In 1974 I prepared to attend a seminar taught by the noted British historian, Herbert Butterfield. He inaugurated the seminar at Northwestern University with a public lecture on the subject “The Christian and Politics.”
In 1974 Jerry Falwell had just started to sensitize the nation to the relationship between religion and politics. My classmates and I wondered whether they mixed like oil and water or cream cheese and bagels. So my heart beat a little faster as the evening of the lecture approached.
I sat in the front row of Leverone Hall at eight o’clock. Dr. Butterfield, who I later came to admire greatly as he shepherded ten of us graduate students through a quarter-long examination of the role of the Christian historian, shuffled his eighty-year-old frame to the lectern. He cleared his throat, paused a moment, and then said, “I don’t think I can really speak to this subject to your satisfaction. You see, I don’t believe the Christian really participates in the political process as a Christian politician. He participates as a Democrat or a Republican or an independent. A Christian, as a Christian, is apolitical.”
I was stunned. And the sound of creaking chairs around me told me I wasn’t alone in my disappointment. We had come to hear some answers to our questions about how a Christian does politics. We wanted to know how we could make our views known on the burning issues of abortion, war, and integrity in government. And our potential answer man was telling us there was no single Christian way to do it.
This was my first exposure to what Harry Blamires calls “the Christian mind.” As we put together plans for this issue of LEADERSHIP on the subject of church politics, I recalled that lesson vividly. In so many of the church politics issues we uncovered in talking to local-church leaders, we saw startling parallels to the secular political arena.
Yet those of you who lead churches know that somewhere there is a fundamental difference between secular politics and church politics. Trouble is, the line between the two is often blurred, ignored, or forgotten. The problem, more often than not, is that we get so involved with technique that we forget some more fundamental issues. So the question becomes: how does a local-church leader get things done in the church without resorting to the excesses the world so often encourages?
If the end is good (and what church program isn’t?), there is a great temptation to push it through by argument or manipulative politics. We cut corners. We engage in what Martin Lloyd-Jones called “sinful snacks,” relapses into worldly technique in order to achieve our heavenly aims. Often the technique itself is not bad, but we use it at the wrong time, with the wrong person, or with a wrong attitude.
With a little imagination we can easily see Jesus being asked this question. As he sits quietly on the side of a sun-drenched Galilean hill, a small-town rabbi with a congregation of 100 faithful timidly approaches him. This is not a Jerusalem rabbi with Sanhedrin members on his synagogue council. This is a guy slogging it out in Dalmanutha or Cana.
He asks Jesus, “Sir, how can I get my people to work with me instead of fighting everything I do? They’re so obstinate. Sometimes I have to practically hit them over the head with a club to bring them around. I don’t want to do it that way, but if I don’t, nothing would ever get done.”
Jesus sizes up his interrogator pretty quickly and says, “Try thinking of three things. First, realize that you’re spiritually bankrupt and can’t solve this problem by yourself. Second, let that realization humble you so much that it drives you to rely on my Father totally. Third, show humility to the people in your flock. If you genuinely accomplish those three things, your problems are over.”
Jesus then goes on to give the rest of the Beatitudes, the “technique” Beatitudes-be just, desire good, be kind, be merciful, work for peace and unity, delight in being challenged by nonbelievers-but he starts with attitude. And it’s precisely that attitude that the secular politician gets all wrong.
Nine years ago I sat and listened as Dr. Butterfield went on to explain that the Christian as Christian is the salt of the world, seasoning it by his mere presence. The Christian politician seasons the political world by his lifestyle, morality, and outlook on life. Both Republicans and Democrats want to reduce unemployment-they have simply arrived at different conclusions on how best to do it. Yes, there are genuine moral issues (a Christian must reject Nazism and apartheid), but the deepest Christian effect is not necessarily how he votes on an issue, but how he lives his life.
That lecture changed my outlook on politics. I came to agree with Jacques Ellul, who, after a lifetime of Christian political activism in France, concluded, “I no longer think that one can derive from the Bible a political or social doctrine that is more true than others. But Christians will have a special courage, a spirit of inventiveness, a lucidity, a radicality, an ability to change, a desire for justice and liberty, all of which come from the Gospel and which no one else can have if-they accept the consequences of their faith, if they accept transformation within.”
I continued to express my views to my campus friends on abortion, war, and integrity in government. But I noticed the self-righteous fervor began to leave my arguments. And my friends became interested in not only my views but also in me. When the dust had settled from our political disagreements, I could talk to them about being a Christian.
The same is true of church politics. You win some battles, lose some, and land somewhere in between on the others. But God doesn’t tally wins and losses like we do, and on his scorecard, it’s how you play the game that counts.
Terry C. Muck is editor of LEADERSHIP.
Copyright © 1983 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
