How Can I Love Church Members with Different Politics? | 12 Quotes (Andy Naselli & Jonathan Leeman)

Kirk E. Miller

The following are quotes from Jonathan Leeman and Andy Naselli, How Can I Love Church Members with Different Politics?, 9Marks: Building Healthy Churches (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2020),

In the same way that faith creates deeds, so God’s work of justifying a person by grace through faith creates a concern about justice. And in the same way that deeds display and give evidence of faith, so our concern for justice demonstrates and gives evidence for our justification. … Politics involves questions of justice. [Therefore] when fellow Christians disagree with you on significant political matters, you question their commitment to justice, which in turn can sometimes tempt you to question their justification. We’re not saying you’re always right to do so. We’re merely saying it makes sense that this happens. There are theologically correct instincts at play. (14–15)

We are tempted to scorn and second-guess our fellow church members whose politics disagree with ours because every one of us is naturally self-righteous and self-justifying, and fallen politics is fueled by such self-righteousness and self-justification. We’re talking about the basic posture of the fallen heart to always think that it’s right. (15–16)

Are you convinced about your own political opinions? If so, maybe that’s because you are walking in the Spirit, you love your neighbor as yourself, and you have rightly formed judgments about the issues of the day. Then again, it also might be because you are following the self-justifying script of every other political party, of every other tribe and nation, throughout the history of the world. (17)

[T]he anger you feel when people disagree with you politically might be the right response to injustice. But … [t]oo often we use our anger as a weapon to destroy anything that opposes our personalized version of a just universe. We’re self-serving with our anger. (17)

When we were born again, wonderfully, we lost the need to justify ourselves before God through our personal and political pursuits. Christ became our justification. … [W]e become able … to fight for what’s right, not to justify ourselves but for the sake of love. Born-again politics is a different kind of politics. (16)

Most political judgments we make depend on wisdom not on directly applying explicit biblical principles. To put this another way, there is some space between our biblical and theological principles and our specific political judgments. Two Christians might agree on a biblical or theological principle but disagree on which policies, methods, tactics, or timing best uphold that principle. … Political judgments depend on figuring out how to apply our biblical and ethical principles to the vast and complex set of circumstances that surround every political decision. … Remembering this should create some room for charity and forbearance. (18, 21, 24–25)

Personally, we would be shocked if any political party ever felt like a perfect fit for a Christian, as that just might suggest one’s Christianity has been subverted by party thinking. (24)

If you look around and notice that your church is politically uniform, you might ask, Where did it come from? Are there non-biblical pressures to conform to certain class, generational, ethnic, or political-party standards? Is something (besides the gospel) creating that uniformity? If so, might those cultural standards be wrongly binding consciences about what Christians must believe? (26)

Here, then, is a big irony: even if your church is healthy, your members will likely not be entirely uniform in their politics. Your members might even feel some measure of political tension. What unites them is Jesus, not partisan politics. // Unity amid diversity, furthermore, can be a strength of a church’s witness to outsiders. You want outsiders to see your church and think, Wow, you guys love one another across political divides! I’ve never seen anything like that! (26–27)

Jesus did not design our churches to be a national or ethnic or class gathering or the gathering of a political party. Rather, he designed them to be gatherings of his followers from every tribe and tongue and nation. Your church and ours are communities of former enemies learning to love one another. They are communities of political rivals working together. // We are natural-born enemies. Each of us wants to rule. … The local church is where enemy tribes start beating swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. (27–29)

We have his Book. He has revealed himself. That’s amazing, isn’t it? Yet a huge danger looms. We get into a political argument in which we’re telling someone what we think. But we also have a Bible in our hands, and so we begin to blur the lines between what we think and what God thinks. … To avoid confusing our thoughts with God’s thoughts, therefore, we must treat God’s Book with holy reverence and fear. We must take great care to distinguish its authoritative and inerrant wisdom from our own. (44–45)

[S]ometimes the best way to critique the present system and to resist the false worship that so much of politics demands is simply to talk about something else. // Jesus will win. His kingdom does not hang in the balance. Christians who possess this happy confidence can engage with one another amid these secondary political matters while simultaneously enjoying unity and fellowship and hope as they together anticipate the coming of Christ’s perfect reign. (54–55)

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How Can Christians Pray for the Election?

Kirk E. Miller

How can Christians pray for the upcoming election? Some suggestions:

  • Pray for political peace and stability that provides a platform for the gospel to spread (1 Tim 2:1–4).

  • Pray for a peaceful and clear electoral process (Jer 29:7). Pray that all would acknowledge its results and not resort to violence or destruction (e.g., rioting, insurrection).

  • Thank God for all those who invested in the political process (e.g., candidates, canvassers, poll workers, etc.) Regardless of their positions, we at least thank God for the fact that they show concern for the welfare of our society. That’s a common grace (Rom 2:14–16).

  • Pray for wisdom for the soon-to-be-elected officials, that they would fear God (Prov 8:14-16; 9:10), acknowledge Christ as the true king (Ps 2), and lead accordingly.

  • Pray especially for the poor, oppressed, and vulnerable (e.g., the unborn, refugees, those in poverty, those affected by international conflict), that our political decisions would not negatively affect them, but instead might actually aid them and alleviate their conditions (Isa 1:17).

  • Pray for your congregation, that it would remain united in the matters that unite (the gospel; Eph 4:1-6), and not experience divisions over permissible differences. Pray for mutual understanding as some in the congregation may be rejoicing and others simultaneously discouraged at election results (Rom 12:15).

  • Pray for your hearts, that your hope would center on Jesus, not political results or candidates (Ps 20:7).

  • Pray for the general population, that God would divest and disillusion anyone of putting their hope in politics so that they might put their hope in Jesus instead (Isa 31:1).

  • Pray for all the candidates as they find out the results of the election, that they would find their sense of worth in Christ, not souring with pride if they win or plunging into despair if they loose (Phil 4:11-13).

  • Pray that God’s kingdom would come (Matt 6:10), remembering that every time we pray this, we are praying for the end of the United States. Our ultimate citizenship belongs elsewhere (Phil 3:20).

You Have No Need to Worry: A Political Paraphrase of Matthew 6:25-32

Kirk E. Miller

Paraphrase of Matthew 6:25-32 (Presidential Election Version)

“There’s no reason to be anxious about the presidential election, its impact on things like whether you have enough food, drink, or clothes to wear. Is not life more than politics?

Consider the birds. They don’t even have political candidates. Yet your Father feeds them, and does’t he treasure you far more than they? Or consider flowers. They don’t stress out about making sure they have clothes, yet even Solomon in his best fashion wasn’t ‘dressed’ as beautifully as they. If God cares enough to provide for the flowers, which are here today and gone tomorrow, certainly he will take care of you!

I mean, let’s be real. Can all your worries about politics improve them even the smallest bit?

You don’t have to stress about such things like, ‘Who will get elected? How will it affect the economy? What about freedom of religion; global warming; increase chance of war? What sort of country will my kids (or grandkids) have?’ These are the worries that dominate the thoughts of unbelievers. But you have a heavenly Father who already knows all your needs. Relax.

So be reassured. There’s no need to have such little faith. God’s got this.”

Why Ecclesiastes Needs Jesus: the Answer to Death’s “Vanity”

Kirk E. Miller

Ecclesiastes recounts things, not as they should be, but as they actually are (unfortunately so). In Genesis 1, God creates and repeatedly calls it “good” (Gen 1). In contrast, Ecclesiastes details instance after instances of conditions it declares “vanity.” What is the source of these conditions? The curse.

In Romans 8:20 Paul says God subjected this world to “futility” (or “vanity”). Here he uses the same word for “vanity” as does Ecclesiastes (LXX), and I tend to think he does this intentionally. As such, these conditions (e.g., evil, suffering, and the sorrow they bring) are not the way things are suppose to be. Though may be typical—and so they are, universally so! But they are not normal.

So too, death is a product of the curse (Gen 3). In fact, Ecclesiastes 9 describes death as “an evil.” Death serves as another instance of the “vanity” that has thus far characterizes Ecclesiastes’ account of life “under the sun.”

But death is more than just one “vanity” among the others though. Death functions like the “final boss” of these vanities. It’s the ultimate “vanitizer,” as I have said elsewhere. That is, even if the other vanities don’t get you, this one always does—without exception. According to Ecclesiastes, death casts a long shadow over all that proceeds it, rendering it all “futile.” No matter what you accomplish or experience in this life, what difference does it make when, at the end of the day, death brings it all to naught?

Leo Tolstoy (Christian) and Albert Camus (non-Christian absurdist philosopher) capture well this absurdity that death imposes on our lives:

“My question—that which at the age of fifty brought me to the verge of suicide—was the simplest of questions, lying in the soul of every man … a question without an answer to which one cannot live. It was: ‘What will come of what I am doing today or tomorrow? What will come of my whole life? Why should I live, why wish for anything, or do anything?’ It can also be expressed thus: Is there any meaning in my life that the inevitable death awaiting me does not destroy?”

—Tolstoy, A Confession

“There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest—whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories—comes afterward. These are games; one must first answer.”

—Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus

In other words, Ecclesiastes needs Jesus.

That’s precisely why Paul’s discussion of Christ’s resurrection—the very thing that secures our own—mentions “vanity”/”futility” so frequently throughout 1 Corinthians 15 (four times: vv.2, 10, 14, and 58). It’s a controlling theme in his argument, the operating background to the importance of resurrection. “Futility” results if Christ is not raised. If Christ is not raised, we labor in “vain,” our faith is “vain,” our preaching is in “vain,” etc.

However, as Paul goes on to proclaim in 1 Corinthians 15, the resurrection (our hope) is what undoes the vanity of death. Or in Romans 8, the “futility” (again, the same word as in Ecclesiastes) to which creation was subjected meets its match at Christ’s return when he resurrects his people and restores all things (Rom 8:20). Christ undoes the realities of Ecclesiastes.

Praise God, the wisdom Ecclesiastes provides is provisional. There will come a day when we no longer live “under [its] sun” by in the light provided by the Son (Rev 22:5).

Does Time Heal All Wounds? How “Getting Over It” Is the Wrong Approach to Grief

Kirk E. Miller

People say, “Time heals all wounds.” We talk about “getting over” things or “moving on.”

I think this can be true in some instances. For instance, maybe a dream you had doesn’t materialize. You grieve what never was, only to conclude, after some time passes, that you no longer desire that dream anymore. So you’re “over it.”

But in general, I tend not to like this framing (“getting over it,” “moving on”). I don’t think it’s true in a lot of instances. For example, when a loved one dies, do you ever “move on” and “get over it”, or do you—hopefully, because even this isn’t always the case—just learn to live with it, grow accustom to it, acquire the ability to manage it? In fact, it’s a bit messed up to assume we should just “move on” from a loved one’s passing, as if we come to accept it (death isn’t acceptable, and time doesn’t make it so). The same can be said of other suffering and evil we endure. Time doesn’t somehow undo those things.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. That’s simply false. And arguably it’s an anti-Christian eschatology that sees time as salvific rather than the return of Christ (see Rev 21:4 where Christ wipes away all tears). Time can create some distance from the immediacy of our wounds, making the pain less sharp, more dull. But I think the pain is often still there. Instead, we (again, hopefully) simply learn to accommodate it.

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds. That’s simply false. And arguably it’s an anti-Christian eschatology that sees time as salvific rather than the return of Christ.”

This, of course, doesn’t mean we are resigned to wallow in our grief. Hope is a virtue according to the New Testament (alongside faith and love, e.g., 1 Cor 13:13). In other words, hope is something we must exercise. It’s not something we just happen to experience if we’ve lucky enough to experience its conditions, as if hope happens to us. No, we must fight to fixate on our hope. And that hope has a name: Jesus.

Nonetheless, hope anticipates what’s future. So, at present, hope does not undo suffering, pain, and grief. In 1 Thessalonians 4:13, Paul says we do not grieve as those who lack hope. Nonetheless, he does say we grieve! Hope does not erase or invalidate grief. Hope sees its reversal as already accomplished, but not yet fulfilled; already won, but not yet enacted. Each side of this coin is important; to neglect one at the expense of the other is to adopt something less-than-Christian.

So we resist the sort of “toxic positivity”—yes, even its Christian variety; especially its Christian variety!—that, whether stated or unstated, expects one always to be happy, never to be sad or hurt. The Christian way is neither stoicism that tells us to simply accept what is (i.e., our problem is trying to resist) nor some Jesus-branded Buddhism that tells us our problem is our longings (i.e., we suffer because of unmet longing; so if simply we rid ourselves of longing, we eliminate suffering). No, Christian hope protests both these options. It forces us to long for something more—not to accept what is—to long for Christ (maranatha).

Lament has a firm place in our faith. In fact, lament is an act of hope, putting the current sorrows, evil, and pain into confrontation with the God of hope. Indeed, a failure to grieve and mourn the pain and evil of this word is not virtue but apathy.