Review: The Death of Politics

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The Death of Politics, Peter Wehner. New York: HarperCollins, 2019.

Summary: A book that explores the noble calling of politics, the causes of the deep divisions reflected in the 2016 election and the years that followed, and what must be restored if the American experiment is to endure.

Peter Wehner, I believe, represents a significant swath of the American population that is deeply concerned by our current political divisions and the transformation of our political processes into hyper-partisanship, vitriol-laden discourse, and a disregard for truth, for the meaning of our words. At least I would like to believe that is the case. Perhaps Wehner just represents me and a few others.

Peter Wehner is an op-ed writer for the New York Times, perhaps enough of a qualification for many to write him off without a second look. That would be sad, because before this, he served in three Republican administrations going back to Ronald Reagan. The fact that those of his party would probably repudiate him today reflects the transformation of our politics that resulted from the election of our former president, whose election had been opposed in a number of Wehner’s opinion pieces.

Given all this, Wehner begins his book with a surprising assertion–that politics is a noble calling–perhaps not quite as surprising if one considers his background. He describes our current moment as a “slough of despond” and a “mess” but he argues that it is not a time to give way to cynicism or wallow in the slough but to recover what is noble in the imperfect practice of politics.

First though, he traces how we ended up in the current mess, attributing it to rapid demographic and cultural change, middle class economic anxiety, a politics of contempt all around, and the failures of our governing class. The ethnic and religious makeup of the country has changed. The day has come when those who are white and Christian are no longer in the majority, the wages of workers in the middle class have fallen, and our political leaders seem to be out of touch in their elite bastions.

Wehner then considers three political philosophers who have shaped the American experiment: Aristotle, John Locke, and perhaps America’s greatest president, Abraham Lincoln. To these he attributes ideas like no ruler being above the law, that participation in a political community is essential to a healthy state, that human freedom and equality are not granted by the state but inherent, that governments govern by the consent of the governed, that it is not the state’s business to shape souls, and that fighting for justice does not abrogate the need to recognize the dignity of those who oppose us. Wehner maintains we need to reaffirm these foundations and the dangers of deviating from them.

Faith and politics is the subject of his fourth chapter. It is here that Wehner’s own deep Christian faith is evident, but not of one aligned with partisans. He discusses the moral basis religion has brought to American life at its best, ranging from civil rights to the Bush administration’s AIDS relief efforts in Africa. He observes the disjunct of evangelicals’ excoriation of a Democrat’s sexual failures while looking the other way in 2016. He argues that the ends don’t justify the means and contends that Christians need to focus on what Jesus actually taught, for the need of a coherent political vision rather than a stance on a few issues, a shift from a politics of revenge to one of reconciliation, and for the treatment of all our citizens as “neighbors.’ He argues that we need a gospel culture rather than a political culture within the church.

As he looks to the healing of our culture, it begins with words. We need to realize the power of words to stir us to either principled effort of unholy actions. He’s blunt in his denunciation of the culture of lying in the previous administration and the chilling phrase of “post-truth.” He contends that we all have a role in the restoration of integrity in our words from politicians to journalists to citizens who test claims for truthfulness, not only of the other political party but our own.

Wehner has not given up on the possibility of civility in our politics, of moderation and compromise in our policies (at least as of 2019). What I wish he could answer is how he would energize the “moderate middle” against energetic progressive and nationalistic partisans. I think he is hoping for the extremes to move to the middle, and I think this is highly unlikely in our heavily gerrymandered states where one’s base is all one needs to be elected. I personally have less hope that this will change our politics, but, like other virtues, I believe civility is its own reward, and part of Christian character that enjoys the favor of God, if not our political adversaries. But even here, Wehner holds out an interesting hope in the concept of the Second Friend (drawn from C. S. Lewis). These are not the First Friends who share our outlook but the person who shares our interest but comes at them in opposing ways with opposing conclusions. They force us to better thinking and action.

His final chapter offers a case for hope, drawn from his own political experiences–both the low and high points. He reminds us that we have never had perfect politicians–flawed leaders have led us in times of war and peace. He’s not arguing for the pretty, but the possible–a politics that works.

I found myself wondering if this would have been written differently after the contentious year of 2020 and the events of January 6, 2021. I wonder if he would have written with greater urgency. I would not have changed the argument though. Events since he has written only underscore the urgency of a return to the values he espouses. I think his plea for a return to the foundations of our democratic republic would have been stronger, foundations I believe partisans on both ends of our political spectrum are ready to jettison for their political ends. We need his call for honorable means in the pursuit of our political ends. When we allow ends to justify our means we will find that the fruits of victory will be poisoned fruit. The health of our politics and the democratic experiment will always be the worse for it.

Review: The Children of Ash and Elm

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Children of Ash and Elm: A History of the Vikings, Neil Price. New York: Basic Books, 2020.

Summary: A history based in archaeological research of the rise of the Vikings, their ways and beliefs, and their development as a trading, raiding, and invading power.

The story is that the gods, as they were creating, found two pieces of wood, out of which they fashioned the first man and first woman. The man was of Ash, the woman of Elm, and from these the people that became known to us as the “Vikings” sprang. Or so the Norse legends say.

Beginning with this story, Neil Price renders a history of the people known to us as Vikings. It is a story of a people who emerge from the fjords of Norway and the fastnesses of Sweden, from a collection of locally powerful lords of halls to invade and settle as far as Uzbekistan, Kabul, and Baghdad in the east and Iceland, Greenland, and the eastern shores of North America to the west. They contributed to the founding of Russia and their blood runs through William the Conqueror.

Price draws deeply on archaeological research to reconstruct the rise of these peoples in a time of volcanically-induced extended winter. The first part of this work traces their roots amid a Europe reconstituting itself after the fall of the Roman empire and the spread of Christianity, including to isolated monasteries in England that fell to early raids. Price uses archaeology to reconstruct their life, their beliefs (the Norse gods were a violent and promiscuous bunch) their burial customs (a most fascinating part of the book, including the boat burials, the rites and sacrifices, and what they were interred with), their social organization, including the employment of slaves, and their gender and sexuality.

The second part of the book traces the rise of the Vikings as a maritime culture from trading to raiding (“why trade for it when we can just take it.”) to their full scale invasions. What drives all of this is growing economic power and the needs to sustain and expand it. Price is unsparing in his accounts of the violence of these raids and invasions, and especially the consequences for women.

The third part of the book then builds upon this expansion to trace the extent of their dispersion throughout northern and eastern Europe, Russia, Constantinople and the trade routes to the east. We also learn of their dispersion from Scandinavian countries to Iceland and the attempts to settle in Greenland and North America (Vinland). Price traces the wars in England, the back and forth struggles of alternating Anglo-Saxon and Viking kings until the death of Knut in 1035 and the invasion of William, who as mentioned, was a Viking descendent.

In addition to this sweeping history, Price offers us a glimpse of the avalanche of data coming from archaeological work, from excavations, to artifacts, to DNA samples. We learn of the excavation of a warrior burial site that the warrior was a woman, from DNA evidence. Price offers evidence of fluidity in both gender roles and sexuality which might be explored further in terms of whether contemporary constructs are being read into the record, or whether the record bears out the existence of gender and sexual expression that parallel contemporary experience.

The work helps the reader enter into the worldview of these people, their maritime and military prowess, the sheer breadth of their advances and influences, and, in the end, their assimilation into Christendom. We see both the glories of the hall and the ugliness of their violence and some of their rites. The work offers maps that should be referenced to track the movements of the Vikings and a variety of illustrations of sites and artifacts referenced in the text. The references also offer extensive additional readings, as well as references for each chapter in the text.

All of this comes in a highly readable account, seasoned with Price’s wit from time to time. While there may be matters for continued scholarly debate in Price’s account, he offers an account that separates myth from fact in our understanding of these people–for example, there were no horned helmets but rather head pieces of armor and mail! This is a “go to” resource for those interested in the current research on the Vikings and their history and ways.

Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown — It All Began at the Red Barn

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“Red Barn” by Salem Ohio Public Library is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0.*

It all began at the Red Barn. It was Friday, September 22, 1972, the second day of my freshman year at Youngstown State University. At that time, the food options around Youngstown State were still somewhat limited. So I ended up at the Red Barn Restaurant on Lincoln Avenue. At that time both Cushwa Hall and the parking garage to the west of it were under construction across the street. Much of the campus was under construction at that time, enjoying the infusion of state funds in the five years after becoming a state university in 1967.

I ordered my food and when I looked for a place to sit, I saw a girl I’d met that summer. She was sitting with a tall and slender girl with long brown hair. Her name was Marilyn. She was also a freshman and had known the friend she was with since their early teens. They both grew up in the Brownlee Woods area. Marilyn was a Mooney grad who was majoring in English and minoring in journalism. Little did I realize at the time that I had met my future wife that day.

I can’t say it was love at first sight. But Red Barn was kind of the default restaurant for me at the time and she was often there. And I started to notice that she was an interesting person to whom I found myself attracted. We were both in Honors English, though in different sections. We spent a lot of time discussing books and our other classes and life at Youngstown State. She even let me borrow a couple of books that she would be reading at a different time. Finally, a few weeks later, I asked her out, and as they say, the rest was history. If she were telling the story, she would probably add that by the time I asked her out, she’d concluded I was not interested (although she was!). We guys can be slow sometimes!

We dated all through college, graduating together in June of 1976. We took some time after college to get established in our jobs and were married in June of 1978. The years since have taken us to Toledo, Cleveland, and for over 30 years, the Columbus area.

We have always loved eating out together. We would linger over “bottomless” cups of coffee while we were dating. Every year, in the early years, we would go out on the “anniversary” of when we met. As the years passed, our wedding anniversary tended to get more attention. But this year, we are planning to go out, not for a burger, but we probably will get some beef in the form of a good steak!

The Red Barn where we met is no more. It is an attractively landscaped green space. The restaurant chain succumbed to competition in the late 1980’s. It is hard to believe that fifty years later, we are still sharing meals and life together. But it has been quite wonderful–so many events, places, and people have been part of our lives since–leaving us with many memories. But it all began at a Red Barn Restaurant where two freshmen shared a lunch together.

*The picture of the Red Barn is not the one on Lincoln Avenue, but one very like it on State Street in nearby Salem, Ohio. A postscript: Several readers noted that the building pictured is still in use, currently as a pizza shop, formerly a dry cleaners.

To read other posts in the Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown series, just click “On Youngstown.” Enjoy!

Food Security

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Photo by Malidate Van on Pexels.com

I live in central Ohio and the big news here is the Intel ground breaking last Friday, September 9, 2022. This was made possible in part by the CHIPS Act, signed into law recently by President Biden, who spoke at the ground breaking. The talk is of 10,000 new jobs plus 7,000 construction jobs, and who knows how many other jobs that will be attracted by the presence of this tech giant. Everyone speaks how important this is to achieve microchip security, jeopardized by our recent supply chain issues where chips for everything from automobiles to refrigerators were in short supply. Our area colleges are re-shaping curricula to provide the training for the technicians, programmers, and engineers the company will need. This is being made possible by a significant flow of money.

It might be questioned why all these chips have become so necessary and ubiquitous in our lives. But what I’ve been thinking about quite a bit of late is why a similar focus is not being placed on the security and sustainability of our food supply. Some of us grew up in a world without chips, but none of us have grown up or can long survive a world without food.

What concerns me is where food comes from. Do you know where the food you ate for breakfast came from beyond your local grocery? I cannot say I do, but when I’ve been able to find out, I’m often surprised the distance that food has traveled to my table and the processes it has undergone during that journey. What I wonder if we’ve thought about is how “breakable” those complex logistical chains are. We tasted something of that with particular products during the pandemic. Recently, some infants were left without the formula they needed due to allergies when there were problems at ONE manufacturing plant. Part of the stop gap was shipping formula from overseas in huge transports.

Of course, all of this is has a large carbon footprint–from the fertilizer and farm machinery to the transport, refrigeration, processing, and more transport to local groceries. I wonder if it is a dangerous assumption that this will always work.

There was a time when most of our food came from within 50 miles of our home. If we lived in the country as opposed to a town or city, much came from our own land. Even during World War Two, “Victory Gardens” were popular and people grew a sizable part of their food in their backyard, canning some of it to last through the winter.

I suspect most of our states could feed their own people if agriculture was set up that way and still create a national reserve to meet shortages. Once you are out of any town or city in Ohio, for example, about all you see is farmland, particularly in that part of the state west of I-71, which is flatter. The eastern part of our state is more suited to livestock and orchards–we are the land of Johnny Appleseed, after all. What is striking is that most of what you see are just two crops–corn and soybeans. In most cases, we don’t see these crops at our dinner table–they are hidden in ingredients or used for feed or even used for biofuels like ethanol. I suspect much of it is sent somewhere else, while much of the food we eat was transported from outside the state. While this may make sense in terms of the current economy of large scale agriculture, it might be questioned whether it makes sense in terms of the food security of our nation in the long term.

It’s significant to me that none of our state’s universities are launching innovative new agriculture programs and there is no comparable investment to that being put into the tech sector. It’s fascinating that one of the reasons Intel moved here was our plentiful water supply, needed in significant amounts in chip manufacturing. The significant twenty year drought in the American Southwest and signs of changing and drier climates in other parts of the world that have been critical in food production mean that significant reassessment of agricultural possibilities and methods are needed everywhere. What stands out to me is that our state could feed itself with food to spare, but no one is looking at how that might be done. No one that I know is looking at how a diverse and nutritional mix of food could be produced, less vulnerable to diseases and pests than our monocrops. And no one is celebrating the intelligence, entrepreneurship, and work ethic of farmers.

I’ve been reading a lot of Wendell Berry of late and he makes more sense than ever. Perhaps the answers are local–really local. As more of us choose to support CSAs (Community Supported Agriculture), plant our own gardens and convert other spaces to gardens, we not only multiply our opportunities to grow and eat quality food, we enhance the food security of our communities and perhaps lay the groundwork for the day when this could be a greater necessity. Our church sits on an old farm property, with a spring providing water. Our building occupies less than a quarter of the space. Most of the northern side of our property is now community gardens. I love that we are a place that nourishes people both bodily and spiritually!

I suspect there are some who are more knowledgeable who see all kinds of flaws in what I’ve written. Mea culpa! I’m in a place more of asking questions about our assumptions about food production and security than having the answers. One thing I do know is that the issue of our food security is of immense importance, and our past abundance should not lull us into complacency. Beyond that, we haven’t even talked about the quality and safety of the food on which our lives depend, perhaps a topic for another post! At very least, I know that man cannot live on microchips alone…

Review: The World-Ending Fire

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The World-Ending Fire: The Essential Wendell Berry, Wendell Berry, Selected and with an Introduction by Paul Kingsnorth. Berkeley: Counterpoint Press, 2019.

Summary: A collection of the essays, mostly focused on local culture, the care of places, and the hubris of technological solutions.

The works of Wendell Berry span the gamut from poetry to novels and short stories to essays, in addition to many articles contributed to various magazines and journals. I have a number of volumes just with his essays. This recently published work draws from them, and I think, does capture the “essential” Wendell Berry as an essayist.

The collection opens with “A Native Hill” and “The Making of a Marginal Farm.” They capture one essential of Wendell Berry–the loving knowledge of and care for a place, as Berry tramps the ground once farmed by his family, and describes his own farm, its features and how it must be cared for to continue to be useful beyond his life. He describes the slow work of rebuilding topsoil, describing a bucket which has collected leaves, twigs, feathers, droppings, and other debris, which have slowly decayed over decades into a few inches of soil. He comes back again and again to the idea that we should give up looking for big solutions, or solutions for someone else to implement. The question is what does our place require to preserve its soil, its life, and thus to sustain us? What must we do to protect the air, the water, the soil, and feed ourselves.

He decries the global food economy in “The Total Economy” in which production and consumption are separated, where farm work becomes servitude done by unseen workers rather than the hard but noble work of feeding both oneself and others through the care for plants and animals living on the soil. He reminds us in “The Pleasures of Eating” of both the joy and act of self-defense of growing, preparing, and being mindful of the sources of our food.

He writes of his own choices to use simpler but sufficient technologies: a good team of horses and various plows, mowers, and other attachments. He gives his reasons for not buying a computer. Hand-written text, edited and typed up by his wife to be sent to his publisher is enough, and he questions how a computer can make it better. He offers standards for technological innovation that should give pause, including that it should be cheaper, as small in scale, do better work, use less energy, and be repairable by a person of ordinary intelligence with the requisite tools.

The essay following “Why I Am Not Going to Buy a Computer” addresses the firestorm that resulted when people found out about the work his wife did for him and made all kinds of invidious assumptions. He uses it as an occasion, one of several, to talk about domestic economies–of the home being the center of work for husband, wife, and children. In “Economy and Pleasure” he talks about how we have separated our work and our pleasure, recounting the storytelling among a crew during tobacco harvest time, or time with a grand-daughter, who drove a team for the first time, hauling a load of dirt to spread on a barn floor, and her response at the end, “Wendell, isn’t it fun?”

One of his repeated themes is that big tech and big government are not going to solve the problems they’ve created, because all of our challenges reduce to local challenges–this stream, this strip mine, this local community, this school system. He not only advocates for local culture but names the prejudice against country people and questions, what is the best way to farm in all of earth’s “fragile localities”

His penultimate essay, “The Future of Agriculture,” is the most recent in the collection, and in a pithy way sums up his essay-writing career. He offers seven things we must do that are straightforward common sense and concludes:

“This is a agenda that may be undertaken by ordinary citizens at any time, on their own initiative. In fact, it describes an effort already undertaken all over the world by many people. It defines also the expectation that citizens who by their gifts are exceptional will not shirk the most humble services” (p.333).

Berry’s words seem prophetic to me. The disruptions of the pandemic to global supply chains has awakened us to things like computer chip shortages. But a recent problem with infant formula brought to our attention how fraught is our system of producing and transporting food essentials. Climate-change induced droughts in food-producing areas as far flung as California and southern France and Spain should be alarm bells. A threatened rail strike as I write could be catastrophic.

So where do I begin? Perhaps it is to look at converting some of the lawn I mow to gardens. I recall a 15 by 15 garden at our former home and how much food we got out of it, how good it was, and how much fun we had ordering seeds and starting plants under lights. How did I get away from that? We’re coming up on the time to replace a roof as well as some electrical upgrades. Perhaps it is time for solar. Not sure it will pay back in our lives or change things in a big way. But that’s Mr. Berry’s point. It’s the small, local acts of care that extend even beyond our lives that are our “humble service.” Now, if only I can get off this computer…

Review: Fight Like Jesus

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Fight Like Jesus, Jason Porterfield (Foreword by Scot McKnight). Harrisonburg, VA: Herald Press, 2022.

Summary: A study of the accounts of Holy Week through the lens of how Jesus chose peace amid his ultimate confrontation with power.

For someone who has been following Christ over fifty years, Jason Porterfield helped me look at the accounts of Holy Week with fresh eyes. He believes that a key to understanding the actions of Jesus throughout this week is found in Luke’s account of the “triumphal entry” at 19:41-42 where it is written:

“As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace–but now it is hidden from your eyes” (NIV)

Porterfield sees the whole week as Jesus’ campaign of peace, that corrects our mistaken notions of making peace.

Each chapter takes one day of Holy Week (except for combining Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday) and looks at the peacemaking way of Jesus.

Palm Sunday; Confronting the religious and Roman power, people herald him as king but he rides in on a donkey, not a charger, entering the city through the gate where sacrificial lambs would enter. Peacemaking doesn’t evade conflict but moves toward it but extends peace to all. He bids us to follow the way of the Lamb.

Monday: The clearing of the temple seems a most “unpeaceful” action. Porterfield makes some interesting observations. The whip of “cords” may be understood as rushes braided together, primarily used to shoo animals. The te and kai language of John 2:15 (Porterfield conflates this with the synoptic accounts) indicates that “all” references the sheep and cattle, and not people. Jesus concern is the radical inclusion of the Gentiles, repulsed by turning their court into a marketplace. The lack of violence is evident in the lack of response of Roman authorities standing by to keep peace.

Tuesday: It’s the day of confrontations, of traps, and truth-telling, of giving Caesar his coin but calling on people to render their whole lives to God. He speaks truth to the hypocrisy of those plotting his death and in his “little apocalypse” warns his followers to flee rather than indulge in violent revolt, to feed the hungry rather than fighting in an insurrection.

Wednesday: We see the chosen road of the Sanhedrin in Caiaphas words that one should die for all; the beautiful act of the woman and Jesus’s defense of attempts to marginalize her; and finally the betrayal of Judas. Porterfield sees two diverging roads, toward and away from Jesus. Which will we choose?

Thursday: The focus here is on the new command to love one another, forming a new community where love is given and received. We call it Maundy Thursday because of Jesus “mandate.” He also deals with the “two swords” of the disciples and sees this not as a license for bearing weapons but to fulfill prophecy. He says two will be enough. Enough to fulfill prophecy about Jesus among the rebels; certainly not enough for any real defense!

Friday: The two forms of peacemaking–that of Jesus and the violent one of Barabbas stand side by side. Instead of the message of vengeance, Jesus speaks a word of forgiveness, and by refusing retaliation breaks the cycle of violence with forgiveness of all through his death.

Saturday/Sunday: Drawing on the illusions of scripture to the “harrowing of hell,” Porterfield points to the call to trust God in the darkest places. Then we have resurrection Sunday and the appearance of Jesus to the disciples bidding them “peace” even as he commissions to be his ambassadors of peace.

The book is designed to be read and discussed through the Sundays of Lent, taking one day each week. Of course, it may also be used for a series of Holy Week readings. Questions for personal reflection or group discussion are also included. The chapters include “peacemaking” applications drawn from the narrative.

I found that the lens of peacemaking takes disparate events and and weaves them together in a powerful and compelling narrative, one where we see the contrast between how God makes peace with the world’s attempts, often violent, to “make peace.” Porterfield combines exegesis that pays attention to often-overlooked details with pastoral applications that call us, not to passivity, but the active peacemaking of people following Jesus. This comes at a time where a robust peace witness of the church in a world fraught with violence has rarely been more needed.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher through LibraryThing’s Early Reviewer Program.

Review: My Vertical Neighborhood

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My Vertical Neighborhood, Lynda MacGibbon (Foreword by Michael Frost). Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2021.

Summary: The author’s account of moving from a small eastern Canada town to a Toronto highrise and how strangers became neighbors that she learned to love.

Lynda MacGibbon transferred for work reasons from a small eastern Canada town to Toronto, moving into a highrise. She had wanted to learn how to love her neighbors but for months couldn’t get beyond brief greetings and small talk. Then she found a partner, a co-worker named Rachel who loved to cook, and after prayer, proposed that they host dinners in Rachel’s tiny apartment. They began with a party that turned into a weekly dinner. At first it was only the two of them, and then Elizabeth, and Fran, and Nicolai and Yolanda and her son Luka…and then Brian.

Brian lived large, loved food, and was a gay man with many lovers. He had strong opinions, that even turned some off. But Rachel and Lynda welcomed him, first to dinners, and then the Writing Group. And he kept coming, along with his parrot and made his way into their lives. They spent one day searching as a group of friends for that parrot when he was separated from Brian. Later, Brian went out for a day with Lynda–she thought an hour but he wanted a day, going all through Toronto.

MacGibbon tells a story of the power of a partner, of learning to love unconditionally even those with zero interest in their faith, of the joy of sharing good food, and the hard lesson of neighbors looking out for each other, when they had not heard from Fran for several days only to learn she had died in her apartment. She also discovered that loving means becoming vulnerable–opening up her own stories and pain and not just listening to others, or even going dancing for an evening with Brian in a nightclub. It meant getting hurt and learning to forgive.

This book is an invitation to become open to loving our neighbors, not just in theory but in practice–whether we live in apartment complexes, high rises, old neighborhoods with porches or those with attached garages and fenced in back yards. It’s an invitation to share food, to celebrate, and to begin to take the risk of not only opening our doors but our lives.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher.

Review: The Religion of American Greatness

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The Religion of American Greatness, Paul D. Miller (Foreword by David French). Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2022.

Summary: A conservative’s critique of Christian nationalism, distinguishing it from patriotism, and making a case against it both biblically and as an illiberal theory that is at odds with the American experiment of a constitutional democratic republic.

What first caught my attention with this book is that it is written by a White, theologically conservative, Afghanistan war veteran who served in the George W. Bush White House and at the CIA as an intelligence analyst, is pro-life, lives in Texas, and reads the Declaration of Independence to his kids on the Fourth of July. He is also a Georgetown University professor who offers a scholarly treatment that both carefully explains Christian nationalism on its own terms and offers a well-supported critique of it, both as a Christian and as a patriot who passionately believes in the American experiment.

He begins as all good academics by discussing what nationalism is and differentiates it from patriotism, which he supports. He offers this definition:

“Nationalism is the belief that humanity is divisible into internally coherent, mutually distinct cultural units which merit political independence and human loyalty because of their purported ability to provide meaning, purpose, and value in human life; and that governments are supposed to protect and promote the cultural identities of their respective nations” (p. 5).

He then looks at the American version of this, arguing that the particular cultural identity that American nationalists seek to protect is Anglo-Protestantism. What is problematic with this is that cultural identities have blurry boundaries that don’t align with political boundaries. The consequence is illiberal forms of government that marginalize and disadvantage ethnic, religious, linguistic, and other cultural groupings, treating them as second class citizens. Far from promoting national unity, this results in fragmentation and division.

The Christian, evangelical version of this takes a universal faith and weds it to identity politics, reducing it to a tribal faith rather than a faith for every tribe. Miller spends a good deal of time discussing the concepts of “nations” and “peoples” in the Bible and argues that the template of Israel cannot be used to uphold the United States as a uniquely chosen nation under God. He concludes that Christian nationalism is a form of idolatry. He traces the uneasy tension between nationalism and republicanism throughout the history of the Christian right.

Whereas other commentators of a more progressive bent automatically associate Christian nationalism with racism, Miller focuses on the illiberality of nationalism in how it thinks about race, inequality, and naming and remedying the sins of the past. Some may consider this a distinction without a difference, but I appreciate the measured tone and the focus on consequences rather than on the labels we apply.

He discusses the embrace of the former president’s form of Christian nationalism and its attraction for White evangelicals. One of the most telling aspects of this discussion is the suspicion of elites as well as the fear of elite efforts to restrict religious expression. I’ve experienced that in university ministry where universities used institutional power to attempt to restrict access of religious groups on campus (and I met the contributor of the foreword, David French, in conjunction with standing against these efforts). I observed the condescension with which religious convictions were treated. I chose to love those who treated me as an enemy but I can understand how this sense of grievance can be played upon to oppose and defeat “progressive elites,” something I think few progressives really grasp. Miller observes that “while conservatives are proud of their bubble, progressives deny they are in one.”

Miller concludes in arguing that national identity is not bad–we just need a better story than nationalism, one rooted in our history that both celebrates our ideals, especially as they have distinguished us in practice, as well as our ugly failures, that inspire us to overcome and strive for a better future. He argues for a kind of open exceptionalism in which we hold the nation up to the light of our high ideals combined with Niebuhrian humility that faces our national sins and failures. He believes pastors can do a better job in careful teaching that gives the lie to the idea of America as the new Israel, chosen of God and thinking beyond specific issues as to how to engage politically in a pluralistic society and the duties of responsible citizenship.

Miller is self-aware enough to recognize that many Christian nationalists won’t read his book. I hope some will because they will meet someone who actually cares about much of what they care for, who genuinely loves America, and is equally critical of progressives for their own brand of illiberalism. He writes as one who sees the religion of American greatness as an idol, a counterfeit version of the great vision of our faith of God’s love for all the nations of the earth. Miller is unwilling to see it reduced to one puny White evangelical tribe identified with a mere vision of national identity.

He also sees nationalist efforts, Christian or otherwise, as incongruous with our national experiment of a constitutional form of democratic republicanism. He alludes to writing not only a similar critique of progressivism but also a book outlining his ideas of a “framework of ordered liberty.” I hope he gets to write both of those books, but especially the third, which I think will offer great help for all of those who want to think politically beyond the issues that so often divide us.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher.

Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown–Why Local History?

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An early sketch of the Brier Hill district and the town of Youngstown

I was in a conversation this week with someone who asked me why we should honor people in the Youngstown area who have done great things. It is a good question. Part of my response was to say that “For me, it is about more than honoring them or their memory. It is about the values they stood for that you hope to perpetuate.” That answer is part of why I write so much about Youngstown people, cultural institutions, businesses, and events that have shaped Youngstown.

We’re not a bunch of people who happened to land in a particular place that is just like other places in the U.S. Youngstown is a storied place and those who call it home are part of a 225 year old story. I happen to think part of how we make sense of our lives, what matters in them, what values shape them, is to understand the story of which we are a part and within which we live.

Yet one of the most common responses I receive to many of the articles I’ve posted in this series is, “why have I never heard about this before. I never knew that!” The reason, of course is that, with few exceptions, most of us were not taught our local history in school. I happen to think that is a great lack.

Sadly, the only local history many of us know about Youngstown are the stories of the mob, bombings, the closing of the mills, and political corruption. I would be a liar if I were to say that these aren’t part of the Youngstown story. But they are only a part. I haven’t focused much on these things because so much has been written. It also happens that in the plot of the Youngstown story, such things are only a small part of our rich story.

Yet so much that we continue to treasure in Youngstown we owe to people who put their time, skill, energy, and money into our community life. We owe our schools to people like Judge Rayen and N. H. Chaney and Paul C. Bunn. and Howard Jones. The efforts of Reuben McMillan contributed to the excellent library system of today. We have one of the most amazing museums of American art that we can visit for free because of the vision and bequest of Joseph G. Butler. Mill Creek could have become another industrial zone were it not for the vision and labors of Volney Rogers and the park leadership from then until now that stewarded this singularly beautiful place. Leaders like Charles P. Henderson showed that politics needn’t be corrupt. The Warners built an amazing theatre that the Powers family and later, the DeBartolo and York families preserved as a wonderful space for the performing arts. The Covelli Centre recognizes the efforts and investment of a contemporary restaurant entrepreneur. I could go on and on.

Local history helps us know how our city developed in the shape it did. It answers questions like “How did Brier Hill get its name and why is it so important?” What connection did the famous educator William Holmes McGuffey have with the east side of Youngstown? How did East Youngstown become Campbell? How did Salt Springs Road get its name? Why is the Wick family so important to our history? What importance did the Gibson, Zedaker, Foster, and Brownlee families have in the development of the South Side?

Local history matters because it is a story we get to help write. Among those I listed above are people from the early beginnings of Youngstown, a number from a century ago, and some who are our contemporaries. How do we write that story? The people in that history did it through hard work, integrity of character, a willingness to go out on limbs and take risks, and a stick-to-itivness. Many of them persisted twenty, thirty, forty, or even fifty years in pursuing the common good of the city. I suspect that if anything is done that lasts another one hundred years or more, it will be because of people who embrace those same values and pursue a similar course.

And this is why our local history matters. First it made us, and then we get to make it.

To read other posts in the Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown series, just click “On Youngstown.” Enjoy!

Remembering Queen Elizabeth II

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Queen Elizabeth II in March 2015, Joel Rouse/ Ministry of Defence Derivative: nagualdesign – defenceimagery.mod.uk, Licensed under OGL 3

Today is the first day in my life in which Queen Elizabeth II is no longer the Queen of the United Kingdom and the nations of the British Commonwealth. I am 68 and she was Queen before I was born. I’ve seen so many world leaders come and go. Churchill, de Gaulle, Khrushchev (and Gorbachev), Eisenhower, Kennedy, Nixon, and Reagan. And always there was Queen Elizabeth II.

Her Platinum Jubilee earlier this summer reminded me that this day would come. Yet I was among those who said, “God save the Queen” because I didn’t want it to come yet. But her absence from many of the festivities suggested the increasingly fragile nature of her health at age 96. I suspected it would not be much longer before she followed her husband Philip.

I remember a youthful Queen. I collected stamps as a kid, and upon her coronation, every country in the Commonwealth at that time printed stamps with her youthful, crowned profile. I remember a young mother with children around my age or older. In pictures of her over the years, I saw a maturing, and then aging monarch, always self-possessed, but bearing like all of us, the marks of advancing years. That mental montage of images including the frail Queen with youthful incoming Prime Minister Truss on Tuesday remind me of the arc of life we all follow.

What strikes me, as it has so many, is how she persisted in fulfilling her royal duties from her youth, even while Princess during the war years until this very week. She once said, “Work is the rent you pay for the room you occupy on earth.” She traveled more than any monarch in history, visiting Canada twenty times alone. And this from one who, while Edward VIII was king, did not expect to reign. In the end, she reigned longer than any British monarch.

I think part of her longevity had to do with her resilience. Think of what the past seventy years have brought: the end of Great Britain as one of the greatest powers, the end of empire, advances in technology, changes in moral standards, the shift from industrial to technology driven economies, and so much more. Media shifted from print to radio to television to the 24/7 news cycle, and the internet. Historians and biographers have and will point out mistakes made by her and her family negotiating the traditions of monarchy in such rapidly changing times. What stands out is that she learned and she lasted. Can any of us do more?

I’m reminded of her courage. She and her family could have fled to Canada during the war. Along with Churchill, they stayed and gave support to those who faced untold trials. She faced the dangers of public life, including at least two attempts on her life.

I think of her faith. Formally the Queen was ‘Defender of the Faith and Supreme Governor of the Church of England’. I sensed there was more. She was not just a Christian monarch but a monarch who was an openly professing Christian. This was evident in her annual Christmas messages, that I made a point to listen to once they were on video. In 2000 she said:

“To many of us, our beliefs are of fundamental importance. For me the teachings of Christ and my own personal accountability before God provide a framework in which I try to lead my life. I, like so many of you, have drawn great comfort in difficult times from Christ’s words and example.”

Yet she was never parochial or intolerant, practicing warm inter-faith relationships.

She combined representing the Kingdom and the Commonwealth with dignity with setting people at ease. When World War Two ended, she mingled unknown among the celebrating crowds. She could do that no longer once Queen but many pictures showing her setting people at ease, whether children, soldiers, ordinary people, or foreign dignitaries. And who of us will forget how she did this with Paddington Bear during her Platinum Jubilee.

Ma’amalade sandwich Your Majesty?

As an American citizen, she was not my Queen. And yet, in both her Jubilee and her passing, I believe in some sense she became the Queen of all of us and today I feel the loss that she is no longer with us, the first day this is so in my life. Her passing reminds me that all of us, even monarchs, are mere mortals. All of us run a race with a finish. The Queen ran hers to the end. Now, may she discover all that she in faith believed and defended. And may she Rest in Peace and Rise in Glory.