I’d be interested to hear the views of the present chaplain to the House of Commons. We’re told that (quote) “religion and politics don’t mix” - or at least, we’re encouraged to think they shouldn’t. In much of the world religion and politics are very closely mixed, but ours is a secular state, and none of our major parties has a specifically religious base. And I’m sure that’s as it should be; while my faith encourages me to take an interest in the themes, campaigns and programmes of our political life, I don’t think it instructs me to vote in any particular way.
And the Church of England won’t come out in support of any one political party. That doesn’t mean the Church shouldn’t take part in political debate, though. The Christian faith may well have useful and perceptive things to contribute, and political statements, decisions or ideas that lack consistency, humanity or charity deserve to be challenged. Anyway, politics with a small p is the preserve of everyone - politics just means “how we live together”, and that’s something often far too important to be left to those we happen to have elected.
I’ve met and worked with quite a lot of career politicians over the years, and got to know some of them quite well. While I’ve not always agreed with them, and some at least would never get my vote, it’s only fair to say that nearly all the politicians I’ve met clearly came into it wanting to make things better and to do some good, and with hopeful and positive intent. I’m sure there are politicians who’re there for what they can get out of it, or to promote their own divisive and extremist opinions, but they are the minority, I think. We may disagree about what’s best for the nation, and on how to get it, but most people who are active in politics are there in search of a better world.
There is a link, I think, between my opening thoughts and today’s readings. In the Acts of the Apostles we have the record of Paul’s first missionary journey across to Europe. While there was probably already a Christian community in Rome, Paul’s journey to Macedonia is the first actual record we have of the Gospel coming to Europe. Paul came in response to a dream or vision, and the message that people here needed his help. Politics at its best is also about hearing and responding to people’s calls for help.
There were lots of people needing help in Jerusalem. A man who was crippled or disabled was worthless, not only unable to earn a living, but implicitly blamed for his own misfortune by those who saw it as God’s punishment either for his own sins or maybe those of his father. That belief also allowed them not to feel they had to respond to his disability, other than maybe by throwing a few coins into a begging bowl.
When the waters moved in the pool, the first person into the water would be healed. So they believed, anyway, if only in their desperation. We don’t know how many of this man’s thirty eight years of disability had been spent lying by the pool - but his hope of being healed must have been dashed again and again.
The question Jesus asks him is an interesting one. “Do you want to get well?” Why was he there if he didn’t? I wonder where the stress actually came in those words, as they were spoken. “Do you want to get well?”, perhaps. I’ve got a broken light over my bathroom mirror. I fixed it, which worked for a while, till the bulb fell out and brought the glass shade off, which shattered. Since then I’ve not bothered to fix it: more trouble than it’s worth, I suppose. In all sorts of ways in life, we accommodate ourselves to situations that aren’t ideal, and are sometimes far from it. When we say, “I don’t do politics,” we’re sort of saying “I’d rather just keep things as they are, and not worry about fixing them.” Maybe this crippled man had got used to living as he was; maybe he’d be happier not getting well.
But that wasn’t the case. He wanted release from his condition, it’s just that he wasn’t quick and able enough. And Jesus healed him. Politics at its best, whatever party we’re talking about, is about restoring chance and opportunity to those who lack it; it’s about recognising the spark of initiative in people, and helping them to seize their chances: knowing what people are hoping for and aiming for, and helping them get there.
Different parties and political creeds may have different ideas about how to do that, but in their own ways that I think is what most people in politics come into it to do. To start off with, anyway. Maybe the shine gets rubbed off, maybe it does become just a job, maybe the perks get too tempting. Or the party whips shout louder than the voices you should be hearing.
A higher proportion of MP’s have an active faith than would be true for a typical cross section of the population outside of parliament. So I dare to hope and pray that the example of Jesus and his apostles may inspire jaded MP’s with a Christian faith to recapture some of the zeal, hopefulness and concern that first motivated them to seek office. And to remind them that they’re answerable not only to the whips and their party machine, but also to those who elected them; and to those who voted for the other guy, but who are still their constituents; and to their own consciences; and to God. And maybe at times to reassess, which are the most important voices to hear? Who to follow, who to serve?
But that doesn’t only apply to elected politicians. There’s a message for you and me too. All of us are in some way responsible for the world around us, and for the people around us. Don’t let other things shut out the voice of our neighbours, when they’re saying “Come over and help us!” or, like the man by the Pool of Siloam, “I can’t fix this on my own.” Don’t let our own stuff crowd out the voice of God; take seriously the example of service Jesus sets us, not least in this story. All sorts of people were passing by that pool that day. But Jesus stopped and listened.
Most of the professional politicians I got to know well had at some time picked up a call for help, and decided it wasn’t a job for someone else, but something they should do. For Christians, our neighbour is anyone who needs our help; anyone who, like the guy by the pool, is going to be stuck there if we don’t respond. Someone like that is in my power; I’ve the power to respond or to not respond, to help or to pass by. All politicians want power: “when we’re in power we’ll do all these things to make your lives better” their manifestos assure us. But the wiser ones know that power is worthless until it’s used for good, that power held for its own sake always corrupts, and that for the land to prosper, power and responsibility - and a measure of humility - should always go hand in hand. Not just in the High Court of Parliament, but in every human situation. Not just up there, but down here too.
“Love your neighbour as yourself,” the Bible tells us. “How can someone claim to love God whom he has never seen, if he fails to love his brother whom he sees every day?” asked St John. “I am among you as one who serves,” said Jesus. “Let the greatest among you do the same.”
Lord, teach me to be generous,
to serve you as you deserve,
to give and not to count the cost,
to fight and not to heed the wounds,
to toil and not to seek for rest,
to labour and not to look for any reward,
save that of knowing that I do your will. Amen.
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