Well…just a few days to go. Election 2008 will be over. The longest and most expensive campaign season in U.S. history will come to an end. (At least we hope it will. We hope we don’t have a repeat of 2000 when the Supreme Court had to figure out who had been elected.)

Most people will lay it down. Oh sure, there will be a few more heated discussions among friends, but not many. But most ordinary people will leave the analysis and second guessing to the professional pundits. We’ll just go back to life as we knew it before.

Some Christians will approach things a little differently. In their intellectual/emotional/spiritual debriefing of the election they will try to fit their theology into the results. Some will look to Paul’s letter to the Romans where he said, “Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established” (Romans 13:1). By that they’ll conclude that the right people were elected to the right positions. Others will determine that our nation disobeyed God and that we will pay for our sins. It probably depends on how they voted.

But beyond that, most Christians will respond the way the rest of the nation does—by laying it down. “Go back to your lives, citizens! There’s nothing here to see.” They may even conclude that God doesn’t care about politics. After all, it’s a dirty business, isn’t it?

Does God care about politics? Did Jesus ever say anything that could be interpreted politically? Let me say emphatically, yes and yes! But in order to understand our responsibility as political Christians we’re going to have to expand our definition of politics. The term is derived from the Greek word, polis—city. Polity and politics concern the good of the city, state, nation and world. Jesus cares deeply about politics because “God so loved the world” (John 3:16).

But Americans have come to think about politics simply in terms of a two-party system—a system centered as much on gaining power and keeping power as it is on using power to do good. When power is the motivating factor everything crumbles. Many Christians have been sucked into this two-party power play and have convinced themselves that this is the hope of America. I’ve actually heard people say that if we elect the right president or if we get the right Supreme Court justices we can turn this country around for God.

This secular mindset disguised as Christianity wreaks all kinds of havoc. When Christians and Christian organizations elevate political power as the answer to our problems, they begin to compromise their ethics in promoting people to power. Everyone decries the sleaze of this campaign. But, truth be told, the sleaziest stuff I’ve heard has come from Christians. Get on the internet, go to YouTube and you’ll see Christians using half-truths, innuendo, things taken out of context, shabby use of scripture, and outright lies to bring our country “back to God.” Yes, power (and the will to power) corrupts.

Martin Luther King used to say that the church should not be the power of the state; it should be the conscience of the state. I agree. But we can’t be the conscience of the state if we have no conscience when it comes to the pursuit of political power.

Yes, Jesus cares about politics. And he cares about how we do politics. We’re supposed to be imitators of Jesus (that’s what it means to be a disciple), so maybe we should consider how he did politics.

First of all, he never sought power. His life was a life of laying aside his power in order to serve. This is epitomized in the fact that he wouldn’t kill (no matter how noble the cause), but he would willingly die for us. The cross is the symbol of Christianity, but have we lost the meaning of it? It means that there was one who “did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing” (Philippians 2:6-7). And the cross not only defines our faith, it gives us a job description. As Jesus said, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24). No two-party power play there. 

This laying aside of power, motivated by love and the desire to do the will of the Father, gave Jesus’ words incredible power—power of another kind. Jesus boldly took on the Roman Empire, the local magistrates and the entrenched, corrupted religious system. He was never afraid to speak out, and because theology and politics were inseparable in the Caesar-worshipping empire, everything he said had political overtones. But his political words were not like those of the Romans or the priests. Rather, “the crowds were amazed at his teaching, because he taught as one who had authority” (Matthew 7:28-29).

There are so many political issues we need to address—war, genocide, hunger at home and abroad, poverty, healthcare, the worldwide AIDS epidemic, human trafficking, abortion, care for the environment, and so many others. But it should be obvious to us by now that Republican or Democratic power have not, and will not, solve these problems. So it seems to me that we are going to have to figure out a third way.

Perhaps this third way can begin by humbly asking Jesus how we can lay down our lives—like he did—for the polis.

I have this thing—this issue, this problem—whatever you want to call it. It stems from something good, but…

My problem is that I care so deeply about how Christianity is viewed in our culture by those who are not Christians. Whether you want to call them nonbelievers, secularists, agnostics, atheists, skeptics, or whether they come from the ranks of other religions, I think a lot—and worry a lot—about how they see Christ. And, of course, how they see Christ is based almost entirely on how they see Christians.

The problem is that I have no control over how Christians present Christ. We are so diverse—Roman Catholic, Orthodox, and about a million different strands of Protestantism. We’re conservative, liberal and everything and everywhere in between. Our worship styles are so varied that you’d think we were from different galaxies, not different denominations. I know that I have no control over how Christians communicate the gospel. It’s a full time job for me to know how I should communicate it without telling others how they should do it.

But could we all pleeeeeeeeeese quit saying crazy things? Could we take a moratorium on making our religion look goofy? It’s hard for a questioning, skeptical world to believe in Jesus when in Jesus’ name we say things that are simply false. False and absurd.

When someone sends you an email stating that the Book of Revelation says that the Antichrist will be a man of Muslin decent in his forties, your response should not be, “Wow, that must be Obama. I’d better forward this to everyone in my address book.” Instead your response should be, “I never read that. I’d better check it out before spreading it around. Because forwarding lies is spreading lies, and spreading lies would be…well…I guess it would be lying.”

By the way, if you were to check it out you’d discover that the Book of Revelation never says anything like that. Islam didn’t even exist when John wrote his vision from Patmos. (There are a lot of Biblical scholars that are pretty certain who the real "Beast" of Revelation is, or was—Nero Caesar. But that’s a whole other subject.) If you did some other research you’d also discover that Barack Obama took his Senate oath of office on the Bible—not the Koran, that he’s not afraid to say the pledge of allegiance and that he was not educated in a jihadist school when he lived in Indonesia. Oh, and by the way, he’s not a Muslim.

It is vital that we all remember one thing—Christianity does not teach that the ends justify the means. If a Christian thinks that Barack Obama should not be president, that does not give that Christian a license to use smears, innuendo and flat out lies to discredit the senator. And what is most heinous is that there are the web sites and emails that do it in the name of Jesus.

When I was a kid growing up in an evangelical church, I was taught that I had a responsibility to show Jesus to others. I remember a phrase we’d hear often—“You may be the only Bible the world ever reads.” Even as a youngster I got what that meant. It meant that if I call myself a Christ follower I have a responsibility to do my best to live like a Christ follower.

The Christian message is a scandal. In fact, Paul used that very word—scandalon—to talk about how Jesus’ message causes men to stumble. The thought of God becoming a man, the belief in resurrection, the command to love our neighbors and our enemies—that is difficult enough. It takes grace and faith to go there. But when we do evil—when we lie—in the name of Jesus we make the Jesus message something ugly to those who do not understand its beauty.

Two of our early leaders told us how we are to speak to those who do not follow Jesus...

Paul said, “Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace…” (Colossians 4:5-6)

Peter said, “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander.” (1 Peter 3:15-16)

Gentleness, respect, conversations full of grace—I think that would include telling the truth. And I think the world ought to hear Christ in our truthful, gracious speech whether we're voting for John McCain or Barack Obama.

(Just a note. If you have any doubt as to whether or not the mainstream media have noticed the “Obama is the Antichrist” emails, click here. A CNN/Time report says that “A Google search for ‘Obama’ and ‘Antichrist’ turns up more than 700,000 hits, including at least one blog dedicated solely to the topic.”)

What good is it to have your own web site if you can’t use it to post a picture of your first grandchild? Matthew Phillip Moilanen was born on August 4. I’ve just spent three days on the second floor of the Catskill Regional Medical Center in Harris, New York. Roughly half that time was spent standing vigil, nervously waiting for the event. The other half was spent celebrating, making phone calls and taking pictures.

I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals. I’ve held the hand of an elderly woman as she breathed her last. I’ve cried with people who got bad news. I’ve sat through surgeries. I’ve stood with families as they waited for their loved one to pass. I’ve sat with people for hours after the death of a loved one because it was so hard for them to leave the room. And I’ve made more trips to the ER than I can remember. But I’ve also had a lot of good times in hospitals. Births, successful surgeries, good news from the doctor, going home. It really is a mixed bag.

But my time at Catskill Regional was like being in a bubble. I wasn’t checking in on a number of people on different floors. The only places I frequented were labor and delivery, the cafeteria, and the gift shop. It was all good. Even watching my daughter go through pain was a positive thing because I knew this pain had a purpose.

But every once in a while the rest of the world would try to invade my bubble. Every time I saw the “Labor and Delivery” sign I could also see the “Oncology” sign in the background. Several times when I walked to the stairwell I passed the open door of a man groaning in pain. The exit we used was by the ER and more than once as we were leaving the hospital someone was arriving—on a gurney. And when I walked through the lobby to go pull up the car so Scott could drive his wife and new son home, I overheard a man talking on a cell phone saying, “We’re just going to try to remember him the way he looked before.”

I was tempted to think, “That’s the real world.” But, of course, it’s all the real world. Death and birth. Good news and bad news. It’s not that we live in two worlds. We live in one. So today as I was rejoicing at my grandson coming home from the hospital I was also checking my email to see how a friend’s cancer surgery had gone.

Dallas Willard says that we live in a “God-bathed world” (see The Divine Conspiracy on the “I Recommend…” page). One of our challenges is to see God in all of it—birth and death and everything in between.

I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking about the Kingdom of God—both in its present form in the here and now and in its future form in the here and then. I couldn’t help but think about it this week. You won’t be surprised at the Kingdom passage that was going through my mind…

“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.” (Romans 8:22-25)

I know God is redeeming His creation through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. That is the hope for which I patiently (well, sometimes patiently) wait. At times when people I love are going through cancer or depression or death I can vividly hear creation groaning. This week reminded me that Paul says that groaning is part of something meaningful that God is doing. It also reminded me that it’s worth the wait.

I guess I’ve had kids on my mind lately. With good reason. My wife, my younger daughter and I are in New York waiting for my first daughter to go into labor. Any day now we’ll be meeting my first grandchild—a boy named _____________ (believe it or not, Scott and Bekah still haven’t come up with a name!).

It’s not just my grandbaby. Friends, staff and a number of people in our congregation have greeted new arrivals. Those little people are all around me and it’s difficult to express the joy and perspective they bring to our lives. And it’s not just the babies. Toddlers, teenagers and every age in between have increasingly been on my radar screen. My younger daughter is an amazing twelve-year-old. Her approach to life is an inspiration to me. She somehow takes it seriously—with great compassion—and enjoys it as she laughs her way through it.

I understand kids can be cruel. They’re human beings. I understand that like all of us they have a capacity for meanness and exclusion. Like us, they need guidance and grace. But many times you’ll see within them a compassion that is so profound that we find ourselves wishing we could be like them. Their simplicity gives them an advantage in communicating their compassion that many of us have lost. Their naiveté inspires us.

While on vacation my wife is always telling me to read fun stuff. Sometimes she forbids me to bring books from home because she believes I should do some recreational reading. So the other day I went to Borders looking for some fun reading. I had read Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies several years ago and remember laughing and enjoying it. So I picked up her Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith which was published in 2005. She began a chapter entitled, “good friday world” with the following story. It’s not one of her humorous stories, but I don’t think it will leave me. She was writing from California at the beginning of the Iraq war.

“There is the most ancient of sorrows in the world again, dead civilians and young soldiers. None of us knows quite what to make of things, or what to do. Since the war started last week, the days feel like midnight on the Serengeti, dangers everywhere, some you can see, but most hidden. The praying people I know pray for the lives of innocent people and young Americans to be spared, for peace and sanity to be restored on the global field. Everything feels crazy. But on small patches of earth all over, I can see just as much messy mercy and grace as ever: yesterday at Sam’s school, for instance, the kindergarteners and first-graders were outside when a dozen military planes flew overhead. The children knew we were at war, and were afraid, but when their teacher, Miss Peggy, told them that they were safe, that the planes were going to the Middle East, far away, the children relaxed. They watched more planes fly over. Then one smart child began to worry that there might be children in the Middle East, too, but that maybe these pilots didn’t know that. The children started to fret. Miss Peggy could not lie and say there were no children in the places where the planes were going. So she and the children got a giant sheet of paper, and the kids drew a huge peace dove on it, flying over children. They got some older kids to help, including Sam, and they all signed their names. The kids kept telling Miss Peggy that the pilots must not have known—otherwise they would never go to a country where they might accidentally bomb children.”

Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3).

I spent three weeks in late June and early July studying in Chicago with the Association of Chicago Theological Schools (ACTS). It was a fantastic experience in every way. I sat under some brilliant professors, learned a great deal, explored new ideas, and—most of all—met some incredible people. These are people I will be studying with for the next three years. They have already contributed to my life and my understanding of the gospel.

I discovered again that there truly is great value in diversity. I studied and worshipped with women and men from a variety of denominational and ethnic backgrounds. We came from urban, suburban and rural churches in the United States, Canada, Australia, Germany, New Zealand and—if you can believe it— Michigan! We spent time getting to know each other, but there didn’t seem to be any “sizing up” going on. It was an atmosphere in which trust came easy. At least it did for me.

I interact with a lot of preachers from my own tradition—men and women that I know from college and seminary and many others I have met along the way. There is diversity in my denomination, but not like I experienced in Chicago. Now, I have always tried to read a wide spectrum of Christian theology. I want to hear the perspectives of Christians who are very different from me. But flesh and blood is better than print. In personal conversations I caught the passion of Christ’s servants, heard of their joys and sorrows, and rejoiced at what the Holy Spirit is doing in and among them.

One of the things that was refreshing for me was something that I’m pretty certain I’m the only one who noticed. It involved something that was by no means at the center of our study. In fact, it was just barely mentioned in passing in some of my reading and in a lecture or two. It had to do with the use of a couple of terms—“eschatology” and “apocalypse.”

I was raised in a conservative evangelical church. Eschatology (which can broadly be defined as the study of end times), and the apocalypse (the revealing of Jesus Christ at His second coming) were spoken of often. My church has been heavily influenced by Dispensationalism and the kind of “Rapture Theology” that is still being taught today in many churches and by countless radio and television preachers. Because of my background, I have a pretty good understanding of this brand of eschatology. Guess what? It scares the heebie-jeebies out of me!

As hard as I tried, I could never reconcile the eager anticipation of the Lord’s return with mass slaughter or—as some predicted—nuclear holocaust. In all my years since seminary I could not reconcile our call to be peacemakers with the assurance of the Dispensationalists that peace would never be possible. What I’m saying is that even though my beliefs have changed considerably over time, the concept of the end times has never brought peace, comfort and hope to me. Until now.

It hasn’t been one thing, but a number of things. I’ve read several authors who have clarified for me the purposes and meanings of biblical apocalyptic literature. I’ve thought and meditated at length what these things mean for today and for tomorrow. I’ve discovered that the New Testament really is good news from beginning to end. I’ve discovered that my old mental scripts can be rewritten.

Back to Chicago. When my brothers and sisters from other traditions speak of a passage with apocalyptic overtones, they’re speaking of something that is positive—it even feels positive to them. When they say something has eschatological overtones, they’re saying it speaks of hope! Imagine that!

Do you know why it feels that way? Because they have repeatedly been taught that way. Do you know why the Second Coming is so scary to evangelicals? Because they have been taught that way!

N.T. Wright recently wrote a book called, Surprised by Hope. I would recommend it to all who have been raised in the “evangelism-by-fear-that-you’ll-be-left-behind” theology. He really doesn’t spend too much time on the Second Coming. But he does say—repeatedly and in a variety of ways—that the future is not about destruction, but about resurrection. He’s not preaching a new gospel. He claims to be preaching the gospel that has been handed down for 2000 years (and I believe him), but that was intercepted and changed around 170 years ago by those who replaced Christ’s second coming with the rapture and a series of speculative events. (If you read this book, be prepared to have some of your long-standing positions challenged—which is a good thing.)

I believe that Jesus is coming again. And I’m thrilled to tell you that when I think about it now, it brings feelings of joy, peace and hope. And to tell you the truth, sometimes I’m surprised by that hope.