in America. A recent Pew report—”Modeling the Future of Religion in America”—provides demographic projections using several different scenarios. The upshot is that fewer Americans are identifying as Christians, and that number is likely to decline.

A recent Atlantic article by Wendy Cadge and Elan Babchuck—”American Religion is Not Dead Yet”— caught my attention in a good way. While the piece affirms that participation in traditional church is declining, the authors describe a “swell of spiritual creativity” in our country. People are finding—and making—spiritual meaning. Cadge and Babchuck write:

So rather than asking how many people went to church last Sunday morning, we should ask, ‘Where are Americans finding meaning in their lives? How are they marking the passing of sacred time? Where are they building pockets of vibrant communities? And what are they doing to answer the prophetic call, however it is that they hear it?’

A study commissioned by The Episcopal Church and Ipsos, “Jesus in America,” published in March 2022, is worth reading. It’s full of insightful information, including the impact of the pandemic on churches. Some survey responses are very hopeful, others not so much.

Some of the key takeaways that resonated with me:

▪ Most individuals polled “believe Jesus was an important spiritual figure and want equality in society.”

▪ Religion is losing influence in America, especially among young people.”

▪ “...Christians are not necessarily practicing what Jesus taught, and Americans feel judged when talking about their beliefs.”

▪ “Non-believers” say Christians don’t represent Jesus well. There is a variance between how Christians perceive other Christians and how non-believers perceive us.

There’s hard work ahead for Christians, but opportunity, too. For one thing, we can represent Jesus and Christianity in more positive ways through our online presence.

It is a challenging time for Christianity, our nation, and the world, but I am finding some answers to my questions about engagement. We are called to be an inclusive body. Jesus was always out of step with his day’s social, political, and religious constructs. What an excellent model His life is for this situation. And perhaps in this matter, a (loving) revolution of sorts begins/continues in America.

We are also called to “hold fast to the good, and be urgent for the right.” We are called to action. How we choose to respond is a personal decision. I’m rolling my need to respond into my Lenten practice. My goal is to hold space gently on social media platforms.

Here’s what I plan to do:

▪ Embrace my membership in the Jesus Movement. Remember His sacrificial love, His willingness to act and to challenge. Refute negative messages by living a good life demonstrating love for self, others, creation, God, and Jesus. We are all invited to the table. All of us.

▪ Develop a habit of “good trolling.” (Thank you, John Lewis, for the “good trouble” reminder.) Rather than banging my head on my desk when I see a Christian not acting in love, I’m going to drop a link to “Life-Transformed: The Way of Love In Lent” study guide into the comments.

▪ Because I am a U.S. historian, I understand the history of the separation of church and state. I am committing to correct misinformation on this topic by sharing links.

▪ If the objectionable content is connected to a product I use (e.g. company advertising) I will reach out to the company to register my displeasure.

▪ Pray. I’m going to pray every day to respond in love.

Presiding Bishop Curry spent the rainy Martin Luther King Jr. holiday weekend in the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles, ordaining priests, preaching, and meeting with clergy and laity, rousing audiences at each appearance. At a keynote address offered at the Bishop’s Dinner, Pat McCaughan reports that Bishop Curry shared this:

It is an opportunity in the midst of difficulty, and it may well be hard times for democracy, hard times for Christianity that seeks to live authentically something close to the face of Jesus. And yet, if we engage this moment, this may be our finest hour.