The choice is ours
Is 35:1-6a, 10; Ps 146:6-7, 8-9, 9-10; Jas 5:7-10; Mt 11:2-11
“Religion and politics should stay in their own lanes!” So says a common refrain, echoed not infrequently from church pews. If that’s your view, then I suggest you plug your ears this Sunday, when we encounter John the Baptist in full force.
The word “religion” derives from “religare” (“to bind fast”). In fact, the “lig” in “religion” is the same root as in “ligament,” the tissue that fastens one bone to another. A religion is meant to connect people to one another, as it connects them to God.
Similarly, “politics” is derived from the word for “citizens,” the shared actions of a group of people who are bound together within a community, a “polis.” Both religion and politics connect us to one another and it would be foolish to imagine that these connections don’t intertwine and overlap. They are intimately related to each other and they help weave the very fibers of any social network.
Although core Christian truths are not revealed by who goes to church on Sunday (or where they go, or if they go), they constitute the fundamental anthropology of what it means to be human. Christianity clearly declares that every person is in the image and likeness (Gn 1:27) of a Trinitarian God (Nicene Creed) who is love (1 Jn 4:8). That applies to all people, regardless of religion (if any) or citizenship (if any).
Jefferson may have been inspired by philosophy to aver that “all men are created equal,” but his Enlightenment inspiration did not allow for slaves to be men, or for women to be created equal. The truth of Christian anthropology stubbornly demands both, even though millions of self-avowed Christians have twisted that truth throughout history (and many still do).
Enter John the Baptist. Today’s reading opens with John in prison. We learn from elsewhere in the Gospels that he’s been arrested by Herod, who resented John criticizing him for living with his brother’s wife.
John isn’t faulting Herod’s exercise of Roman authority, or any other civic action. He’s calling out behavior that fundamentally affronts the dignity of Herod, his sister-in-law and any other person involved with the affair. Because of his following, John holds some popular sway, but it is trivial compared to the political might of Herod. Nevertheless, John refuses to be silent and will not let the truth be muffled.
But John doesn’t stop with Herod. He’s also not afraid to question Jesus himself. Of course, he isn’t accusing Jesus of any moral failing like Herod’s, but he does have a clear expectation of how “his” messiah should behave, and he’s not so sure that Jesus measures up to the task. Yet, rather than quietly sitting with his disconcerting questions, perhaps hoping any misgivings will simply dissipate, John heroically asks Jesus directly to affirm his authority: Are you the one we have labored so hard to receive?
Is John’s question “political”? Is it “religious”? Arguably, it’s both. It affects both how Israel understands her own history to be unfolding and how she will relate to the Lord within that history.
John exhorts each of us to assess our own expression of religious truths within our political reality. Because of our Christian anthropology, certain behaviors are simply never going to be OK (a weak euphemism often used to describe incredibly dehumanizing acts of violence against marginalized people). Do we call them out publicly, or at least acknowledge within our circles that something is fundamentally wrong, which should neither be denied nor quietly ignored? Do we refuse to accept the claim that the broader social context is so far-ranging and complex that the violent immorality of certain acts is somehow allowable? We should learn from John’s courage.
And we should definitely learn from John’s objectivity. He questions both Herod and Jesus alike. He does not play favorites — the truth is the truth. In this, John is like Themis, the Greek goddess of justice. She wears a blindfold and does not judge based on appearance; no “probable cause” derived solely from language or skin tone.
Objectivity and courage are the graces that John invites us to embrace today. Justice wears a blindfold. Cowardice wears a mask. As always, the choice is ours.