Maybe Politics isn’t the Worst Option

Developing a Multi-Faceted Theology of Protest

In the US, the summer of 2020 was dubbed, “the summer of protest.” 

I am not the first to suggest that the summer of 2025 is shaping up as a reboot. Unlike most sequels, though, this one is already bigger and promises to be more influential than the first.  

I wonder what the role of the church will and should be. When we make our signs, lace our sneakers and show up to walk with our neighbors, what are we doing theologically? What are we claiming about the nature of God, humanity, creation, sin, salvation and kingdom? What liturgies do we embody? How will these practices shape our character? Of ultimate importance, will they help us look more like Jesus? 

Over the next six weeks, I want to throw out theories about protest as spiritual practice. I want to test drive theological arguments for protest, beginning today with a political theology of protest.

Maybe Politics Isn’t the Worst Option

In his book, Christ and the Common Life, political theologian Luke Bretherton poses a provocative question and offers an even more provocative multiple choice answer.  It reads like a choose-your-own-adventure for life in the United States of America circa 2025.  

What do you do when you meet someone you disagree with, dislike, find strange or unsettling?

A. You kill them.
B. You run them out of town
C. You set up a system by to control them.
D. You do politics.

An armed assassin in Minnesota chose option A when, a little over a week ago, he murdered a politician and her husband, injured another politician and his wife and left a kill list filled with people he disagreed with, disliked, found strange and unsettling. The American people, so accustomed to the mythology of their own exceptionalism, can’t quite believe it is happening here. Christian people, so accustomed to social and political deference to our religion, scramble to ignore the story, as though the accused murderer isn’t one of ours and as though we don’t need to reckon with what that means. But don’t worry, if option A makes you squeamish, there’s always option B. It’s the next best thing and, in some cases, it’s the very same thing. 

Option B begins with telling lies about people you don’t know. The good news is that the blank canvas of ignorance is an excellent surface for sketching caricatures of “rapists” and “murderers.” Option B develops by photoshopping gang tattoos onto knuckles, asserting the existence of non-existent warrants, sending jackbooted goons cosplaying as law enforcement to round up neighbors, members of church family,  farm, restaurant, and hotel workers, and separating families. Until, finally, we’re sending US citizens, other lawful residents to concentration camps. History makes it easy to conclude that this is one of humanity’s favorite solutions for what to do with people we disagree with, dislike, find strange and unsettling. 

For the third option, “C” might stand for “church” because this is where we really shine. Not to say we aren’t capable of the other options but C is where we get to show off a special talent for making conformity–of belief, of practice, of media, of politics–a condition of belonging.  God (or Synod) forbid our denominational communications showcase diverse opinions and perspectives. Control extends beyond church polity, though.  Cultural and societal pressure can be used to control. And so can executive orders. Even if the aforementioned jackbooted goons don’t deport a single person, their existence exerts control. Military parades and patrols in our streets demonstrate encroaching authoritarianism, which is just a fancy political word for controlling people we disagree with, misunderstand, or dislike. 

Holding options A-C against the 10 Commandments, we’ve got good reason to reject option A on the basis of murder being wrong. That one’s easy. Running people out of town relies heavily on bearing false witness in order to steal land, home, reputation, family, citizenship, etc. which rules out option B. Option C is a bit trickier. Here I think we lean into the first table of the law. According to number one, God is our only sovereign. Human attempts to control almost always swerve to idolatry, which puts us in direct conflict with number two. And when Christians attempt to control, we regularly baptize our efforts by claiming the Lord’s will or favor. 

Three strikes and we’re out. 

Now we move on to seriously consider option D, which is not to say option D is a slamdunk. Especially when those tasked with doing politics treat option D like an “all of the above” answer to the original question. But the more important drawback with doing politics is that it rarely gets flashy results. Good policy doesn’t fit on a chyron. Good legislation overruns the character count on our social media platforms. Political change is incremental. It’s dreadfully boring, fastidious, and rarely produces enough content to justify 24-hour news coverage. 

Nonetheless, if you, like me, are inclined toward option D., may I recommend the spiritual practice of showing up to protests? 

Spiritual Practice of Protest

As I observed my co-belligerents at last week’s #nokings protests, it dawned on me that, in this sea of thousands, I would have a hard time finding someone who agrees with me completely. Many have lifestyles I find strange and ideologies I find unsettling. Anarchists and disaffected Republicans. Groups of friends gathering in the crowd and timid homebodies holding up signs that read “it’s so bad, even the introverts are here.” Aging hippies and moms in lululemon pushing strollers. As we walk, someone inevitably starts a call and response, that has become one of my favorite liturgies: 

One voice: Show me what democracy looks like.

All: This is what democracy looks like!

We show up to these protests for a whole host of reasons. Some of those reasons find their root in Christian political theology and others don’t. We fundamentally disagree on a whole host of important issues. It’s unlikely that we will all be besties. I may continue to find my co-belligerents strange and unsettling. But, at least for the duration of a Saturday morning, we aren’t killing, caging or controlling one another. And that is what democracy looks like.