Among the insights, I was particularly intrigued by her parsing of the particulars of Congress' changing Christian affiliations.
Thirty Democrats identity as “unspecified/other Protestants” (11.4% of the total Congress) while a whopping 77 Republicans do (28.4% of the total Congress). Together, the “non-denominational” and “unspecified Protestants” account for the greater numbers of Christians in the Congress (a rise of 14% over the last Congress). The main takeaway from this is that while the percentage of Christians in Congress has risen, their ties to traditional Christianity have loosened. That means Christian members of Congress are most likely less influenced by the arguments about church and state honed over generations by thoughtful political theologians and Christian ethicists of the past and more likely to be swayed by the influence of local pastors and popular religious movements. While some politicians may still care about what Thomas Aquinas, Martin Luther, John Calvin, Roger Williams, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Jane Addams, Walter Rauschenbusch, Dorothy Day, Reinhold Niebuhr, Martin Luther King, Jr., Joseph Bernardin, or Oscar Romero (to name a few) wrote about religion and politics, most do not.
Of course, the older traditions don’t have all the answers to contemporary questions, but they provide frameworks, ballast, and wisdom for political life and the common good — as well as practices of decision making that allow for humility, self-correction, and the inclusion of new voices. ...
The religiously unaffiliated aren't the only ones who've come unmoored from traditions - and at least they know they have!
Butler Bass's main point in her reflection is that we - especially those who are members of progressive Christian traditions - need to talk about religion and politics, famously a taboo topic. Not easy. To this end she quotes a poem by Adrienne Rich called "What Kind of Times Are These" (hear the author read it here.).
There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.
I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.
I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.
And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.
I might need to borrow those last lines for my tree project...
