I attended three worship services one Sunday: an LDS service, a Community of Christ service, and a heavy metal concert. Turns out, all three together helped me understand each one individually.
This very odd but cathartic Sunday began at the Kirtland Temple for an LDS young single adult testimony and sacrament service, followed by hearing my wife preach on Matthew 5:21–37 at the Kirtland Community of Christ. The day ended at a rock concert with my teenage son who loves heavy metal—specifically Christian heavy metal. He has Downs Syndrome, which makes this combination all the more interesting. Head banging with him at the concert is an experience that I’ll forever cherish, though neither heavy metal nor Evangelicalism usually speak to me. But both did that Sunday night in Pittsburg, with him at my side as we rocked out for Jesus.
The Evangelical pleas (and screams) for saving grace accentuated the self-deprecating testimonies of the Mormon millennials that I had heard earlier in the day. Both the Mormons and the Evangelicals were resisting the world as it appears, and relying on a hope unseen. Even during the Community of Christ service that Sunday the theme of resistance was more pronounced than usual. Or maybe I just have new eyes and new ears.
Not so long ago I had little time for the humanity-is-going-to-hell-without-Jesus nonsense I heard at that testimony meeting and concert. I would have congratulated myself for having more faith in the individual worth of those Mormon millennials than they seemed to have in themselves, their testimonies making it sound like they couldn’t tie their shoes without “the Gospel.” Previously I would have never identified with Skillet’s lead singer screaming to Jesus, “I’m trying to get up, they’re knocking me down / Chewing me up, spitting me out . . . / When I need to be saved / You’re making me strong, you’re making me stand.”1 I’m a lot like many other Community of Christ members: peaceful, progressive, unable to share that sense of despair with the world.
But then came the election.
Now I read the news with a prayer on my lips. It usually starts out, “O God, what has he done this time?” And the prayer only gets more frantic from there. I’ve become literally exhausted from politics and fear; so much so that, suddenly, those Mormons and Evangelicals are starting to make some sense. I can see that we are indeed in a handbasket and I’m pretty sure I know where it’s going. And, like them, I’m casting my eyes around, looking for . . . what? A hero?
Mormonism and Evangelicalism both thrive on the sense that we’re all screwed without God, so the hero is obvious to them: Jesus. But which Jesus are we talking about? The Jesus of the Evangelical rock concert who saves you from an irretrievably sinful state? The Jesus of a young single adult branch who saves you by pointing out all your flaws and telling you to get to work on perfection and getting married? I understand that the idea of a hero seems appealing during a vulnerable time, but I’m not convinced that we’re so weak, so broken, so lost. I believe we’re wonderfully made, and that the best is ahead of us, not behind—regardless of the current state of politics.
Why? Because challenges produce strength. Prophets arise out of crisis, like Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr. did amid racial injustices. What would Jesus have been, besides a carpenter, had there not been a Roman occupation? Doctrine & Covenants 8:2 declares: “Now, behold, this is the spirit of revelation; behold, this is the Spirit by which Moses brought the children of Israel through the Red Sea on dry ground.” In other words, here’s a guy with an army of Egyptians behind him and a massive sea blocking his people’s path, but that’s exactly the monumental problem that draws Moses into the spirit of revelation—finding an equally monumental solution.
Progressive members of the Restoration (liberal Mormons and Community of Christ alike) now have an opportunity to prophetically envision a world of hope even when—and especially because—everything seems to be falling apart. This is the essence of what it means to be a people of Zion. True followers of Jesus ought to be uncomfortable right now because our values do not align with those of the dominant systems around us. Are we uncomfortable enough to critique the hypocrisies and injustices, and to engage in peaceful protest and action?
During the previous presidency, the threats were real enough, but we seemed to be gaining traction. Now, our critique comes not from a position of power but of urgency. Climate change may now be irreversible, but ever worse without action; nuclear war seems as likely as during my 1980s childhood; and the gears of a government which benefits the rich is grinding human beings into oblivion. We need saving! But rather than waiting for some deus ex machina reminiscent of so many of those Evangelical songs and Mormon testimonies, we need to arise and realize our divinely-appointed role as saviors on mount Zion.
Don’t doubt your legitimacy or faithfulness. For too long, the authenticity of progressive members of the Restoration has been questioned, as though you have be a trickle-down war-hawk scriptural literalist in order to be a real follower of Jesus. The Jesus I read about points out the hypocrisy of broken systems that call good “evil,” and evil “good.” Overburdening the poor while giving tax breaks to the rich doesn’t sound like something Jesus would teach. Giving more thought to abortion than to the evils of war doesn’t seem like a consistent pro-life policy. Giving industry a free pass to pollute creation so that their bottom lines are unhampered is anti-Christ. It’s time for us to call things out for what they really are. Become a vocal, alternative discourse that envisions a peaceful and just world. Be the prophetic voice the world needs, demanding nothing short of a Zion where there are no poor among us.
We have incredible power when we awake and mobilize. When lawmakers moan that they are being ambushed by their constituents, it is a good thing. Speak truth to power, and remind them of what democracy looks like as you overturn the tables; tell them that your values, and their faithlessness, demand this response.
Finally, recognize that religion which only papers over the problems is the problem. We are not interested in an opiate of the masses. The Zion we seek requires us to go after the roots of injustice aggressively. Anyone who would sell you an “all is well in Zion” philosophy looks nothing like the Jesus I know—the one who was willing to take his message all the way to the cross.