Should Christians "Get Political"?

Six embryonic principles for Christian political engagement

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

(A ten-minute read. Note: I try to keep my pieces to fewer than 1500 words—which I’ve mostly pulled off over the last year or two. But this one got away from me a bit—and to paraphrase Blaise Paschal: I would have written a shorter piece but I didn’t have time.)

Next week at this time, I’ll be in Australia, getting ready to speak at an event in Victoria. I’ll be preaching six times, discussing what it means to “Love Well,” and then participating twice in a workshop with a friend of mine.

When my friend and I chatted a couple weeks ago about what we could address for the workshop, he made a bold prediction. “I can guarantee you,” he promised, “that every single person you meet and talk to here in Australia will have the same, exact question. You will get this question over and over again, hundreds and hundreds of times: what is going on in America with Trump?” he explained. “So let’s just address the elephant in the room for the workshop.”

So that’s what we’re going to do.

And I’m actually really looking forward to it (and no, it won’t be streamed or recorded—so you’ll just have to travel to Australia to hear it!).

Of course, tackling such a topic will inevitably lead to a common question from some people: “Should Christians ‘get political’?”

I’ve noticed, in fact, that many people ask this rhetorical question when they encounter a Christian who promotes political viewpoints with which they disagree.

When a Christian talks about the importance of “social justice,” or voices concerns about Donald Trump, Christians on the right accuse them of being “too political,” and tell them that they should just “stick to the gospel.”

When a Christian on the right voices support for Donald Trump, or believes that Christians should be in positions of political power, people on the left accuse them of being “too political,” and tell them that they should just “stick to the gospel.”

Please note: I’m not drawing an equivalence between these particular issues, insinuating that promoting “social justice,” for example, and maintaining that Christians should be in political power, are equally valid—or invalid—perspectives.

What I’m getting at is that I know many people on “both sides” who play the “you’re being too political” card, and yet who fail to recognize or acknowledge the ways in which they themselves are being political.

It’s so often the other “side” that’s being too political, while we ourselves have risen above such “worldly” concerns.

Of course, there are many Christians for whom being political isn’t a problem at all. It’s taken as a given that political activism is a part of the Christian’s responsibility—and for many, like in the Black community, it’s a matter of survival (I’ve noticed that many White Seventh-day Adventists, for example, are absolutely shocked when they discover how political Black Seventh-day Adventists can be—and often right from the pulpit—as though they’re obviously doing something wrong).

So what of it?

Should Christians get “mixed up” with politics?

Or should our allegiance to Christ as King, and our participation in his kingdom, cause us to opt out of such messy, complicated, “worldly” pursuits?

I’m not a political theorist at all. I have no formal training in political science or economics or law.

But I am someone who’s trying to find my place in the story of God, and trying to figure out how that story informs the way I live with other people right now.

So to that end, I have six embryonic thoughts when it comes to political engagement as a Christian. Take them for what they’re worth. They stem from my very limited perspective.

1. God’s transcendent, eternal story relativizes everything that happens in the here and now.

As a follower of Jesus, and a citizen first and foremost of his eternal kingdom, I am playing the “long game,” recognizing that God’s eternal kingdom will never be fully realized until the eschaton.

Among other things, this prevents me from turning temporary things into ultimate things. Or, as Katelyn Beaty wrote in the wake of what was for her a disappointing election result in November, “Political idolatry is when we make something penultimate ultimate, loading human affairs with a moral and spiritual weight they can’t possibly bear.”

The reality is, kings and queens and presidents and policies will rise and fall, but God’s kingdom is eternal. I want to ever live in light of that.

2. But God does invite me to learn how to live with others in responsible, edifying, and loving ways in the here and now.

I don’t believe that living in the light of God’s eternal story means I can therefore “opt out” of participating in how we manage, organize, and structure human affairs now (which is what politics are designed to do).

Simply put, prophetic promises shouldn’t lead to political paralysis.

While I anticipate the eschaton, I can, at the very least, be a “signpost” of God’s coming kingdom. And I can work towards improving the lives of others now, seeking to alleviate their suffering and lack.

As the Apostle James wrote:

If a brother or sister is naked and destitute of daily food, and one of you says to them, “Depart in peace, be warmed and filled,” but you do not give them the things which are needed for the body, what does it profit? Thus also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead. (James 2:15-17)

Admittedly, there will always be a tension, I do believe, between how much I should pursue these solutions via political means and how much I should pursue them via personal and/or ecclesiastical means (e.g., is it the government’s job to feed the hungry, or the church’s—or both?).

But what I cannot do is appeal to God’s eternal kingdom as an excuse to ignore the present plight of others.

And I may very well find that the best way to address the plight of people is by joining forces with others to extend the same rights, privileges, and opportunities that I enjoy.

3. It’s inevitable that I will be political; but I want to avoid being partisan.

In my observations, when people complain that others are being too “political,” what I think they really mean is that they are being too “partisan.”

I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with being political—and, in fact, I believe it’s both inevitable and good to be political. And the claim to be “apolitical” is actually a political position (and often reflects a position of privilege).

What I want to avoid, though, is being partisan. I choose to resist the zero-sum, winner-take-all mentality that so often characterizes politics today—where, in order for me to win, you have to lose.

To be clear, I’m not advocating for a sort of “both-sidesism.” I’m not trying to travel the “middle way” in an attempt to not offend anyone (or to equally offend everyone). Sometimes, one side of the political spectrum—especially when it’s the one in power—does need to be called out with unadulterated and prophetic clarity.

But I ultimately choose to focus on issues rather than parties. I seek to resist the forces of polarization which seemingly maintain that I am either “all in” or “all out” with one particular group.

4. I want my political engagement to be driven by the interest of others, not self-interest.

There’s a lot I could say about this, but I think I’ll just ask this as one example: when I go to the voting booth and fill in those circles, am I primarily voting in the light of my 401(k), or voting in the light of humanity’s needs?

I know this is a very complicated topic—and, again, I’m not a political scientist. But I always want to check myself to make sure I’m not voting primarily out of fear, pride, or self-interest—but the well-being of others.

5. I must never contradict the character of Christ in my attempts to promote the cause of Christ.

Even as I engage in politics, to whatever extent I feel called to, I must never adopt methods and means that contradict the character of Christ.

I therefore can’t use fear, hate, force, manipulation, or demonization in the service of my so-called “higher” political ends—and must engage in a lot of self-reflection and examination to determine if I am (since I’m very prone to self-deception).

6. I refuse to try to use earthly politics to prop up or promote my particular religion (or its values), and I have no desire to try to create a Christian nation on this side of the eschaton.

This goes back to my reflections from last week, but I don’t believe God is calling me to try to promote political values and policies that are unique to Christianity and cannot be derived from convictions that are common to all.

I recognize this is also complicated and that there are tensions. But I try to embrace that tension rather than solve it.

Two illustrations and the bottom line

Those are some general principles I’m trying to keep in mind as I navigate the current—or any—political climate.

As usual, much more can be said.

But I’ll end with an illustration.

In the nineteenth century, Seventh-day Adventists were basically uniform in their staunch opposition to slavery and their calls for immediate emancipation of the enslaved (to the point that, according to Adventist stalwart James White in 1862, every Adventist, “to a man,” voted for Abraham Lincoln).

This put them in the small, small minority in the United States.

They couldn’t ignore the suffering of the enslaved, and they spoke out vociferously on their behalf—even though it prevented them from being able to share other cherished theological convictions with enslavers (and their sympathizers).

Being members of God’s eternal kingdom meant they would necessarily be “political” on this particular issue—because the temporal well-being of God’s children was at stake.

Sometimes (though not always, I don’t believe), Christians are called to throw caution to the wind and get our political hands dirty, refusing to use the “gospel” (and the future eschaton) as an excuse for political silence and inaction, claiming we don’t want to be “divisive” over earthly matters.

Fast-forward 75 years and observe the behavior of subsequent Seventh-day Adventists in Germany. In the face of pure evil, Adventists chose to be silent, cozying up to Hitler (after all, he was a vegetarian!) and courting his good graces. They didn’t want to get “political,” and hoped to be able to preserve their institutions by ignoring the Nazis’ diabolical schemes.

Of course, opting to be “apolitical” in this instance was itself a political act. And it ultimately left them on the “wrong side of history,” which they finally repented of sixty years later.

I hope and trust you know which era of Adventists—and which political approach—you’d want to identify with (though, in truth, it was probably a lot less obvious to either era than it is with our 20/20 hindsight vision today, which should lead us to sober reflection).

The bottom line: I’m ultimately a part of God’s eternal kingdom, which relativizes all the goings-on of earthly kingdoms.

And yet precisely because I’m a part of God’s eternal kingdom, I seek to pursue the temporal well-being of God’s children, even when it intersects with political concerns, all the while seeking to resist partisanship and polarization.

Which is to say, as a member of God’s eternal kingdom, I don’t want to be consumed by earthly politics, but neither do I want to ignore or despise them, recognizing they have their proper domain.

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Shawn is a pastor and church planter in Portland, Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational and embodied expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also a DPhil (PhD) candidate at the University of Oxford, focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.