I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.

I see the world in one giant connected picture. Everything is linked to everything else, both in my brain and in the way I communicate. Sometimes I let things build before I pour it all out, in a waterfall of sorts, for my husband or a friend or a coworker. This could be a happy waterfall, or a frustrated one. But it usually involves a string of thoughts that make a whole lot of sense to me, and may be difficult for others to track. My counselor recently advised me to take the person on an artistic journey with me when I talk, where all of my thoughts are like pieces of a big painting and eventually, if we all hang in together, everything makes sense in a cohesive way. It’s been so helpful! And it happened the other day, as my husband and I did the dishes.

Maybe it was those heavy-hitting words from Galatians I’ve been reading for the last couple of weeks. Maybe it was the worship playlist, where song after song invoked miracles and breakthrough and big moves of God without mention of the daily disciplines associated with knowing his voice. Maybe it was the racist video shared to a friend’s social media feed, posted by a leader in her church. Maybe it was the look-back at the multiple churches we’ve served throughout the years, each with its own ideas on reaching the lost and taking care of the found. But suddenly, I was ready to say a lot of the things about the Church’s influence today. It boils down to a feeling not unlike the parent in a stare-down with her kid. I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.

I came into 2020 fully expecting the usual election year fanfare. I was ready for the divisive conversations, the gut reactions, the echo chambers, the emotional heat, the conspiracies, the apathy, the pride, and the self-preservation. Believe it or not, we’ve been here before. I see it and feel it and fight it myself, every time I gear up to vote. Although we’re told this election matters every two years, this one feels particularly historic for multiple reasons. First, there’s the current context. We’ve got a global pandemic, mass protests, and even wildfires. I don’t remember an election season where candidates couldn’t campaign. Second, social media looks different than any election past. This President is the first to maintain a personal online presence during his term. It’s also the first Presidential election cycle since Instagram launched its stories feature, which enables and encourages us to process in real time.

So while none of these problematic dynamics come as a shock to me, I am unsettled by professing Christians’ participation in them. I am discouraged by the hyperbolic inflammatory and militarized language, leveled against people and positions. I am frustrated by the notion that American Christians are persecuted or oppressed, an affront to our brothers and sisters overseas who are jailed or killed for their faith. I feel irritated by sermons that spend more time arguing against social justice movements than they do exhorting congregants to take care of their hungry neighbors. I get defensive when I watch influential people give interviews, write books, and post about God and politics but never mention Jesus or his work on the cross. I feel conflicted when Christians I know and love rush to applaud and promote those voices. I am worn out by the extremeness of it all, on any side of any topic on any given day. I am saddened at the realization that the yuckiest conversations I’ve had this year have been with fellow believers. On an encouraging note, some of the most generous and fruitful talks I’ve experienced have been with people who previously wanted nothing to do with faith. I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.

Politics actually energizes me. Beyond the civic duty element, I enjoy learning about and following along with current events in our nation and beyond. I stay hopeful about the direction of our country. I do not feel the sky is falling. I will not buy into that narrative. I believe that as a Jesus follower, I am in this world and not of it… so I shouldn’t act like it.

Of course the world is on fire. It’s been falling apart since Genesis 3. Of course people hurt each other, and choose themselves over their neighbors. Of course we’re battling racism, global warming, poverty, human trafficking, greed and corruption, an unstable economy, and and and. But! There is good news! Believers have an answer to these painful realities. His name is Jesus. And with his gospel as our foundation, we can work toward practical solutions to those problems. However, it’s difficult to move on to topics like missional living and disciple-making and world peace when the Bride of Christ is still confused about the definition and implications of the gospel. I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.

I love the Church. I think she’s beautiful and bright, despite her brokenness. I know she will survive 2020 because she has survived for thousands of years, in times just as dark and heavy as these. More so, I believe she will thrive and grow and be a blessing to the nations. But the people within the Church? The people who call her home? We’ve got to remember what home looks like. It’s not America, or the church we attend, or the political party that promises to support our issues. Home is the kingdom of God, and it’s time to get upside-down.

To follow Jesus is to go last. To love Jesus is to lay down rights and preferences. To follow Jesus is die to self. To love Jesus is to use freedom to serve neighbor. To follow Jesus is to walk away from idolatry and hatred and discord, and run toward peace and patience and kindness. This is the Biblical definition of a Christian. It is counter-cultural. It is inconvenient. It is costly. It is worth it. In Jesus’ name.