Father Richard Rohr recognizes how a focus on religion as a matter of personal belief has discouraged some Christians from engaging in political action.
For many people, politics and religion are so personal that neither topic is deemed appropriate to discuss publicly. While separation of church and state is an important protection for all religions, it doesn’t mean we as people of faith shouldn’t engage in our civic duties and the political process. The idea of “staying out of politics” doesn’t come from God. My sense is that it arises from our egoic, dualistic thinking that has a hard time hearing a different perspective or learning something new. [1]
Christianity in its first two thousand years has kept its morality mostly private, personal, interior, fervent, and heaven bound, with very few direct implications for our collective economic, social, or political life. Politics and religion remained largely in two distinct realms, unless religion was uniting with empires. Yes, we looked to Rome and Constantinople for imperial protection, little realizing the price we would eventually pay for such a compromise with foundational gospel values.
This convenient split took the form of either the inner or the outer world. We religious folks were supposed to be the inner people while the outer world was left to politicians, scientists, and workers of every stripe. Now this is all catching up with us, as even the inner world has largely been overtaken by psychology, literature, and the huge world of self-help. Fewer and fewer people now expect religion to have anything to say about either the inner or outer worlds! But if we do not go deep and in, we cannot go far and wide.
In my opinion, the reason we lost our Christian authority is because we did not talk about the inner world very well. We were much more focused on believing doctrines, practicing rituals, and following requirements, which are not, in and of themselves, inner or deep. Frankly, Buddhism spoke to inner transformation far better than the three monotheistic religions. We Christians did not connect the inner with the outer—which is a consequence of not going in deeply enough. Christianity now has become increasingly irrelevant, often to the very people who want to go both deep and far. We so disconnected from the political—the welfare of God’s aggregated people and the public forum—that soon we had nothing much to say.
I am not talking about partisan politics here, but simply the connecting of the inner world with the outer world. We have allowed the word partisan to be the first and sometimes only meaning of the word political and so people don’t even allow us to preach a purely gospel message from the pulpit—as it might sound “political”!
Here is my major point: There is no such thing as being nonpolitical. Everything we say or do either affirms or critiques the status quo. Even to say nothing is to say something: The status quo—even if it is massively unjust and deceitful—is apparently okay. This “nonpolitical” stance is an illusion we must overcome.
A Politics Rooted in God’s Love
When deciding how we want to act in the public sphere, Rev. Wes Granberg-Michaelson reminds Christians to begin with the personal experience of God’s overflowing love for the world:
Our temptation is to begin with politics and then try to figure out how religion can fit in. We start with the accepted parameters of political debate and, whether we find ourselves on the left or the right, we use religion to justify and bolster our existing commitments….
But what if we make the inward journey our starting point? What if we recognize that our engagement in politics should be rooted in our participation in the Trinitarian flow of God’s love? Then everything changes. We are no longer guided or constrained by what we think is politically possible, but are compelled by what we know is most real. At the heart of all creation, the mutual love within the Trinity overflows to embrace all of life. We are invited to participate in the transforming power of this love. There we discover the ground of our being, centering all our life and action.
This was revealed most fully in Jesus, as God’s Son. His love for enemies, his non-violent response to evil, his embrace of the marginalized, his condemnation of self-serving religious hypocrites, his compassion for the poor, his disregard for boundaries of social exclusion, his advocacy for the economically oppressed, and his certainty that God’s reign was breaking into the world all flowed from his complete, mutual participation in his Father’s love. Jesus didn’t merely show the way; he lived completely in the presence and power of God’s redeeming, transforming life.
Granberg-Michaelson envisions a future based on God’s desire for the world:
Transformative change in politics depends so much on having a clear view of the desired end. Where does that vision come from? Possibilities may be offered by various ideologies, or party platforms, or political candidates. But, for the person of faith, that vision finds its roots in God’s intended and preferred future for the world. It comes not as a dogmatic blueprint but as an experiential encounter with God’s love, flowing like a river from God’s throne, nourishing trees with leaves for the healing of the nations (see Revelation 22:1–2).…
Such a vision strikes the political pragmatist as idyllic, unrealistic, and irrelevant. But the person of faith, whose inward journey opens [their] life to the explosive love of God, knows that this vision is the most real of all. It is a glimpse of creation’s purpose and a glimmering of the Spirit’s movement amid the world’s present pain, brokenness, and despair. This vision also recognizes the inevitable journey of inward and outward transformation—the simultaneous, continuing transformation of the inward hearts of people liberated by God’s astonishing grace and the outward transformation of social and economic structures liberated by God’s standards of justice.
Note to CO Few: This is from Mark Longhurst. He assists Richard Rohr with writing, compiling and editing. This is his comment about a book he has written. DJR
A Holy, Ordinary Invitation
What if mysticism is for everybody?
I’m not being falsely humble when I say I wrote The Holy Ordinary as an aspiration rather than a lived reality. I feel drawn to a life of spiritual depth, but I’m not a monk, nun, or even a professional pastor serving a church anymore. I’m just an ordinary dude, working a job I am privileged to love, raising boys who play soccer, going to the movies, reading, and spending time with my wife. I also, frankly, am not very good at slowing down and appreciating the holiness of the ordinary. I have an anxious and task-oriented psyche that leads me into obsessive thought patterns more than it does a trusting posture of enjoying the moment.
But as I write in the book, I’m convinced that “underneath the rhythmic contours of each day are deepening roots that sip from mystical streams.” I sit in silent meditation or chant morning psalms—which is something monks and nuns have been doing for centuries—and I’m reminded at some level that my true life is not found in the things that I’m doing and that my belonging lies in a deeper, divine love in which I am invited to participate.
Here’s the thing: once you know that there’s a deeper love pulsing behind and through all things, you can’t unknow it. It doesn’t mean I’m special; I’ve just glimpsed something beautiful that I believe is true, and I know I’m not the only one. I meet so many people (many on Substack!) who are living regular lives on the surface, who are perfectly ordinary in our wounds and failures, many of whom do not go to church or find belonging in traditional religious structures but who have glimpsed something deeply loving about reality—and can’t unsee it.
This is the call that the “mystic” has traditionally responded to. For about 1,500 years, the “mystical” meant monastic—but we’re living in a time where this is no longer true. In our ecumenical era, the divisions that once caused wars between Protestants and Catholics are no longer ultimate. Lots of people are leaving Christianity altogether, and often with good reason—but lots of people also realize that there are treasures hidden in Christianity and that they don’t need to belong to one denominational group or the other to enjoy them. So, in today’s religious landscape, you could run into evangelical Christians praying Psalms like monks, liberal Protestants singing songs from the French monastery Taizé, or thousands of people who don’t belong to any tradition hiking a former medieval pilgrimage path—the Camino de Santiago. Christians practice silent meditation and yoga now, practices traditionally reserved for Christian monks, Buddhists, and Hindu renunciates, and the Trappist monastery a few hours away from me in Spencer, MA, makes jam and beer.
I’m asking through this book: What if mysticism is for everybody? What if it’s not for those special people but for me—for us? And what if following a path of deep spirituality in this way helps us discover the radical “holiness” of ordinary life?
So, what is the holy ordinary—and what is mysticism? Well, how do you begin talking about the ineffable? I don’t have a specific answer, but I can tell you what I’ve learned from others. One medieval scholar, Jean Gerson, described it as “the experiential knowledge that comes from God through the embrace of unitive love.” So, it’s experiential and not something we learn from reading books. That’s extremely difficult for someone like me who loves reading theology and spirituality books. I often can trick myself into believing that because I’ve read or thought something, I’ve experienced it fully—but that’s decidedly not the case. Mysticism comes from God, or ultimate reality, whatever word you want to use, through an embrace of love. Mysticism has everything to do with knowing, feeling, and trusting that an embrace of love is at the heart of it all. But it’s also “unitive,” meaning it unites us and connects us to God, each other, and the earth. It’s a love that heals and brings together and does not separate. I’m convinced that that’s what we most need today.
This loving, uniting embrace is available to me in all our ordinary moments, from standing waiting at the bus stop to doing the dishes to working on a deadline for our jobs. It’s available when cooking, walking in nature, or playing with our kids. This loving, uniting embrace is also available as a resource to me and each of us in the hard moments. It holds us in the grief of our heartbreaks, diagnoses, and deaths, ever prompting us to solidarity with those who are most suffering and are marginalized. Discovering the “holy” ordinary means living a life that trusts this loving embrace.
