How Can You Be a Christian and a Democrat?

Guest poster, Dillon Sorensen, is a 10th grade student at Houston Christian High School in Houston, Texas.  This soon-to-be 16 year old shows wisdom and thoughtfulness far beyond his years, and we truly appreciate his contribution to Palmetto Perspectives.

I attend a private Christian high school in Houston – creatively named Houston Christian High School. At HCHS, most of the students are white, wealthy, and conservative. The student parking lot is filled with brand new F-150s, Tahoes, and Mustangs.  Every morning at 8:30am, class starts, and sets of iron gates secure the school’s perimeter a half hour later.  The students walk down the halls in their Polo sweaters and Sperry’s, complaining about how much they hate private school, on their way to their next class.  Most HCHS students fail to realize that one of Houston’s poorest communities, primarily made up of Asian and Hispanic immigrants is less than a mile away.

Every year, Houston Christian students are required to take two semesters of Bible class. Old Testament, New Testament, and Apologetics – we study it all. It was about a month ago, in the midst of the election season, that a fellow student in my second period Bible asked, “how can you be a Christian and a Democrat?” She proceeded to say that “Democrats support abortion and gay marriage, and Christians shouldn’t.”

I consider myself to be a fairly open-minded person. Even though I am quite Liberal, I am more than willing to listen to Conservatives. I read progressive blogs and newspapers; yet, I also check out the National Review and occasionally watch Fox News. However, I am not open to the assertion that a Democrat can’t be a Christian.

Ironically, I used to be rather Conservative. In eighth grade, my history teacher was a football coaching, concealed handgun carrying, Michael Savage listening Republican from Mississippi. He talked about how he was a devout Catholic, and couldn’t stand the thought of “the gays” getting married, and hated to see our babies being killed. He said that the wealthy shouldn’t have to give their money away to the lazy poor people who don’t want to work (read: black people). My knowledge of politics was quite limited, but everything he was saying sounded pretty reasonable to me. So, I found myself repeating his political views to my friends and family. It was quite nice actually, because being in Texas, everyone agreed with me and told me how smart I was. I too thought that it was impossible to be a Christian and a Democrat.

For the past two summers, I have been fortunate enough to serve on the Program Team at a large youth conference in Germany. Last summer, during setup week, I was taking some time to pray and familiarize myself with the year’s curriculum. The theme was Blindsight, and we primarily focused on Paul and his letters to the Corinthians.  So, as I was reading my Bible, I came across 2 Corinthians 8:13-15:

“Our desire is not that others might be relieved while you are hard pressed, but that there might be equality. At the present time your plenty will supply what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. Then there will be equality, as it is written: “He who gathered much did not have too much, and he who gathered little did not have too little.”

You see, I have always been a Christian. For the past few years, my family has attended church every Sunday morning. I have attended Christian private schools since the fourth grade. I even participated in a confirmation class in the eighth grade. But I didn’t have a relationship with Jesus Christ – until last summer.

As I continued to worship, pray, and read, I learned a lot about Jesus. I learned that Jesus took care of the poor, the elderly, and the orphaned. I learned that Jesus valued equality. I learned that Jesus wasn’t a proponent of war. I learned that Jesus would never sit back and watch genocide happen all over the World. I learned that every life is sacred in the eyes of Jesus. I learned that Jesus would want the students of Houston Christian High School to help the impoverished Houstonians living and working outside of its iron gates.

If Jesus were living in the United States today, would he be a Democrat? I doubt it. Would he be a Republican? Probably not. In fact, I think his voter registration card would say “Independent.”

Nonetheless, Jesus would understand that it is possible to be a Christian and a Democrat.

-Dillon Sorenson

Reflections on Isaiah 2:4

Isaiah 2: 4

I’ve become a news junkie.  I blamed it on the election for as long as I could.  I wanted to stay up to date with one of the most important elections in history, and now I want to stay up  on all the news about the team being assembled.  The truth is I was a junkie long before the election came, for whatever reason I have to know what’s going on all over the globe.  I read the Washington Post, NY Times, CNN, BBC, NPR, and the list goes on and on.  Most of the time the news folks do a great job at reporting non news.  The sad part of it all is that I can watch the news while eating my bowl of cereal in the morning.  It should make me sick to my stomach, and I shouldn’t be able to eat.  Images of tanks rolling in, road side bombs going off, child soldiers with AK-47’s, and planes flying dropping bombs.  Somewhere in the midst of it all, we have become immune to the horror of reality that is the rest of the world.  When I say we, I mean me.
How I long for nations to “beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks.”  Hell, I’m ready for our country to pull it’s troops.  I’m ready for us to build schools instead of bombs, I’m ready for their to be transparency in government.  That’s the news junkie side of me anyway.  The truth of the matter is, that I want us to see each other as we truly are.  I want us to see the people that we raise swords against, I want us to in the words of David LaMotte “see the whites in their eyes.” No more war, no more bombs!  Please.  No seriously, please.  No more.  Because God says so, and honestly because that’s how you live as a community.  You don’t need guns in the community, and you sure as hell don’t need bombs.  Enough is enough.

Albany. No, not New York. Texas.

A few weeks ago, I sat in a deer blind for the better part of two days with a man that I barely know.  In a past life, he was a Texas A&M fraternity guy, whose life, like most college-aged guys, revolved around beer, college football, and only occasionally, class.  In another, he was a successful investor, wildly successful, in fact and with success came perks.  He was a member of one of the most exclusive country clubs in Houston, and he routinely rubbed elbows with other movers and shakers in the Bayou City: CEOs and oil guys and professional athletes.  In the latest installment of Trey Little’s life, he is the solo pastor of a Presbyterian Church in the small, west Texas town of Albany (population: less than two thousand people).

In July of this year, rising 7^th and 8^th graders from Grace Presbyterian Church, the church that I serve in Houston, boarded a bus bound for Albany, Texas.  For many of the students, it was the first time that they had embarked on a mission trip, and the air on the bus was thick with anxiety, excitement, and the smell of sunflower seeds and Axe body spray.  My first real assignment as the Seminary Intern at Grace was to give the nightly talks on the Albany mission trip, so while I was not guilty in regard to the Axe-stench that filled the bus, I completely owned a sort of nervous excitement.

Two interstates, one state highway, and twenty-some-odd country towns later, we were greeted in Albany by a man named Trey.  With a southeast-Texas drawl, Trey explained that he was the pastor of Matthews Memorial Presbyterian Church, and that he and his congregation would be taking care of us during our time in west Texas.  We spent the next week worshipping, sharing meals, and working with members of Matthews Memorial.  We made-over the town park with a few coats of fresh paint, and we prepared an old house, across the street from the church, to serve a nursery for the young families of MMPC.  For those few days, we were honored guest in the town of Albany, old family friends coming home for a visit.  We were one group.  Not two church groups trying to occupy the same space, but one group, bent on hard work, laughter, and prayer, and Trey was the catalyst.  He and his team organized the work projects, meal times, hayrides, and trips to the snow cone hut.  The low rumble of his diesel pick-up became the background music of our mission trip.  It promised trips to the pool after long days of work and breezy rides back to the high school to clean up before supper.

And while the entire trip was special, particularly the opportunity to preach on a nightly basis to some incredibly insightful and caring young people, the purpose of my internship is to learn, to soak up knowledge, and I am happy to say that most of the teaching that took place that week came courtesy of a fraternity guy, turned bonds salesman, turned Presbyterian pastor.  With eagerness and amazement, I watched a pastor live out the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  And with reckless openness and love, Trey taught those 7^th and 8^th graders what it meant to be a servant of Christ and empowered them to live lives of faithfulness.  He taught them lessons of kindness and humility and humor and a whole host of other things that words fall woefully short in describing.  But, trust me, it was something to see.

After two days of hunting, Trey and I hiked out of that deer blind just before sundown.  Leaning against his pick-up, we drank a few beers and watched the sun melt into the west Texas hills above Albany.   In the silence of that late autumn evening, all I could think about were the expectations that I carried onto that bus in the Grace Presbyterian Church parking lot some 5 months prior.

I went to Albany, Texas in July because it was part of my internship…my job.  And I was supposed to learn about leading a mission trip and building relationships with young people and giving talks, and I did.  But I learned a whole lot more.  I learned what genuine hospitality sounds like – what it feels like.  And I learned what it looks like when a church truly lives as a community.  I learned that a man who owns a 40,000 acres farm can love Jesus just as much as a man who’s taken a vow of poverty.  And I learned about courage: to leave a job, a hometown, and a way of life in order to respond to God’s call.  I am better off for all that I have learned from the people of Albany.  And I am blessed to say that my teachers were the people of a small, west Texas town and the congregation of a small church in that town and the pastor of that congregation.  His name is Trey.

-DP