No matter how nasty it gets, U.S. politics is an internal debate between U.S. citizens—a family argument, so to speak.

In 2016, Russia interfered, and it looks like they (and China) may be doing it again. Regardless of which candidate you support, the notion of foreign interference in our election process should make you very concerned. Let's assume that the primary purpose of these governments isn't to get any particular candidate in office. What is their goal then?

Their goal is to create discord and civil unrest, to weaken the U.S. by creating internal strife, and to gain power on the international stage amidst the ensuing chaos. As the adage goes, "a house divided against itself cannot stand." 

So what does election interference look like?

Here's a few examples from the last election:

Many Christians in 2016 justified their vote for Donald Trump by saying that they would overlook his adultery, immorality, lying, support of gambling, and numerous other vices by pointing to his campaign claims about abortion. There is a logic to this: 623,471 abortions were performed in the U.S. in 2016. That's over half a million lives lost. You could justify almost anything to save half a million lives. Even compromising other moral and political beliefs.

But how much do campaign promises matter? How much does political party matter? The impression one gets from talking to Republicans on the street is that abortions decrease under Republicans and increase under Democrats. But is this true?

The chart above shows that it is not. Abortions peaked in the late 1970s under Jimmy Carter (perhaps the only committed Evangelical Christian to ever hold our country's highest office), and have declined ever since under both democrats and republicans. In fact, this data implies that the steepest decrease in abortions happened under President Barack Obama.

"Single Issue Voters" should take note.*





*Speaking of taking note, 69,500 children were detained and imprisoned by the U.S. government in 2018. They were immigrants, fleeing starvation and gang violence, seeking refuge and shelter. Should a genuinely pro-life platform care for only the unborn, or the born also? Only those in our nation, or those in immigrant nations also?

Buddhists often say that they do not subscribe to a belief system, but rather, they have a practice or way of life. But what does this mean on a practical level? I will try to provide clarity using the experience of anger as an example.

We often believe that it is things outside of us that make us angry, but anger is something that resides in each of us.

Thich Nhat Hanh describes anger as a seed that is planted deep in our unconscious. When the seed is dormant, we are at peace. But when the seed is watered and grows, it manifests in our body and in our conscious mind. We have all experienced this; it is part of the human condition.

But have you ever stopped to consider what anger is? When we take the time to examine ourselves in our anger, or to remember a time when we felt great anger, it is clear that anger is suffering, for anything that deprives us of peace and joy is suffering. Anger is also derived from our suffering. It is suffering that waters the seed of anger in us and makes it grow, keeping it in our body and mind, affecting the way we experience a moment. In Buddhism, anger is what is known as a “habit energy,” or vashana. When you marinate vegetables in olive oil, soy sauce, lemon and garlic before grilling, the flavors of the dressing permeate the vegetables. In the same way, a habit energy permeates what you see and do. You may think you are acting rationally and perceiving the world as it truly is, but in reality, your habit energy has flavored everything.

What can we do about this anger? According to Thich Nhat Hahn, the first thing you must do is to notice it, to welcome it and care for it as if it is your child. Does this feel counterintuitive? Sometimes we may feel pressure to hide our anger or pretend it does not exist. But denying anger does not make it go away. Instead, it pushes our anger under the surface, where it continues to develop, like steam in a pressure cooker. Noticing your anger, you can have compassion and recognize that it is suffering. “I am experiencing anger, my blood pressure is elevated, my thoughts are negative, my joy and happiness have been pushed out by my anger.” When you treat your anger with compassion, it will start to go away, and you will be able to have compassion on others as well. Thich Nhat Hahn recommends mindful breathing, “’Breathing in, I know that anger is in me. Breathing out, I am taking good care of my anger.’ We behave exactly like a mother: ‘Breathing in, I know that my child is crying. Breathing out, I will take good care of my child.’”

Your anger may last for a long time, especially if it is something that has been building up in you for a long time. But mindfulness—mindful breathing, mindful activity—can also provide a habit energy, one that lets you experience the world as it really is. When mindfulness is the source of your habit energy, you will be able to see that the anger in you is suffering, and that those who stir up anger in you are also suffering. It will cause you to have compassion on yourself, on your anger, and on others who are experiencing suffering.

Here is where Buddhism departs from many religious traditions. What I have laid out does not involve an abstract or ethereal belief system. While you can certainly find Buddhist traditions that contain incredibly complex beliefs, in their purest forms, the teachings of the Buddha are rooted in the here and now. The teachings of the Buddha can be tried and tested for yourself. As Buddha himself states in Dhammapada verse (276), “You yourselves must strive; the Buddhas only point the way.” The mindfulness practice about anger that has been described above should be centered in your own experience: When you experience anger, you suffer. When you practice mindfulness, it relieves your suffering. You do not have to believe in it for it to work, you just have to try it. If, however, you were skeptical and wondered if meditation was nothing other than a placebo effect, rest assured: the Buddha’s teachings are backed by neuroscience.

Studies have shown that even a single meditation session can reduce anger in both novice and experienced meditators. Here’s how it works from a medical perspective: According to Rebecca Gladding, a psychiatrist at UCLA, when we do not meditate, our brains build strong neural connections between the “Me Center” of the brain (Medial prefrontal cortex) and the “Fear Center” of the brain (Amygdala). “This means that whenever you feel anxious, scared or have a sensation in your body (e.g., a tingling, pain, itching, whatever), you are far more likely to assume that there is a problem (related to you or your safety),” she writes. The result is a feedback loop of negative habit energy. When you meditate or practice mindfulness, first, the bond between the Me Center and the Fear Center becomes weaker, so that you are less likely to think that momentary bodily sensations or feelings mean something is wrong with you (less anxiety, fewer negative thoughts). That is to say, you will be able to notice sensations like anger rather than being caught up in them. Second, a healthier connection grows between these areas of the brain and the “Assessment Center” of the brain (Lateral prefrontal cortex). This allows you to respond more rationally to your sensations and thoughts, assessing them for what they are. Or as Thich Nhat Hahn puts it, you will be able to care for them as if they were your children rather than being swept away by them. Lastly, Gladding points out that a connection between the Me Center and the “Bodily Sensation Center” (Insula) is strengthened, which strengthens our sense of empathy and compassion for others.

How might we integrate Buddhist teachings on anger and meditation with Christianity?

In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul writes, “’In your anger do not sin’: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry.” By separating anger from sin, Paul, like the Buddha, acknowledges that anger is organic to humanity. Yet by recommending that we should not let anger burn for very long, he also admits that anger is not a good state to be in.
Unfortunately, Paul does not go into detail about how we are to find release from our anger. There is a clue in the text, however.

You may notice quotation marks in your Bible around the words, “In your anger do not sin.” Paul is quoting and then paraphrasing Psalm 4:4 which says, “In your anger, do not sin. Meditate within your heart on your bed, and be still” (NKJV). While Paul gives no further instructions about how to quench anger, the psalmist is a little more prescriptive: When you are angry, meditate on your bed and be still.

There is no evidence that Hebrews in the Ancient Near East practiced the type of formal meditation that may come to your mind when you hear the word today. So what did the psalmist mean with these words? When a child is angry and throws a fit of rage, good parents often say to them, “Why don’t you take a few minutes and lie down on your bed. It will help you feel better.” This seems to be what the psalmist had in mind. The physical act of lying down calms the child’s breathing and helps anger dissolve. By now you can see that this is the same instruction that Thich Nhat Hahn gives us. “Breathing in, I know that anger is in me. Breathing out, I am taking good care of my anger.”

“Meditate and be still” is followed in verse 5 by “offer the sacrifices of righteousness and put your trust in the LORD.” To offer the sacrifices of righteousness means to act rightly. To trust in the LORD means to abandon thoughts of revenge and fear and return to a state of peacefulness. Acting rightly often means having compassion on those who instigate us, or as Jesus said, “Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.” When you treat your anger with compassion, and it subsides, you will find your way to compassion on those whom your anger is directed at. 

Conclusion

We all have the seed of anger within us. But it is planted alongside seeds of joy, contentment, and compassion. If anger has become a habit energy in you, you are suffering. But you do not have to remain in this state. Practicing mindfulness, focusing on your breathing for just a few minutes every day or every week can help you create a new habit energy out of which you can practice compassion and love for your neighbor, and for yourself.
 
 
 
*Scholarly note: Some English Bibles translate Psalm 4:4 as “Tremble and do not sin.” This comes from the Hebrew word ragaz which can be translated as: tremble, quake, rage, quiver, be agitated, be excited, or be perturbed. However, Paul typically quoted from the Greek translation of the Old Testament called the Septuagint, not the Hebrew versions. The Greek word orgizo can be translated: to provoke, to arouse to anger, to be provoked to anger, be angry, be wroth.

From Thich Nhat Hanh:

    When someone says or does something that makes us angry, we suffer. We tend to say or do something back to make the other suffer, with the hope that we will suffer less. We think, "I want to punish you, I want to make you suffer because you have made me suffer. And when I see you suffer a lot, I will feel better."
     Many of us are inclined to believe in such a childish practice. The fact is that when you make the other suffer, he will try to find relief by making you suffer more. The result is an escalation of suffering on both sides. Both of you need compassion and help. Neither of you needs punishment.

This is good advice. We can all relate to the feeling of wanting someone else to suffer. But it never ends well. Giving in to anger creates a cycle of violence, igniting a fire that consumes the attacker, if not the victim.

Thich Nhat Hanh goes on to compare anger to a house that is on fire:

    If your house is on fire, the most urgent thing to do is to go back and try to put out the fire, not to run after the person you believe to be the arsonist. If you run after the person you suspect has burned your house, your house will burn down while you are chasing him or her. That is not wise. You must go back and put out the fire. so when you are angry, if you continue to interact with or argue with the other person, if you try to punish her, you are acting exactly like someone who runs after the arsonist while everything goes up in flames.

Globally and domestically, there is a great deal of unrest surrounding political leaders. Sometimes displeasure with an elected official turns into anger. This may feel justified at times, but what we experience as justified anger is often just self-righteousness. We want to be in a position of moral superiority because it feels good when we believe that we are better than others because we are aligned with what is "right." But this does nothing to quench flames. In fact, it may turn us into arsonists!

If there is injustice, if there is bad policy, ask yourself, "What can I do about this with my actions?" There is usually a way that you can make a difference without destroying yourself or someone else. Thich Nhat Hanh was born in Vietnam in 1926 and experienced the Vietnam war firsthand. In 1961, he came to the US to teach comparative religion and befriended Martin Luther King Jr., who would later nominate him for the Nobel Peace Prize. Like King, Hanh was an advocate for nonviolent resistance, and tried to bring an end to the Vietnam war. For this, he was exiled by both North and South Vietnam and he was unable to return to his home for 39 years. His peaceful protests, his writing and speaking engagements, and his marches with King and others like him have made an impact that spans generations. 

When you feel anger, even if it is self-righteousness or the desire to feel superior to someone else, try to cool the flames. Breathe in consciously and notice the air that is nourishing your body. Breathe out consciously and notice the transaction of oxygen and carbon dioxide. The Kingdom of God is here in this moment, already but not yet. Your anger would have you destroy someone. But in this peaceful moment, there is space to create. In anger, we drive people away from ourselves, from each other, from ideas and institutions. When we create from the peaceful center of our being it draws people in, centers them, romances them from their anger and from the destructive ideas that they may have been clinging to.

Do not let the sun go down on your anger, do not let the fire burn down your house. Here in this moment you have access to a refreshing pool of water. Breathe in and out. Create something new.
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A pastor friend mentioned that he disagrees with the model of "CEO as pastor." It's a phrase that is common among seminary types. But what does it mean? At first glance, it's a critique of running church like a business, but it's tossed around by people who have no business experience. Seems to me that is both a pro and a con.

Pro: Sometimes people inside of a discipline can't see the way their thinking has gone off the rails (true in both business and in church).

Con: With no experience in a discipline, people have no framework of reference for what is happening, and can misjudge or misunderstand the value of a suggestion.

The idea of the church having "pastors" comes from the New Testament. Specifically, from the Latin word "pastor," which means "shepherd." Obviously, that is a metaphor. So what was a shepherd in the ancient near east? Someone who led, cared for, guarded, and protected a flock of sheep. So what is a "pastor" (maybe we should always put "pastor" in quotes to remind us that it's just the Latin word for shepherd)? That's about as descriptive as the New Testament writers get. They don't say that a church can have only one pastor, or even that a church has to have a pastor to lead it. Simply that some people are pastors.

Put this way, my friend is right—"pastor as CEO" isn't a good model. A CEO is a person who runs a complex organization. A pastor is someone who tends a group of sheep. Most pastors aren't CEOs. They aren't even in the C-suite. I bet most "pastors" have just one or two people in their flock. They might be their children, or a friend, or someone at work. But to the extent that someone cares for and guides them, they are being a pastor.

On the flip side, a church can be a complex organization, as complex as any business. When that is the case, the pastor better have the skills of a chief executive officer. If they don't, they will not be a good leader for the organization. So while most pastors aren't CEOs of large organizations, if you are a pastor who leads a church, you need the skills and knowledge of an executive!

David Steindl-Rast, summarizing his relationship with the God, the Great Mystery, after 90 years of life, most of it lived as a Zen-practicing Benedictine monk:

  "I could not express my own lifelong relationship with the Divine Mystery any more fittingly than in the sentence "i am through you so i."* What makes us persons is the richness and depth of our relationships. One's being a person deepens and matures through each new encounter. In every deep human encounter, we can say: you make me be what I am. But in our encounter with the Great Mystery, we realize an even deeper truth: that we can say "I" only because we stand face to face with a primordial You.

In Acts chapter 6, shortly after the founding of the church, a group of Grecian widows in Jerusalem were being overlooked by the Hebraic majority in the daily distribution of food. While the church sought to imitate Jesus by caring for these marginalized and often defenseless widows, they did not take in to account that some of these women were marginalized on more than one front.

The Hebraic widows were Jewish women who had grown up in Israel and spoke Aramaic like the majority of the people in Jerusalem. They were ethnic insiders, culturally locals. The Grecian widows (or Hellenists, depending on your Bible translation) were Jews whose ancestors had been impacted by Greek culture through the influence of Alexander the Great and the Jewish diaspora. Even though they were living in the same city and worshiping the same God, they were outsiders in Jerusalem, and outsiders in the church.

This may be the very first appearance of multiplicity in the long history of Christianity. According to theologian Patrick Cheng, “multiplicity refers to a state of having multiple co-existing and overlapping identities, as opposed to a singular dominant identity.”[1] While both Hebraic and Hellenist widows were marginalized by society, the Hellenist widows had a second strike against them—they were culturally “not Jewish enough.” This multiplicity in their identity led to them being excluded even though they were part of a marginalized group (widows in need) that the church had intentionally tried to embrace.

The wisdom of the twelve apostles prevailed somewhat in Acts chapter 6, and a diverse group of men (wait, no women? #stillaproblem) were appointed to ensure that all widows were included in the distribution of food. But this story illustrates the complex nature of marginalization, and in particular, the need to recognize multiplicity in our efforts to follow the teachings of Jesus.

Some may object here, pointing out that we all experience multiplicity to some extent. For example, I am male, but that is not my singular identity. I am also cisgender, straight, white, American, educated, and so on. However, in my case, most aspects of my identity contribute to a sense of power, control, and privilege in my society. It is rare for me to be in a situation where I experience any of these aspects of my identity as a disadvantage, or where I feel threatened, left out, or overlooked because of them. Multiplicity as Cheng defines it refers to a combination of identities that push one further from the center, isolating them from others who share only singular aspects of their identity. The multiple aspects of my identity work together in most situations to create a favorable atmosphere for me, but as a gay Asian Christian, Cheng is often marginalized by other gay men for being Asian, and is ostracized by other Asians and Christians for being gay. If he was merely gay, Asian, or Christian, he would experience more singularity instead of multiplicity and would likely find more people willing to accept him, much like the Hebraic widows, who though still categorically “other” (widows), were brought to the center of the community and cared for, while the Greek-speaking widows remained at the margins.

Rainbow Theology: A Solution for the Church
Cheng’s experience as a gay Christian of color leads him to propose a “rainbow theology” that can radically disrupt the monochromatic theologies that currently hold sway in the church. This rainbow theology consists of three themes—multiplicity (which we have already introduced), middle spaces and mediation. These he contrasts with the three themes of monochromatic theology: singularity, staying home, and selecting sides. He explains these contrasting themes in the following way:

Monochromatic theologies focus primarily on liberation from a singular oppression, as opposed to challenging the interplay of multiple oppressions. Monochromatic theologies also assume that there is a single, metaphorical “home” that consists of others who experience this singular oppression. Finally, monochromatic theologies urge those who are oppressed by this singular oppression to “choose” the side of the oppressed as opposed to the oppressors).[2]

In Acts 6, church leadership initially took a monochromatic approach. They recognized that there were people in need in their community, and believed that “widowhood” was the singular cause of marginalization and oppression (to be a widow in the Ancient Near East was to be defenseless in society, with few protections, and few means of gaining livelihood). They therefore grouped all widows into a single category and began providing food and assistance. But monochromatic solutions are never sufficient for everyone, as this church discovered. Marginalization is complex, and requires complex solutions. It must have been tempting to simply shift the focus of their monochromatic solutions from widows, to Hellenist widows, but taking sides like this would have created even more problems. Marginalization cannot be solved by simply elevating the most marginalized above the rest. This simply moves the vicious cycle of discrimination to a new location. Instead, the church recognized that the Hellenic widows existed in a middle space, what Cheng defines as “a state of being perpetually suspended in a third space between two poles,”[3] and began their transition to rainbow theology through the theme of mediation. They did this by appointing a new group of leaders that not only included both Hellenized and Hebraic Jews, it also included at least one member who wasn’t Jewish at all, thus ensuring a “common ground upon which both sides can co-exist.”[4]

Conclusion
Rainbow theology is rooted in the practices of the earliest church, and offers a way for the people of God to listen more, and assume less about the people we try to help and the problems we try to fix. It is a framework that could only have come from those on the margins who experience multiplicity, live in the middle places, and are experienced mediators. Finally, rainbow theology is a reminder that the church as a whole needs the voice of all those on the margins if it is to continue being the body of Christ. In the words of Brother David Steindl-Rast, “Only when our sense of belonging is all-embracing can we speak of love, the lived ‘yes’ to mutual belonging.”[5]




 


[1] Patrick S. Cheng, Rainbow Theology (New York: Seabury Books), 89.
[2] Cheng, xviii
[3] Cheng, 91.
[4] Cheng, 91.
[5] David Steindl-Rast, i am through you so i, 33

This video from Louie Schwartzberg and David Steindl-Rast is a gift. Watch it every day.

Louie Schwartzberg is an award winning director, videographer, and producer who is widely recognized as an innovator in high definition time lapse cinematography.

Brother David Steindl-Rast was born in Austria in 1926. Fleeing the chaos of WW2, he moved to the US and earned a PhD in psychology, before joining a Benedictine monastery and becoming a monk. In 1966, the church commissioned him to pursue Buddhist-Christian dialogue under several Zen Buddhist teachers, including Shunryu Suzuki. You can learn more about Brother David his Gratefulness.org project here.

"If your house is on fire, the most urgent thing to do is to go back and try to put out the fire, not to run after the person you believe to be the arsonist. If you run after the person you suspect has burned your house, your house will burn down while you are chasing him or her. That is not wise. You must go back and put out the fire. So when you are angry, if you continue to interact with or argue with the other person, if you try to punish her, you are acting exactly like someone who runs after the arsonist while everything goes up in flames."

From the book, Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames ​by Thic Nhat Hanh

Last May, a Malian immigrant to France scaled the exterior of an apartment building to save a small child dangling from a porch (see video below).

In response, he was granted French citizenship and given a job as a firefighter.

In 2015, another Malian immigrant, Lassana Bathily, saved 7 French Jews during an attack on a kosher grocery.

As a reward, he was granted French citizenship.

It is right for society to reward those who risk their lives for the sake of someone else. But what makes these stories unique is not the bravery of the rescuers, but the fact that they were immigrants.

​In the following piece, writer and photographer Teju Cole, himself the child of Nigerian immigrants to the US, challenges the congratulatory narrative that typically surrounds these stories and asks us to face larger questions about the way we conceptualize immigrants in our culture:

"The extraordinary courage of Lassana Bathily, an immigrant from Mali, saved six lives during a terrorist attack at a kosher supermarket at the Porte de Vincennes in 2015. He was rewarded with French citizenship by the French president, François Hollande.

But this is not a story about courage.

The superhuman agility and bravery of Mamadou Gassama, an immigrant from Mali, saved a baby from death in the 18th Arrondissement in May 2018. He was rewarded with French citizenship by the French president, Emmanuel Macron.

But this is not a story about bravery.

The superhuman is rewarded with formal status as a human. The merely human, meanwhile, remains unhuman, quasi-human, subhuman. Gassama crossed the Mediterranean in a tiny boat — that was superhuman, but no one filmed that, he remained subhuman, and there was no reward.

Such is Empire’s magnanimity. Merci, patron. Je suis tellement reconnaissant, patron.

The hand that gives, it is said in Mali, is always above the hand that receives. Those who are hungry cannot reject food. Not only those who are hungry but those who have been deliberately starved. But soon come the day when the Hebrews will revolt and once and for all refuse Pharaoh’s capricious largesse.
​
Hospitality."

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