Not Your Father’s Politics

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Now when Joshua was near Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing in front of him with a drawn sword in his hand. Joshua went up to him and asked, “Are you for us or for our enemies?” “Neither,” he replied, “but as commander of the army of the LORD I have now come.” Then Joshua fell facedown to the ground in reverence, and asked him, “What message does my Lord have for his servant?” (Joshua 5:13-14)

Everyone thinks God is on his side—or her side if you happen to take offense at traditional masculine inclusive language, which, in my informed and well-practiced opinion, has totally and unnecessarily mucked up, dweebed out, and politically corrected into inanity an otherwise venerable and highly polished lingo of masculine domination that still sounds better and communicates more clearly than any unwieldy gender neutral prosthetic construction foisted upon the language by bleeding heart linguists who care more about illusory, self-stroking liberation ideology than they do precision, economy, and artistry, and who have the audacity, the sheer gall to hijack the common tongue, pass judgment on its egalitarian nature, and pronounce, like some high moral tribunal, what is appropriate and inappropriate usage as though they are the divinely appointed mediators between the language and those who would like to use it and can decide for everyone else what is the new linguistic orthodoxy and what should be burned at the stake.

Like I said, everybody thinks God is on his side—or their side, which, though technically incorrect, is closer to the intended meaning of “everybody”—emphasis on the every rather than on the one—and which, I hasten to add, is an example of legitimate language drift as opposed to the arbitrary and autocratic formulations alluded to in the previous paragraph, a drift that reveals the organic, democratic nature of a living language, a nature that rightfully resists the tyranny of imposed ideologies of every kind, even its own.

But I digress.

We all assume that our game is God’s game, that our take on the situation simply must be God’s take on it. We draw our narrow lines in the sand to separate the sheep from the goats, mumbling, “He who is not for me is against me.” We point; we scorn; we denounce. Seething in presumed divine approval, we excoriate the blasphemers and bludgeon the ignorant. We haul them to the block and demand God’s allegiance to our righteous cause.

“I have now come.”

We churn the acid of our indignation and spew our shrill denunciations upon the offenders. Assuming the highest sanction, we call down fire from heaven to destroy the infidel. We are rabid. We cry out with a visceral revulsion, calling for condemnation, calling for blood, calling for crucifixion. We justify our wrath by cherry picking our mint and dill and cummin. O how we love this delicious hate.

“Take off your shoes. This is holy ground.”

We are incredulous. We don’t take that kind of crap from anybody—even God. If he won’t damn the unrighteous, we’ll do it. If he won’t crush the enemy, then we will trample out the vintage from our own grapes of wrath. If he won’t damn them, then damn him. Bloodlust—national, political, religious—devours us. Zeal for our own house consumes us. A shout rises from the primal engines of our collective soul: “Crucify them!”

God is silent. His eyes are hard and implacable. Slowly, deliberately, he draws back his right arm which lifts a terrifying two-edged sword. We quiver with delirious, maniacal anticipation. “Justice!” we cry. “Bring it down upon their heads!” But then we notice that his fierce gaze is not upon our enemies. Our hearts freeze and our drunken glee turns to dread.

God is looking at us, and his arm is not appeased.

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