Interview
America
Culture
Politics
S&U interviews
15 min read

America's mood check: Matt McDonald interview

Dilemma, apathy, and what we get wrong about politics and religion.

Graham is the Director of the Centre for Cultural Witness and a former Bishop of Kensington.

The White House illuminated against the night sky.
The White House, Washington DC.
Tabrez Syed on Unsplash.

Continuing our series trying to take the mood of the USA, and in particular the role of religion in its public life, Graham Tomlin recently spoke to Matt McDonald, based in Washington DC who is Managing Editor of the US edition of The Spectator. 

Graham: Thank you for giving us your time. You are someone who comes from Britain, lives in the US, is conversant with American politics and straddles these two worlds. You can help us understand and interpret what's going on in America, both for those who are listening from the UK context but also in America as well. So, how do you describe the political mood in the USA at the moment? You've got the elections on the horizon. It looks like Trump vs Biden all over again. What is the mood that you pick up right now? 

Matt: In some respects, you could say it's fraught, if you compare it to previous election cycles. It's strange the extent to which both sets of primaries were a foregone conclusion. The big question was whether or not Joe Biden would run again, given his advanced years and questions about senility.  

But then on the Republican side, Trump cleared the field by getting into the race so early. Now there's speculation as to why he did that. Obviously being President comes with certain legal protections, which can be useful for someone who's facing, I think, 91 potential criminal charges, but also I think there's a sense that Trump wanted to be back in the White House because I don't think he takes defeat very well. In fact, he has yet to accept defeat in the previous election and so wants to use the platform of a presidential campaign as a means of trying to address the rest of the country and maintain his hold on the American right,  

We've just come through this period where you had a fairly lacklustre attempt to challenge Joe Biden. None of those candidates really got much traction. He won in New Hampshire, which was the first Democratic race.  

And then on the Republican side, we had this strange sort of like ‘Ghost Ship’ primary, where there were various other candidates in the race, presenting alternatives and competing ideas to Trump, and arguments about the fact that he probably can't win in swing states because he can't build a broad enough coalition. Ultimately, if you've got the presidency, the House and the Senate, you're much more able to act and shape the country to your policies, yet there was scepticism about whether or not he could do that. I think those concerns remain, but ultimately, he cleaned up in every primary. The only thing that would keep Trump off the ballot on November 5th is an unforeseen health issue or one of these criminal trials actually preventing him from doing so. At the moment, on the current timeline, it's a case of delay, delay, delay. His lawyers have been doing a fairly good job filing various different appeals, which means that he may face only one of these four trials before the Election Day or before the convention in July, which is when he would be officially named nominee. 

Do you think Trump is going to win? 

The polls are very favourable towards him now. I try not to make predictions, but I think the main thing which is going to shift as you get closer to Election Day is that people will ask themselves, “Do I want to repeat the Trump presidency?” And I think I think a number of Americans will decide they don't want to. I don't think Biden does a particularly good job at articulating the good things that he's done - and they do exist - but ultimately his messaging is most effectively done effectively by his surrogates – the younger faces who are better at television than Biden is. And Biden, historically, over his long career, has been gaffe-prone, and can sometimes botch his communication. That's obviously even more the case now that he's, you know, the wrong side of 80. 

And if Trump does get in, do you think the Presidency this time would be different from last time? 

Yes it will. When Trump got in last time, his transition team was overseen by much more mainstream Republicans than would be the case this time around. A number of the first-generation Trump appointees probably would have been appointed by any incoming Republican President. The fear among a lot of people is that that's not what's going to happen this time. So what we're probably going to end up with is more yes-men, more loyalists. It sounds stupid to say, but you'll you end up with a more in-tune and marching-in-step idea of enforcing the MAGA agenda. But then again, the MAGA agenda fundamentally is just going to be defined by what Trump feels that day. 

So what strikes you as different between American and British political culture?  

If we are doing a comparison between the two elections this year, I think that the British election is a foregone conclusion in a different way. Everyone knows what's going to happen. It's just a case of when it happens. Whereas at least for this American one, I think it's still very much the case that it could go either way. The fact that America also elects judges is an interesting thing. British politics seem generally quite parochial in comparison to America. 

I guess the UK doesn't play quite the same sort of global role as the US does, and maybe that matters? In the past, America has always felt like a kind of global policeman intervening in conflicts around the world where the UK has a diminished status. 

Yes, I think I think that's true. Yet I don't think that's something American voters think about. Since the Iraq invasion, in fact through its history, there have been periods since the country's founding, where it has leant in a more isolationist direction. We’re in one of those waves currently when it comes to swing voters and average Americans, where Democratic voters in cities and moderate Republican voters in cities and suburbs, would be more aware of the global dimension, whereas in rural America, they ask ‘why would we spend my money on that? Why would we send my son there to die?’ 

When you think of angry nations, America and Britain are on the podium - both of us are. 

One of the differences we sometimes perceive in the UK is that the political discourse in the US seems that much more polarised, that much more angry, that much more distinct between progressives and conservatives. Is that true, and if so, why is it more polarised in the US than it seems to be here? 

I think British people are way more angry! I think since the populist wave of 2016, Britain is at a point where its sliding towards a major transformative political shift in a way that hasn't happened since the 2010 election. And I think that some of that is still motivated by anger.  

Whereas, in America, let's say you're Republican. How you think towards Democrats and your attitude towards President Biden or Nancy Pelosi or Kamala Harris or like whoever is your hate figure of the day is different from people you see and interact with.  

Every Republican knows a Democrat, and every Democrat knows a Republican and I think that that generally speaking, Americans tend to be pretty good and civil with getting along with other people. There is the stereotypical argument over the Thanksgiving dinner about the political issue of the day. But then, there is this zooming out and many people have this wider question about how the country's going. Republicans will think - gas is $5 a gallon, inflation is rising and so on. Things seem so much worse than they were under Trump. And many of those factors will be related to immigration and the economy. So, they will blame Biden. I think with economics it’s slightly more complicated as to who you blame for the existing economic situation. It's usually more the previous president than the current one just by the virtue of way economic cycles work.  

When you think of angry nations, America and Britain are on the podium - both of us are. 

Are there particular mistakes you think British people make in reading American political culture? Maybe that's one of them to kind of assume that we're different. We're more different than we are? 

Yes, I think both countries are more similar than either will let on or admit. I'm thinking obviously just about my youngish British friends, who assume that every single US election or vote has to be about guns and abortion. Now they're only half right in that I think abortion is going to be a big factor in this election, particularly given President Trump's recent statement. He basically said he wants abortion to be decided by the states, which is a more moderate position than many activist Republicans would like to see him articulate. The gun issue is a regularly occurring national tragedy, which ultimately, not much legislation never gets passed on it.  

And with abortion, I remember seeing various people I know in England thinking that Roe v. Wade falling meant that all abortion had become outlawed, or illegal in America, which was not the case. It’s just that the court ruling, that federally allowed it was gotten rid of, whereas in Britain, obviously abortion has been legal since 1967 because of David Steele’s Act of Parliament, which is usually the way that laws are decided as they're passed by elected representatives.  

Yes, we don't have that federal - state polarity in quite the same as in the US. 

Matt: Also – in the UK, I guess the High Court has been mentioned in conversation just once in the last 10 years with the Gina Miller Brexit thing? Whereas in the US the Supreme Court is one of three branches of government. 

The Trump events that I've been to have quite a megachurch vibe about some of them. 

Biden on the campaign trail.

Joe Biden holds a phone as two supporters crowd in for a selfie

I want to ask you about the place of religion in American life and politics, because it seems that religion, and Christian faith in particular, plays quite a role in in American politics in a way that it doesn't in the UK. American Presidents almost have to say that they are Christian in some way whereas in UK politics, faith is something kept in the background. How would you describe the role that religion plays in American politics and public life? 

I think it's interesting. I was trying to think about a UK election in the last 50 years, where religion was a deciding factor and couldn't really come up with one. Obviously, there are parts of Britain where religion matters massively, such as Northern Ireland and Scotland more than in England.  

In American politics, it's also interesting because you do have to seem loosely religious, but it's more giving the impression of seeming traditionally moral. Now obviously there are exceptions to this. And that of the political leaders of America in the last 50 years, I think Joe Biden technically is probably one of the most churchgoing. He's there every Saturday or Sunday, whether he's in Delaware or DC or elsewhere. But it doesn't actually count for that much. He's popular among Irish Americans. But Biden's issue with American Catholics is his support for abortion. Not that all religion and all Catholicism could be distilled just down to abortion. But there are a number of American Catholics who think that that is the number one issue. And because he changed his view on the Hyde Amendment, which is whether federal money can be go towards that – it basically made a number of Catholics feel like that he's betrayed that part of his faith, and so while he personally may be Christian and Catholic and churchgoing, he doesn't get political capital for that.  

Donald Trump's most famous incident at a church involved him going outside one. They sent in the National Guard, cleared out the protesters outside the White House in the immediate aftermath of the George Floyd protests. Trump walks to St. John's Church and holds up the Bible. He didn't even go inside. I think Trump thinks of himself as a Presbyterian, but then he's on the golf course on the weekends. He's at Mar-a-Lago, DJ-ing weddings on his iPad. And there is that huge crossover trend, between Evangelical churches and MAGA and the Trump movement. The Trump events that I've been to have quite a megachurch vibe about some of them. I think there’s a fair bit of crossover there in terms of the people who attend both of those things. If you're an evangelical right-wing Christian, you want a Conservative majority on the Supreme Court. He picked three conservative justices. And so they focus more on political actions rather than alleged personal indiscretions.  

Does that account for the evangelical support for Trump? There seems to be a sort of Faustian bargain here, that because he adopts conservative policies, which many evangelicals in the USA want to see happen in public life, they overlook his indiscretions, his affairs and his personal morality, which is probably not anywhere near  what evangelicals would expect, and treat him like a kind of king Cyrus in the Old Testament, a king who's not an Israelite, but who does the will of God. Is that how you read it? 

He once compared himself to David, didn't he? Or he was compared to David as a flawed king, but nonetheless like a vessel for God's for God's message.  

I think Donald Trump's a bit of a Rorschach test. If you like him, you see what you like in him and then and then are blind to the bad parts. And I think evangelicals see a strong leader, which they like. They see he's undeniably charismatic and a good speaker. He speaks well to large rooms of people, which they like, so the aesthetics are there and helpful for him. And then you can ignore the fact that he’s said to have had three or more affairs, etc.  

You're often successful in politics when you portray your opponent as extremist and you as the defender of normalcy. And that's basically how I think swing states are decided. 

One of the other factors that always strikes us from the UK, looking at American Civil religion is the very kind of close relationship between religion and the flag, the nation. So where does that come from, that kind of very, very strong connection between religion and the and the nation? 

I was speaking to one of my colleagues about this, who is much more churchgoing than I am. I asked what do you think the biggest misconceptions are? And she said the separation of church and state often is brought up as if the purpose of that was to stop religion and the church from influencing government, whereas actually the founding fathers put that into the Constitution because they were way more concerned about government influence in the church. 

I think because America is a founded country, it's a country that split off and said we're going to do things differently. These are the ideals upon which our country exist. So, the flag and the US flag has always been a fairly central part of that. It is a default introductory part of the American way. 

Britain is a country that seems to have always existed. And therefore, we don't have the same kind of loyalty to the Union Jack unless you are a loyalist in in Glasgow or Northern Ireland. In Britain, you value it only if you think that that part of you is under threat. In America that's just the default setting. 

Trump does well when he's able to point at the left, at the Democrats and say they are victimising you because of who you are. So like Hillary Clinton referring to his supporters as a ‘basket of deplorables’ - he runs on that. Trump can basically present that and say if you're a Christian and you like America, then the Democrats are coming after you. You're often successful in politics when you portray your opponent as extremist and you as the defender of normalcy. And that's basically how I think swing states are decided. So, Trump will point to whether the FBI has been tracking and targeting Christian national groups, Catholics, things like that. On LGBT stuff, Trump is a bit more of a New Yorker than I think most Republicans are, however where you've got an Episcopalian church, for example, which is wielding a stars and stripes alongside a pride flag – Trump will point to that and using that as a wedge issue, and ask: is this the America you want to live in?

Trump speaks at the Pray Stand Vote summit in 2023.

Donld Trump speaks against a US flag backdrop while the audience hold up phones.

So many Christians that I know of in the US tell me that they're caught between the two sides when they come to an election like this. They feel uncomfortable voting for Biden because some of his policies don't seem to be aligning with the kind of values that they have. Yet at the same time, they feel repelled by Trump, his character, and his fitness to hold the office of President. They're really wondering what to do. Do you see a lot of people in that category? And if so, do you have any advice for them as to what they, what they should do when you're caught between that dilemma? 

Yeah, I think that there's way more apathy now than at any point in any previous presidential election since I've lived here, I think that most people aren't happy with that. The vast majority of America is in that situation. They aren’t particularly happy with either candidate. I can see a depressing turn out. Both Democrats and Republicans, Trump and Biden, are trying to make this election seem existential, but ultimately, I mean, this probably isn't going to be the end of America either way.  

And it's comforting in a way that our political systems and structures can survive these the tests and the waves that come at them, whether it's Brexit, or the polarisation of the culture wars or whatever it might be. 

I guess for those people who can’t decide, I'd recommend prayer could be helpful? 

 Exactly. That's good advice.  

One of the questions I often get in the in the UK is, of all the number of people that who live in the USA, could they not find two other candidates who are younger and a little less polarised? They wonder why these two particular candidates seem to have been thrown up by the system, both of whom are in or near their 80s? 

I think Biden is hamstrung because he didn't make a particularly savvy vice-presidential choice. Kamala Harris is even less popular than he is. I don't think Kamala Harris massively helped him win the 2020 election that much. But Biden, as a white five-eighths Irish, three-eighths English, Catholic male, felt that he needed to pick an African American woman. He basically pledged that in his one of his final debates with Bernie Sanders before COVID started. And he went for Harris as a kind of young Gen X candidate, but her public speaking and oratory skills are sometimes even worse than Biden's, which is incredible.  

One of the things that Biden said when he was running last time, was that he wanted to be a bridge to a future generation of candidates. One way to do that would be for him to have said in 2023 “I'm not running, we're going to have an open competitive Democratic primary.” Harris would have competed alongside any number of Democratic governors and you therefore you could have ended up with a different option.  

Given the age of the candidates – you were talking about prayer a little while ago - maybe one of the prayers is to pray for good Vice-Presidential candidates as much as the actual President themselves? 

Yes. It’s going to seem to matter more this time.  

Matt – thanks so much for your time, it’s been really insightful.  

Essay
America
Comment
Politics
Race
13 min read

A raging election and the haunting of American memory

Civil War lessons on what ‘we the People’ choose to remember or forget.

Jared Stacy holds a Theological Ethics PhD from the University of Aberdeen. His research focuses conspiracy theory, politics, and evangelicalism.

A US flag flutters under a dark brooding cloudy sky.
Roger Hoover on Unsplash.

Foreboding. That’s how my friend described the time between now and the election in America. It’s everywhere, and nowhere. It’s felt, it’s lived, it’s immediate. And it’s true, there is little reason to carry ourselves as though this election will be anything other than consequential—immediately so—for at-risk communities across the United States, from hurricane survivors to Haitian-Americans.   

We would do well to pay attention to this. And for me, as an American citizen, I plan on casting my vote against Trump, for what I wager to be a better path towards provisional freedom. But there’s a part of me that remains attentive to the stakes and the perils that lie beneath the immediate. 

As you survey the landscape of the American experiment, you will find it marred not just by scars of racial hatred and violence, but the shadows of things forgotten and repressed. Looking over it long enough will reveal the chasm between America’s living memory and its history. It’s here, surveying that great landscape, the gap emerges between what “We the People” choose to remember and what we’ve deigned to forget. And this memory—as much as the polls and the data predict—will influence what is to transpire these next few months. 

As we bear witness to the events unfolding before us, we would do well to remember how “We the People” have never truly resolved our Civil War. Our memory of the war is both hallowed and haunted.  

If onlookers and participants alike want to understand—really and truly—the crucible of this American election you have to descend to the depths of American memory, into its distortions and attempted preservations. You have to understand not just the Civil War itself, but its ongoing aftermath, from a period called Reconstruction to the century later Civil Rights struggle, and on to today. Recently I heard historian Jemar Tisby share an anecdote of something uttered by a Gettysburg battlefield tour guide, “The north won the war,” he said, “but the south won the memory.” 

Who has time for a history lesson? I would submit the stakes are too great, and the need too earnest, to ignore. 

Memory is a fickle thing. But it is also a moral thing. Memory gathers the resources from which individuals become a “we.” That is the point where everything begins to change, observes John Steinbeck. That move from “I” to “We,” he called it. Memory can create a people. From it, a “we” can draw strength, clarity, and courage for the present, it can also reap the whirlwind.  

Theologian Stanley Hauerwas captured the stakes when he observed, “memory is a moral exercise.” And in a moment where the American social fabric seems to be rending at the seams (not at all an unprecedented event), I think part of staying the course involves turning again to the moral power of memory. To remember what we’ve forgotten, to surface what has been buried.  

But in the middle of an election cycle endlessly bombarding Americans with hate, disinformation, and propaganda, the turn to memory might seem little more than idealism. Who has time for a history lesson? I would submit the stakes are too great, and the need too earnest, to ignore. The problem is: the American memory is distorted and divided. 

Ruby Bridges visits Barack Obama at the White House to view 'The Problem We Have To Live With' on its walls, 2011.

Barack Obama and a middle aged black woman look at a picture of her when she was a child walking between guards protecting her.

In 1960, a six-year-old girl by the name of Ruby Bridges became the first African American to attend William Franz Elementary School in New Orleans. She walked into the school that day surrounded by armed guards, assigned to protect her from public fury in the wake of a federal court order enforcing integration across New Orleans Public Schools. 

Ruby became an icon of the Civil Rights struggle of the Sixties. She was canonized by artist Norman Rockwell in a piece aptly titled, “The Problem We All Live With.” Between that painting and hundreds of photographs that captured her bold yet innocent stride up those school steps with books in hand, Ruby Bridges was impressed into American memory.  

Consigned to these mists of memory, Ruby Bridges appears as perpetually six years old to many white Americans. But one fact pierces the mists of memory: Ruby Bridges has an Instagram. Though her memory in white America reduces her to an image frozen in time, she is a woman alive today in her sixties with an incredible ongoing career in advocacy and activism. The cries of “woke!” that emerge in every conversation about justice and equity in America cannot silence the reality of time: the Civil Rights struggle is not so distant as white Americans often insist it was. What we remember is tragically the result of what we’ve tried to forget. 

But whenever the church settles to serve as a chaplain of empire, it soon confuses the privilege and luxury it secures with its own freedom.  

We tend to think of history as objective, as a set of facts. And this obscures how our own memory of history can be distorted and warped. Consider this past month that former US President Jimmy Carter turned 100 while in hospice care. His birthday made mainstream news. An impressive lifespan to go with an incredible legacy as a husband, father, and public servant. But the American memory is strange. Strange because Carter, the oldest living US President, is still with us. Making it all the more startling to remember that the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King was born 5 years after President Carter. That, if not for an assassin's bullet at a Memphis hotel balcony in 1968, Dr. King could have been celebrating his 96th birthday this coming January. Memory can be distorted, warped, and pressed into service of propaganda. 

Too often, the white church in America has made itself fit for service as a chaplain of empire. Willingly producing, baptizing, or consuming memories which obscure the truth that brings about reconciliation. In so many words, we have in America today a more reactionary and partisan element of the church. One that cannot take the moral responsibility of memory seriously because it finds itself too invested in its role of reifying and deifying America. And whenever the church settles to serve as a chaplain of empire, it soon confuses the privilege and luxury it secures with its own freedom. Because many white churches confuse this power with freedom, the memory of America is captive to its own ends. It is not free. It does not know the freedom which liberates the church to the moral task of memory. 

I think here of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s claim that the church can never take immediate or “direct” political action as church because, as the community of God’s people it “does not know the necessary course of history.” The church does not possess special access to the ideas of the future, nor does it consign the world to fate. What the church is, it is as witness. It testifies in the bread, the wine, the water of the liberating presence of God. But when the church acts apart from this vocation it risks becoming what Ernst Kasemann called the “anti-church” which replaces the cross with power. 

I find this a broadly accurate depiction of what the white American church presently offers to the American public. It is not the beloved community and conscience of the nation to which Martin Luther King Jr. spoke, rather it is a chaplain of empire. And in this role, the church finds itself both a producer and consumer of a distorted memory, filled with a mixture of sentiment, propaganda, and raw fact. A story of America in service of a particular vision of America which never existed. 

Is this not too political for the church? Mustn’t we keep religion and politics separate? All theology is political. That is, all human talk about God involves consequences—for good or ill—concerning fellow human beings. James Cone puts it more directly: “Any talk about God that fails to make God's liberation of the oppressed its starting point is not Christian.” The difference then is not whether the church is political, but rather whether its talk about God is indeed talk which remembers in a living way the God of Jesus Christ, and whether or not it opens itself up to the critical examination of its own god talk. And this is where we find a good deal of the white American church today. 

Even the mention of the “white church” in America should stir up the paradoxes and contradictions which persist in the field of American memory. But perhaps we too easily confuse “history” with “memory.” Memory is living, fluid, and potent. I like how Robert Jenson puts it, “so long as a people is alive, there will be an exchange between how it remembers its history at any given time and its needs, concerns, and goings-on in the present. There is thus usually a difference between a people’s own living memory…and the accounts constructed by historians…” Jenson was talking about the Old Testament. Here, we reflect a bit on the American experiment.  

I remember in 2020, as a pastor, I sat in a prayer night at the church where I served on staff. But there was not much praying. Instead, we were shown a video selected by our senior pastor. The video was a tour of Washington D.C. highlighting all the Christian imagery and inscriptions scattered across the American capital. I’ll never forget the words that came from my pastor: “The next time,” he said, “anyone tells you America isn’t a Christian nation, you tell them about what you learned here tonight.” And that was it. The video never mentioned many of the buildings were built by the hands of people enslaved in an institution justified by a most bankrupt faith. 

I’ve come to understand that every church in America, even with the Christian story on its lips, tells a story about America, too. And the memory of that story carries with it theological consequences. After all, there can be no quicker way to discredit human words about the God of Jesus Christ than to attach those words to a false memory of America masquerading as dogma.  

The statute of General Longstreet, Gettysburg battlefield.

An equestrian statue of an American Civil War general wheeling his horse.

Stranger still was realizing the church I served was constructed on a piece of land in Virginia’s Spotsylvania County lined with historical markers. One identifies the land as the camp site of Confederate General James Longstreet during the Fredericksburg Campaign of the Civil War. Tellingly, Longstreet’s own life and legacy gives witness to the enigma of memory and also the possibility of change that arises from the wedding of truth and reconciliation. 

Longstreet was long known as General Robert E. Lee’s right-hand man. He devoted himself to the Confederate cause in defense of slavery. And stood by Lee till the end of the war, joining him at Appomattox, Virginia, where he was reunited with his foe and friend, Union General Ulysses S. Grant. Instead of imposing harsh penalties on the Confederates, Grant proved reconciliatory in ways that Longstreet never forgot, according to his biographer, Elizabeth Varnon.  

In fact, Longstreet became an ardent supporter of Reconstruction policies and Civil Rights, including the vote, for formerly enslaved people. His transformation made him an enigmatic figure that attracted the bitter hatred of fellow former Confederates seeking a scapegoat for the South’s defeat. They found their sacrifice in Longstreet. 

After the war, Longstreet settled in New Orleans for business. In 1872, there was a disputed election between pro-Reconstruction Republican governor and the Democrats. Longstreet answered the call from the Republican governor to lead a “mixed” regiment of African Americans and white Americans against a renegade paramilitary force comprised mainly of disgruntled Confederate veterans. These paramilitary groups opposed the African American vote and Reconstruction policies in general to the point of violence. 

In a historical episode that echoes January 6, 2021, Longstreet, a former Confederate General, led this Reconstruction regiment against white paramilitary insurrectionists seeking to subvert the election and install their own governor. The clash became known as the Battle of Canal Street. But its original name was given by the nearly successful Confederate paramilitary: “The Battle of Liberty Place.” This was the name affixed to a monument erected in 1891, which stood in New Orleans until it was removed under cover of darkness for fear of political violence in 2017. 

The stark transformation of Longstreet’s life and career does not make the man a saint. He clung to racist ideologies until his death. To emphasize his support of Reconstruction is not to canonize him as much as it is to highlight the enigma of American memory. That, in the wake of the Civil War, the conflict over Reconstruction proved so destructive that eventually whites from the North and the South opted to reconcile at the expense of Civil Rights. In the contested Presidential Election of 1877, Republicans accepted the Presidency in exchanged for the Democrat’s demand for an end to Reconstruction and a withdrawal of Federal troops. The dealings of 1877 made Jim Crow America possible, and forestalled gains of the Civil Rights movement for nearly another century. And the question remains open: will America ever deliver on its promises? This is the appeal made by MLK and others. 

And our failure to remember as Americans is, surely, part of the task of the church in America. For a witness to the Christian story surely involves a freedom to speak truths of our common life and history which make for reconciliation. For me, as the election nears, I’m thinking of the enigma of Longstreet and the distortion of American memory. 

For in the very church that claimed America was a “Christian nation” merely by virtue of slogans fixed atop our public buildings, there was along with it a willed ignorance to matters of race in our own community. I experienced enforced silence on just how far a pastor might talk about race before being “too political” or “divisive.” I found there is a tragic irony of failed memory in gathering to worship on land once occupied by Longstreet’s camp, the man who supported Civil Rights and resisted an insurrection. After I left, I learned the church’s parking lot was made available for busses attending the event that metastasized into the January 6 insurrection. And just this past month, thousands of evangelicals descended once again into Washington DC, praying and declaring Trump’s victory against Harris. Here too, the whitewashing of January 6 has its own consequences. 

Amid the raging fury of an American election cycle, memory can help provide perspective, so long as we are willing to incriminate ourselves with the sins of forgetfulness and short-sightedness. There are events forever etched into our collective memory, to be sure. We have slogans for them. Like “Remember Pearl Harbor” and “Never Forget” for 9/11. But even here, amidst cries to remember, our memory persists in a state of perpeutal division and distortion. The slogans we create to remember the tragic dead too easily become transformed into a license for our unflinching commitment to the myth of redemptive violence. 
Again and again we see, memory carries moral power. And without truth in our memory, there can be no reconciliation. But I remain hopeful precisely because I do not worship fate. The confession which binds Christian community speaks of the God who reconciles. This reconciliation is received as a grace by the truth of Jesus Christ.  

Whether or not “We The People” renew our capacity to speak the necessary truths, to live in that light, and so prove reconciliation to be a lived reality not mere sentiment, depends in no small part on the willingness of Christian community in America to take up the fuller and deeper ministry of reconciliation bound up in our confession. Such a ministry cannot be one of external compulsion, of endorsing authoritarian politics and programs in the name of another crusade. Rather, it is one that begins and ends with the question of whether the church will be the church. Whether or not America continues as America does not rest on the church. And freed from this strange, alien imposition, the church may find itself all the more fit to help America remember and so tell the truth and reconcile together. 

So long as we Americans allows ourselves the freedom to recognize the inherent relationship between truth and reconciliation, perhaps we can carve out a higher vantage point from which the stakes and perils of this election become a bit clearer and stir in us a bit more courage to persevere in what Lincoln spelled out over a century ago, a new birth of freedom and government of, by, and for the people…all the people. And may the church stand to testify that this temporal freedom is only a fleeting harbringer of a freedom which comes to all humanity through the scandal of a cross and empty grave.