Don’t Let Them Brainwash You - Chris Tibbetts

My wife and I, and our kids, had gotten to the concert hall early.  Early enough for last minute bathroom visits, early enough to take in the beautiful atmosphere of a newly constructed venue tucked away in the mountains, replete with the light wood and stone you might expect in such a rustic setting.  We arrived early enough to explain to our youngest a little about the pieces that would be performed that evening and the instruments she would hear.  We arrived early enough to accidentally overhear a conversation from our seat neighbors.  It was a conversation that had us talking as a family all the way home.  

We had noticed the older gentleman sitting alone when we arrived to our seats.  His slouch and noticeably grumpy demeanor encouraged an unanswered nod and smile from us as we sat down.  We thought nothing more of it, however, until a delightful woman bounded down our aisle to join him.  They made introduction as she sat down — was this a first date?  No time to ponder, immediately after the intros, the man erupted in displeasure about a number of “crises” facing America, as if his date held the singular power to rectify them.  He said he was looking forward to an evening of music to take his mind off of things, though he made no acknowledgement of how the woman’s cheerful accompaniment might add any value.  Nonetheless, the woman seemed to brush off his tone and began telling him a bit about herself.  She grew up Catholic, but then she “grew out” of it.  He interrupted her with a different topic.  She had tried several different churches post-Catholicism.  He interrupted her with a different topic.  She was now attending a wonderful church where she’d been for the past two years and was planning to join.  He interrupted her again, but this time, stayed on topic.  “Christianity,” he harrumphed pregnant with condescension, “just don’t let them brainwash you.”  The musicians interrupted him, his distraction had begun.

We are a confused culture — and my wife and I have an eavesdropping problem.  The couple on their first, and presumably last date, were like two castaways from Babel speaking entirely different languages having two distinct conversations.  The man crushingly distraught by the important, but temporal whims of American politics. The woman seemingly exuding the unshakeable joy of someone who had just been transformed by the gospel.  

Many will write far more poignant pieces than this today, following the election.  After all, it was the most important of our lifetimes, or so I’ve heard a few times recently.  Indeed, as our nation cascades into further deviation, embrace, and open — even requisite — celebration of sin, this election season did seem to feel more urgent.  But it also seems to feel more as if we are a people having two distinct conversations, like castaways from Babel speaking two different languages.  Euphemisms for spending bills, educational policy, abortion, and gender identity are now so ubiquitous that many don’t realize the euphemism is often paradoxically the opposite of what it’s substituting.  American churches even seem to be stumbling over one another to open their pulpits for stumping politicians, who eagerly eisegete passages of Scripture to conveniently fit their chosen campaign slogans.  Wayward pastors inviting the corruption of Scripture for a self-serving message of man.  We are speaking two different languages.

But the Christian has always known this.  When David wrote about the nations in Psalm 2, it was not limited to the civilizations of his day.  Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain?  Because we are a confused and lost people raging against our Creator.  Denying truth in deference to folly.  Only we don’t call it that, we prefer to call it “being on the right side of history.”  Ironically, history will not be so kind, for it cares nothing about the comfort of euphemisms.  We are castaways from Babel speaking two different languages.  One seeking to recall the scattered nations in Christ, the other striving to return to Babel to finish that great tower.  Futile in thinking.  Foolish hearts darkened.  Claiming to be wise, while becoming fools.  We are speaking two different languages.

This piece is not so much a commentary on an election as it is a commentary on our culture.  Our present political climate and cultural conversation would lead us to believe that mankind rises or falls predominantly by holding a political majority.  Cable news networks feed us continuous coverage as if it were a team sport.  Always a close game, always inside of the last two minutes to play.  How could anyone look away?  How could anyone lift their gaze beyond the moment?  And could we not excuse a little frustrated aggression here and there towards the other team?  After all, the other side isn’t just our political opponent, they’re manifestly bad human beings.

We are speaking two different languages.  We are a desperately confused culture.  The answer, though, is the same that it’s always been.  No matter the political whims of the historical moment in which we live, the language must always be that of truth, hope, and life through the gospel.  It’s how Abram’s seed would be a blessing to the nations, including ours.  The church — the Christian — must not waver in speaking that language, for we will be the only ones who can.

I’m sure the gentleman at the concert considered himself a deep thinker.  I’m sure he had pondered any number of topics and considered himself quite wise.  I know that because I confess that I am the man slouched in the chair more often than I would like to admit, frustrated by the circumstances of the moment.  Hopelessly consumed by the ups and downs of politics.  Driving through life on a flat tire.  My wife, thankfully, is generally the woman, uplifting me with the boundless joy of a life transformed by the gospel.  Elections matter.  Politics matter.  Language matters.  But there is a king reigning upon his throne even now that supersedes it all.  No matter how wise we may consider ourselves.  No matter the chronological snobbery we apply to the import of our day.  We must make sure that we’re speaking the right language.