Building power via unlikely alliances

Ideological purity not required

*Note: This post is the eighth in a series exploring different angles on faith & politics with inspiration from the first couple chapters of the biblical book of Revelation. I hope it provides some good food for thought and conversation as we approach U.S. elections. If you want to go back and look at any of the previous posts, here they are: I’m a woman who thinks about the Roman Empire all the time, God doesn’t anoint our political leaders, We can do better than “rising above” politics, What kind of leaders are we looking for?, If you can control it, it’s not God, What is this election season revealing about our faith communities? and In a weary time, keep going.

Is the enemy of my enemy my friend?

I mean, I guess it depends on a lot of things—including how we define “friends” and how we define “enemies.” 

And, of course, if someone is your enemy, and if you’re someone to whom Jesus’ words mean something, you know what to do with that person: love them. 

(Which is not, I imagine, what Trump & friends would like to do to the people they’ve designated as the “enemy from within.” Terrifying. Please vote vote vote. [Just once. But maybe with three times the enthusiasm of a normal election?])

Anyway. All this to introduce the next few verses in the book of Revelation.

This is John’s vision of Jesus, speaking to the churchy people of the city of Ephesus:

But I have against you that you have left your first love. Remember, then, from where you have fallen, and repent and do the first works; but if not, I am coming to you, and I will move your lampstand from its place, if you do not repent. But you have this, that you hate the works of the Nicolaitians, which I also hate. The one who has ears, let them hear what the spirit says to the churches. To the one who conquers, I will give them to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.

-Revelation 2:4-7, my translation (emphasis added)

When I read this and reflected on it a few years back, “you have left your first love” stood out to me. I asked, along with the Black Eyed Peas, Where is the love?

In this 2024 election season, I stand by many of those words. About loving God, and loving one another, and letting this be the center of who we are and how we live and how we do politics and who we vote for. And—for those who go to church—about embodying actual real-life loving actions, rather than worrying endlessly about image or reputation.

As I read it now, though, a different part jumps out to me: You have this, that you hate the works of the Nicolaitians, which I also hate.

In John’s vision, Jesus isn’t very happy with the people he’s talking to. He has some things against them, some things he wants them to repent from—that is, some ways he wants them to turn around, to change their minds, to think about and do things differently.

Side note: Just to be clear, Jesus is not daddy coming home to spank them, as Tucker Carlson imagines Donald Trump in this recent rally speech. Yikes. So creepy, for so many reasons. 

But Jesus does have some things to say. He has some things to clarify, as to what a life of love and faith is really about.

At the same time, there are also some things he wants to affirm. Mainly, that these nice churchy folks in Ephesus hate some of the same things Jesus hates. You hate the works of the Nicolaitians, which I also hate.

I’m thinking of two things as I read this. 

First, I’m thinking about the Republicans—both the high-profile ones and the everyday ones, regular folks who have voted Republican their whole lives but recognize that something is fundamentally different about this election, in this Year of Our Lord 2024—who are voting for Kamala Harris. 

Part of me thinks: What I’d really like is for people to realize how abhorrent so much of the Republican party has been for such a long time. 

But part of me also thinks: Well, you hate the things Trump stands for right now, and so do I. And maybe that’s enough. 

You hate the violent rhetoric, which I also hate. You hate the open admiration of Nazism, which I also hate. You hate the ways certain white American men keep stoking fears of immigrants (who are assumed to be people of color), because you know people of color and immigrants in your life and in your community, and you know they aren’t any of the things these folks keep saying about them. You know your life and your community are better with them in it, stronger when they’re valued and respected and thriving. I know these things, too.

Maybe this is enough, in this moment. We can vote accordingly. And we can work out the other things together as time goes on. 

The second thing I think of is this, and it’s related: Coalition-building is power, and it does not require that we agree on all the things.

On our own, very few of us have much political power at all. But together—organized in communities, in groups, in circles of belonging where we care for one another and pursue policies that make our diverse communities more whole together—we have quite a bit of power.

I read Black Lives Matter co-founder Alicia Garza’s book The Purpose of Power: How We Come Together When We Fall Apart a couple years back but still think of it often. (Brilliant, by the way; highly recommend.)

Garza writes about the conflicts that often plague groups coming together to seek liberation and positive change. “How do we make new mistakes and learn new lessons,” she asks, “rather than continue to repeat the same mistakes and be disillusioned to learn that they merely produce the same results?” 

I remember, in particular, feeling challenged by Garza’s insights about bringing people together to push for changes that benefit their communities—often communities whose needs and gifts are overlooked or sidelined—across the kinds of differences that might seem impossible to move beyond. 

People really can work together across so many differences. We can believe all sorts of different things and come from all sorts of different places and cultures and experiences; all we need is to agree on one thing we can advocate for together, one change we can pursue together, and to pursue this change. This is power.

We kill our movements when we demand that everyone agree about everything. We shoot ourselves in the collective foot when we start fighting each other rather than finding what we share in common, what vision we can all get on board with, what kind of future we all want—and fighting for that together.

From her years of organizing experience, Garza writes this:

“Many of my teachers, trainers, and mentors have fallen into a pattern of making their political circles smaller and smaller rather than bigger and wider—whether that be in formal organizations or efforts that are organized but not housed in organizations. They look for people who think like them—who experience the same anxiety about having to engage in a world where not everyone thinks like you—and have adopted the idea that finding a group of people who think like you and being loud about your ideas is somehow building power. To be fair, we all to an extent look for our tribes, look for the places where we belong and where we can just be ourselves. But when it comes to politics, when it comes to governing, when it comes to building power, being small is something we cannot afford. And while I feel most comfortable around people who think like me and share my experiences, the longer I’m in the practice of building a movement, the more I realize that movement building isn’t about finding your tribe—it’s about growing your tribe across difference to focus on a common set of goals. It’s about being able to solve real problems in people’s lives, and it’s about changing how we think about and express who we are together.” 

This kind of blew my mind when I read it. Because it’s fun to find people who think similarly to the ways I think. It’s encouraging. It’s refreshing. And that’s all okay. It’s good to have these people in our lives and figure out how we can mutually support one another.

But it’s also okay—really, it’s good—really, it’s necessary—to look for people with whom we might seem to have nothing in common—really, people with whom the powers-that-be would love for us to think we have nothing in common—and see how we might expand our circles to include one another. People with whom we might actually share a surprising set of goals that we can build toward together.

You hate the way corporate greed operates in our city; so do I. You hate the ways it’s hard for small local businesses to thrive here because particular forces make it that way; so do I. You want clean air and water for the kids (and everyone) in our community; so do I. 

How might we organize together?

We don’t have to believe all the same things. We don’t even have to be friends, in a stronger sense of the word. But we might hate some of the same things. Which means we might love and want some of the same things. 

I’m not saying it’s okay to believe damaging, destructive stuff. I am saying that we all have beliefs that need to change, we all have stuff we’re working through, we all have things we don’t yet see—and maybe, in the meanwhile, we can work together toward the things we agree on right now.

I hope this is a thought that carries us well beyond the current election season. It challenges me and also gives me hope. Peace to you in a bonkers time.