The Politics of the Bible

Readings...

Nehemiah 8.1–12

All the people gathered together into the square before the Water Gate. They told the scribe Ezra to bring the book of the law of Moses, which the Lord had given to Israel. Accordingly, the priest Ezra brought the law before the assembly, both men and women and all who could hear with understanding. He read from it facing the square before the Water Gate from early morning until midday, in the presence of the men and the women and those who could understand; and the ears of all the people were attentive to the book of the law. The scribe Ezra stood on a wooden platform that had been made for the purpose. And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people, for he was standing above all the people; and when he opened it, all the people stood up. Then Ezra blessed the Lord, the great God, and all the people answered, “Amen, Amen,” lifting up their hands. Then they bowed their heads and worshipped the Lord with their faces to the ground.

So they read from the book, from the law of God, with interpretation. They gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading. And Nehemiah, who was the governor, and Ezra the priest and scribe, and the Levites who taught the people said to all the people, “This day is holy to the Lord your God; do not mourn or weep.” For all the people wept when they heard the words of the law. Then he said to them, “Go your way, eat the fat and drink sweet wine and send portions of them to those for whom nothing is prepared, for this day is holy to our Lord; and do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.” So the people went their way to eat and drink and to send portions and to make great rejoicing, because they had understood the words that were declared to them.

Luke 10.1–12

The Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out labourers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the labourer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’ I tell you, on that day it will be more tolerable for Sodom than for that town.

Sermon: The Politics of the Bible

Picture the scene.  The leaders of Israel have just returned from exile in Babylon.  Seventy years away.  That’s three or four generations.  The ordinary people who stayed behind have got on with life as best they could.  They’ve picked up Babylonian ways, Babylonian laws, even Babylonian gods.  They’ve married into other tribes, settled into new customs, and the old Law of Moses has become a distant memory.  

But now the leaders are back.  Nehemiah the Governor.  Ezra the High Priest.  The Levites in their finest robes, standing tall on a great platform.  And they’ve brought with them the Torah—the five books of Moses.  Precious relics, polished and edited by scribes in exile, welded together into one seamless national story.  Stories of Abraham, Moses, Judah—the roots of a people.  Laws about land, justice, strangers, worship.  All the scaffolding of a nation under God.  

Ezra stands before the crowd.  This is his moment.  Like a Prime Minister at party conference, he knows this is the speech that will set the tone for years to come.  If he gets this right, faith will be rekindled, identity restored, and the old leaders will be firmly back in charge.  

How will the people react?  

We’re told they burst into tears.  But why?  Joy, perhaps, at rediscovering their story.  Or sorrow, for the ways they’d broken God’s laws.  Or maybe fear—that breaking them again might unleash God’s wrath.  

Because these weren’t just religious words.  The Law of Moses was political through and through.  It set out systems of justice, land distribution, protection for foreigners, ways of dealing with debt and conflict.  It was politics rooted in God’s vision of fairness.  

And when Jesus comes along, centuries later, he takes up the same tune.  He sends seventy disciples out, Luke tells us, to proclaim the Kingdom of God.  A Kingdom built on Moses’ foundations, but tuned towards love of neighbour, care for the poor, forgiveness, non-violence.  The Sermon on the Mount is a manifesto if ever there was one.  

But political messages always divide.  Ezra’s audience wept.  Jesus’ canvassers sometimes found a warm welcome—but other times they were hounded out of town, shaking dust off their sandals in frustration.  Politics always presses people’s nerves.  First we ask: what does this mean for me?  My wallet?  My freedom?  Then we think of our families: will Mum get care, will my kids get a fair chance?  Then we zoom out: the library, the river, the future of the planet.  Politics presses every button we have.  

And politicians know it.  Ezra stirs the crowd with history and identity.  Later he plays the purity card—demanding the people divorce their foreign wives.  It’s crude, it’s cruel, but it’s effective.  Politicians have always waved the flag, blamed the outsider, claimed to be defenders of tradition.  Even Jesus, in his way, drew on Israel’s past—but always to widen the story, never to narrow it.  

So what do we do in a season of political speeches, slogans and promises?  How do we separate wheat from chaff?  

For the Christian, there’s really only one yardstick: the political manifesto of Jesus.  Not slogans on a bus, not carefully-spun policy papers, but the Kingdom of God.  

Ask yourself: what would the world look like if the meek really did inherit the earth?  At the moment, 90% of Britain’s land is locked up by government, aristocracy, corporations, the church, the military, the parks.  Only about 10% is available for people like you and me to actually build on.  What would it look like if the mighty were cast down from their seats, yachts, castles, and private jets?  

What if we really took seriously God’s command to Adam and Eve to “tend the garden”?  Would we still be poisoning rivers, razing forests, watching species vanish daily?  

What if we believed Jesus when he said the poor are blessed, that peacemakers should be honoured, that wealth should be shared?  Would we still tolerate food banks in one of the richest nations on earth?  Would we still rank weapons as a higher spending priority than child poverty?  

Now, of course, some will say these are idealisms.  Dreams.  But that’s exactly what politics is: competing dreams.  Competing pictures of the future.  The trick is to test those dreams—not against our wallets alone, not against the flags behind the podium—but against the Kingdom Jesus proclaimed.  

Ezra’s people rediscovered wisdom when the Law was read aloud.  Our task is similar.  To listen again, carefully, to the Scriptures—not as dusty relics or party slogans, but as radical calls to justice and love.  And then to measure every manifesto, every promise, every soundbite against that standard.  

Because anyone who thinks Jesus didn’t have a political message has simply not read the same Bible I read.  As G.K. Chesterton quipped, the tragedy of Christianity is not that it’s been tried and found wanting, but that it’s never really been tried.  

So let’s try.  Let’s take Jesus’ manifesto seriously, not just in the ballot box, but in our daily choices, our wallets, our care for neighbour and creation.  Let’s hear again that call, ancient yet new: the Kingdom of God is at hand.  Amen.