A good friend once shared with me her experience as one of the first women ordained as a presbyter/priest in the Episcopal Church. At a reception for new clergy following their Diocesan Convention, she was asked by one of her male colleagues, “Do you feel your being a woman in any way compromises your ability to be a priest (to “hold such an office”)? Jeanette said she then paused and considered what it is a “priest” in our church typically does: “First they send out as many invitations as they can, inviting local families and friends to join a big dinner party. Then they put on their best dress. Then they set the table, make sure there's enough food for everyone. Sometimes they give comfort or a special blessing to children, the elderly, or others in need. Then they thank God, and everyone else, for coming, and make sure they take some of the leftovers home, or make up a care package for anyone who couldn't make it to the party, and who may still be hungry.”
After sharing this with her male colleague, Jeanette then asked him “Is there anything about doing what a priest does that you feel compromises your masculinity?” Thank you, Jeanette.
Now, in light of her deft reply, I will also try to follow her good lead:
Since the comments of Rudy Guliani and Sarah Palin at the Republican Convention, many are asking, what does a community organizer have to do with any real sense of responsibility for the common good, or for being able to get things done? Isn't being a Mayor, Governor, or CEO of a business really ACHIEVING something?
After hearing all the speeches, I thought about Jesus: you know, the guy everyone--especially those who make such arguments--claims to be following with such great devotion. What did he do? He gathered together, preached, and taught a lot of people in the streets, in local congregations, by the seaside, and on mountains and hillsides, but not in the corridors of power or the precincts of the temple, where he seemed to be quite unwelcome. His followers came to call this method "Evangelian", a Greek word which was normally used in those days to describe what was done by a traveling, political "town crier": announcing to the people that a new policy, a new politics, or a new ruler was in power, or was soon coming to town (most of our English Bibles simply call this "Evangelism" or "Good News". But the Greek term has very important linguistic, social, and political antecedents, and meaning. ).
Jesus always made sure everyone had enough to eat, to share what they had, and to put audacious hope in the ultimate justice of the Reign/Kingdom of God, long before they had the right to vote. He taught his disciples to organize those who attended his gatherings and feedings into groups (“of fifties", according to Mk. and Matt.) and to sit down on the grass before he made sure they were fed. He sent his disciples out, two by two, to heal, preach, and teach that "the kingdom of God is at hand", and always had a collaborative review session with them when they returned—to see how well this “Good News” was spreading. He listened, very carefully, to those who were labeled as "sinners" and outcasts. He also listened to those who were suffering--individually and collectively. He responded to their immediate needs for healing, for food, clothing, and a sense of belonging, and not to their political ideology, their party or religious affiliation, their ability to make a contribution to his campaign, or even their ability to "get out the vote", fill out a pledge card, or "fill up the pews". He spoke to them of vision and hope in a new order which was already breaking in upon them, and also upon the powers that be. This "Kingdom of God" was not about the politics of the status quo, or existing office, but was something much more deeply personal and spiritual, yet also cosmic and political. It was, in fact, truly revolutionary. He was never ordained a rabbi, elected mayor or governor, or even widely accepted in his lifetime as Israel's "Messiah”, yet Pilate himself called him “King of the Jews”. He and his disciples seemed to live hand-to-mouth, sometimes on the largess of others who wished to donate to their cause, and they seemed to have a good deal of trouble with their treasurer, Judas, who was known for using their donations for his own "pork barrel" spending, and even for taking bribes. Jesus never held any public office, either in government or in his religious denomination or faith tradition. When his disciples considered who among them might be most fit for such “election” he told them “the greatest among you must be the servant of all”. Instead of seizing office, or power, as “Messiah” or “King of the Jews”, He preferred to serve, heal, preach, teach, empower, and organize until his Father's Kingdom truly came, fully, upon the earth. And, remarkably, He continues to do so, through God's own Spirit, even today!
None of Jesus's followers, or virtually any member of the first 3 centuries of Christianity, held, or even sought, public office. In fact, although they tried to remain on good terms with the powers that be, they were often persecuted, banned, castigated, tortured, or executed--not for simply "doing good", but for proclaiming and living out the reality of a "kingdom" which was radically different than that of the existing order of the rich, the socially connected, and politically or religiously powerful, that it seemed to be a real threat.
As I reflect on the kind of leadership qualities that characterized this man and his "movement" of rag-tag fishermen, tax-collectors, prostitutes, and revolutionary Zealots, I've wondered myself, what kind of responsibility is that, compared to being Mayor of a small town, Governor, Senator, or even President of the United States? How does what Jesus, and his followers did compare, instead, to the work of a community organizer? --to what we have witnessed of people like Dorothy Day, Fred Shuttlesworth, Cesar Chavez, Fred Ross, Saul Alinsky, SCLC, ACORN, PICO, or our own ACT—Sacramento's Area Congregations Together, and our own local organizer, Alicia Ross?
Suddenly, the choice doesn't seem as obvious. Our conventional ways of judging who is a "true leader" seem incomplete: our criteria for judgement are not as easy as what any politics--left, right, or centrist--may lead us to think. Rather than judging anyone's sincerely held beliefs or performance in service to their community, their country, their people, or their God, it seems better to leave this for all of us to reflect prayerfully upon, to cast our vote as conscience, wisdom, and God's Spirit may lead, and, finally, for the voters to decide.
