Identity Politics: One Nation Under Babylon

Give Me Your Keys

Have you ever been around somebody who’s had a few too many? Not you, of course. Somebody else.

Here’s the thing about being under the influence: the person who’s drunk is almost always the last one to know. They’re louder than they think. Funnier than they are. “Perfectly fine” to drive. And somebody who loves them has to step in, hold out a hand and say, “Friend, you’re not fine. Give me your keys.”

Influence sneaks up on you. One drink at a time. By the time you notice, it’s too late.

I want to talk about a different kind of influence. It doesn’t come in a bottle. It comes through a screen, a news feed, a group text and an election season. And I think a lot of Christians in America have had one too many.

The Morning After

Every few years America holds an election, and about half of us wake up happy and half of us don’t. The ironic part? The people celebrating this time were usually the ones grieving last time, and the other way around. That’s how a democracy works.

What worries me isn’t who won. It’s how we acted on the way there.

As Christians, we’re supposed to be informed. We’re supposed to care. We’re supposed to vote our conscience, shaped by Scripture. But we’re supposed to hold on loosely. Some of us held on so tight it made us physically sick. Families stopped talking. Friendships ended. Group chats turned into war zones. And every word of it was said by people who claim to follow Jesus.

If you call yourself a citizen of the kingdom of God, what you do—and how you do it—reflects on Jesus.

You Are the Salt

Early in his ministry, Jesus was preaching to a huge crowd. Then he did a kind of sidebar. He turned to his disciples, the people who would carry his message after he was gone, and said this:

The salt in your kitchen doesn’t go bad. But salt in Jesus’ day was rough and impure, and it could lose its bite. When it did, it wasn’t good for anything. Luke says it wasn’t even fit for the manure pile (Luke 14:35). So you threw it in the road, where people walked all over it.

Salt is influence. And notice who Jesus says we’re salt for: the earth. Not just the people who think like you, dress like you, drive what you drive, vote the way you vote, go to your church or live in your country. The earth. Including the people who make you throw up your hands and say, “How could you even be a Christian and believe that?”

Those are the very people Jesus wants you to influence toward the gospel. When they watch your life, they should think, There’s something different about you.

So here’s the flip side. Stop being so alienating. Stop being so obnoxious. Stop creating so much friction with the very people you’d want to walk up beside, put your arm around and nudge toward Jesus. Because one day they may look at you and say, “I remember how you acted. I remember what you posted. I remember how angry and anxious you were. Why would I want that in my life?”

Salt that has lost its saltiness isn’t good for anything. When your influence is gone, nobody wants to hear what you have to say.

I love the church. I’m a pastor! But I believe the church in America has lost a lot of its saltiness over the last 50 years. We’ve become way too political, way too preoccupied with things that aren’t about the Kingdom, and so polarizing that we’ve fought what we consider God’s battles with the devil’s means. Everybody sees it except us.

Jesus said, “On this rock I will build my church.” He never said, “On this rock I will build my government,” or “my country.” I’m a patriot. I’ve been all over the world, and this is where I want to live. I’m deeply grateful for the people who paid for our freedom. But I’m a citizen of the kingdom of God first. And my job is to be salty. So is yours.

Leave the Light On

Then Jesus kept going:

Towns back then were built on hills, partly for defense and partly so travelers could find them after dark. And every evening at sunset, someone in each house lit a small clay lamp and set it on its stand, where the glow could be seen from the road. That little light said three things: safety. Hospitality. Home.

I have a dusk-to-dawn light on my house. When the sun goes down, it comes on all by itself. And you know the rule from Halloween (I went trick-or-treating with my granddaughter this year): light on means “Come on up.” Light off means “Don’t bother. We’re not here, or we don’t want you in on what we’re doing.”

Jesus is saying, for the love of God, leave your light on. Your life, your words, your posts and the way you treat people should all say safety, hospitality, home.

Jesus says nobody lights a lamp and hides it under a bowl. The old King James calls that bowl a bushel. Today, think of a five-gallon bucket. Who puts a five-gallon bucket over their porch light? Usually we don’t. The culture does it for us, one drink at a time, until we’re thinking and doing things that citizens of God’s kingdom would never do. And somebody has to come alongside and say, “Give me your keys.”

Notice how Jesus ends: so people will glorify “your Father in heaven.” Father is a tender word. Picture the best dad imaginable: someone you can run to when you’re in trouble, who doesn’t judge you but works for your good. In heaven reminds us he’s also powerful. He has a plan, he controls the outcome, and in all things he works for the good of those who love him (Romans 8:28). More than any opinion we could post, Jesus wants people to see that Father in us.

“What If Everybody’s Right?”

On Election Day I was driving home from Arkansas with my wife after six straight 12- and 14-hour days finishing a little cabin with my family. We’d been out of the news all week. My phone was full of people freaking out: what if this candidate wins, what if that one does. Some of them sounded like they were in real despair.

Somewhere between the cornfields and Kansas City, my wife said, “Rick, I’m kind of scared. What if everybody’s right? What if this is the end of everything?”

It was a fair question. Great empires have risen and fallen all through history, and none of them thought they would. I love this country, and I don’t want to imagine a post-America. But I can.

So I told her the truest thing I know. If the worst happened, nothing changes for us. The circumstances would change. The government might change. The comfort level, the difficulty level, maybe even the persecution level could change. But we would still know who we are and what we’re supposed to do.

You do too. You’re a citizen of the kingdom of God. You serve Jesus Christ. And you know what you’re supposed to do, no matter who the president is.

That sent me straight to Daniel.

Babylon Didn’t Need Chains

Daniel and his three friends—Shadrach (SHAD-rak), Meshach (MEE-shak) and Abednego (uh-BED-nee-go)—grew up with everything you and I take for granted: a homeland, a temple, the freedom to worship and a pretty good idea of what the future would look like.

Then one day it was all gone. Babylon overran Jerusalem, looted the temple and carried off the best and brightest young people to serve the king.

The worst had happened. But here’s what surprised me when I read it again: Babylon didn’t break these young men with torture. It went after them with comfort.

The best education in the empire, in Babylon’s language and literature. Food and wine straight from the king’s table, food that had most likely been offered to Babylon’s gods. Three years of the good life, the kind most people only dream about. Think of it as low interest rates, a booming stock market, cheap gas and groceries, safety, security and a clear view of the future. All good things. And all of it aimed at one goal: make them forget who they were.

They even got new names:

That’s identity politics, Babylon style. Change their names, change their menu, change their minds. One glass at a time, they’d be past the legal limit without even noticing, serving Babylon instead of the Lord.

Sometimes prosperity is a bigger danger than defeat. Whether you felt like you won or lost on Election Day, Babylon is still pouring.

But Daniel Resolved

Here’s the turning point:

Daniel resolved. He decided ahead of time that he would not live under the bushel of Babylon.

I wish I could tell you I’m always like Daniel. Confession time. I’d been 100 percent on my diet all year. Then came that week in Arkansas. Long days, sore muscles I didn’t know I had, and a kitchen stocked with junk food to keep the kids going. Including Pop-Tarts, my old nemesis.

The box was already open. I looked out the window. Nobody was watching. And I ate one. Then, since they put two in a package, I ate the other one.

I couldn’t make it through a six-day work week before Babylon got me. Resolutions are easy. Resolve is hard.

Am I Under the Influence?

So how do you know if you’re under the influence? I’m not asking these from above you. I’m sitting right beside you.

When your mood rises and falls with who’s in power, you’re open to every rumor, every scary post, every whisper in your ear. You only listen to people who think like you. You get angrier and more afraid. You push everyone else away. Pretty soon the gospel disappears, and the enemy wins without firing a shot.

We’ve Got It Backwards

When I was a kid, you didn’t ask people who they were voting for. My parents told me who they were voting for and why, and their reasons were principled and biblical. But at school, the rule was you didn’t tell anybody. The grown-ups knew it divided families and ruined friendships.

Back then you didn’t talk politics, but you did talk about your faith.

Now it’s reversed. Many of us are afraid to ask anyone about Jesus, but within five minutes of meeting someone, we know their party and who they’re voting for. That’s living like citizens of Babylon.

So be honest. Over the last few weeks and months, how have you treated the people closest to you? What did you say at work? What did you post? What did you text?

Some of us need to apologize. Our temper and fear got the best of our testimony, and we pushed away people who desperately need to see more of Jesus and hear a whole lot less of our opinions.

An apology should be as public as the offense.

That’s a hard one. I know.

Strong Men, Soft Hearts

The Sunday I preached this message, a friend from our church sat down with me for Veterans Day. He served 14 years in the Army, including the 82nd Airborne and Special Forces. He deployed three times, served in Iraq and Afghanistan, and has jumped out of more planes than he’s landed in. He came home with wounds you can see and wounds you can’t.

He told our church he’s walked through the valley of the shadow of death, both overseas and in the dark years after he came home, and that Jesus met him there. “It’s not about manhood,” he said. “It’s about a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.”

That’s salt. That’s a light left on. A man with every reason to be hard has chosen a soft heart. He doesn’t let what happened to him decide who he is, because he knows whose he is.

Pick One Thing

Resolve takes discipline. Discipline means doing something today you don’t feel like doing, so you can have what you want most tomorrow.

We get that everywhere else. If I said, “I’m getting in shape. I’m going to the gym once a month,” you’d laugh. If I said, “I want a great marriage, so I’ll be nice to my wife on Thursdays from 6 to 7,” you’d laugh harder. But that’s how a lot of us treat our spiritual lives. Church if nothing else comes up. The Bible when we’re in trouble. Prayer when it’s urgent. We don’t resolve. We react. Then we wonder why we feel tossed around like a ship without a rudder.

So I’m not giving you ten things. Not five. Not even three.

One thing. Name one area of your life you’ve let slide under the bushel of Babylon. Then resolve, right now, before the Lord, to live differently. If you need to tell someone so you’ll follow through, tell them.

Yesterday is gone. Regret can be a powerful motivator. And the light switch is still within reach.

▶ Watch the full message

Go deeper · Free bookSticking AroundFaithfulness in Babylon · Daniel 1–6Read it free →

Next short readStrong Man, Soft HeartWhat kept David pointed toward God, and can keep you there tooRead it →

Scripture quotations taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.