Defection is a dirty word.
It evokes feelings of treachery. Betrayal. Backstabbing.
All in all it leaves a bad taste in the mouth.
Defectors always carry with them a whiff of suspicion.
Are they genuine, or are they just opportunists?
Who do they really work for?
What do they get out of it?
Have they truly renounced their old ways?
There has been a lot of defecting going on in UK Politics over the last few weeks. For good or ill, a number of political parties have members who, up until recently, wore rosettes of a different colour.
The defections have been dramatic – and public.
Think of the recent defections from the Conservatives to Labour. Two in a fortnight.
First Dan Poulter and then Nathalie Elphicke crossing the Commons floor with moments to spare before Prime Minister’s Questions. Then Mark Logan last week.
Perhaps one encouraged the other. Defections and resignations in politics always seem to arrive like buses.
And each of these defections was accompanied by a public story about why they’ve changed their minds. A testimony, if you will.
It was these stories which drew the most fire, from both former friends and new allies. In most cases, it hasn’t taken a lot of digging to find statements made when these people had a different allegiance which call into question the truth of their supposed conversion.
Conversion, though, is just the right word.
And this service to a higher power is often experienced by others as a betrayal.
Christianity knows a lot about defection.
Right at the heart of the Jesus story is a moment of betrayal.
Judas turns Jesus over to be crucified.
The price to betray the saviour of the world? A few silver coins.
But in Christianity, defection is not always a bad thing.
If defection is a dirty word, repentance and conversion are a positive counterpart.
Saying Jesus is Lord in a world where Caesar is Lord is an act of subversion.
It is a recognition that the authority of Caesar, of any government, has its limits.
Christians are called to serve and love their communities and nations – but they only ever have a provisional allegiance to any earthly power or government.
And this makes Christians untrustworthy.
On a deep level, to be a Christian is to have defected from an allegiance to a world which values power and money to service of the God of love.
And this service to a higher power is often experienced by others as a betrayal.
It is little surprise then that from time to time, governments across the world have treated Christians with that same whiff of suspicion reserved for defectors.
But in the United Kingdom, religious freedoms afford believers with the same luxuries afforded to MPs. They can defect publicly – they can tell their stories. They can encourage others to cross the floor.
Can a bird change its feathers, or a leopard change its spots?
The Christian story says yes.
As the election campaign draws on and as people defect from one party or another and as people ask those questions of defectors
Perhaps it is time to focus less on others, and instead ask those questions of yourself.
Are you genuine?
Who do you really work for?
What do you get out of it?
Have you truly renounced your old ways?
Defection can be a good thing.
Will you tell your story?
