Stock Illustration (Credit: Comstock Images/ Canva/ http://tinyurl.com/yfhbj3bn)
This article was written for and originally published by Good Faith Media
Everywhere, there are signs. Signs in yards. Signs on faces.
Slogans plastered on hats. Flags are rippling in the wind.
A menagerie of memes is flooding social media feeds.
There is no escaping the buffet of bumper stickers bombarding my front windshield view whenever I go out. For some, I have to squint to read at stoplights. Others are so oversized I can see them from far away. Some read,
“We the People…have had enough!”
“I’ve Got Your Six” appears on top of a battle-tattered US flag.
“J6 Was An Inside Job” under the image of the Capitol Building.
“Don’t Believe The Liberal Media.”
“Don’t Tread On Trump,” printed in the infamous Gadsden coiled rattlesnake style.
An assortment of these and similar stickers can be found on vehicles with gas mileage ranging in the single digits, with oversized tires costing as much as rent.
Opposite the chest-pounding patriot mobiles, you have hybrids and EVs covered in enough decals to make a college freshman’s Hydra Flask water bottle blush. Along with the classic “Visualize Whirled Peas” I have seen,
“Stay Angry, Stay Woke.”
“Science Is Real.”
“Jesus Was A Liberal”
“Is That True Or Did You Hear It On Fox News?”
And finally, a rattlesnake shaped like a uterus pinned on a rainbow background with the words, “Don’t Tread On Me.”
Many may believe the drivers of these vehicles live in different times and worlds, their paths crossing only in philosophical theory or abstract math equations.
Let me burst your naive ruminating bubble. Because, as a pastor, I know either vehicle could be found next to each other in almost any church parking lot.
Navigating the polarization of these Divided States of America at any time is a challenge to ministers and faith leaders. However, during an election year, the air in a sanctuary gets as thin as a Colorado mountain range. Those sitting in pews are in a heightened, if not altered, state of political awareness.
This is why, if given the choice, I would rather go a few rounds with 57-year-old Mike Tyson than tiptoe through the next 11 months. I am sure my kidneys probably wouldn’t function properly after the former, but the latter promises to push my stress and anxiety levels to the breaking point. At least with Iron Mike, I know it’ll be over quickly.
Why the cause for alarm, this tightening in my chest?
On an individual level, I have this sick sense of familiarity, like I have done this before. I am in a horrific pipe dream, one that’s been going on for the last four years, has a bend and is a vicious circle. The ride isn’t ending; it is just starting over.
This is on top of the depressing realization of being asked again to choose between emotionally detached political parties, one offering a candidate collecting indictments and allegations like they are McDonald’s Happy Meal toys, and the other, a cookie-cutter politician whose best quality is what he isn’t.
Ah, democracy. Or what’s left of it.
As a minister, I get a new bag of issues to sort through, beginning with the false presumption that, somehow, my pastoral credentials strip me of my freedom of conscience.
There is the unspoken expectation for a parson to stand before a congregation as an agreeable fixture, a reverend of reassurance, a trouble-free captain, not a boat rocker. An untouched and, better yet, unopinionated presence to the happenings of a world on fire.
Think of me as a holy hall monitor—positioned to fail while trying to ensure everyone plays nice together for an hour on Sunday.
I am sure this projection can be found and felt in many faith communities. Still, my experience has shown it burns white hot in White churches where comfort is prized, and a policy resembling the United States military’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” is preferred when it comes to anything considered politically divisive.
Blame it on sanctimony, guilt or just plain exhaustion. The institutional church has become synonymous with a place where difficult conversations go to die, where complacent peace is preferred to offset declining numbers.
There are exceptions to this rule. I know of churches and congregants who actively look, if not downright anticipate their ministers to address the numerous injustices caused by donkeys and elephants. War, death penalties and mass incarceration of minority groups continue to occur no matter who sits behind the Resolute desk in the Oval Office.
How will clergy navigate the space between the pulpit and the ballot box?
Say too much, and people leave.
Say too little, and the other half will follow.
It’s a Kobayashi Maru to try to keep the steeple upright.
Clergy will have to decide how they will choose to lose an unwinnable situation.
While I don’t look forward to it, I will do what I’ve always done when accused of preaching politics—I politely remind my accusers as long as legislation negatively impacts the lives of people, most often the least of these, I will continue to rail against the empire and Caesar of my day—especially during an election year.
Even if it means making those around me squirm.
Me included.