As I write this we are entering the final week of Lent, and the promise of new life seems to be all around me.

The pair of mourning doves that in some summers nest in the tree outside my office window have reappeared. At least I assume it is the same pair—they act, to my eyes, like they’ve been here before. They poked through the rain gutter on the roof of the porch, pausing to look around cautiously, all the while making the gentle, low, drawn-out sound that seems like a gentle lament (which you can hear here). I think of them as “my mourning doves,” but nothing, of course, could be further from the truth.

Then this afternoon I walked into our back yard and a tiny bird, the size of a chickadee was hopping in the grass. It was a species I have never seen before in all the years we have lived here, a lovely pale green tinge to its feathers, and remarkably a dot of bright red on the crown of its head. It was not easily frightened, and when I quietly approached to look closer it continued on pecking at the ground, staying just out of reach. We had to look it up: a ruby crowned kinglet, apparently on its way to its summer breeding grounds further north. It has a lovely song (which you can hear here).

Hopeful, lovely signs of goodness—but why should I be able to enjoy them when so many in Japan are simply missing, and when so many others have lost everything in the wake of the tsunami?

The puzzle deepens—as Lent is deigned to foster—when I pause to look within. Each morning I awaken newly convinced I am the center of the universe. “Our fallen human nature is incurably self-centered,” John Stott says, “and pride is the elemental human sin, whether the form it takes is self-importance, self-confidence, self-assertion or self-righteousness.” I tried to honestly assess which form it takes in my case, but was stymied—apparently all of them apply equally.

Even my faith is drawn into the vile mess, I’ve discovered. “If we human beings were left to our own self-absorption,” Stott continues, “even our religion would be pressed into the service of ourselves. Instead of being the vehicle for the selfless adoration of God, our piety would become the base on which we would presume to approach God and to attempt to establish a claim on him. The ethnic religions all seem to degenerate thus, and so does Christianity.” If you doubt the truth of that, get to know me better.

Last night I gave a lecture in St Paul, and as I was talking I found myself inwardly wrestling. On the one hand I really did want to commend the faith creatively. I really did want to be faithful so that God would be glorified, so that his truth was honored and his reality demonstrated. On the other hand I found myself yearning to look good, wanting to appear thoughtful and cultured, well read and eloquent, creative, imaginative, a spokesman for the gospel that stands out from the braying masses… and that’s only part of the list.

Repentance would be more satisfying if it didn’t need to be repeated so often.

Someday we will repent for the last time. That will be a fine day to break to break our fast, and feast like there was no tomorrow. Which there will be, world without end.

Holy Father.

Help us to show kindness and unrivaled hospitality as the natural extension of our commitment to you. Use us to bring hope and comfort to the abandoned and forsaken corners of your creation.

Amen.

Source: The Message of Romans by John Stott (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1994), p. 29. Prayer from Common Prayer: A liturgy for ordinary radicals by Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, & Enuma Okoro (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan; 2010) p. 413.

The philosopher Frederick Nietzsche identified a tendency in political life that he called ressentiment. As James Hunter explains in To Change the World, it embraces what we mean by “resentment, but it also involves a combination of anger, envy, hate, rage, and revenge as a motive for political action” [107]. This definition is correct, but at first glance seems to name a vile affection that most of us could not imagine being true of ourselves. Yet, as Hunter correctly argues, ressentiment animates both the conservative Right and the progressive Left including the evangelical versions of both political stances.

“Ressentiment is grounded,” Hunter explains, “in a narrative of injury, or, at least, perceived injury; a strong belief that one has been or is being wronged” [107]. Slowly this sense of wrong begins to shape a group’s identity, and “is expressed as a discourse of negation; the condemnation and denigration of enemies” [108].

The narratives or stories—or more accurately, the political myths—that are foundational to the mindset and worldview of both evangelical conservatives and evangelical progressives are shaped in large measure by a profound sense of ressentiment. This deep sense of injury is one reason why incivility, anger, and sharply worded attacks at perceived imbalance, unfairness, and danger seem to dominate the rhetoric in the public square.

The political myths of the Right and Left are quite different, but both animate their followers. As evangelical conservatives tell the story of history, America was founded as a Christian nation, but that heritage and culture has been stolen by secularists, and the liberals who dominate the press and the world of higher learning are trying to move us from freedom towards ever-increasing expansion of intrusive governmental power. As evangelical progressives tell the story of history, America was founded by marginalized people seeking freedom from injustice, but increasingly middle-class Christians have championed free market consumerism, and the conservatives who dominate the so-called Christian media have hijacked the witness of the church, proclaiming a message that is a perversion of the full gospel, conveniently forgetting biblical mandates about caring for the earth and the poor.

The result of this ideological captivity on both sides of the political spectrum is devastating. For one thing, ressentiment, like all forms of bitterness and anger, is like a deadly poison slowly working to kill our souls. That it has fostered an environment in which thoughtful discussion becomes impossible should be rather obvious. And, as Hunter points out, “rather than being defined by its cultural achievements, its intellectual and artistic vitality, its service to the needs of others, Christianity is defined to the outside world by its rhetoric of resentment and the ambitions of will in opposition to others” [174]. Both myths involve a highly selective reading of history, the sense of injury that animates both sides is unbecoming to followers of a crucified Lord, and the angry identification of opponents that must be defeated if truth and justice are to prevail is a practical denial of grace and compassion. In the end, Hunter says, “many of the most prominent Christian leaders and organizations in America have fashioned an identity and witness for the church that is, to say the least, antithetical to its highest calling” [175].

Both the Evangelical Right and the Evangelical Left have evolved into political ideologies, or to use a more biblical term, idolatries. Animated by ressentiment, they claim to bring the gospel to bear on the public square while actually baptizing an ill-spirited will to power with a thin veneer of Christian religiosity.

Holy Father.

It brings me to despair to realize how difficult it is for me to treat others as I would want to be treated. I do not plan incivility towards those with whom I disagree, but find it tumbles out of my heart unbidden. I am selective in my choice of evidence, am quick to argue, and often fail to listen with care.

Help me to remember that the enemies against which I struggle are the flesh, the world, and the devil. That my hope lies not in the political process but in the promise that you remain sovereign even in this world where nothing remains untainted by the fall. Cause me to demonstrate the love you have called your people to exhibit, granting grace to opponents as well as friends. Give me the strength to shed the easy idolatries on offer in the public square, choosing instead simply to be faithful to your gospel. Cause me to be civil, thoughtful, and fair even when those who disagree with me do not return the favor. Help me to motivated not by remembered injury but by an abiding gratitude for your goodness.

By your grace alone may your world see some small glimpse of glory in me because of Christ and come to believe.

Amen.

I will not explain in words what you will see in these two brief videos, since they say it so well that my words would be superfluous. They are brief, but dazzling reminders of why it is possible to be grateful for life even in a broken world.

Video #1 is “Nokia: Dot” [1.38 minutes]:

Video #2 is "Dot. The making of" [5.36 minutes]:



Thanks to our friend Meg Vinson for introducing us to these videos during a delightful conversation at Toad Hall.