Half-Measures and Heartache

This week we were all confronted by a grotesque vision of evil. It wasn’t a picture of rampant over-indulgence or self-absorption or some cautionary tale against loose morals; this week, we encountered evil in the raw.

I was driving to work in Greenville on Monday morning when I heard the news of the shooting in Las Vegas. At the time, 50 were confirmed dead and 400 injured in the mass shooting at a country music festival on the Strip. I felt a pit in my stomach and immediate sadness. The scope of the attack in itself is staggering – now 59 people fatally wounded and over 500 injured. It’s sickening. Perhaps the most dumbfounding and terrifying piece of it all is the naked glimpse of evil we all encountered. The immense, unfathomable evil in one man’s heart that consumed not just his own life at the end of the night, but led to the death of 59 people. But it doesn’t stop there – it ripples out into families, friendships, schools, workplaces, communities. The Las Vegas shooting was an act in which evil was on full display, consuming not just one man or several dozen victims, but all said and done, thousands of people.

As the shock wears off and the national grieving begins, we will collectively begin to ask questions: why did Stephen Paddock rent a hotel room and with cold calculation murder dozens? Was he mentally ill? Was this domestic terrorism? What can we do to prevent this?

That last question is the one that I am dreading in the national conversation. It’s the one we’ve heard after recent mass-killings. Aurora, Sandy Hook Elementary, San Bernadino, Orlando. I dread it because honestly, we all know where the conversation will go: guns. Gun control is the answer squawk the progressives. Exercising your second amendment right is the answer scowl the conservatives. And if the conversation goes nowhere from there, then sadly another 59 people will have died in vain.

I think Tolkien actually asks the same question in a better way. In The Two Towers King Theoden faces the utter genocide of his people. After leading a courageous fight with many casualties, he and his men brace for certain destruction. With the enemy breaking down the doors into the last stronghold, Theoden mused:

“So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate?”

That is the question for the hour. But it’s the question we don’t actually ever answer. How can we overcome evil? Instead of answering, we twiddle our thumbs and occupy our time with questions of policy and regulation. Half-measures in moments of heartache. There is a political application to this question, but if we only see the symptoms not the disease itself we will misdiagnose cancer as a simple rash. We need chemotherapy. We prescribe topical ointment.

Once we realize we are confronted with evil it shouldn’t surprise us that our deepest, foundational answer will be theological, not political. Evil is not a political concept or policy. You can’t find it clearly defined in the Constitution, Bill of Rights, or federal or state laws. Law, at the end of the day, is a practical response to a theological problem: evil. We’ll spend weeks hung up on action items without answers to key questions we haven’t even considered yet.

In the upcoming debate, we are likely to miss these two core questions:

What is evil?

And

Who is evil?

If we answer these incorrectly, we will be wrong from the onset. If we consider and wrestle with them, it at least gives us a shot at answering the political questions with some accuracy.

What is evil? Theologically speaking, evil is active, willful, betrayal and rebellion against God. It is an absolute rejection of Him as the Author and Source of Life, the Lawgiver, and Creator-Father of all things and people. At its core, evil is destructive consumption – the objectification of women for sexual pleasure, over-indulging in food, self-centeredness, laziness that leads to exploiting the generosity of others, malicious gossip that gnaws away the reputation of friends and co-workers. Wherever there is evil, there is destructive consumption until, at the end, we ourselves are consumed: objectifying others leads to broken relationships, gluttony leads to embarrassment and health problems, gossip leads to lost friendships. Even if you reject a theological definition of evil as a person’s willful betrayal of God, you can still agree that at its core, it is destructive, self-centered consumption. Certainly there are more nuanced views and definitions of evil than this one. Evil may be more than destructive selfish consumption, but it certainly is not less.

Who is evil? Everyone. You. Your parents. Your spouse. Your co-worker. Me. Every human being at their core, is evil. Theologians call this the depravity of man (see Romans 1:18-3:20 for a lengthy treatise on it from the apostle Paul). Every man and woman is evil. We all rebel and betray God first, and our fellow man second. There’s no getting around it. Your evil and my evil typically go unnoticed because it is probably pretty subtle. A pornography habit. Drinking too much. Telling lies to look good. Pick your poison. Now, this does not mean that each of these evil actions is as morally weighty or repugnant as the shooting in Las Vegas – that would be ludicrous. It does mean that everyone does evil and is, at their core, bent toward evil (selfish, destructive consumption). Every person we ever come in contact with is capable of evil, minor and seemingly excusable, or monstrous and unforgivable. Everyone.

Now that we have answered these first two questions, we can actually engage and assess the political applications. Generally, I believe, we will see they are lacking:

Progressive, liberal responses to the Las Vegas shooting will follow a pattern somewhat like this: this man was (likely) mentally ill and in need of psychiatric intervention à He never should have been allowed access to guns or lethal firepower that put himself and others in danger à increase federal and state funding for mental health programs and pass strict gun control that limits access to (at least) mentally ill people and possibly mandate that certain types of weapons are categorically illegal.

Conservative responses to the Las Vegas shooting will follow a pattern somewhat like this: this man was a lone wolf (his mental status is irrelevant) à the crazed actions of one man (or a string of men over the past decade) does not take away the right of sane people to own firearms à “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” à oppose any gun control legislation in Congress.

Do you see the problem? No one is actually talking about the cause – evil. Progressives generally believe the answer is better mental health care and gun control. They ignore mankind’s massive capacity for evil. Conservatives generally believe the answer is not less guns but everyone carrying a gun if they so choose. They ignore the reality that when people, all of whom are capable of evil, have access to high-caliber, powerful weapons capable of killing dozens, some will use them for evil.

I’m not a Republican, and I’m not a Democrat. I, generally speaking, am an independent. I’m also not a policymaker, lobbyist, or politician. I am however a Christian and an American. While I have much to learn and I admit that readily, the tragedy in Nevada this week has solidified a few core thoughts in my mind:

·      We can no longer approach the theological, moral problem of our own evil with simplistic, political answers alone. To do that is to treat symptoms, not the disease itself.

·      The political applications of our theological problems should not be dictated by corporations, political affiliations, or the NRA. They should be decided by morals – this is more than just a mental health conversation or a legislative impasse, it is, at its core a theological problem that we can address practically, in part, through politics.

·      Polarized politics made another mass shooting possible. Progressives wrongly believe that the answer is simply restricting access to guns. Their answer ignores the reality that evil people will find ways to do evil things, legal or not. Conservatives champion the second amendment with zeal but never admit that the more guns we have, the greater the likelihood that some of them will end up in the hands of evil men.

·       There is no simple political answer to this difficult topic, but given every single person’s capacity for evil, perhaps, we should consider some moderate limitations. My wife and I happily exercise our second amendment right for sport and for personal protection. I’m not saying we should take everyone’s guns. I am saying that the right question to consider whenever a gun is sold is not “are they mental ill?” but rather “Are they capable of evil?” For all of us, the answer is an emphatic yes. That should cause us to shudder internally and consider some political policies to curb and counteract everyone’s bent toward evil.

In the final analysis, the true remedy for evil is, ironically, theological and political. Evil will be overcome when Christ establishes His kingdom on earth. And one of the chief hallmarks of His kingdom (an inescapably political term) will be: peace. “The Lord will mediate between nations and will settle disputes. They will hammer their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will no longer fight against nation, nor train for war anymore,” (Isaiah 2:4). “He will be called…Prince of Peace. Of the greatness of His government and peace, there will be no end,” (Isaiah 7:7). The answer to our innate depravity is the gracious, glorious reign of Christ in His kingdom. We can experience it, in part, right now if we trust in Him for our salvation; and one day we will experience it in the full.

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In the meantime, we must work to confront and overcome evil in an imperfect world. It starts with our own hearts and then radiates out into society and politics in practical ways. But our political conversations must not stray from the foundational problem we are all trying to address: and evil is a theological problem, not just a political one.

A Letter to Jerry Falwell, Jr.

Chancellor Falwell –

I hope this note finds you and your family doing well. If my math is right, it’s about that time of year when students begin to swarm the campus at Liberty University again. I remember my first week vividly. It was full of incredible activities at the William's Stadium and Camp Hydaway along with the beginning of several lifelong friendships I cherish to this day.

I graduated from Liberty in 2011 with a degree in religion and another in health education. In 2015 I completed my Master’s in Pastoral Ministry at LU (online). While I’m no expert, I think my time there has given me a great glimpse into the heart of the organization you lead. And by and large, I think you have done an excellent job. I was part of the first class that you led as our new chancellor after your father passed away. Over those four years it felt like we grew together, students and staff, to learn anew what it meant to be Liberty University. We learned to laugh, cry, study, support, confront, and engage each other in a new time with our new leader.

I realize you probably have received some angry or frustrated correspondence from alumni who remember “the Good Old days” with your father at the helm. The reality is, I’m not one of those alumni. The Liberty I knew and loved (and still love) was always led by you. I even worked for you, in a very indirect way. I was a Resident Assistant for three years and an on campus student recruiter. When people asked me about LU, my passion, joy, and care for it, were (and remain) genuine and real. As a student, an employee, and now an alumnus, Liberty remains a part of me. I made lifelong friends there, met my wife there, selected a career path there, and began to understand what it means to serve and love others there. In a lot of ways, Liberty is at the genesis of my adult life. The life I live now, I owe, in some small way, to your leadership, investment, and guidance at Liberty.

After leaving Liberty, I served as an associate pastor in South Carolina for four years. I had much to learn and didn’t always get things right, but I had a head start and great foundation from LU. Recently, I took a job in the business sector, and here again, Liberty’s investment in me, has proved its value in spades. I have learned that business is not so much about budgets and finance and getting the best deal, but more about understanding people, meeting their needs, and once again, serving others with joy.

I was hoping, for a brief moment, to have a conversation with you about some of the things going on in our world. Don’t worry, there’s no assumptions of ill-motives or anger here. In fact, politically speaking, we probably still line up on a host of major issues – financial conservatism, a baby’s right to life, separation of powers and checks and balances within the government, and more. Even in the areas I now respectfully disagree with you (climate change, the benefits of ACA), I don’t assume you think and vote the way you do because of evil intentions or motives. There’s a lot of problems out there – we have to try to fix them somehow, and sometimes, we disagree. No big deal.

I did want to write to you, respectfully, about leadership. First, I cannot begin to imagine the burden of the mantle you wear. From administrative staffing to building endowment to maintaining a Christian perspective in world that, at times, seems incompatible with the message of Liberty University, you carry a tremendous burden on your shoulders. And I respect you for doing that and persevering in your role. It came to you unexpectedly, suddenly and in my opinion, you have shouldered it well. I won’t even try to compare your role with the one I filled as an associate pastor – they are too different – apples and oranges. Nevertheless though, I think we can both agree leadership of any kind, on a smaller scale like mine or a larger, national level, like yours, comes with pros and cons. The pros are obvious – a bigger platform with greater influence, greater impact in guiding the organization you love, and on and on. The cons are a little more subtle. The time restraints, the late night phone calls, the toll it takes on your family, and the unfair losses.

Unfair losses? Those things that you have to give up as a leader precisely because you lead, even though they are perfectly innocent. As a pastor this meant refraining from certain things I enjoyed – a movie I wanted to see, enjoying a glass of wine in a public space, and on and on. I didn’t balance this well sometimes. My wife can tell you that on a few occassions I came home and would say “I shouldn’t have done that, it wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t worth it.” A simple fact of leadership is that, at times, we have to give up things others get to enjoy.

I will be candid and say that we disagree a good deal about many of President Trump’s positions. Many of them are innocent enough. Some of them are worth more robust debate in a more appropriate setting. Lately though, my concern has been less political, and more about leadership. What held true for me certainly holds true for you and your post as Chancellor – you will be asked to unfairly let go of things that many people enjoy daily. Not drinking. Abstaining from R-rated movies (is that a rule still at Liberty?). And perhaps – holding political beliefs and friendships more quietly than you would like.

If that sounds ridiculous, please allow me to explain a little further.

The mission of Liberty has been from its inception to train Champions for Christ. To educate nurses, businessmen, teachers, pastors, and more to represent Jesus to a dying world. Your father, and now you, are the banner-carrier and guardian of that vision. I would say that protecting that grand, sweeping vision, the heart and mind of Liberty University for the last 46 years, is the most important job you have. Without that vision, Liberty will, as you so often noted, go the way of more liberal institutions.

And that supreme vision, that hope that your students will fan out across the globe and represent Christ, may require you to step back from some of the current political conversation. As a three-time alumnus from Liberty who was also recently a candidate for several jobs throughout the Southeast, I can attest that I have at times been a little nervous to discuss my alma mater. Is that some kind of fear and cowardice within me? Maybe. Or maybe it is the hesitation that comes from sitting across the table from a qualified businessman or woman who is also a minority. In that moment, I have felt the burden to explain my association to Liberty which seems to be, at least, tacitly, very supportive of President Trump who is himself, supported to some degree, by white nationalist agitators. I’m not saying that Trump is himself racist or that everyone that voted for President Trump is racist – that is ridiculous. What I’m saying is Liberty is connected to President Trump and like it or not, President Trump has been heralded by some as a kind of white nationalist messiah. It’s a bit like six degrees of separation, but it’s there and it’s real.

That’s a weird seat to be in. I wanted to communicate my belief in the equality of all men and women while also standing up for Liberty University. I don’t believe you are a racist or a bigot or a part of the alt-right. My experience under your leadership has been highly positive. How in an interview for a job (a process on which my family’s well-being and my career may hinge) do I defend a place I love that seems to be at odds with values I am unwilling to compromise?

I still think you are a qualified, capable leader. No one can change the great experience I had under your leadership. And I don’t think you’ve changed. I don’t think you intend to alienate or divide us based on race or color. And maybe President Trump doesn’t mean to either; I don’t know the man so I can’t say much there. Your continued support of him seems to indicate a strong friendship and trust in him, despite all the controversy of the moment.

The heart of my concern is not political, but centers on leadership. I believe that you can still lead the great institution that I attended for decades to come. That Liberty can continue to be a beacon and influencer through its alumni in every job sector and corner of the earth. Or it can be a university that causes its alumni to balk during interviews because of perceived racism (or whatever the political controversy may be). I realize that our school has always been politically active and that your father frequently entered the fray. There is a time and a place for that, but if there’s always a controversy or fight to be had, it would seem wise to quietly step back.

As a leader, it appears you have two options. To remain vocally, staunchly, publicly committed to the president and ride the highs and lows that come with it. This is your right as an American citizen. Or, you could begin to quietly support the president (I’m certainly not advocating you abandon him as a friend) over private meals, phone calls, and times of advising and prayer. Is the latter option less prominent and public? Absolutely. But with it comes the added benefit to your students who, with a committed, principled chancellor that does not abandon his beliefs but willingly tempers them for the good of those he leads, can represent Christ and the mission of LU with pride, dignity, and great diversity. That is the unfair call of leadership on you. To sacrifice a right, willingly, to maintain and cultivate the vision of Liberty University.

You can be a political mouthpiece and liaison for the president. You can lead Liberty University in its mission in a way that inspires enduring confidence in every member of the student body regardless of race or gender by backing away from public politics. You cannot do both.

I wish you and the Liberty family all the best this school year. I hope this letter has conveyed the spirit in which it was written: humble, honest, candid conversation, not meant to incite or inflame, but to create a conversation, that God willing, will make us all better.

Warm Regards,

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Zach Farrar

A Free Word on Freefalls

Messengers who announce the end don’t typically ask for paychecks. They come freely offering either a promise of swift judgment, or perhaps one last chance to avoid disaster.  

While in the ancient world and literature that was the job of prophets, seers, and divine miracles that we are now much too evolved and sophisticated to stop and ponder seriously, we are nonetheless, still being given a free warning. While Westeros has the Starks proclaiming “Winter is coming,” in 21^st century America we have other messengers that come, freely, to warn us. It’s not Wolf Blitzer or Sean Hannity. Not Bernie Sanders or Paul Ryan. You won’t find it on CSPAN, MSNBC, CBS, or FOX News this week. Recently, the messenger was none other than that classic reality program of the summer – America’s Got Talent.

Seriously? The hour long talent show? Yup. Whether you watch the show or not (it’s a fan favorite at our house), this week’s episode of America’s Got Talent was a double feature – where else can you watch singing clowns, trapeze artists, and 10-year olds pull off a clever Footloose tribute while also getting a free word on freefalls?

But first – a word on entertainment. I think we can all agree that entertainment (movies, TV shows, art, dance, comedy, music, etc.) has an interesting and undeniable connection with our culture and world at large. While we can’t talk about all that now, I propose that entertainment has at least two essential roles: 1. it helps us see our world through a different lens and thereby understand it better and 2. it provides, at times, a healthy escape from the hard truths we as a nation are grappling with. Entertainment helps us understand our world by showing it to us from a different angle (acting like a mirror) and provides a brief escape from our world by taking us to another (acting like a window).

So then, if entertainment is designed to help us understand our world or at least, escape it momentarily, what can we learn from the first live episode of America’s Got Talent this week?

We’ll start with the sad clown – that always seems appropriate doesn’t it?

If you haven’t watched this season, perhaps one of the biggest surprises was an older gentleman dressed as a sad clown named Puddles. After a mimed introduction (because Puddles is also a mime), the clown belts chart topping hits to thunderous applause. While it may seem strange at first, I think the clown is trying to teach us something: that our way of doing things is coming to an end.

Don’t believe me? I get it. I’ve got a lot of convincing to do when I’m advocating that a talent variety show is a messenger of the end. Puddles is a sad clown, undeniably morose and a bit like the guy you want to avoid at a dinner party. If Puddles were an animal he would be Eeyore. But when he sings hit songs like Chandelier or Royals the magic begins. The prophet begins to speak. Because behind the hype of the music and the impressive vocals there is still a sad clown. No matter how he well he hums his tune or perfect his pitch, behind all the hype, the party, the drinking, the consumption, lies a profound sadness. The sadness of a way of life that cannot possibly continue indefinitely. So while others sing of revelry without consequence, Puddles shows us our culture from a different angle. An angle that reveals that the party can’t continue for much longer.

But this week, Puddles offered yet another message about our current predicament. While he certainly fulfills entertainment’s first goal of helping us understand our world, the sad clown gave us a second warning. After performing, Puddles broke down under scrutiny and pressure. The awkward, uncomfortable, and guttural response of the now silent clown to critique was a brief warning of the end.

In Puddles case, it was a message that not even the glamour and glory of a huge stage can be an escape from profound pain and disappointment. For a moment the sad clown showed us not just the pain of the death of his dream, but also the pain that comes with the death of the culture and way of life he was critiquing. At the end of every party song, new or old, there is always a morning after. There is a payment to be made, a cost to count, and often, a new scar to reckon with. Not even a sad clown with a stunning voice and clever act, can keep that message buried. In short, Puddles, through his act and his response to criticism, has shown us the awkward yet inescapable truth that the end is near – this way of life cannot be sustained. More on that later.

Then there’s the Singing Donald Trump. A contestant who immediately earned the ire of some, the loyalty of others, and the skepticism, I would imagine, of most. But his act was to some degree funny and entertaining. Until of course, this week. It wasn’t the mediocre vocals or the funky, gimmicky dance routines; as with the sad clown, it was an inadvertent message.

After receiving remarks from the judges, the man behind the Trump spoke. In a message that was meant to be an explanation of the act more than a part of the act itself, he said he wanted to unite our country and bring people together. Immediate tension followed. One judge put her head on the table in disgust while the crowd grew nervously quiet. Howie Mandel made a joke that fell flat; and for the  second time in an hour we had a troubling message.

Did the Singing Trump provide a different way to view our world – I don’t think so and I don’t think he’s trying to. I think he just wants to make us laugh and forget our problems for a minute. So did the Singing Trump successfully provide an escape from harsh reality for a moment? No. After a week filled with partisan screaming, presidential blunders, and unashamed and frankly nauseating racism by some, our outlet of escape failed us. The Singing Trump made us chuckle and laugh but when the time came, the man behind the act (trying, I think, genuinely to communicate his desire to make people laugh and feel closer) only drove the wedge further in.

So what’s the big deal? If entertainment is designed to help us understand our culture better and provide us with a momentary escape and chance to cope with difficult realities around us, then these inadvertent, awkward moments of reality television actually say a lot.

A Culture in Freefall

These performances help us see the end on the horizon. Not the end of life in America or some post-apocalyptic, dystopian world emerging. But the end of this particular ride. The ride of unbridled American consumption that leaves us filling our stomachs and homes and spending massive amounts of wealth on ourselves while much of the rest of the world labors to provide us with more and starves in the process. The end of the myth that a life without morals, without scruples and discipline, is the good life. The end of the lie that we can live however we want without having to pay the bill at the end of the day.

The end of pretending that our choices, even the smallest ones, do not have massive consequences.

Puddles shows this best in his act. That’s the genius of his act. A sad clown singing popular club songs. Why? Because after the lyrics end, the party fades. The sun rises and there’s not a whole lot left but retching on the bathroom floor. That’s the end of the song. That’s the 12 hours after Chandelier stops playing. The party is over – now we must face what comes next, and it isn’t the stuff of pop music.

Taking off the Mask

Perhaps more interestingly though, the Singing Trump and Puddles have shown us that the time has come to take off our masks.

Masquerade parties were once the thing to do. Everyone would come to a gala and dance, eat, and drink as they pleased, all with their identity camouflaged with a simple mask. No matter how grand the party, how sweet the wine or how sensual the dancing, the hour always came when the masks came off. As the clock struck midnight, it was time to reveal your true identity, to show those you had cavorted and flirted with who you really were.

The awkward reactions of both Puddles and the Singing Trump were moments when the entertainment sector took its mask off. For a brief few seconds neither performer could fulfill their entertainment duty – to help us escape. The desperate murmurs of Puddles and the divisive comments of the Singing Trump revealed something I think we all know intuitively – there is no escaping this. No amount of entertainment can blunt the reality of our world. It is a fundamental goal of entertainment to provide us with some measure of healthy coping by escape. But in these moments, the entertainers and the viewers both came to realize, there is no escaping this. There is no laughing it away or pretending it doesn’t exist for more than a few moments; this is a culture in freefall.

Think I’m crazy? Again, I get it. But turn to many other forms of entertainment and you’ll see the same issues. The Vice President is cajoled at a Broadway show. Tina Fey mocks and mourns the carnage in Charlottesville on Saturday Night Live. Awards ceremonies, be it the Espies or the Oscars, are filled with awkward moments of political protest. And all of it points to where we are now – 30,000 feet in the air and running on fumes.

Hope in a Freefall

With the ground approaching rapidly a wise question to ask perhaps is, can you have hope in a freefall? It’s a complicated question with a complicated answer: yes and probably not.

Yes, as an individual you can have hope. As our culture is shaken and rocked, we can survive as individuals. We can live differently if we belong to another country. We can survive a freefall because Jesus saw it through to the shattering end for us. We can escape precisely because He chose not to. We can survive a national calamity culturally as individuals because ultimately, we are citizens that live differently. Why? Because we belong to another kingdom:

“By faith, Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. By faith he went to live in the land of promise…for he was looking forward to the city that has eternal foundations, whose designer and builder is God…let us be grateful for receiving a heavenly kingdom that cannot be shaken, and let us offer to God acceptable worship with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire, (Heb. 11;9-11,12:28-29).”

So can you and I survive a national disaster? Yes. As individuals we certainly can. But only if we aren’t first and foremost citizens of that nation. We must be citizens of another kingdom, a heavenly city, that cannot be shaken. And we must live like the King of that world requires us. Obeying not out of fear, but out of respect, love, and awe. You and I can survive America’s collapse precisely because as believers, we are not first and foremost American. We are citizens of an eternal kingdom, adopted into His family by faith in His Son Jesus.

On the other hand, is there hope in a freefall? Probably not. Not for nations that is. Biblically this is called national solidarity – the idea that God rules and judges not just individuals but also nations for both the good and bad they do. Amos, Obadiah, Nahum, Hosea, Jonah, and Habakkuk all rebuked and condemned not just individuals but entire nations. They warned nations of coming calamity for their evil behavior. While nations don’t have immortal souls (but individuals certainly do), we are nonetheless accountable to God. In a week when two western countries celebrated the eradication of Down’s Syndrome through targeted abortion campaigns (a more fitting description would probably be eugenics in action) and our own country seems unwilling to shut up and listen to someone who is different from ourselves and our own camp, the idea of national solidarity and judgment before God as an entire people is disquieting.

Even if you reject the biblical basis for national divine judgment for large scale evil and sin, history tells the same story. The Greeks, Persians, Romans, Byzantines, and European colonizers would all warn us that, as a nation, your chickens do come home to roost. The freefall can’t last forever, there really is ground approaching and the landing will not be smooth.

Can our current predicament be changed? Can we pull out of the nosedive? Certainly, by the grace of God, as both individuals and as a country, we can avoid disaster. I sincerely hope we will. But that requires a humility, grace, faith, and forgiveness I think we are, at least in national terms, not likely to embrace. Can the crash be averted? Absolutely. Will it be averted? I claim no hidden knowledge, but according to the prophets in entertainment this past week, the answer seems to be, probably not.

The Politics of Fear and the Love of War

The presidential election is officially upon us. With Iowa in the rearview mirror, the nation’s attention now focuses on New Hampshire, followed by South Carolina and Nevada, and ultimately with the Super Tuesday primary contests in March. I don’t fancy myself a political guru or pundit, but around this time of year, I find myself wanting to be well-informed. After watching a few GOP presidential debates and one of the Democratic contests, I think we could probably summarize the major motivation of both party platforms in one word: fear.

Fear of terrorism, fear of economic inequality, fear of Obamacare, fear of debt, fear of global warming, fear of immigrants. In the 2016 presidential contest, whether for Republicans, Democrats or even Independents, the tenor of the day is fear. And to some degree, I understand the concerns. We should be actively concerned with radical terrorist organizations who threaten not only our well-being but the lives and safety of all people. We should fear crippling national debt that paralyzes commerce and in the long run, human flourishing. We should be concerned about the poorest of not only our nation but also the world and caring for them well. We may disagree on how to assail and ultimately overcome these daunting challenges, but I think we can all agree they are concerning and at times, frightening.

But the politics of fear goes far beyond a healthy concern for real threats. In this presidential election, more than most others, it is a tool for the simple reason that fear motivates. With that tool handy, politicians have been eager to flock to another troubling human reality: the love of war. Do you have a reasonable fear of ISIS? Vote for Ted Cruz – he promises to “carpet bomb the Middle East until the sand glows in the dark.” Afraid of Syrian refugees? Trump is your candidate, vowing to place an indefinite stay on all Muslim immigration and refugee asylum in the United States. Economic inequality and global warming haunting your dreams? Vote for Bernie Sanders, the candidate who promised in one democratic debate “a political and social revolution.” What about cyber-warfare and a growing nuclear menace in both North Korea and Iran? Fret not, vote for Hillary Clinton, a proven state leader who knows how to act decisively and vigorously when need be. After all, she was under heavy sniper fire in Bosnia in 1996.

In 2016, fear is a commodity and every candidate, Republican, Democrat, or Socialist, is banking on you and I buying the fear they are selling and then wholeheartedly throwing our support behind their plan for war – be it a socio-economic revolution or stunning military campaign in Syria mingled with anti-immigrant legislation at home. Fear in 2016 will define much of our presidential race and discourse about the election. Fear leading to a love of war. War, which with god-like power pulverizes the source and cause of our discomfort and unease.

Perhaps the most nauseating example of this would be Donald Trump’s campaign that he readily admits has taken on “the mantle of anger.” Bloodlust and self-righteous retribution against all of America’s enemies, real or illusionary, seems to be his major talking points. Recently what stood out most about Donald Trump is his seeming eagerness for conflict. He seems to personify the desire and love of war. This embodiment of the love of war, of domination, of subjugation, in a single candidate should disturb us. As a three-time alumnus of Liberty University, I was flabbergasted and dismayed when the University Chancellor and President, Jerry Falwell Jr. sought to catalyze Christian support for Donald Trump. Forget the extra-marital trysts. Forget the wealth built of the backs of poor people that elevates a singular bombastic ego while increasing the misery of thousands looking for hope in a slot machine. Forget the demonization of non-white races or his exploitation of women at his casino’s exotic dance clubs. Donald Trumps eager zeal and love of war alone should have caused the University leader to at least pause and reevaluate.

In a strikingly similar context, Winston Churchill warned the House of Commons in 1901 of the misery, pain, and agony that come when fear is capitalized upon and politicians and the people at large, love war. Rebuking his colleagues in Parliament for their lust and love of war, Churchill said, “I have frequently been astonished to hear with what composure and how glibly Members, and even Ministers, talk of war…such a conflict (will end) in the ruin of the vanquished and the scarcely less fatal commercial dislocation and exhaustion of the conquerors.” Churchill, one of the greatest leaders in human history – the man who bolstered a faltering British spirit during the darkest days of World War II – was a man who was not eager to plunge humanity into war. Neither a pacifist nor a warlord, Churchill chartered a third path less frequented in his and our political landscape: he hated war and its devastation but saw its necessity at times.

I am not a pacifist. I believe that as long as sin and evil are a reality in our world, that war will at times be the just and right cause. Pacifism, Churchill would later note, often accelerates war as the appeasement policy of Chamberlain with Adolf Hitler eventually revealed. But I also don’t think Christians should love war. I understand the political gesticulating – it’s easy for Sanders or Cruz or Trump or Rubio or whoever to speak with bravado now because frankly, their words are empty. There’s now situation room they will enter immediately after a debate where they will have to make good on their promises of war. War is for each of them, a hypothetical – one they all seem eager to make a reality.

For Christians, this means we need to think more critically about war and not buy into the political love affair of the day. We shouldn’t have the seeming angry bloodlust of so many candidates jockeying for our votes. We should strive however we can to live peaceably with all people (Rom. 12:18). We should also be grateful for our governments, which, like it or not, God has divinely set over us, for better or worse, to protect the upright and punish the wicked (in an ideal world). And above all, I think it means we don’t look to war for hope. I think it means we call this national love affair with war what it is – a broken idolatry; a search for hope and peace and safety through the domination of those who are our enemies. A Christian love and eagerness for the widespread, cataclysmic destruction of war is an oxymoron.

Good can come from war – tales of heroism, loyalty, sacrifice, and bravery populate the bleak landscape of war. In fact, my favorite movie is Saving Private Ryan – a story of family, love, loyalty, bravery, and courage that all take place against the backdrop of Hitler’s psychotic plan to dominate the world and those who courageously, sacrificially opposed him. Those qualities that are brought out from conflict are to be honored and celebrated. We should love the men that embody them, not the devastation that called them out. To quote J.R.R. Tolkien, a veteran of World War I, “War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all. But I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”

Sound advice in a world where fear is a political commodity and war is our saving grace.