[Dialogue] Obama Speaks of politics and faith

[KroegerD at aol.com]

Obama: On Faith and Politics

Wednesday, June 28th,  2006

Good morning. I appreciate the opportunity to speak here at the Call  to 
Renewal’s Building a Covenant for a New America conference, and I’d like to  
congratulate you all on the thoughtful presentations you’ve given so far about  
poverty and justice in America. I think all of us would affirm that caring for  
the poor finds root in all of our religious traditions – certainly that’s 
true  for my own.

But today I’d like to talk about the connection between  religion and 
politics and perhaps offer some thoughts about how we can sort  through some of the 
often bitter arguments over this issue over the last several  years.

I do so because, as you all know, we can affirm the importance of  poverty in 
the Bible and discuss the religious call to environmental stewardship  all we 
want, but it won’t have an impact if we don’t tackle head-on the mutual  
suspicion that sometimes exists between religious America and secular  America.

For me, this need was illustrated during my 2004 face for the  U.S. Senate. 
My opponent, Alan Keyes, was well-versed in the Jerry Falwell-Pat  Robertson 
style of rhetoric that often labels progressives as both immoral and  godless.

Indeed, towards the end of the campaign, Mr. Keyes said that,  “Jesus Christ 
would not vote for Barack Obama. Christ would not vote for Barack  Obama 
because Barack Obama has behaved in a way that it is inconceivable for  Christ to 
have behaved.”

Now, I was urged by some of my liberal  supporters not to take this statement 
seriously. To them, Mr. Keyes was an  extremist, his arguments not worth 
entertaining.

What they didn’t  understand, however, was that I had to take him seriously. 
For he claimed to  speak for my religion – he claimed knowledge of certain 
truths.

Mr. Obama  says he’s a Christian, he would say, and yet he supports a 
lifestyle that the  Bible calls an abomination.

Mr. Obama says he’s a Christian, but supports  the destruction of innocent 
and sacred life.

What would my supporters  have me say? That a literalist reading of the Bible 
was folly? That Mr. Keyes, a  Roman Catholic, should ignore the teachings of 
the Pope?

Unwilling to go  there, I answered with the typically liberal response in 
some debates – namely,  that we live in a pluralistic society, that I can’t 
impose my religious views on  another, that I was running to be the U.S. Senator 
of Illinois and not the  Minister of Illinois.

But Mr. Keyes implicit accusation that I was not a  true Christian nagged at 
me, and I was also aware that my answer didn’t  adequately address the role my 
faith has in guiding my own values and  beliefs.

My dilemma was by no means unique. In a way, it reflected the  broader debate 
we’ve been having in this country for the last thirty years over  the role of 
religion in politics.

For some time now, there has been  plenty of talk among pundits and pollsters 
that the political divide in this  country has fallen sharply along religious 
lines. Indeed, the single biggest  “gap” in party affiliation among white 
Americans today is not between men and  women, or those who reside in so-called 
Red States and those who reside in Blue,  but between those who attend church 
regularly and those who  don’t.

Conservative leaders, from Falwell and Robertson to Karl Rove and  Ralph 
Reed, have been all too happy to exploit this gap, consistently reminding  
evangelical Christians that Democrats disrespect their values and dislike their  
Church, while suggesting to the rest of the country that religious Americans  care 
only about issues like abortion and gay marriage; school prayer and  
intelligent design.

Democrats, for the most part, have taken the bait. At  best, we may try to 
avoid the conversation about religious values altogether,  fearful of offending 
anyone and claiming that – regardless of our personal  beliefs – 
constitutional principles tie our hands. At worst, some liberals  dismiss religion in the 
public square as inherently irrational or intolerant,  insisting on a 
caricature of religious Americans that paints them as fanatical,  or thinking that the 
very word “Christian” describes one’s political opponents,  not people of 
faith.

Such strategies of avoidance may work for  progressives when the opponent is 
Alan Keyes. But over the long haul, I think we  make a mistake when we fail to 
acknowledge the power of faith in the lives of  the American people, and join 
a serious debate about how to reconcile faith with  our modern, pluralistic 
democracy.

We first need to understand that  Americans are a religious people. 90 
percent of us believe in God, 70 percent  affiliate themselves with an organized 
religion, 38 percent call themselves  committed Christians, and substantially 
more people believe in angels than do  those who believe in evolution.

This religious tendency is not simply the  result of successful marketing by 
skilled preachers or the draw of popular  mega-churches. In fact, it speaks to 
a hunger that’s deeper than that – a hunger  that goes beyond any particular 
issue or cause.

Each day, it seems,  thousands of Americans are going about their daily round 
– dropping off the kids  at school, driving to the office, flying to a 
business meeting, shopping at the  mall, trying to stay on their diets – and coming 
to the realization that  something is missing. They are deciding that their 
work, their possessions,  their diversions, their sheer busyness, is not enough.

They want a sense  of purpose, a narrative arc to their lives. They’re 
looking to relieve a chronic  loneliness, a feeling supported by a recent study that 
shows Americans have  fewer close friends and confidants than ever before. 
And so they need an  assurance that somebody out there cares about them, is 
listening to them – that  they are not just destined to travel down a long highway 
towards  nothingness.

I speak from experience here. I was not raised in a  particularly religious 
household. My father, who returned to Kenya when I was  just two, was Muslim 
but as an adult became an atheist. My mother, whose parents  were non-practicing 
Baptists and Methodists, grew up with a healthy skepticism  of organized 
religion herself. As a consequence, I did too.

It wasn’t  until after college, when I went to Chicago to work as a community 
organizer for  a group of Christian churches, that I confronted my own 
spiritual  dilemma.

The Christians who I worked with recognized themselves in me;  they saw that 
I knew their Book and shared their values and sang their songs.  But they 
sensed a part of me that remained removed, detached, an observer in  their midst. 
In time, I too came to realize that something was missing – that  without a 
vessel for my beliefs, without a commitment to a particular community  of faith, 
at some level I would always remain apart and alone.

If not for  the particular attributes of the historically black church, I may 
have accepted  this fate. But as the months passed in Chicago, I found myself 
drawn to the  church.

For one thing, I believed and still believe in the power of the  
African-American religious tradition to spur social change, a power made real by  some of 
the leaders here today. Because of its past, the black church  understands in 
an intimate way the Biblical call to feed the hungry and cloth  the naked and 
challenge powers and principalities. And in its historical  struggles for 
freedom and the rights of man, I was able to see faith as more  than just a 
comfort to the weary or a hedge against death; it is an active,  palpable agent in 
the world. It is a source of hope.

And perhaps it was  out of this intimate knowledge of hardship, the grounding 
of faith in struggle,  that the church offered me a second insight: that 
faith doesn’t mean that you  don’t have doubts. You need to come to church 
precisely because you are of this  world, not apart from it; you need to embrace 
Christ precisely because you have  sins to wash away – because you are human and 
need an ally in your difficult  journey.

It was because of these newfound understandings that I was  finally able to 
walk down the aisle of Trinity United Church of Christ one day  and affirm my 
Christian faith. It came about as a choice, and not an epiphany;  the questions 
I had did not magically disappear. But kneeling beneath that cross  on the 
South Side of Chicago, I felt I heard God’s spirit beckoning me. I  submitted 
myself to His will, and dedicated myself to discovering His  truth.

The path I traveled has been shared by millions upon millions of  Americans – 
evangelicals, Catholics, Protestants, Jews and Muslims alike; some  since 
birth, others at a turning point in their lives. It is not something they  set 
apart from the rest of their beliefs and values. In fact, it is often what  
drives them.

This is why, if we truly hope to speak to people where  they’re at – to 
communicate our hopes and values in a way that’s relevant to  their own – we 
cannot abandon the field of religious discourse.

Because  when we ignore the debate about what it means to be a good Christian 
or Muslim  or Jew; when we discuss religion only in the negative sense of 
where or how it  should not be practiced, rather than in the positive sense of 
what it tells us  about our obligations towards one another; when we shy away 
from religious  venues and religious broadcasts because we assume that we will 
be unwelcome –  others will fill the vacuum, those with the most insular views 
of faith, or  those who cynically use religion to justify partisan ends.

In other  words, if we don’t reach out to evangelical Christians and other 
religious  Americans and tell them what we stand for, Jerry Falwell’s and Pat 
Robertson’s  will continue to hold sway.

More fundamentally, the discomfort of some  progressives with any hint of 
religion has often prevented us from effectively  addressing issues in moral 
terms. Some of the problem here is rhetorical – if we  scrub language of all 
religious content, we forfeit the imagery and terminology  through which millions 
of Americans understand both their personal morality and  social justice. 
Imagine Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address without reference to  “the judgments of 
the Lord,” or King’s I Have a Dream speech without reference  to “all of God’
s children.” Their summoning of a higher truth helped inspire  what had 
seemed impossible and move the nation to embrace a common  destiny.

Our failure as progressives to tap into the moral underpinnings  of the 
nation is not just rhetorical. Our fear of getting “preachy” may also  lead us to 
discount the role that values and culture play in some of our most  urgent 
social problems.

After all, the problems of poverty and racism,  the uninsured and the 
unemployed, are not simply technical problems in search of  the perfect ten point 
plan. They are rooted in both societal indifference and  individual callousness – 
in the imperfections of man.

Solving these  problems will require changes in government policy; it will 
also require changes  in hearts and minds. I believe in keeping guns out of our 
inner cities, and that  our leaders must say so in the face of the gun 
manufacturer’s lobby – but I also  believe that when a gang-banger shoots 
indiscriminately into a crowd because he  feels somebody disrespected him, we have a 
problem of morality; there’s a hole  in that young man’s heart – a hole that 
government programs alone cannot  fix.

I believe in vigorous enforcement of our non-discrimination laws;  but I also 
believe that a transformation of conscience and a genuine commitment  to 
diversity on the part of the nation’s CEOs can bring quicker results than a  
battalion of lawyers.

I think we should put more of our tax dollars into  educating poor girls and 
boys, and give them the information about contraception  that can prevent 
unwanted pregnancies, lower abortion rates, and help assure  that that every child 
is loved and cherished. But my bible tells me that if we  train a child in 
the way he should go, when he is old he will not turn from it.  I think faith 
and guidance can help fortify a young woman’s sense of self, a  young man’s 
sense of responsibility, and a sense of reverence all young people  for the act 
of sexual intimacy.

I am not suggesting that every  progressive suddenly latch on to religious 
terminology. Nothing is more  transparent than inauthentic expressions of faith –
 the politician who shows up  at a black church around election time and 
claps – off rhythm – to the gospel  choir.

But what I am suggesting is this – secularists are wrong when they  ask 
believers to leave their religion at the door before entering into the  public 
square. Frederick Douglas, Abraham Lincoln, Williams Jennings Bryant,  Dorothy 
Day, Martin Luther King – indeed, the majority of great reformers in  American 
history – were not only motivated by faith, but repeatedly used  religious 
language to argue for their cause. To say that men and women should  not inject 
their “personal morality” into public policy debates is a practical  absurdity; 
our law is by definition a codification of morality, much of it  grounded in 
the Judeo-Christian tradition.

Moreover, if we progressives  shed some of these biases, we might recognize 
the overlapping values that both  religious and secular people share when it 
comes to the moral and material  direction of our country. We might recognize 
that the call to sacrifice on  behalf of the next generation, the need to think 
in terms of “thou” and not just  “I,” resonates in religious congregations 
across the country. And we might  realize that we have the ability to reach out 
to the evangelical community and  engage millions of religious Americans in 
the larger project of America’s  renewal.

Some of this is already beginning to happen. Pastors like Rick  Warren and 
T.D. Jakes are wielding their enormous influences to confront AIDS,  Third World 
debt relief, and the genocide in Darfur. Religious thinkers and  activists 
like my friend Jim Wallis and Tony Campolo are lifting up the Biblical  
injunction to help the poor as a means of mobilizing Christians against budget  cuts 
to social programs and growing inequality. National denominations have  shown 
themselves as a force on Capitol Hill, on issues such as immigration and  the 
federal budget. And across the country, individual churches like my own are  
sponsoring day care programs, building senior centers, helping ex-offenders  
reclaim their lives, and rebuilding our gulf coast in the aftermath of Hurricane  
Katrina.

To build on these still-tentative partnerships between the  religious and 
secular worlds will take work – a lot more work than we’ve done so  far. The 
tensions and suspicions on each side of the religious divide will have  to be 
squarely addressed, and each side will need to accept some ground rules  for 
collaboration.

While I’ve already laid out some of the work that  progressives need to do on 
this, I that the conservative leaders of the  Religious Right will need to 
acknowledge a few things as well.

For one,  they need to understand the critical role that the separation of 
church and  state has played in preserving not only our democracy, but the 
robustness of our  religious practice. That during our founding, it was not the 
atheists or the  civil libertarians who were the most effective champions of this 
separation; it  was the persecuted religious minorities, Baptists like John 
Leland, who were  most concerned that any state-sponsored religion might hinder 
their ability to  practice their faith.

Moreover, given the increasing diversity of  America’s population, the 
dangers of sectarianism have never been greater.  Whatever we once were, we are no 
longer just a Christian nation; we are also a  Jewish nation, a Muslim nation, 
a Buddhist nation, a Hindu nation, and a nation  of nonbelievers.

And even if we did have only Christians within our  borders, who’s 
Christianity would we teach in the schools? James Dobson’s, or Al  Sharpton’s? Which 
passages of Scripture should guide our public policy? Should  we go with 
Levitacus, which suggests slavery is ok and that eating shellfish is  abomination? 
How about Deuteronomy, which suggests stoning your child if he  strays from the 
faith? Or should we just stick to the Sermon on the Mount – a  passage so 
radical that it’s doubtful that our Defense Department would survive  its 
application?

This brings me to my second point. Democracy demands  that the religiously 
motivated translate their concerns into universal, rather  than 
religion-specific, values. It requires that their proposals be subject to  argument, and 
amenable to reason. I may be opposed to abortion for religious  reasons, but if I 
seek to pass a law banning the practice, I cannot simply point  to the 
teachings of my church or evoke God’s will. I have to explain why  abortion violates 
some principle that is accessible to people of all faiths,  including those 
with no faith at all.

This may be difficult for those who  believe in the inerrancy of the Bible, 
as many evangelicals do. But in a  pluralistic democracy, we have no choice. 
Politics depends on our ability to  persuade each other of common aims based on 
a common reality. It involves the  compromise, the art of the possible. At 
some fundamental level, religion does  not allow for compromise. It insists on 
the impossible. If God has spoken, then  followers are expected to live up to God
’s edicts, regardless of the  consequences. To base one’s life on such 
uncompromising commitments may be  sublime; to base our policy making on such 
commitments would be a dangerous  thing.

We all know the story of Abraham and Isaac. Abraham is ordered by  God to 
offer up his only son, and without argument, he takes Isaac to the  mountaintop, 
binds him to an altar, and raises his knife, prepared to act as God  has 
commanded.

Of course, in the end God sends down an angel to intercede  at the very last 
minute, and Abraham passes God’s test of devotion.

But  it’s fair to say that if any of us saw a twenty-first century Abraham 
raising  the knife on the roof of his apartment building, we would, at the very 
least,  call the police and expect the Department of Children and Family 
Services to  take Isaac away from Abraham. We would do so because we do not hear 
what Abraham  hears, do not see what Abraham sees, true as those experiences may 
be. So the  best we can do is act in accordance with those things that are 
possible for all  of us to know, be it common laws or basic reason.

Finally, any  reconciliation between faith and democratic pluralism requires 
some sense of  proportion.

This goes for both sides.

Even those who claim the  Bible’s inerrancy make distinctions between 
Scriptural edicts, a sense that some  passages – the Ten Commandments, say, or a 
belief in Christ’s divinity – are  central to Christian faith, while others are 
more culturally specific and may be  modified to accommodate modern life.

The American people intuitively  understand this, which is why the majority 
of Catholics practice birth control  and some of those opposed to gay marriage 
nevertheless are opposed to a  Constitutional amendment to ban it. Religious 
leadership need not accept such  wisdom in counseling their flocks, but they 
should recognize this wisdom in  their politics.

But a sense of proportion should also guide those who  police the boundaries 
between church and state. Not every mention of God in  public is a breach to 
the wall of separation – context matters. It is doubtful  that children 
reciting the Pledge of Allegiance feel oppressed or brainwashed as  a consequence of 
muttering the phrase “under God;” I certainly didn’t. Having  voluntary 
student prayer groups using school property to meet should not be a  threat, any 
more than its use by the High School Republicans should threaten  Democrats. And 
one can envision certain faith-based programs – targeting  ex-offenders or 
substance abusers – that offer a uniquely powerful way of  solving problems.

So we all have some work to do here. But I am hopeful  that we can bridge the 
gaps that exist and overcome the prejudices each of us  bring to this debate. 
And I have faith that millions of believing Americans want  that to happen. 
No matter how religious they may or may not be, people are tired  of seeing 
faith used as a tool to attack and belittle and divide – they’re tired  of 
hearing folks deliver more screed than sermon. Because in the end, that’s not  how 
they think about faith in their own lives.

.

So let me end  with another interaction I had during my campaign. A few days 
after I won the  Democratic nomination in my U.S. Senate race, I received an 
email from a doctor  at the University of Chicago Medical School that said the  
following:

“Congratulations on your overwhelming and inspiring primary  win. I was happy 
to vote for you, and I will tell you that I am seriously  considering voting 
for you in the general election. I write to express my  concerns that may, in 
the end, prevent me from supporting you.”

The  doctor described himself as a Christian who understood his commitments 
to be  “totalizing.” His faith led him to a strong opposition to abortion and 
gay  marriage, although he said that his faith also led him to question the 
idolatry  of the free market and quick resort to militarism that seemed to 
characterize  much of President Bush’s foreign policy.

But the reason the doctor was  considering not voting for me was not simply 
my position on abortion. Rather, he  had read an entry that my campaign had 
posted on my website, which suggested  that I would fight “right wing ideologues 
who want to take away a woman’s right  to choose.” He went on to write:

“I sense that you have a strong sense of  justice…and I also sense that you 
are a fair minded person with a high regard  for reason…Whatever your 
convictions, if you truly believe that those who oppose  abortion are all ideologues 
driven by perverse desires to inflict suffering on  women, then you, in my 
judgment, are not fair-minded….You know that we enter  times that are fraught with 
possibilities for good and for harm, times when we  are struggling to make 
sense of a common polity in the context of plurality,  when we are unsure of 
what grounds we have for making any claims that involve  others…I do not ask at 
this point that you oppose abortion, only that you speak  about this issue in 
fair-minded words.”

I checked my web-site and found  the offending words. My staff had written 
them to summarize my pro-choice  position during the Democratic primary, at a 
time when some of my opponents were  questioning my commitment to protect Roe v. 
Wade.

Re-reading the doctor’s  letter, though, I felt a pang of shame. It is people 
like him who are looking  for a deeper, fuller conversation about religion in 
this country. They may not  change their positions, but they are willing to 
listen and learn from those who  are willing to speak in reasonable terms – 
those who know of the central and  awesome place that God holds in the lives of 
so many, and who refuse to treat  faith as simply another political issue with 
which to score points.

I  wrote back to the doctor and thanked him for his advice. The next day, I  
circulated the email to my staff and changed the language on my website to 
state  in clear but simple terms my pro-choice position. And that night, before I 
went  to bed, I said a prayer of my own – a prayer that I might extend the 
same  presumption of good faith to others that the doctor had extended to  me.

It is a prayer I still say for America today – a hope that we can  live with 
one another in a way that reconciles the beliefs of each with the good  of 
all. It’s a prayer worth praying, and a conversation worth having in this  
country in the months and years to come. Thank  you.


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