Politics and Discipleship: Practices to Engage Christianly with This Cultural Moment

I dislike politics. I always have. Some people, I know, love debating and studying policy, have minds that are fascinated by implications of precedent or economics, and find great delight in watching CSPAN. I am not one of them. There are topics I will talk about and engage with opposing views on long into the night. But politics is not one of them.

But even with those feelings—I have been wrestling for the last several years with something that, sadly, has become increasingly political: how we engage the world, our culture, and our government as Christians. And this is where the political world collides with one of those things I do deeply care about, think about, and talk about: discipleship.

In the Bible, we are given an all-inclusive, whole-of-life picture of discipleship. Jesus does not want a segment of your heart, mind, soul, and life. He wants to be Lord of all of it. So, we must continually revisit and prayerfully examine what faithful, discipleship-oriented engagement with our world looks like. We need to make sure we are thinking Christianly above, beyond, and before we think as a member of a particular political party. To do this, I believe we need to continually develop a Jesus-vision of the world and seek to adopt ever-more-clearly the biblical imagination for the Kingdom of God.

A quick note here. We’d have to dive a bit deeper to explore the various views Christians have and have had about the relationship between Christianity and culture, but we’ll save that for another time. To be brief, I would just say that it’s important to note that there is a diversity of views on this question based on time, place, and theological tradition, so I urge humility and careful consideration. Don’t assume your understanding is the only Christian view.

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I do not want to discuss specific policies or candidates in this place or time. If you’re ever in my neck of the woods, I’d be happy to sit down and chat with you sometime. But I would like to provide what I think are some helpful practices to make sure we’re thinking Christianly first and foremost as we engage in this current social and political moment.

  • Read your Bible. If you care about how God thinks about these issues, you need to read his Word. Spend time in the Gospels, carefully reading what Jesus taught and how He modeled the Kingdom of God. Spend time with other New Testament writers, carefully studying how they understood and applied these teachings of Jesus in their context. Another great place to study is the prophets—we get a strong picture of the character of God and the things He cares about.

As you read, do not cherry pick. Do not look for “proof texts” to back up what you already think. This is not a responsible or respectful way to read the Bible. Try to come to the Scripture humbly, praying for God to teach you, and spend time deeply and systematically studying the Bible. The Bible wasn’t written in the context of the 21st century, but it is still applicable to our time and place. Focus first on understanding the character of God, the picture of the Kingdom, etc., and then use those truths and principles and that biblical imagination of the world to consider how they apply to today.

  • Do your study and thinking in community. There is incredible value in studying the Bible on your own—please do this. But this cannot be done in isolation, and it should not be done in an echo chamber. We do ourselves a grave disservice if we only read and listen to voices much like our own. Pay attention to who you are listening to. Do they come from your tradition, do they share all of your views, do they have a similar life experience? Similarity is not bad. But only listening to or building relationships with people like us allows us to lose sight of the bigger picture, makes us even blinder to our blindspots, and, frankly, undermines the beautiful diversity we find within God’s Kingdom.

    As you think through the biblical picture for how Christians are to engage with the world, make sure you take time to read, study, and think with people who are in some way unlike yourself. Read and listen to writers, theologians, and pastors who are from a different time, place, culture, socio-economic status, race, gender, political party, or theological tradition than you. You don’t have to agree with everything they say. But engage with them humbly and honestly. I guarantee they will have something to teach you, some way to expand your understanding of God, and some way to challenge a blindspot you didn’t know existed.

  • Pay attention to what you consume. Here, again, we need to talk about echo chambers. There is great strength in hearing from a diversity of voices. It provides a broader view of an issue, helps you truly understand someone else’s opinion, and (again) helps you to avoid your own blindspots. Read, listen to, and watch media sources that come from a different perspective than you typically hold.

    Pay attention to your sources—is this source reputable, what sort of authority or expertise do these people bring to this issue, is this source peer-reviewed, what sort of evidence or logic is being presented, how do they engage with alternate opinions?

    Also, pay attention to the effects of what you consume. Does this person or media source encourage me to think critically, engage with others, and approach other views with calmness or kindness? Do do they stoke up anger and fear? Does this help to cultivate the fruit of the spirit in my life? Does this challenge my thinking or add to my perspective on the world, or does it encourage me to dig my heels deeper into my own particular corner? Does this help as I seek to love God and love my neighbor?

  • Build relationships with and have conversations with people in real life. Social media can be a valuable tool. But I have yet to be convinced it is the best medium for having difficult, honest, humble, constructive conversations with people of different views. (If you have seen this work out positively, please, I’d love to hear your story.) Instead, I typically see lots of snark and sarcasm, unfair representations of opposing viewpoints, and words much more harsh and cruel than most would ever speak face-to-face.

    Learn to have these conversations in person. Learn to listen carefully. Learn to treat and speak of those who see the world differently than you with kindness and charity. Try to genuinely understand where someone is coming from, and learn to represent their perspective well, even if you don’t agree with it. Build real relationships with people who think differently than you, and learn from them.

  • Practice and develop good, empathetic critical thinking skills. Critical thinking is something I increasingly see as a skill that needs to be developed. It takes practice. With this in mind, it could be worth practicing with an issue or disagreement that is simpler and less emotionally charged, to get this approach into your mental muscle memory.

    I’m sure there are people who have done much more work with this than I have, so at the risk of oversimplifying things, here are a few good starting points. Take time and care to understand the various viewpoints on an issue, to the extent that you could articulate a view different from your own in a way someone who holds that view would consider accurate and fair. Understand why that person holds the belief they do—most people have reasonable or at least understandable justifications of their opinions.

    Only once you have a clear understanding of the view at hand, consider it from your own perspective. How does it align with your beliefs and the way you see the world? Is there anything (even if small) you can agree with or empathize with? Then consider what you disagree with—and why? Learn to articulate this using a clear-headed explanation and explain why you disagree based on your worldview.

    Too often we approach diverging views fueled by emotions or more eager to make our “opponent” appear evil or less intelligent. This is not helpful critical thinking, and I do not believe it embodies Christian character. We don’t need to live in fear of different opinions, as if hearing someone out will corrupt us. And we do ourselves no good to respond to different opinions with defensiveness or personal attacks.

    Approaching complex issues in the way I’ve described will help you to see the complex facets of an issue, practice empathy even if you don’t agree with someone, and will help you to better understand and articulate your own opinions. It also gives you a continual opportunity to reexamine and rearticulate your understanding of how to approach various issues as a faithful disciple of Jesus.

Friends, hear me. I know that this is hard, and I know this process can make us uncomfortable. I’m on this journey with you, trying day by day to faithfully reflect and follow Jesus. We are living in a divisive world. And, in America, the fray will only become more vicious as we enter another political cycle. Be prepared. Be self-reflective. Be prayerful. My deepest desire for all of us who claim the name of Christ is that we could represent our Lord Jesus well before a watching world.

A New Job

There are some things that happen in life that are just too fortuitous to be anything but God’s orchestration. I’ve had one of those events recently. A couple months ago, through a perfect series of events, I became connected with the wonderful folks at the Vere Institute. The mission of Vere Institute is near and dear to my heart—cultivating whole-life disciples of Jesus, which they do specifically through equipping and empowering church leaders.

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I’m happy to announce that I recently accepted a part-time position as their Communications Director. I’m delighted to be able to support the ministry of Vere Institute and to share more with their partners about whole-life discipleship.

I’ve been working on a project for them we’re calling “Equippers and Frontliners,” which features a series of curated stories of pastors (equippers) and everyday Christians (frontliners), who are both seeking to live on mission for the Kingdom within the context their own callings and circumstances. I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing all of these brothers and sisters, and I can’t wait to share their stories with you. (If you’ve been around here for a while, this series is very similar to my Everyday Disciple series.)

The first post is in the Equippers and Frontliners series is up on the Vere Institute blog this week. (You can find it here.) And if you want to tune in to the rest of the series, you can sign up to receive their blog updates.

Have no fear, I’ll still be sharing my thoughts and stories with you here in this space, as I have been. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.


Here’s a little snippet of the first post, just for you…

What does discipleship really mean? 

It’s been a question Stephen Johnson has been on a journey to answer for years. “Whatever discipleship means,” he says, “it must be relevant to everyone, everywhere, at all times, or it isn’t real discipleship.”

The model of whole-life discipleship has offered this all-inclusive vision of life to Fellowship Bible Church, where Stephen has pastored for the last eleven years. It has also made discipleship very relational and situational, inviting everyone to ask what the Lord has for them in each moment, as they “wrestle with their situation and the Holy Spirit everywhere they go.” This is a discipleship that speaks to everyone, regardless of whether they are a CEO or a car-pooling mom.

Read more at Vere Institute

The Bible Won't Cure My Depression, But I Still Need It

When you’re depressed, it doesn’t take long until you begin to receive prescriptions for how to fix yourself. They come in many forms. Some of them are pithy feel-good maxims that look like they should be painted onto a piece of distressed barn board: Just choose joy. Think positively. Count your blessings. Some come in the form of diet, exercise, or lifestyle advice: Have you tried cutting (insert food item here) out of your diet? Nature will be your healer; you just need to get outside. Have you tried (insert exercise program, alternative medicine product, or lifestyle fad here)? And, unfortunately, if you’re a Christian, some of these prescriptions come in the form of spirituality: Just pray more. Spend more time reading your Bible. Just have faith.

Often this advice, even if well-intentioned, causes more pain than good. Instead of hearing our story and keeping company with us in the midst of our pain, such advice tries to shout it away. It assumes that depression (or any other ailment) can be cured with a silver bullet approach instead of acknowledging its complexity. It also places a burden of guilt on the person who is suffering—implying that their lingering sorrow is a sign they’re doing something wrong or simply not trying hard enough.

But sometimes such harmful advice does carry seeds of truth. For example, for many people, exercise does help to manage depression. I know many also find being outdoors in a natural setting to be helpful. But we acknowledge that these lifestyle elements are not the only agents in our movement toward healing. They’re important, but they are not a one-stop-shop for mental and emotional wellness. They come in balance with other practices as well—like going to therapy, taking medication, or getting good sleep. When it comes to living with mental illness, I see spiritual practices in a similar way.

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To put it simply: Reading the Bible will not cure my depression. I believe those who have reduced mental health to a consistent Bible study plan are severely misguided. Bible study will not prevent me from getting cancer or being in an accident—and it will not provide a guaranteed preventative strategy against mental illness either.

There are some people, I know, who would take issue with this. Some people seem to think that saying the Bible won’t cure depression calls into question the Bible’s authority or effectiveness. They think that if I say we shouldn’t suggest the Bible (or prayer or any other host of practices) as the cure, that I don’t think depressed people should read the Bible. Far from it. But we cannot reduce the hope of the Bible to a how-to-cure manual or a book-sized pain reliever. It’s not what the Bible is meant to be, and treating it as such does it a great disservice.

Let’s go back to the example of cancer. When someone receives a cancer diagnosis, I would imagine you are unlikely to suggest that a more vigorous spiritual life would cure them. In such situations, we encourage them in their relationships with medical professionals and in their suggested treatments. We support them with lifestyle changes they may need to make. We eagerly step in to meet pressing physical needs, like providing rides or meals or child-minding services.

But I would imagine that you would still believe the Bible would offer them comfort during a painful and uncertain season. In fact, if you are a Christian, you would probably see the Bible as an essential piece of navigating that journey—but you wouldn’t claim it as the cure for cancer. We can draw similar parallels about the Bible’s role when we face the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, or any host of physical illnesses or personal tragedies. Mental illness is no different.

I believe the Bible is incredibly helpful when we’re depressed—and I think Christians who struggle with depression will benefit from its truths. But it is beneficial in the same way that it is beneficial to the cancer patient wrestling with physical fragility, the new widow awash with grief, or the mom wondering how she’ll make ends meet. I do not believe that the “benefit” the Bible offers is about instantaneously removing us from pain—but about providing us with hope and truth and comfort to sustain us in the midst of that pain.

In the midst of my depression, as I turn to the Bible, I find a God who promises to be near to the brokenhearted and suffering, even if I can’t “feel” his presence. I find a God who consistently uses people who struggle like me—so I know that depression does not mean I’m disqualified from being an effective part of his kingdom. I find a Savior who himself suffered and wept and bled—so I know He understands my agony. I find a Spirit who intercedes for me when I don’t have words—so I know that God is still near me and hearing me, even when my words run out.

In the Bible I find a God who makes it his work to create beauty out of ashes in the most unexpected and miraculous ways. I find a God who gives me permission to bring my doubt and fear and anger and utter weariness before him. I find a God who refused to relinquish the world to sin and all its effects—and who set in motion a grand redemption of not only my soul but also my broken body and broken brain chemistry. I find a God who has promised to make all things new.

This is a hope robust enough to sustain me when I have no strength left to hope. It is an anchor when all seems lost and when darkness seems to have won. It will not cure me—but it will give me a reason to take one more breath. And that is enough.

Breath Prayer: A Prayer to Quiet My Anxious Heart

When I am deeply stressed or anxious or experiencing an overwhelming emotion like grief, I can feel it in my body. My muscles are tense, and my shoulders rise towards my ears as they tighten. I can feel my heartbeat elevated and can nearly hear my blood pulsing. I feel jittery and restless, sometimes to the point my fingers tremble. My stomach churns. And my thoughts—they surge and shift, taking me down too many rabbit trails, reluctant to quiet and still.

I know I’m not the only one who has felt this way. I would dare say all of us have at some time or another. Some of us, who live more chronically with anxiety or who walk through a prolonged season of grief or trauma, feel it more often than we would care to admit.

When I feel like this, I want to bring myself to God and put my anxious, hurting heart before him, but the physical and emotional strain of my body in the moment seems to rise and suffocate the words as I try to form them. Sometimes I don’t even know what words to pray. In moments such as these, I have found a particular model of prayer to be helpful: breath prayer.

Breath prayer has been a practice of Christians for centuries. It is a simple, one sentence prayer paired to the rhythm of your breath. As you inhale, call on a name or characteristic of God, and as you exhale, express the desire or need of your heart. For example, (inhale) God of all comfort, (exhale) bring your peace. Continue to breathe deeply and repeat your prayer. Come back to it for as long and as often as you need to throughout the day.

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I find in moments when my emotions and stress response run high, a breath prayer can calm my body, my mind, and my spirit. It invites me to stop, to quiet my beating heart and frantic thoughts in God’s presence. It also focuses my heart on God—on who he is, on what he offers, on his nearness to me. As my breath deepens, and my mind continues to meditate on the Lord, I find myself quieting. It doesn’t solve all my problems or permanently fix my emotional state, but it does invite me into a moment of quiet. It helps me recenter on the God who hears, on the God who is with me.

We live in a tumultuous and chaotic world. Stress and anxiety will come. And when they do, when you feel your thoughts and your body becoming overwhelmed and paralyzed, pause, breathe, and pray. Carry your breath prayer with you into those moments. And rest in the fact that you are loved, seen, and heard as his beloved child.


I would encourage you to choose your own breath prayer, based on what the needs and desires of your heart are in this moment. But here are a few examples to help you.

  • Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me.

  • Breath of Life, breathe on me.

  • Father, let me feel your presence.

  • Good Shepherd, show me your way.

  • Lord Jesus, let your Kingdom come.

  • Lord, in your mercy, bring your healing.


Do you pray using a breath prayer? What breath prayer has been helpful or meaningful to you?

I Need Stories From the Dark

I heard the first threads of their stories in a seminary classroom. Just months before, I had emerged from another bout of depression, and the taste of that darkness still lingered. The isolation. The tears—then the numbness. The heavy weight pulling me to stay in bed, to not think, to disappear. I wonder now if I would have noticed them if it hadn’t been fresh, if I wasn’t still reminded by a pill each morning of my own fragility. But in that moment, I had ears to hear.

I made extra notes in the margins of my notebooks based on this anecdote and that aside from my professor, and those wispy threads began to converge. These people in church history, the ones I was studying, the ones we still celebrated—they too knew that darkness. They too had been depressed. Why had I never heard their stories? Would my own experience with depression have been different if I had?

Looking back now, I wonder how many explicit messages I heard about depression. I don’t remember anyone specifically telling me I was a failure for succumbing to it, but it was the message I received just the same. As it tightened its grip on me during my senior year of college, I felt as though I should be able to try harder, as though I had to find a way to pull myself together. But I barely had the strength to make it to class most days—an emotional overhaul was beyond my reach. I felt guilty and weak. I felt like a “bad” Christian. I was surrounded by a culture of spiritual perfectionism and keenly aware of how far I fell short. I was broken—shattered was more like it—and the God of comfort I had known fell silent.

At the time, I didn’t hear stories about Christians suffering from depression, aside from the confided experiences of a couple close friends. I certainly didn’t hear stories about what it looked like to live in the midst of depression, those stories of what faithfulness looked like in the dark. I heard whispers and rumors of others who suffered like me, but our time in depression’s darkness was not a story to be told—or so it seemed. It felt shameful and awkward. I didn’t know what other people would make of my pain—I didn’t know what to make of it myself, of that pain that grew so great it became nothingness, numbness, the void.

But what if, in that moment, I knew the stories I would come to know later? What if I knew of the saints of the darkness, of these sisters and brothers throughout the church’s history who had traveled this road long before me, who had wept and wrestled as I did? It would not have removed depression’s darkness or dulled its ache, but it may have made it just a little less bitter—to know that this was not some strange or shameful thing that was happening to me, to know I was not alone, to know God was not finished with me yet.

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I realize now that the stories we choose to tell communicate something. My experience has been that we like stories of the light, stories of victory, stories of perfectly packaged happy endings. And why not? They’re heartwarming. But when we prioritize these at the expense of stories from the opposite part of human experience—of struggle and pain—we send an implicit but clear message that those messier and more painful stories are not welcome. It is this sort of message that kept me uncertain and quiet about my own depression. It is this message that perpetuates stigma and judgment, that suggests Christians shouldn’t struggle as I did.

But there are saints among us—perhaps you’re one of them—who have stories from the dark, stories of the not-yet, stories that end with a question mark—and we need those just as much. We have these stories throughout our history, just waiting to be told. We have them living and breathing among us today. Stories like these give me permission to acknowledge and share my own struggles. They remind me I’m not alone. They remind me of how God is faithful when I can’t see him or when I wonder if I have the strength for faith left. They tell me depression will not be the end of my story.

In my own experience with depression, I have found stories of the dark in the lives of people throughout church history. They are a source of comfort, encouragement, and guidance to me. But they also give me boldness to tell my own story—because somewhere out there is a college student like I once was, weary and heavy laden with depression’s load, and my story may just be the one they need to hear.