Vote Christian?

By Chloe Breyer

Before driving from New York to North Philadelphia to register inner-city, mostly black voters, I briefed members of our West Harlem congregation's “voter mobilization team” about holding non-partisan voter-registration drives. According to the tax code, to maintain our tax-exempt status, we could not “participat[e] in or interven[e] in any political campaign on behalf of (or in opposition to) any candidate for public office.” While stationed at a local PathMark supermarket entrance, we told curious shoppers that we weren't supposed to tell our personal preference for president. And in the unlikely event a prospective registrant's pen seemed to be heading toward a particular box on the “Pick-A-Party” section of the form, we did our best to check any sharp intakes of breath.

Indeed, for most, this was a faith-based, no-apologies-necessary get-out-the-vote push. It was the kind of effort that's helped boost the number of first-time registered voters to record high levels around the country. For the more theologically hair-splitting among us, however, the slightly galling nature 2004 Presidential Election run-up is that our churches and the “Bush-friendly” ones (mostly Southern Baptist, conservative evangelical, and non-denominational) all believe that it is specifically our faith that propels us out of our Sunday church pews and into supermarket aisles and election booths. The denominationally-blind application of tax-law offers faith leaders an opportunity to examine the differences and similarities between progressive Christians and the “Christian Right” (and, increasingly, Catholic conservatives).

[T]he members of progressive, and sometimes “mainline” churches – those that try to “vote all our values” – share a closer common ancestry with conservative Evangelical and Southern Baptist members of the Christian Right than either strand of the faith would like to admit.

That there are similarities between the two distinct factions shouldn't come as a huge surprise. Beyond the baseline of describing ourselves as “Christians,” the members of progressive, and sometimes “mainline” churches – those that try to “vote all our values” – share a closer common ancestry with conservative Evangelical and Southern Baptist members of the Christian Right than either strand of the faith would like to admit. The 19th century Social Gospel movement, which championed many of the major labor law reforms and criticized the excesses of individualism, helped to ground public activism in the teachings of Jesus. Its leaders included the secretary of the (American) Evangelical Alliance, Josiah Strong, and the New York Baptist preacher Walter Rauschenbusch, who combined his inherited evangelical beliefs and social convictions with powerful oratory at the turn of the 20th century. Indeed, the political conservatism of many politically active American evangelicals and Southern Baptists is only a few decades old. The Christian Right of today was propelled into existence largely by a backlash against the women's movement, the television age, and disaffected aides of Ronald Reagan who recruited the Rev. Jerry Falwell to start the Moral Majority in 1979.

Along with shades of a shared heritage, activist conservative and progressive Christians both find deep chasms between themselves and other Christian groups. Emerging from 19th century early Adventism, today's Jehovah's Witnesses believe that Christ's Second Coming is so imminent that the world must be viewed with indifference and any political system with uncompromising criticism. My conversations with the occasional Philadelphian Jehovah's Witness on his or her way to buy groceries, confirmed this fact.

“Excuse me ma'am, are you registered to vote,” I asked an elderly women beginning to wheel her cart up the ramp towards PathMark's front entrance.

“No, I can't vote,” she replied.

“Are you a U.S. citizen?” I asked, walking up the ramp with her.

“Yes I am, but I can't vote.”

I persisted. “Ma'am, your voice really matters in this election, we can sign you up right now. It will take less than five minutes.”

“No, you don't understand,” the woman said regretfully, “I'd like to vote but I can't. I'm a Jehovah's Witness.”

The first time I encountered this response, I stared blankly. (We ended up hearing this several times.)

“You see, we are not of this world,” she continued, “We believe that it is up to God to decide who leads. We are in this world, but not part of it. We don't vote.” She moved inside, leaving me to wonder about all the questions I could have asked: Did she ever drive on snow-plowed streets? Would she refuse to call the Fire Department in the event her house were burning down?

Even Pat Robertson – who this past winter described George Bush as God's anointed candidate for 2004 – would acknowledge that God's anointed still needs human votes to stay in the White House for another four years.

Even Pat Robertson – who this past winter described George Bush as God's anointed candidate for 2004 – would acknowledge that God's anointed still needs human votes to stay in the White House for another four years. The idea that God had some better way of coming up with a leader in a constitutional democracy than getting a higher percentage of registered voters to the polls is anathema to most of progressive- and right-wing Christianity.

While election time may highlight a few of the overlooked similarities, the differences between these two interpretive strands of Christianity still cannot be underscored enough. “Vote Christian!” on the lips of Jerry Falwell to his 2,500 audience of all-male, mostly white conservative pastors at Liberty University's Conference in September was an instruction to vote in “ a new wave of pro-life, pro-traditional family, pro-national defense men and women . . . to office.”

The same command from male and female rectors and preachers across the nation communities to their more often racially and economically diverse congregations means something quite different. Widen the scope of public issues that you think your faith pertains to, these progressive proponents of “prophetic” religion are saying. Expand your faith concerns beyond abortion and same-sex marriage to include policies and candidates who address poverty, racial justice, and war and peace as well. These, too, are matters of relevance to people of faith when they head to the polls in November.

The Rev. Chloe Breyer is associate rector of St. Mary's Episcopal Church, Manhattanville, in New York City. She is an occasional contributor to Slate.com and is the author of The Close: A Young Woman's First Year at Seminary . Chloe may be reached by email at cbreyer@cac.dioceseny.org .