Bishop Budde and the Prophetic Tradition

The Rt. Rvd. Marian Edgar Budde
(Washington National Cathedral photo)

Over a week ago, Episcopal Bishop Marian Edgar Budde gave President Trump the gentlest, most benevolent scolding in recent political history. She simply urged Trump (a notoriously inattentive churchgoer) to remember all Americans when governing, not only those who resemble himself. This was too much, not only for Trump’s political supporters, but for conservative religious leaders. Trump’s supporters described Budde’s benign concerns as “the radical left just spew[ing] hate.”

Smarter theologians than I have written extensively about the foolish anti-Budde diatribes. Budde’s exhortation to look after marginalized and disadvantaged peoples comes directly from the Gospels, especially the Sermon on the Mount and the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats. Any familiarity with Christ’s message emphasizes that Christians have a God-given responsibility to care for poor, marginalized, and immigrant populations. Not because they’re especially holy, but because they’re poor.

I’d rather contemplate where Budde’s message situates her. In Budde’s willingness to address Trump directly, and speak explicitly to Trump’s attitudes toward American citizens, I’m reminded of three other prophets: Nathan, Elijah, and John the Baptist. All three had specific, conflicted relationships with Hebrew political leaders, and named specific sins each performed by name. Heavily churched readers might know that, for the last two, this challenging didn’t end well.

The prophet Nathan lived in King David’s palace and served some undefined advisory role. His only recorded act of prophecy comes after David steals Bathsheba, a married woman, and sends her husband to die in battle. Nathan spins a parable of a wealthy man abusing his poor neighbor; only after David answers the parable with a demand for retribution does Nathan reveal the parable refers to David himself.

By contrast, Elijah condemns King Ahab from outside the palace walls. When Ahab marries a foreigner, Jezebel, and adopts her religious practices, God sends punishment upon Israel. (In Hebrew scripture, all Israel is judged together; it isn’t a religion of personal righteousness, but a moral backbone for the entire nation.) Elijah and Ahab battle for Israel’s soul for years before the unrepentant Ahab dies and Elijah ascends bodily into heaven.

John the Baptist, though a Christian figure, is similarly Jewish. He condemns the priesthood—which, never forget, served as proxy government for Roman dominion in Judea, and therefore was more political than religious. Like Elijah, he condemned King Herod from outside the palace; unlike Elijah, Herod survived this criticism, and ordered John executed. Where Jesus preached an alternate Judaism, John continued the state-based tradition of Elijah, Amos, and Samuel.

The Hebrew prophetic tradition opposes the inclinations of power. In recent years, we’ve questioned who has the authority to “speak truth to power.” Remember a few years ago, when Republicans went berserk because Michelle Wolf took pokes at the administration at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner? Her defenders insisted that court jesters had a history, even a responsibility, to mock powerful people in high places with uncomfortable truths. But, comedians? Really?

No, historically, comedians entertained; if they made political points, that came only incidentally. Indeed, in Shakespeare’s day, public performances were heavily censored, and comedy, like all performance, trended significantly conservative. Comedy only criticizes power in societies where criticism is deemed, a priori, acceptable. In coming years, as the administration promises to become increasingly authoritarian, pointed comedy, like protest songs before it, will become risky and rare.

Instead, religion has the unique capacity to challenge power in its seat. Especially in an administration that uses the forms of religion, but largely ignores its substance, as Trump does, religious leaders can tell politicians and oligarchs the truths that nobody else dares speak. To the extent that Americans generally, and the administration particularly, believe God and capital-T Truth exist, religion has the privilege to speak it.

This doesn’t mean prophets live safely. Nathan dwelt inside the palace, but Elijah spent his career living as a fugitive. The Northern Kingdom chased Amos out altogether. Jeremiah lived in perpetual fear of crowds, even as he tried desperately to convey the message they needed to hear. John the Baptist died violently, and if Christianity shares the Hebrew prophetic tradition, Jesus and his disciples (except John) all died violently.

If we believe authoritarians need somebody to “speak truth to power,” let’s start with the people who believe Truth exists. Not the people Jeremiah disparaged as “prophets of peace,” either, a category that definitely includes Trump’s so-called spiritual advisers. Rather, let’s find the holy lunatics and angry prophets camping outside the temple walls, shouting. Get ready to eat locusts and wild honey.