The United States is a body politic saturated with anxiety.
Those on the left fear climate change will destroy the planet and Donald Trump will destroy American democracy. They see the overturn of Roe v. Wade as evidence women already are being pushed aside in favor of a sexist and repressive ideology, and they loathe the rising tide of white nationalism.
For their part, those on the right are certain they already have lost the war for America’s soul. The Supreme Court’s decision enshrining gay marriage as a constitutional right signaled the end of any kind of moral conscience for the nation, and the supposed theft of the 2020 election signaled the end of rule “by the people, for the people.”
To those on the right, the forces of the liberal, cultural elites finally have gotten their way, and soon it will not be safe to live as a Christian in this newly hostile nation.
Those caught in the middle worry these warring factions will tear the country apart. They see their choices for president limited to a doddering, old liberal and a racist, old populist, and both choices feel like swallowing poison to them.
Assessing the situation
What are church leaders supposed to do in circumstances like this?
Our churches are full of people who feel as though they are under existential threat, people who feel the stakes in this year’s elections could not be any higher. How can we lead them to be hope-filled disciples of Jesus rather than bitter, fatalistic bystanders to the civic process or active participants in its dismantling?
Perhaps we ought to begin with an honest assessment of the situation.
It is important to remember our history. Things may not be as bad as they were during the Civil War or the social upheaval of the 1960s and 1970s. But the threats, both from within our borders and from without, are real. So are the disagreements—both in terms of what threats are of most importance and in terms of how we ought to respond to those threats.
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Nevertheless, some of our angst and the angst felt by the people we lead has its origins in our expectations that the world be a peaceful, democratic, prosperous place.
It is not wrong to desire such a world. Technological progress, for example, is vitally important to the fight against cancer. That progress can’t happen without political stability and economic prosperity.
Failing to address the geopolitical, economic, racial and other challenges we face will result in real suffering for real people.
But Jesus warned us this world always will be a troubled place, especially for those who faithfully follow him. Utopian fantasies about constructing the perfect society and the perfect church are just that—fantasies.
Remembering our calling
But what if the worst happens?
What if Donald Trump gets elected president again and uses his power to avoid accountability for his crimes and to settle old scores? What if China and North Korea use war to settle their grievances against their neighbors, just as Russia and Hamas already have done?
What if a backlash develops in the United States against those who promote a Christian understanding of sexuality and the family, and what if that backlash results in significant steps backwards in the worldwide struggle for freedom of religion and conscience?
These would be catastrophic occurrences, potentially costing untold numbers of people their lives and eroding the world’s confidence in nonauthoritarian government. Nevertheless, we as Christians have a real opportunity to bear witness in these moments to a different kind of hope, one founded upon the eschatological work of God and not on the fleeting efforts of humanity.
We have an opportunity to be what psychologists call a “nonanxious presence” in a very anxious world.
The task I am describing will not be an easy one. It will require us to confront our own investment in the comforts of this world and the narratives that undergird western democracy. But it also will allow us to be a voice of hope when our people are confronted with a world too broken for us to fix.
We can lead them boldly into that world, showing them they do not have to be afraid of the darkness. They can choose the path of light, the narrow road of discipleship (Matthew 7:13-14), because their faith is in Christ and not in western democracy, capitalistic economics or human progress.
Wade Berry is pastor of Second Baptist Church in Ranger and resident fellow in New Testament and Greek at B.H. Carroll Theological Seminary. The views expressed are those of the author.
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