Advent and Nelson Mandela

I was a freshman in college when I was introduced to South Africa, through a Desmond Tutu book we read in my Human Rights class first semester.  You might say there was no excuse for the fact that it took that long, especially since I was in Model UN in high school.   In fact, I'd represented South Africa at a conference once, but it was kind of awkward, because I'd gotten an old book out of the library for my research and basically ended up representing the former apartheid government.  (My partner and I won that conference, my first and only gavel, and I'm not sure what that says about anyone involved.)

But it was the Tutu book freshman year that hooked me on South Africa, its history and contemporary struggles.  And soon I was writing every paper I could about South Africa: the ethics of its Truth and Reconciliation Commission.  Its level of economic development.  The liberation theology that arose from its struggles.  And I went there, too: just for a week at the end of a summer in Lesotho, but I went to the Apartheid Museum and ate lunch in Soweto and stayed in a big house on a shady street on the other side of Joburg that was surrounded by high walls and barbed wire.

I read Long Walk to Freedom between freshman and sophomore year of college.  I already loved Tutu--it was time to get to know Mandela.  It was slow at the start, which I didn't think boded well for the next 600 pages or so.  But the more I read, the faster I turned the pages; I got to accompany Mandela and his contemporaries as they organized peaceful protests, orchestrated sabotage from exile, risked their lives, and found reasons to survive and hope during decades in prison. 

It's been a long time since I've read that book and since I wrote my last research paper, and I don't remember many of the names or dates or details, anymore.  What I remember about Long Walk to Freedom is that it made me want to be part of it all.  It made me wish I had lived in that time and place, risking my life and safety for justice, being part of the struggle with those other people who believed so strongly in the same things.  It's the same way I felt reading Harry Potter, only this was real.

The truth is I'm not sure I would have been part of the anti-apartheid struggle, if I had lived at that time and in that place.  I would have supported it, of course.  Maybe I would have attended a few protests, made my opinion clear to those who would listen, given some volunteer hours.  Planning sabotage from exile?  In real life, I'm not that radical.  Maybe I'm better at studying these things from a place of privilege half a world away.

And yet I wish, sometimes, for something that would make me radical, to be drawn into that struggle between clear right and clear wrong and be willing to risk everything in it.  But Jesus said that whoever is faithful in small things will be faithful in big things, and maybe someday my big thing will make itself clear. 

Here's what I know: reading Mandela's story in his own words made me believe that a new kind of world was possible.  After years of struggle and violence and setbacks, it was possible.  That's why he was so beloved, I think; he made us all believe that.  And he made me (us?) believe that it was worth the risk and sacrifice.

South Africa still needs that hope, and the world still needs that hope, and I still need that hope.  That's why Advent seems like an appropriate time to be thinking about these things, because that's an Advent kind of hope.  God comes and brings redemption to a broken world, and we wait for the day when God's kingdom is fulfilled, and if we do things right, we wait actively by anticipating that future in how we live today.  And I'm thankful today, for those who have struggled for justice much harder than I ever have, and who have helped me believe that this world is being made new, and who have made me want to be a part of that.


 

Obama's Religion, and Why We Go to Church

I’ve seen some comments on Facebook today speculating on the sincerity of President Obama’s faith.  I’ve heard such speculation in the past, though not completely sure where it comes from.  Do they have to do with his personal narrative?  Or do the questions arise from his social policies, which some Christians don’t agree with and some do?

First of all, to state what I hope is the obvious, it’s pretty unhelpful to try to judge the sincerity of someone else’s faith, or to determine whether they get to call themselves the same thing that I call myself.  I’d say the same if it were Mitt Romney being inaugurated today and people were debating whether Mormons are really Christians.  Why is that up to me?  If someone calls him- or herself a Christian, I’ll give them the respect of assuming it’s true.  We might disagree on matters of theology, and we might disagree about what it means to faithfully follow Jesus, but for goodness sake let’s not quibble over the labels.

At the same time, helpful or unhelpful, I admit I have also wondered what really prompted Obama to join a church and to start calling himself a Christian.

I read Obama’s memoir Dreams From My Father a long time ago, and though I don’t remember all the specifics now, I believe he wrote about meeting Christians and working with churches through his job as a community organizer, and how at some point, it started to feel like something he needed, too.  I’m paraphrasing a lot there.  Maybe that’s how it happened: a conversion, a turning point, a change wrought by people who witnessed to the person and work of Jesus Christ.

Or Obama’s story is the story of an aspiring politician who realized how useful it would be to have not only a label, but the connections of a faith community.

Or maybe it is a combination of both.

Or maybe it is a combination of both with a lot of other factors added in too.

The truth is, there are a million reasons that anyone who is part of a faith community is part of a faith community.  Maybe it’s because I grew up going to church every Sunday, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s what you do.  Maybe it’s because I was lonely in a new town and looked for a way to meet some people.  Maybe it’s because I’m looking to be part of something bigger than myself, even if I’m not entirely sure yet what that is.  Maybe my parents make me.  Maybe my spouse makes me.  Maybe I want attention, and can get it reading Scripture and chairing a committee.  Maybe I’m looking for people who can help me—who will give me money, give me rides, visit me in the hospital, or even who will vote for me.

Good reasons?  Bad reasons?  Should we make a list and divide them up?

I grew up in the church, and my experience in my own home church and in my college campus ministry led me to want to not only participate in a faith community, but to pastor them.  I go to church because I want to follow Jesus and I think we do that best when we figure it all out together.  I go to church because I believe God called me into ministry.

But I also go to church for a lot of other reasons.  I go to church because it’s what I learned to do as a kid.  I go to church because throughout my life, I have met good people there.  I go to church because I like the hymns.  I go to church because it looks pretty at Christmas.  I go to church because sometimes there are tasty potlucks.  Some Sundays, when it is early and dark and raining, I go to church simply because I don’t want to get fired.

I know people, furthermore, who came back to church after a long hiatus because they wanted their kids to have some sort of spiritual grounding, or because it was important to their significant other, who are now leaders in our congregation and, as far as I can tell, people of deep faith.

At any church, people are there for a million different reasons, “good” reasons and “bad” reasons that are inextricable from each other, reasons that change over time.  And as far as I’m concerned, Jesus doesn’t have a tally sheet marking off each person’s reasons for coming that day and determining whether they are valid or invalid.  Jesus says, “Come on over.”  Just like he did to the people who found themselves hanging around him in first century Palestine—people who needed healing, people who needed food, people who needed a refill on the wine, people who wanted to watch a miracle, people who needed affirmation, people looking for adventure, people who were curious, people who were suspicious.

Is Obama a sincere Christian?  Who knows?  Am I?  If I had to guess, I’d guess Obama calls himself a Christian for a mix of reasons that are personal, spiritual, social, and political.  And if that mix of reasons isn’t valid, then whose mix of reasons is?