God doesn't anoint our political leaders

We can choose who we vote for, and we can change our minds

I’ve been thinking about how a lot of the things I’ve written in this space aren’t particularly religious. 

I mean, it’s all shaped by my evangelical Christian past. And by my current progressive Christian / open / exploring-post-evangelical-spirituality kind of faith. 

But generally—with the exception of what I hope is a nuanced and non-traumatizing take on Jesus’ words about forgiveness—I haven’t really focused on religious texts. I’ve focused more on nonfiction (and occasionally fiction) that I’m reading, what I’m observing in the natural world and in the political world and in my own little life, and how I’m reflecting on it all

So I’m not sure how this series I’m starting, where we’ll talk about faith and politics and the first few chapters of the book of Revelation, will feel. I welcome your feedback anytime.

I certainly hope it doesn’t feel like Bible-thumping. I also hope it doesn’t feel like I’m assuming you identify as Christian, or that you should identify as Christian. I feel nothing of the sort. 

I’m just glad to be on a journey together where we’re asking Big Questions and thinking Deep Thoughts and rethinking the things that need to be rethought and considering how we want to live. 

Maybe our journey has been a winding one, and maybe it’s included a few u-turns along the way. / Photo by Taneli Lahtinen on Unsplash

If the Bible has been a good and life-giving part of that journey for you, you’re welcome here. If the Bible has been used as a weapon against you or against people you love, you’re welcome here, and I hope this space feels safe.* If you, like me, have experienced biblical texts as a mixed bag, you’re so welcome here, and it might just feel like coming home.

All that said, with no particular assumptions about what the Bible does or doesn’t mean to you, can we talk about the book of Revelation?

It feels important to me to say that if we’re talking about Revelation, we’re talking about apocalypse (the Greek word that gets translated as “revelation”). And apocalypse** feels like a pretty good word for the world we’re living in, and for the 2024 US election season.

(Not that past elections weren’t apocalyptic in their own ways. But they only keep getting weightier as time goes on.) 

We have a choice not only between two different visions of what the US could look like, or between two different sets of ideas about how to solve the problems that concern us all, like a healthy economy or basic safety in our communities. 

We have a choice between a strong, tough, intelligent, well-prepared leader and a dangerous would-be dictator whose antics would be laughable if we weren’t seriously faced with the possibility of another four years.

Apocalypse. For those for whom life is generally holding together, still—we might feel on the verge of everything falling apart.

And for those for whom everything has already fallen apart—the stakes are still high. The impact is still real. Just because neither option disrupts the empire-ness of empire doesn’t mean that both options are the same. 

Apocalypse, or revelation. Who we are, and who those around us are, has been unveiled and will continue to be unveiled.

Apocalypse, or revelation. People are flocking out of evangelical churches in massive droves because who those churches are and what they stand for has been revealed clearly, and it isn’t who they said they were or what they said they stood for—things like love and truth and integrity and community, the things that drew so many of us in.

In this world, in this time, what might the first few words of the book of Revelation—the book of Apocalypse—mean to us?

I looked back at my translation of Revelation 1:4-8 from a few years ago (still available here, along with the rest of the post, if you’re curious) and made a few (mostly punctuation) changes for readability. I’m also putting a couple key phrases in bold.

Here’s what I came up with:

From John, to the seven churches in Asia. Grace to y’all. Peace, from the one who is and who was and who is coming―and from the seven spirits before his throne―and from Jesus Christ, the witness, the faithful one, the firstborn of the dead ones and the ruler of the kings of the earth. 

To the one who loves us and released us from our sins in his blood, and made us a kingdom, priests to his God and father―to him, the glory and the dominion forever and ever. Let it be so.

Behold, he comes with the clouds, and every eye will see him, even the ones who pierced him, and all the tribes of the earth will beat their breasts in grief over him. Yes, let it be so.

“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the lord God, “the one who is and who was and who is coming, the all-ruling one.”

That word: “all-ruling one.” παντοκράτωρ, in Greek. It could also be translated: Almighty, all-powerful, or ruler of all.

John, the writer of the book of Revelation, uses this word a lot. Way more than any of the other New Testament writers. As he speaks directly into the political turmoil and upheaval of his world, directly into the oppressive beastliness of the Roman Empire, maybe this word offers some comfort to him and his readers. Maybe there’s some peace to be found in the idea of Jesus as the “all-ruling one.”

I want to be a little careful about this, though. What does it mean for Jesus to be the “all-ruling one” in the midst of *gestures vaguely* everything? Here are some things I don’t think it means:

• I don’t think it means that God anoints any particular office-holders. 

• I don’t think it means that any political leaders are (or should be) beyond the scope of the law.

• I don’t think it means that, for people of faith, the political leader of one’s choosing—or of one’s church’s choosing, or the choosing of prominent Christian authority figures—is beyond any accusation of wrongdoing.

• I don’t think it means that this person continues to be the political leader of one’s choosing no matter what.

I think it’s the opposite, really. It’s a promise of accountability. A promise of justice. A warning to leaders: there’s someone above you, even if it might not seem like it. 

And perhaps, given this, people of faith are invited to use our heads, hearts, and souls, in conversation with one another—and especially in communities that include some of the people most vulnerable and marginalized in our nation—to keep thinking about things. To rethink things, if needed. 

There’s no shame in that. It’s actually what repentance means, which is what people of faith are called to. Changing our minds, again and again and again.

I feel deeply encouraged when I hear stories of people who voted for Trump in 2016 or 2020 and are reconsidering in 2024. Maybe it’s based on something they saw in the debate, or something he’s said or done since they voted for him. Maybe they’ve listened to Kamala Harris talk about her vision for our country and decided it’s something they can get behind, even though they never expected to vote for a Democrat. Maybe they’ve been swayed by all the prominent Republicans who have endorsed Harris.

Or maybe they’ve changed, and no longer believe in policies they once believed in. Maybe, for example, they’ve been moved by the stories of women in the news or in their own lives who’ve faced difficult reproductive health choices and realized how much it means for these choices to be, well, choices, and how much women suffer when their options are taken away. Maybe they’ve been among these women.

I think there are a lot of stories of people changing their minds, and I think each one is wonderful. I think it’s how people of faith are meant to be—humble, open to change, moved by the suffering of others as Jesus was.

So maybe that’s where we start. By seeing what comfort or peace we might find in the idea of Jesus as the “all-ruling one.” Considering what it looks like for political leaders to be held accountable for their words and actions in meaningful ways, for the harm these words and actions cause.

And, in light of the idea that political leaders are not the ultimate authority, being open to changing our minds about who to vote for. Being open to voting differently from how friends or family or religious authority figures might vote. Engaging in the political process with integrity and ongoing thoughtfulness. 

How about you? How does it feel to think of Jesus as the “all-ruling one”? What, if anything, does that mean to you as you think about our political world and the upcoming US election? Have you seen people take it to mean that particular leaders are anointed by God and therefore can do no wrong, or the wrong they do doesn’t matter? What would you say to this? I’d love to hear.

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*Please tell me anytime if it doesn’t feel safe here. And of course, if you need to skip the Bible-y posts because they’re triggering, please do so and come back after this series is over. 

**Apocalypse is also one of those words that means different things to different people—not just depending on theological background, but also on social location. Maybe it’s not unlike the idea of hell, in that the comfortable and privileged tend to fear a version of it that they believe happens in the future (in the case of hell, after death), while people suffering directly under war and poverty and other forms of violence know that hell already exists on earth.