“Please, Pastor, talk more about politics!” said no one, ever.  “Instead of sharing what we’re thankful for this Thanksgiving, let’s debate presidential candidates.” No thanks.  “For Christmas, please get me more streaming subscriptions to 24-hour news services.”  I’d prefer sharing a bed with the fleas from a thousand camels.  Political discourse in church these days is as welcome as a dead fly in a punch bowl.

     Conventional wisdom instructs polite society to avoid talking about religion and politics to keep things civil, peaceful.  The bummer for Christian pastors is that religion is supposed to be our wheelhouse, and our central character, Jesus, was deeply political!  A strong amount of denial and avoidance is required to neglect touching the third rail of politics.  Yet if we are to be faithful to the teaching and example of Jesus, we have no choice.  His Sermon on the Mount was full of political commentary, including instruction on nonviolent resistance. Going the extra mile, turning the other cheek, giving the shirt off your back – these were not tips on how to be a nice person – they were nonviolent acts of disruption designed to highlight injustice.  His comment on paying taxes unequivocally challenged Rome.  His criticism of elite Jewish leaders’ greed in the face of poverty spoke into unequal systems of distribution.  Jesus centered his life and mission on shalom – the expansive Jewish word that is sometimes understood simply as “peace” yet runs much deeper.  It refers to holistic wellbeing for everyone, healing deep wounds both physical and emotional, a source of everlasting abundance from the heart of God, allowing harmony in and among all aspects of creation.  Because Jesus was animated and motivated by shalom, he simply called attention to its absence (or opposite) when he saw it. On one occasion, the light of shalom shone upon a particularly short-statured tax collector.

     Zacchaeus was a wee little man.  A wee little man was he. He climbed up in a sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see. And as the Savior came that way He looked up in the tree. And he said, “Zacchaeus, you come down, for I'm going to your house today.”  How many of you began humming the tune along with these lyrics? This is one of those stories that gets relegated to children’s sermons. Yet the story has a much deeper purpose than to highlight a vertically challenged Jewish man.  Zacchaeus was a tax collector. Viewed as a traitor to the Roman Empire, he was also known to be a cheat – ripping off his fellow countrymen with the blessing of Caesar, enriching (and isolating) himself each day.  He was a Capitalist before the word meant anything – getting away with as much as the market would allow.  Which was a lot.  Diana Butler Bass, in her excellent book, Grateful, notes that he was a climber – not just of trees, but of the social ladder.  His livelihood was based on a tit for tat model that was all about getting what you could without regard for others.  The ancient world he inhabited assessed people based on their societal position.  Zach didn’t climb the tree simply because he was short – he was literally maintaining his position above everyone else.

     When Jesus called him to climb down, he was inviting dialogue on level ground, as equals.  Further, instead of waiting for Zach to invite him to dinner, which would have set in motion the tit for tat system, the “I blessed you with dinner, so you now owe me a favor because I’m big and you’re small” cycle, Jesus invited himself over to dinner, to bless Zach with his presence, which he in no way deserved.  This was a deep reversal that would have broken the internet if they had one. Jesus’ invitation to dinner was also more than a meal – it was an invitation to operate from a shalom-centered worldview, where decisions and relationships aren’t calculated by who can do what for who, but by the unitive vision that positions everyone as equals in the unifying love of God.

     And it was, in fact, an invitation, even if it sounds like Jesus was forcing his way into an expensive meal with good wine.  Zach could have responded differently by maintaining his position of authority and rank. He could have laughed Jesus off, “In your dreams, preacher-man!”, and we would note that a guy with power and money chose to reject Jesus’ offer.  Zach had the power and freedom to refuse.

     But he didn’t.  Instead, he accepted Jesus’ invitation not just to dinner, but to a different way of being, born from grace. According to Bass, his declaration that he was going to repay everyone he ripped off was effectively a resignation from his role as Chief Tax Collector.  He was done marching to the beat of Rome and all it represented. He said yes to following the way of shalom.

     This story reflects well key principles promoted by Open and Relational Theology (ORT).  In contrast to more classic theological renderings where God acts as the ultimate authority, occasionally overriding human choice and demanding God’s will be done (or suffer the consequences), we witness a God who, in relationship with these characters, is open to what comes next. In this story, Jesus rolled into town already famous for operating by a different vision, one where God is motivated primarily by love and not power, and where genuine invitation implies real relationship and an open future.  Jesus had agency to invite Zach down from the tree, and further agency to invite himself over for dinner as equals, all motivated by love.  There was no coercion here. Only loving invitation.  Shalom’s light shone on everything out of place given the ancient system of reciprocity that kept power in the hands of very few and equality out of reach.  Not even God could know for certain how Zach would respond, or, if we push it further, how Jesus would respond to the nudge to start this whole exchange.  If Jesus was truly human, even he had the agency to not ask Zach to climb down to level ground and share a narrative-and-table-flipping meal – no Jewish person would blame him for refusing company with such a traitorous thief. But Jesus embraced a shalom-centered vision to see with eyes of love even those believed to be enemies of the state.  Jesus said yes to shalom. Zach did, too.

     This is how God operates in the world according to ORT – constantly wooing us to recognize where Shalom needs to develop more fully and accept the invitation to say and do something to facilitate its flourishing.  It requires risk. It is terrifying as it bucks systems and the powerful people benefitting from them.  Sometimes those people conspire to squash such visions of Shalom to maintain their position, even to the point of killing an innocent, poor, nonviolent, anointed prophet-preacher during a Passover festival in Jerusalem. God did not stop such behavior because God is not controlling, but always operates from love which accommodates individual agency. Yet what beauty blooms when love, grace, and shalom are fully chosen! What generosity flows from such embrace of love so freely and fully given! Dinner is served! Wine flows! Tax bills shredded! Refunds received!  Jesus’ and Zach’s respective embrace of God’s invitation of shalom opened the door to more and more shalom.

     Did you catch that this story addressed a contentious political problem? Challenging political issues in this process of invitation and response are displayed throughout the scriptures.  This is why the rights and protections for widows, orphans, and refugees/immigrants expanded over time.  As people lived and examined their political reality, they recognized that shalom required greater protection and provision for the most vulnerable among them.  Someone felt the nudge from the source of shalom (God) that was drawing attention to the absence of love and justice.  Someone saw the vision and mustered the courage to draw others’ attention to the discrepancy, which was welcomed by some but not all.  Sometimes human beings do not behave humanely toward the most vulnerable, sometimes dismissing or denying the reality of injustice because to address it would require change and sacrifice.  Sometimes human beings have been known to resist shalom. The Prophets were some of the greatest advocates of shalom in their day, pleading to leaders and the general populace to embrace shalom for the benefit of all. Sometimes their messages were heeded. Sometimes the prophets lost their lives because it can be easier to kill the messenger than to accept the message.

     As people of faith in the Christian tradition, and informed by Open and Relational Theology, we recognize that Jesus’ teaching and modeling serve as our primary way of seeing and being in the world.  That means we are invited to live by the light of shalom as we shine that light wherever we go, illuminating shadowy places.  We are invited to risk identifying what doesn’t align with shalom, standing for justice and wellbeing for everyone that will be uncomfortable for the messenger and the receivers. This is a choice to talk about the things that relational, familial, local, and global systems will not entirely appreciate. Yet this is our invitation to embrace should we desire more shalom anywhere and everywhere. This is choosing to talk about the political challenges we face, appealing to a much larger dream than that offered by binary blue or red visions. This is an invitation to receive the cup, even if it means we lose our lives while preserving our being. To drink from that cup is to sip from that everlasting well of living water, or the wine that will pour so prodigiously as envisioned in the eschaton. In this context, to choose pain or suffering or worse is to choose life, to choose love, grace – shalom – come what may.

     This process-oriented vision also implies that ethics, laws, attitudes, and policies require continual reexamination and potential revision – the Law isn’t as fixed as some proclaim given the evidence of Scripture.  Consider Paul, who was once the leading advocate for strict adherence to Jewish Law, only to completely reverse course in favor of grace after encountering the risen Christ.  Perhaps process itself is the actual basis of reality as Alfred North Whitehead proposed, requiring us to remain limber as we continually reimagine what shalom is calling for in our ever-changing context.  Could this mean that in our contemporary world shalom may be calling us to revisit the protections and provisions for the most vulnerable among us today, which still include widows, orphans, and refugees/immigrants as well as others? Could it also suggest that there may be voices of vulnerability that are only hinted at in ancient scripture? Vulnerabilities related to race, class, economics, climate, and human sexuality come to mind. What is shalom inviting us to see, hear, and do?  What needs to change to allow more shalom for all?  If we who claim to be animated and motivated by shalom don’t stand up and speak out, who will?

    At such a time as this, when division feels especially pronounced, may we choose the higher and deeper and wider vision of shalom that invites us and all of creation toward greater wellbeing. May we be truly encouraged – filled with courage – to lovingly, graciously invite others to a more beautiful vision that is never forced. May we together see more beauty and peace bloom because we have chosen to plant seeds and tend the garden of which we are stewards. May shalom be our means as well as our end, so much so that people may forget to become offended by our political talk because they cannot deny its beauty and would not dare return to its willful absence. May we be known – especially as we engage in political discourse – for embodying the shalom we desire to foster. May we celebrate when invited to usher more shalom into being, because we don’t have to do this – we get to do this.

Process Questions…

1. Why is talking politics and religion discouraged in social settings?

2. What do we love to hear people talk about?

3. What if our political and religious talk was born from a beautiful, shalom-filled vision instead of talking points? What would that look like?

4. What does this mean for you globally? Nationally? In California? Napa? In your circles of community? In your most important relationships? In your relationship with yourself?