Bonhoeffer (again) argues that Christian ethics is unique because it refuses to ask the two ethical questions - how can I be a good person? and what is a good action? - because it is already confronted by a greater question: will you hear and obey God?
I think that's helpful in churches riddled with ethical confusion. Look, the key thing here isn't to go away and have a commission and a process to try to work out what is good. Will you listen to God and do what he says?
It's also helpful in cutting through some of the fudge. This is just ethics, say some. It's a peripheral and complicated issue. Nobody should be made to feel unwelcome in church just because of an ethical disagreement. Why can't we all just coexist? Well, okay Mr Fudge, I see where you're coming from. The big 'ethical issues' we're wrestling with - around gender and sexuality, for example - are indeed 'peripheral', and have a degree of complexity about them. I get it. But what if we try again with the only relevant question for Christian ethics put front and centre: this is just obedience to God. Obeying God is a peripheral matter, and it's complicated. Nobody should be made to feel unwelcome in God's church just because they persistently and deliberately disobey God! Yeah, doesn't sound so good now, does it?
Leaving aside the fact that the apostle is perfectly clear that we should indeed break fellowship with people over 'ethical' issues, and that he brings this into the closest possible connection with the eucharistic celebration of the gospel, just understanding what the ethical question is ought to help us with working through the implications of the answer.
Friday, January 31, 2020
Thursday, January 30, 2020
Two crucial concepts from Bonhoeffer
I've long been convinced that Bonhoeffer's Ethics ought to be required reading for all Christian leaders, and perhaps all Christians. It astonishes me that in this unfinished work I find the most profound reflections on what it means to be a Christian in the modern world. Two particular concepts have been on my mind lately.
Firstly, the concept of the natural. For Bonhoeffer, the natural is not identical with the created; in fact, it contains within it the concept of fallenness. (It is perhaps significant that both Barth and Bonhoeffer are fairly tentative about the original created state; I tend to think that contemporary evangelicals [in the anglophone sense] make rather stronger statements about the original creational design than can be sustained from Scripture). The natural means the form of reality which persists after the fall. It cannot be regarded, on the hand, as the original design, because of the fall. But on the other hand it cannot be regarded as utterly fallen, because of creation. It is, if you like, the order of preservation, the way God has ordained that things should be. Crucially, for Bonhoeffer, it is the form of life. The natural is ordained for life, and as such it is relatively open to the coming of Christ, because Christ comes to give life. The natural is not yet Christian life, nor does it depend on revelation; but it is in a sense ordered towards revelation and towards Christ.
Because the natural form of things is given by God, it is not dependent on any human authority. In fact, it is the unnatural which requires organisation, propaganda, force; the natural is simply given, simply there. Bonhoeffer gives the example of children: they may, by the force of propaganda, be organised against their parents (he has, of course, the Third Reich in view); but if the propaganda and organisation subsides, a more natural filial relation will assert itself again. I think this explains the constant propaganda around abortion, or around sexuality and gender, at the moment; the proponents of the new moral consensus understand very well that they must constantly buttress their position, lest nature creep back in. It is also a source for optimism, as Bonhoeffer points out. Not ultimate optimism - we ought to have that because of Christ! - but the relative optimism that there is a good chance that natural form will reassert itself.
Second concept is vicarious representation. For Bonhoeffer, amidst the collapse of his society into evil, the crucial temptation to be resisted is ethics as keeping one's own hands clean. Withdrawal, separation, an attempt to fence out evil from the church, an attempt to separate an individual life into an outward compelled evil and an inner purity... All this has to be resisted. An ethic that derives from the gospel recognises that Jesus does not separate himself (in that sense) from sinners, but (in his total separation) becomes a brother to the wicked, taking on himself responsibility for their actions and their waywardness. Of course this is a movement which cannot be, and need not be, repeated; Christ uniquely bears sin and guilt, is uniquely the vicarious representative of all human beings. But those who are in Christ must not shy away from accepting solidarity with sinners, must not shy away from accepting guilt. There is no 'us and them'; just us, sinners. Because Christ has borne our guilt away, we can take this stance without fear of judgement; because Christ has given us an example, we must take this stance.
The combination of the two concepts seems to me to give us the possibility of a calm, a serenity, in the face of moral collapse in our society. We are not to be frantically lecturing those around us, as if the natural order of things ordained by God required our defence. We need not be frantically barricading ourselves and our church communities against the evils of the world, as if Christ needed to fear contamination. Cheerfully, we speak the truth; tearfully, we confess our complicity in guilt. And then cheerfully again we remember Jesus.
Firstly, the concept of the natural. For Bonhoeffer, the natural is not identical with the created; in fact, it contains within it the concept of fallenness. (It is perhaps significant that both Barth and Bonhoeffer are fairly tentative about the original created state; I tend to think that contemporary evangelicals [in the anglophone sense] make rather stronger statements about the original creational design than can be sustained from Scripture). The natural means the form of reality which persists after the fall. It cannot be regarded, on the hand, as the original design, because of the fall. But on the other hand it cannot be regarded as utterly fallen, because of creation. It is, if you like, the order of preservation, the way God has ordained that things should be. Crucially, for Bonhoeffer, it is the form of life. The natural is ordained for life, and as such it is relatively open to the coming of Christ, because Christ comes to give life. The natural is not yet Christian life, nor does it depend on revelation; but it is in a sense ordered towards revelation and towards Christ.
Because the natural form of things is given by God, it is not dependent on any human authority. In fact, it is the unnatural which requires organisation, propaganda, force; the natural is simply given, simply there. Bonhoeffer gives the example of children: they may, by the force of propaganda, be organised against their parents (he has, of course, the Third Reich in view); but if the propaganda and organisation subsides, a more natural filial relation will assert itself again. I think this explains the constant propaganda around abortion, or around sexuality and gender, at the moment; the proponents of the new moral consensus understand very well that they must constantly buttress their position, lest nature creep back in. It is also a source for optimism, as Bonhoeffer points out. Not ultimate optimism - we ought to have that because of Christ! - but the relative optimism that there is a good chance that natural form will reassert itself.
Second concept is vicarious representation. For Bonhoeffer, amidst the collapse of his society into evil, the crucial temptation to be resisted is ethics as keeping one's own hands clean. Withdrawal, separation, an attempt to fence out evil from the church, an attempt to separate an individual life into an outward compelled evil and an inner purity... All this has to be resisted. An ethic that derives from the gospel recognises that Jesus does not separate himself (in that sense) from sinners, but (in his total separation) becomes a brother to the wicked, taking on himself responsibility for their actions and their waywardness. Of course this is a movement which cannot be, and need not be, repeated; Christ uniquely bears sin and guilt, is uniquely the vicarious representative of all human beings. But those who are in Christ must not shy away from accepting solidarity with sinners, must not shy away from accepting guilt. There is no 'us and them'; just us, sinners. Because Christ has borne our guilt away, we can take this stance without fear of judgement; because Christ has given us an example, we must take this stance.
The combination of the two concepts seems to me to give us the possibility of a calm, a serenity, in the face of moral collapse in our society. We are not to be frantically lecturing those around us, as if the natural order of things ordained by God required our defence. We need not be frantically barricading ourselves and our church communities against the evils of the world, as if Christ needed to fear contamination. Cheerfully, we speak the truth; tearfully, we confess our complicity in guilt. And then cheerfully again we remember Jesus.
Thursday, January 23, 2020
Religious liberty
The Prime Minister and others made some encouraging noises about religious liberty a few weeks back - supporting freedom of religion at home and abroad. But I wonder if he knows what religious liberty really means?
I think freedom of religion is not regarded as any great thing in our culture, because religion itself is so badly misunderstood. If religion is just the Sunday (Friday, Saturday) hobby of a minority of people; if religion is merely the private beliefs of a limited number of individuals; if religion is just a mythical underpinning for a moral framework which could in principle be separated from those mythical roots - well, in that case religious liberty is not much more of a big deal than freedom to follow the football team of your choice, or freedom to read the novels of your choice. This sort of thing seems like it shouldn't be difficult or costly for society to grant; nor does there seem to be any reason why any particular clamour should be made about it, particularly as the number of people wanting to exercise this right seems so small.
But in fact freedom of religion means freedom to live in a completely different world from society at large, with entirely different values springing from an entirely different view of reality, and yet still to be included in social institutions and events without discrimination.
Put it like that, and I think it's a big deal.
Picture the late Roman Empire - religion here is not about private beliefs or occasional rituals for a minority; it is the whole shared world. The reason the Roman authorities are anxious about Christians - the reason they refer to them as 'atheists' - is because they seem to be threatening to tear this whole social fabric apart. They are opting out of the whole cultic-social-political complex, and the more people who go in this direction the more likely it is that the whole thing will collapse. In that context, to issue an edict of toleration is a brave and testing thing to do.
So, perhaps we wouldn't call it 'religion', but I think our situation is pretty similar. There is an assumed framework of morals and values ('British values'?) based on a particular reading of history and reality. To opt out of it is dangerous - you might be a terrorist; you are surely a bit weird. It's not the going to church or the beliefs that society objects to; just the fact that people insist on acting as if these beliefs were really true, in the real world. Hard to take.
The easy and natural social response, and the one which our culture typically pursues, is exclusion - of course you're free to hold these views (we're Western, after all, and believe in religious liberty), but you can't come into the public sphere with them. This is not genuine freedom of religion.
I wonder if our society can be, or wants to be, brave enough to have the real thing?
I think freedom of religion is not regarded as any great thing in our culture, because religion itself is so badly misunderstood. If religion is just the Sunday (Friday, Saturday) hobby of a minority of people; if religion is merely the private beliefs of a limited number of individuals; if religion is just a mythical underpinning for a moral framework which could in principle be separated from those mythical roots - well, in that case religious liberty is not much more of a big deal than freedom to follow the football team of your choice, or freedom to read the novels of your choice. This sort of thing seems like it shouldn't be difficult or costly for society to grant; nor does there seem to be any reason why any particular clamour should be made about it, particularly as the number of people wanting to exercise this right seems so small.
But in fact freedom of religion means freedom to live in a completely different world from society at large, with entirely different values springing from an entirely different view of reality, and yet still to be included in social institutions and events without discrimination.
Put it like that, and I think it's a big deal.
Picture the late Roman Empire - religion here is not about private beliefs or occasional rituals for a minority; it is the whole shared world. The reason the Roman authorities are anxious about Christians - the reason they refer to them as 'atheists' - is because they seem to be threatening to tear this whole social fabric apart. They are opting out of the whole cultic-social-political complex, and the more people who go in this direction the more likely it is that the whole thing will collapse. In that context, to issue an edict of toleration is a brave and testing thing to do.
So, perhaps we wouldn't call it 'religion', but I think our situation is pretty similar. There is an assumed framework of morals and values ('British values'?) based on a particular reading of history and reality. To opt out of it is dangerous - you might be a terrorist; you are surely a bit weird. It's not the going to church or the beliefs that society objects to; just the fact that people insist on acting as if these beliefs were really true, in the real world. Hard to take.
The easy and natural social response, and the one which our culture typically pursues, is exclusion - of course you're free to hold these views (we're Western, after all, and believe in religious liberty), but you can't come into the public sphere with them. This is not genuine freedom of religion.
I wonder if our society can be, or wants to be, brave enough to have the real thing?
Thursday, January 16, 2020
Reformation Liturgies and corporate prayer
I've just finished working through Reformation Liturgies, edited by Jonathan Gibson and Mark Earngey. This (massive) book compiles a number of different liturgies and forms of worship from the Reformation period (i.e., the 16th century), including liturgies from Lutheran, Anglican, and Reformed churches. I'll be honest, it's probably not everyone's idea of a gripping read, but I found it fascinating, and as a resource for contemporary worship absolutely invaluable. Those guys, driven by gospel need, thought hard about what Christian worship ought to be like, and strove to put it into practice. The care that went into those liturgies, to make sure that what was said and done was God-honouring, is really striking. What is equally striking - and helpfully illustrated in an appendix which compares the 'running order' of all the different liturgies (including, usefully, an outline of the mediaeval Mass) - is that there was a broad consensus amongst the early Protestants, despite differences in detail and approach, on the content and shape of a Christian act of worship.
I don't want to go into detail on that content and shape here - see the book - but I do want to ask a couple of questions.
The first is this: given the consensus in the early Reformation period, how have we got to a point now where anything that smacks of being 'liturgical' feels, to folks in my congregation, as if it is 'Anglican'?
The answer is actually hinted at in the book - the liturgies of some of the English exiles during the Marian period are already tending towards simpler forms, less prescriptive. The particular history of non-conformity in the late 16th and 17th centuries must surely have a bearing. Theologically, arguments like that of John Owen in his Discourse Concerning Liturgies (1662) are relevant. Owen's main points are: that Christ has provided men to lead in worship, equipped by the Holy Spirit, thus obviating the need for set prayers; that Christ having made such provision, any seeking out of other means is contrary to his will; and, that nobody other than Christ has the necessary authority to impose a particular liturgy. I don't find these hugely persuasive, and I think Owen ignores evidence that set liturgical forms were in use much earlier than he is prepared to admit (and I think further evidence has come to light since Owen's day). Owen thinks he is arguing for the liberty of the churches, but to me he seems to be arguing only for the liberty of the clergy, to lead as they see fit; and set in that light, the arguments do not appear so noble. However, Owen's arguments are better than the main arguments expressed in our contemporary setting, which seem to be that set forms are necessarily 'inauthentic', and that only prayer from the heart counts; add to that our culture's strong preference for informality, and hey presto.
My second, and more important, question has to do with the effect of the abandonment of liturgical forms on our churches. It is commonly observed that our worship is often rather thin gruel; that our services lack 'shape' and depth. I think that's right. The work of teaching, formation, and discipleship has come to be focused exclusively on the sermon, with the surrounding informal liturgy being seen as primarily a time for self-expression. That is problematic, to say the least.
I wonder whether there hasn't been a broader impact on corporate prayer. I don't want to over-state this, but I do think it is significant that when Jesus taught his disciples to pray he gave them, not a technique, but a form of words. (I've commented on this here and here). We learn to pray by praying along. There is no doubt in my mind that this is easier with 'set prayers' which are repeated over time than it is with extemporaneous prayer. Moreover, the sense of 'praying along' is surely conveyed better in a liturgical form with space for responses and prayers recited together than a more informal form which reserves only the 'amen' for the 'laity' (so-called).
I don't want to go into detail on that content and shape here - see the book - but I do want to ask a couple of questions.
The first is this: given the consensus in the early Reformation period, how have we got to a point now where anything that smacks of being 'liturgical' feels, to folks in my congregation, as if it is 'Anglican'?
The answer is actually hinted at in the book - the liturgies of some of the English exiles during the Marian period are already tending towards simpler forms, less prescriptive. The particular history of non-conformity in the late 16th and 17th centuries must surely have a bearing. Theologically, arguments like that of John Owen in his Discourse Concerning Liturgies (1662) are relevant. Owen's main points are: that Christ has provided men to lead in worship, equipped by the Holy Spirit, thus obviating the need for set prayers; that Christ having made such provision, any seeking out of other means is contrary to his will; and, that nobody other than Christ has the necessary authority to impose a particular liturgy. I don't find these hugely persuasive, and I think Owen ignores evidence that set liturgical forms were in use much earlier than he is prepared to admit (and I think further evidence has come to light since Owen's day). Owen thinks he is arguing for the liberty of the churches, but to me he seems to be arguing only for the liberty of the clergy, to lead as they see fit; and set in that light, the arguments do not appear so noble. However, Owen's arguments are better than the main arguments expressed in our contemporary setting, which seem to be that set forms are necessarily 'inauthentic', and that only prayer from the heart counts; add to that our culture's strong preference for informality, and hey presto.
My second, and more important, question has to do with the effect of the abandonment of liturgical forms on our churches. It is commonly observed that our worship is often rather thin gruel; that our services lack 'shape' and depth. I think that's right. The work of teaching, formation, and discipleship has come to be focused exclusively on the sermon, with the surrounding informal liturgy being seen as primarily a time for self-expression. That is problematic, to say the least.
I wonder whether there hasn't been a broader impact on corporate prayer. I don't want to over-state this, but I do think it is significant that when Jesus taught his disciples to pray he gave them, not a technique, but a form of words. (I've commented on this here and here). We learn to pray by praying along. There is no doubt in my mind that this is easier with 'set prayers' which are repeated over time than it is with extemporaneous prayer. Moreover, the sense of 'praying along' is surely conveyed better in a liturgical form with space for responses and prayers recited together than a more informal form which reserves only the 'amen' for the 'laity' (so-called).
Thursday, December 19, 2019
Advent and Christmas
Working through the letter of 2 Peter over the last few weeks, one of the things I've noticed is that forward momentum in the Christian life, driven and energised by hope for the second coming of the Lord, is a much bigger thing in the New Testament than it is in much of the contemporary Christianity with which I am familiar. For 2 Peter, it seems to me, you're either growing in Christian character or you're falling back into the orbit of the corrupt world; you're either straining towards the promise of a new heavens and new earth where righteousness dwells or you're scoffing at God.
Particularly striking at this time of year, as Advent gives way to Christmas: the way in which you look forward reveals something about the way you look back.
If you're not growing in Christian character (looking forward), you've forgotten that you were once washed from sin (looking back).
If you're scoffing at the idea of Christ's return and the final judgement (looking forward), you've forgotten the Majesty that has already been revealed in Christ (looking back).
It strikes me that if we're not looking forward to Christ's second coming, that is a sign that we've critically misunderstood Christmas. If we think, with the classic liberal and with many a nativity play, of Christmas as simply a particular example of the everyday miracle of life (i.e., as a myth), we will expect that existence will simply roll on as it ever has done: a series of miracles, the world infused with the miraculous. No second coming here. If, on the other hand, we follow some apologists and more conservative theologians and make Christmas all about history - a one-off, uniquely glorious event - we will not necessarily be driven to expect any further events - or if we do, we must confess them to be logically somewhat disconnected from the first. Maybe a second coming, but what has that to do with Christmas?
But if we see in Christmas the breaking in of the end, the ultimate, into our history - interrupting its flow, bringing into history that which history could never throw up of itself: redemption, salvation, new creation - if we see that in the story of the manger, then we must look for the full and final revelation of that salvation. Redemption which does not redeem, new creation which gets lost in the old: these are impossible things. If in the baby in the manger we see - let us get to the absolute point - Almighty God, then we must expect the glory of God to fill the earth as the waters cover the sea. We must, therefore, look forward to his return, his full unveiling, the judgement of all the earth.
Which is more or less what I was trying to say about this time last year!
Wednesday, December 11, 2019
Vote like a sinner
Up until a few days ago, I was considering spoiling my ballot tomorrow. I know a number of other Christians who are thinking along the same lines. I've changed my mind. I'm going to vote. Can I encourage you to do likewise?
Here's the thing: I think we've got to a point where voting for any of the main parties in this election involves you in sin. I don't think that's hyperbole. You cannot as a Christian vote for a party mired in antisemitism, or a party pledged to decriminalise abortion. You cannot as a Christian vote for a party which has shown little regard for the truth when campaigning and little regard for the vulnerable when in government. You cannot as a Christian vote for a party which wants to throw the basic of God-given human nature out the window and legally enshrine a radical gender ideology.
You cannot. Not as a Christian.
And so the only way to preserve your conscience intact, the only way to be righteous, is not to vote. Right?
I think the problem with this perspective - and it was mine until a few days ago - is that it assumes that there is a group of the righteous, sitting somehow detached from the society around us, not as yet implicated in its wickedness. It is not so. Vote or don't vote. You are nonetheless part of the society which has thrown up these options. Where do you think this evil choice came from? From the evil hearts of other people? Not at all so. Not at all. No, we too, like the rest, are guilty, culpable.
Not us Christians? Surely not us? But has it all happened without us? Have we spoken and lived clear alternatives? Have we stood up for the unborn as we should have done? Have we clearly defended our Jewish neighbours? Have we shown by our lives and our speech just what human being means and is meant to be in God's creation? Have we taken action for the vulnerable?
We too, like the rest.
Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
Not to vote is to try to opt out. But you and I are in it up to our necks. You can't just opt out of the swamp in which you have lived your whole life, the swamp you have helped to build, through your negligence, your weakness, your own deliberate fault. You belong with these people, not standing over them in some superior place of righteousness.
So get out and vote. You can't vote for any of these as a Christian. Well then, vote as a sinner. Pick your red lines - the things you won't cross - and take the appropriate action. I won't vote for a liberalised abortion regime, I won't vote for antisemitism, and I won't vote for gender confusion. So I'll vote for the other guys. And I'm not saying you should do that. I'm saying you should make a decision and get involved. I'm not saying that as a Christian you really ought to vote. I'm saying that as a sinner you really ought to vote.
Put a cross in a box, and as you put it there cry out to heaven: I am a man (or woman) of unclean politics, and I live amongst a people of unclean politics! Woe, woe is me!
Be justified, not by your vote, but by your Saviour. Be justified from your sinful vote. Vote and trust, vote and believe.
Vote and confess.
Here's the thing: I think we've got to a point where voting for any of the main parties in this election involves you in sin. I don't think that's hyperbole. You cannot as a Christian vote for a party mired in antisemitism, or a party pledged to decriminalise abortion. You cannot as a Christian vote for a party which has shown little regard for the truth when campaigning and little regard for the vulnerable when in government. You cannot as a Christian vote for a party which wants to throw the basic of God-given human nature out the window and legally enshrine a radical gender ideology.
You cannot. Not as a Christian.
And so the only way to preserve your conscience intact, the only way to be righteous, is not to vote. Right?
I think the problem with this perspective - and it was mine until a few days ago - is that it assumes that there is a group of the righteous, sitting somehow detached from the society around us, not as yet implicated in its wickedness. It is not so. Vote or don't vote. You are nonetheless part of the society which has thrown up these options. Where do you think this evil choice came from? From the evil hearts of other people? Not at all so. Not at all. No, we too, like the rest, are guilty, culpable.
Not us Christians? Surely not us? But has it all happened without us? Have we spoken and lived clear alternatives? Have we stood up for the unborn as we should have done? Have we clearly defended our Jewish neighbours? Have we shown by our lives and our speech just what human being means and is meant to be in God's creation? Have we taken action for the vulnerable?
We too, like the rest.
Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
Not to vote is to try to opt out. But you and I are in it up to our necks. You can't just opt out of the swamp in which you have lived your whole life, the swamp you have helped to build, through your negligence, your weakness, your own deliberate fault. You belong with these people, not standing over them in some superior place of righteousness.
So get out and vote. You can't vote for any of these as a Christian. Well then, vote as a sinner. Pick your red lines - the things you won't cross - and take the appropriate action. I won't vote for a liberalised abortion regime, I won't vote for antisemitism, and I won't vote for gender confusion. So I'll vote for the other guys. And I'm not saying you should do that. I'm saying you should make a decision and get involved. I'm not saying that as a Christian you really ought to vote. I'm saying that as a sinner you really ought to vote.
Put a cross in a box, and as you put it there cry out to heaven: I am a man (or woman) of unclean politics, and I live amongst a people of unclean politics! Woe, woe is me!
Be justified, not by your vote, but by your Saviour. Be justified from your sinful vote. Vote and trust, vote and believe.
Vote and confess.
Tuesday, December 10, 2019
Keep on being kind
A friend encouraged me yesterday to re-post something from just before the General Election in 2015. Back then, I just wanted to encourage people to be kind. Think the best of people. Don't assume that others have terrible motives. Speak well of one another. That was all I was after.
Honestly, I couldn't simply re-post it. Go back and read it, and see how far things have deteriorated over the last four years. Look at the picture of Dave, and Ed, and Nick; three men with very different politics but obvious mutual respect. It was a more elegant blogpost, for a more civilised age.
Nowadays I really couldn't encourage you to assume the best of everyone in politics. It would be naive, even negligent, to do so. There is, I am convinced, real evil at work in our politics. When parties are going into a general election pledged to decriminalise murder in the womb; when a major party in British politics has been named the number one existential threat to Jews around the world; when politicians are pledged to enshrine corrupt gender politics into our laws; when at least one political party is led by someone with a proven track record of lies and deceit... No, I can't tell you to assume the best. There is evil at work here.
But here's a thing I can say on apostolic authority: if evil is not to overcome us all, and is instead itself to be overcome, it is to be overcome by doing good.
So I think we can - must - keep on being kind. That in no way means failing to call out evil where we see it. But it does mean recognising that there is no righteous choice here, and if others are making different choices from us - choices we can't understand or see the moral justification for - we can be generous and humble in the way we think, and gentle in the way we speak. We might want to challenge people to change their minds; but we do it with kindness.
We Christians need to look to the model of Jesus, and model a robust kindness, a kindness which doesn't brush over evil, but looks it squarely in the eye and is nonetheless powerfully gentle, confidently humble.
However you vote, or whether perhaps you don't feel you can morally justify voting at all, keep on being kind.
Honestly, I couldn't simply re-post it. Go back and read it, and see how far things have deteriorated over the last four years. Look at the picture of Dave, and Ed, and Nick; three men with very different politics but obvious mutual respect. It was a more elegant blogpost, for a more civilised age.
Nowadays I really couldn't encourage you to assume the best of everyone in politics. It would be naive, even negligent, to do so. There is, I am convinced, real evil at work in our politics. When parties are going into a general election pledged to decriminalise murder in the womb; when a major party in British politics has been named the number one existential threat to Jews around the world; when politicians are pledged to enshrine corrupt gender politics into our laws; when at least one political party is led by someone with a proven track record of lies and deceit... No, I can't tell you to assume the best. There is evil at work here.
But here's a thing I can say on apostolic authority: if evil is not to overcome us all, and is instead itself to be overcome, it is to be overcome by doing good.
So I think we can - must - keep on being kind. That in no way means failing to call out evil where we see it. But it does mean recognising that there is no righteous choice here, and if others are making different choices from us - choices we can't understand or see the moral justification for - we can be generous and humble in the way we think, and gentle in the way we speak. We might want to challenge people to change their minds; but we do it with kindness.
We Christians need to look to the model of Jesus, and model a robust kindness, a kindness which doesn't brush over evil, but looks it squarely in the eye and is nonetheless powerfully gentle, confidently humble.
However you vote, or whether perhaps you don't feel you can morally justify voting at all, keep on being kind.
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