PILGRIM NOTES

My vote. The candidates I support. The policies I advocate. The causes to which I give my time and money. Even the way I regard people whose politics I find objectionable. All of it must be subject to the same question I ask about the rest of my life: Is this what God wants of me? And perhaps there is another question beneath that one: What is my influence actually serving? Is it serving the purposes of God as I understand them—love of neighbor, truth, justice, mercy, human d

Somewhere along the way I learned to call certain experiences in my own life “kairos moments.” Have you ever had what you might call a mountaintop experience—a moment when your ordinary awareness of time seemed to fade and something profoundly touched you? In those moments, the distance between Heaven and Earth can seem razor thin. But perhaps I've even been thinking about that backward. Maybe we simply become more aware of how close Heaven is.

Can we dream together? What might it look like if Jesus’ prayer really began shaping how Christians practiced citizenship? Not a Christian government. Not Christians controlling the government. But Christians actually praying—and living— “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” What would it look like if Christians became known as the people who lowered the temperature in a room rather than raised it?

Communion reminds us God's deepest desire has always been to dwell with his people. We leave the Table not merely having remembered Christ, but carrying his presence into the world. God no longer asks people to come to sacred space. He makes his people the sacred space. What does this mean? It means God's purpose has never changed. From Genesis onward, God has desired to dwell with humanity and accomplish his work through humanity.

From the beginning, God risks rejection. Throughout Scripture he continues taking that risk. Israel rejects him. Prophets are ignored. Jesus is rejected and crucified. The Holy Spirit is resisted. Nowhere is God's willingness to risk rejection seen more clearly than at the cross. Rather than overwhelming humanity with irresistible power, Christ entered our world in vulnerability. He healed, taught, forgave, and loved—even knowing many would reject him.

When fear searches for an explanation, simple stories become attractive. Some point to immigration, religious pluralism, ethnic groups, or political opponents. Whether these explanations contain elements of truth or not, they often reduce a complicated cultural transformation to a single villain. Fear rarely tolerates complexity. It searches for someone to blame. And once fear has identified an enemy, taking back political control begins to look like the obvious solution.

Does Jesus call His followers to influence the world—or control it? Human beings have long assumed that power is the surest way to influence others. Yet from the pages of Scripture to the unfolding story of history, God consistently works through humble, self-giving love. Twenty years ago, I was pastoring a small church in Tucson. A leader in the congregation came to me, excited about a video series produced by historian and political activist David Barton, who argues that

We are created for connection by a communal God, so walls do profound damage, both to our democracy and to our souls.