For Christian unity to survive, put God over politics

I stepped into the pulpit on

Jan. 10 feeling an extraordinary weight. Four days earlier, 11 miles from our church, some of those protesting the certification of the presidential election broke through glass, beat police with American flags and precipitated the first incursion into the U.S. Capitol building since the War of 1812.

The weight came not only from the disorienting images of the day but also from the disparate ways I knew those hearing my sermon viewed the week’s events.

I knew that watching online was the mother of “Elizabeth from Knoxville,” whose brief interview — “We’re storming the Capitol; it’s a revolution!” — had been seen millions of times online.

In the sanctuary sat a woman who had been praying at the Capitol on Jan. 6 in support of

President Donald Trump, another who accepted QAnon narratives and a young man who just returned from campaigning for Sen. Kelly Loeffler in Georgia.

Also in the room was a Black immigrant who, out of his experience of American racism, later told me, “They wouldn’t have reached the Capitol doors if they had been a different color.”

The “Never Trumpers” in my congregation were horrified by the president’s role in stoking the flames of grievance. A few members were so unnerved by the Capitol incursion they sought out pastoral counseling.

Our church’s political diversity is representative of our broader diversity — white and Black, Anglo and Latino, immigrant and U.S.-born, Ph.D. and GED, homeless and uptown. The political spectrum our folks represent is more pronounced than most churches I know. But my guess is most churches are likely more politically diverse than even their clergy imagine, so you can appreciate the question that weighed me down that Sunday:

How do we as a church move forward together after the Trump presidency?

I don’t think we need a new program or the next expert to address this question. Rather, the answer is found in the fundamental elements of church life: worship, nurture and mission around the gospel of Jesus Christ.

However, the fractures in old friendships along political lines force us to ask some difficult questions. For starters, do we really believe what we say we believe? Does our Christian faith truly transcend our political opinions? Pressing into this requires a dogged, at times relentless commitment to “maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Ephesians 4:3).

What does this look like in real time?

It must begin with our worship. If the first category that comes to mind for myself or another when we gather on Sunday morning is whether they are for or against Donald Trump, Christian unity is dead in the water.

Jesus’ model prayer challenges our priorities, lifting our attention from our leaders on Earth to Our Father in heaven. The reputation of God’s hallowed name must trump political agendas, and the prayer for God’s kingdom to come must supersede any longing for American greatness. At our church we seek to make these implications explicit in our worship service. When we breathe in the air of heaven, it should suffocate smugness or resentment over political differences.

When it comes to politics, my priority is not conformity at the granular level of policy and politicians. The relationships I am called to nurture as a pastor are rooted in our shared trust in Jesus Christ. In this family we are called to empathy: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15).

On the day Joe Biden’s victory became apparent, I was making pastoral phone calls and acknowledged the sorrow of a staunch Trump supporter and the excitement of a Biden fan. There can be no victory laps, no gloating in the family of God when our goal is connection in Christ.