No election day preacher
04/02/16 05:27
I’ve joked with all of the congregations I have served about election day sermons. The joke is based on an inaccurate representation of the traditional 18th Century New England Practice of pastors preaching an election day sermon. I say that I’m not too inclined to tell the members of my congregation how to vote because I know that they wouldn’t listen to my advice if I gave it.
The misunderstanding is that election day sermons were not, for the most part, lectures to congregants on how to vote. They were important parts of a celebration of democracy and the role of religion in the formation of community.
To understand the phenomenon of election day sermons, it is important to remember that they arose in different times. In 18th-century New England, the most important form of public communication and public entertainment was the sermon. This was a time before television, before movies, and before social media. Newspapers abounded, and many people read more than one newspaper. People who wanted to influence public opinion published tracts and there were plenty of tracts that were printed and circulated. But at almost every public gathering, there would be a sermon.
In those days, most people attended church. The typical church had far more people attending every Sunday than the official membership. Weekly churchgoing was common and expected of most people in the community. Sermons, in those days, were much longer than the typical experience today. Two hours was common. The tradition of the sermon hourglass involved an hourglass that relatively accurately measured an hour. When an hour had passed, it was turned over, indicating the midpoint of the sermon. A weekly churchgoer would hear over 7,000 sermons in a lifetime: over 15,000 hours of listening. That pales in comparison with the average of 140,000 hours of screen time in a contemporary life. The significant difference is the level of concentration and actually listening. An 18th-century New England church goer retained a much higher percentage of the information given than a typical American watching 5.5 hours of TV per day.
As part of the departure from the Church of England, where sermons were supposed to “please and inspire,” New England Congregationalists had a rational tradition that upheld a good sermon as a vehicle to “inform and convince.” A New England preacher’s words carried great influence.
As such, preachers were asked to deliver sermons on other occasions than just Sunday worship. They delivered sermons for anniversaries, thanksgiving feasts, fast days and, yes, on election day. Election day was a holiday in Massachusetts in the mid-18th century. It began with cannon firing, military exercises, and usually some form of procession of government officials from the seat of government to a nearby church. The most politically and socially important members of community listened carefully for several hours.
Election Day sermons were not always delivered before the people voted. The point wasn’t to advise people on how to vote, but rather to celebrate the opportunity to vote and reflect on the deeper meanings of democracy.
Election Day sermons generally followed the pattern of three main points: First they asserted that civil government is necessary, citing scriptural references. Government is founded on an agreement between God and citizens to promote the common good. No civil system is perfect, however, and human systems are in need of continuing reformation.
Secondly, preachers urged a specific covenant. People promise to follow leaders and leaders promise to act for the good of all. That meant that following the election, people demonstrated loyalty and respect to elected leaders whether or not their candidate had won. And leaders demonstrated concern of all those they governed, not just their supporters. Imagine democracy without the contemporary practice of elected officials spending hundreds of hours each year speaking by telephone only with supporters.
The third point of an election day sermon was the charge. Voters and rulers alike were charged to promote virtue, to suppress vice, and to demonstrate “proven wisdom, integrity, justice and holiness.” Compare that with the headlines coming out of the recent Iowa caucuses.
The real reason I don’t preach election day sermons is that the custom has faded from our society. Preachers don’t have the same access to politicians as was the case in 18th-century New England. We don’t have a military parade from the seat of government to the largest church in town in our community on election day. A far more common election day practice in our time involves a huge party in a convention center with too much alcohol being served. The speeches are given by the politicians, who are far more practiced in talking than listening these days.
It is the loss of the practice of listening - both in politicians and in those who are governed - that I grieve. It isn’t just that they aren’t listening to preachers. They aren’t listening to anyone. Watch a congressional “debate” on television. It is all about grandstanding and speaking. No one is listening. No hearts are swayed in the process. Votes are counted and changed in behind-the-scenes activities and deals not in public discourse.
If I were to preach an election day sermon, I could keep it much under the 2 hour limit. I doubt if I could go much over 20 minutes. But I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself to just 3 points. I might need 5 or more.
I would seek to remind people that we are all in this together. We humans are connected to each other. As we are dependent upon each other we must be accountable to each other. Forgetting our interconnectedness can mean peril for many.
I would exhort leaders and followers to develop our appreciation of otherness. Human imagination is limited by thinking of “us” and “them.” Instead, I would offer the biblical mandate of hospitality to strangers and sojourners and remembering our own heritage as refugees without a land to call our own.
And I would speak of creating community. Dividing people from one another may be a way to win elections in our time, but it is not a way to govern. I would go so far to say that the skills demonstrated in campaigning have very little to do with the skills required to govern successfully. Building community involves developing consensus, seeking agreement, and listening to opinions that are different from your own. It means accepting and treasuring all of the people.
But the, don’t expect to hear that sermon. When this long campaign finally ends and election day comes, I don’t expect to have a crowd gathered in church.
That’s a sad reflection on our times.
The good news in all this is that you don’t have to listen to me going on and on for two hours at the next anniversary party in addition to every Sunday.
The misunderstanding is that election day sermons were not, for the most part, lectures to congregants on how to vote. They were important parts of a celebration of democracy and the role of religion in the formation of community.
To understand the phenomenon of election day sermons, it is important to remember that they arose in different times. In 18th-century New England, the most important form of public communication and public entertainment was the sermon. This was a time before television, before movies, and before social media. Newspapers abounded, and many people read more than one newspaper. People who wanted to influence public opinion published tracts and there were plenty of tracts that were printed and circulated. But at almost every public gathering, there would be a sermon.
In those days, most people attended church. The typical church had far more people attending every Sunday than the official membership. Weekly churchgoing was common and expected of most people in the community. Sermons, in those days, were much longer than the typical experience today. Two hours was common. The tradition of the sermon hourglass involved an hourglass that relatively accurately measured an hour. When an hour had passed, it was turned over, indicating the midpoint of the sermon. A weekly churchgoer would hear over 7,000 sermons in a lifetime: over 15,000 hours of listening. That pales in comparison with the average of 140,000 hours of screen time in a contemporary life. The significant difference is the level of concentration and actually listening. An 18th-century New England church goer retained a much higher percentage of the information given than a typical American watching 5.5 hours of TV per day.
As part of the departure from the Church of England, where sermons were supposed to “please and inspire,” New England Congregationalists had a rational tradition that upheld a good sermon as a vehicle to “inform and convince.” A New England preacher’s words carried great influence.
As such, preachers were asked to deliver sermons on other occasions than just Sunday worship. They delivered sermons for anniversaries, thanksgiving feasts, fast days and, yes, on election day. Election day was a holiday in Massachusetts in the mid-18th century. It began with cannon firing, military exercises, and usually some form of procession of government officials from the seat of government to a nearby church. The most politically and socially important members of community listened carefully for several hours.
Election Day sermons were not always delivered before the people voted. The point wasn’t to advise people on how to vote, but rather to celebrate the opportunity to vote and reflect on the deeper meanings of democracy.
Election Day sermons generally followed the pattern of three main points: First they asserted that civil government is necessary, citing scriptural references. Government is founded on an agreement between God and citizens to promote the common good. No civil system is perfect, however, and human systems are in need of continuing reformation.
Secondly, preachers urged a specific covenant. People promise to follow leaders and leaders promise to act for the good of all. That meant that following the election, people demonstrated loyalty and respect to elected leaders whether or not their candidate had won. And leaders demonstrated concern of all those they governed, not just their supporters. Imagine democracy without the contemporary practice of elected officials spending hundreds of hours each year speaking by telephone only with supporters.
The third point of an election day sermon was the charge. Voters and rulers alike were charged to promote virtue, to suppress vice, and to demonstrate “proven wisdom, integrity, justice and holiness.” Compare that with the headlines coming out of the recent Iowa caucuses.
The real reason I don’t preach election day sermons is that the custom has faded from our society. Preachers don’t have the same access to politicians as was the case in 18th-century New England. We don’t have a military parade from the seat of government to the largest church in town in our community on election day. A far more common election day practice in our time involves a huge party in a convention center with too much alcohol being served. The speeches are given by the politicians, who are far more practiced in talking than listening these days.
It is the loss of the practice of listening - both in politicians and in those who are governed - that I grieve. It isn’t just that they aren’t listening to preachers. They aren’t listening to anyone. Watch a congressional “debate” on television. It is all about grandstanding and speaking. No one is listening. No hearts are swayed in the process. Votes are counted and changed in behind-the-scenes activities and deals not in public discourse.
If I were to preach an election day sermon, I could keep it much under the 2 hour limit. I doubt if I could go much over 20 minutes. But I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself to just 3 points. I might need 5 or more.
I would seek to remind people that we are all in this together. We humans are connected to each other. As we are dependent upon each other we must be accountable to each other. Forgetting our interconnectedness can mean peril for many.
I would exhort leaders and followers to develop our appreciation of otherness. Human imagination is limited by thinking of “us” and “them.” Instead, I would offer the biblical mandate of hospitality to strangers and sojourners and remembering our own heritage as refugees without a land to call our own.
And I would speak of creating community. Dividing people from one another may be a way to win elections in our time, but it is not a way to govern. I would go so far to say that the skills demonstrated in campaigning have very little to do with the skills required to govern successfully. Building community involves developing consensus, seeking agreement, and listening to opinions that are different from your own. It means accepting and treasuring all of the people.
But the, don’t expect to hear that sermon. When this long campaign finally ends and election day comes, I don’t expect to have a crowd gathered in church.
That’s a sad reflection on our times.
The good news in all this is that you don’t have to listen to me going on and on for two hours at the next anniversary party in addition to every Sunday.