Not the father's country...

We came to the U.S. in 1994. Afterward stuff happened. There was Clinton, then Bush, then Obama. I used to think it would be amazing to live to 1984, the fabulous year of the eponymous book. Then I thought it would be amazing to live to 2000. But those dates passed and I wasn’t amazed.

Then, then came now. Now really, truly, is amazing. As Jack Cafferty, the CNN journalist, recently wrote, “This is not your father’s country anymore.”

We elected an African-American president with a Middle Eastern name. Who would have dreamed it? And along with that millennial surprise goes the crisis that broadly brought it about. The U.S. is fighting for its life, economically, culturally, militarily. But then so is the world, and the planet that holds the world. One thing piling on another, with no one with a real advantage, no one really in control.

The possibilities are open. In four years time we could revert to an authoritarian militarist state, with the Obama train running out of track and hope. The U.S. may have a $12 trillion debt and counting, but it does have enough weaponry for a really spectacular all-guns-blazing finale. Or, we could continue to change positively. We might really move to a universal health care system. Public transport might really become a priority. Even military action and spending might come into question. And then the poor of the world might really have cause to rejoice. Not just a very good night at the Oscars (though I wouldn’t begrudge that either).

Long before I came to the U.S. a good friend of mine pointed out that the apostles, Paul and Peter, seemed to head instinctively to Rome. They took the gospel to the heart of imperial power in order to interrupt its beat, to subvert it to a rhythm of a new heaven and new earth. He also said that today they would probably head to the U.S.A.

But how would that look when this country is so much already a confessing-Christian country as prayers at the inauguration (and Obama’s own quotation of the New Testament) confidently showed? Wouldn’t it be bringing coals to Newcastle, pizza to New York? As many point out, Christianity is peculiarly vigorous here because it is not established or controlled by the state. It’s a free market enterprise and has done pretty well for itself in that rough-and-tumble arena. But there’s the rub. It is comfortably accommodated to the market, which is now in free-fall.

Cafferty, in his article (cnn.com/2009/Politics), has a pretty grim assessment of the market’s ability to keep delivering as it did before. “At the end of the day, we are going to have to settle for less. Less money, smaller houses, smaller cars and smaller dreams. This is not your father's country anymore. And we had better all start getting used to it.” What does that mean for Christianity? Is it perhaps an opportunity to learn that, yes, it is not your father’s country, but it might in some measure be our father’s country. As in “Our father your kingdom come, your will be done.” And “Call no one your father for you have only one father and you are all brothers/sisters.” And “Do not worry about what you are to eat, or what you are to wear. Your father knows you need all these things.” And “Love your enemies, for even so your father makes the sun to rise on the just and unjust alike….”

It’s not a matter of bringing a new religion, as the early Christians did to Rome, but a new style of humanity (which was perhaps what those early Christians were doing all along anyway). A really new humanity. Smaller houses, smaller cars are not an issue for those for whom “Seek ye first the kingdom of God” is much more signal than having a Lexus or a Beamer.

I have very little idea of how this Christianity will look. I just know that this is the way it must be. Wood Hath Hope does not claim to be this, but it’s a place where this is talked about. It’s all we talk about. And we also worship on this basis, yearning “Come Lord Jesus…,” not the judge of the earth but the new human for a new earth. Now wouldn’t that be totally amazing?