Our dog loves to be outside. Thankfully we have a fenced-in backyard, and she’ll spend pretty much all day back there if we let her. In fact, sometimes it can be downright challenging to get her to come back inside. Doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold. In fact, I sometimes chuckle at the Facebook posts every winter that warn against leaving your dog outside in the cold with a meme of a forlorn-looking person sitting alone on their haunches in a snowstorm alongside a “How would you like it?” tagline. We have a hard time getting Luna to come inside during a blizzard—she (and her thick coat) would much rather be outside.
Last week was hot, however, and yet she still insisted on frolicking in the backyard. We made sure she had a water dish with plenty of water and shade that she could rest in when she wanted. I also made sure that I could see her from where I worked.
I went out to play with her every so often through the afternoon, and one time on my way back inside I was astounded at what I found in the water dish. Two large bumblebees had somehow both fallen into the water. I have no certainty about how they got there—it’s possible that they had started fighting among the blooms of the butterfly bush that arced over the water bowl, or perhaps they had both stopped for a drink and somehow fallen in. But the result was extraordinary. Because of the smooth edges of the water bowl, they were unable to pull themselves out of the water. That meant that the only way they could keep their mouths above water over time was to use the body of the other bumblebee as a float. And so they were locked in a furious embrace, each one trying to rise above the other to get some air while simultaneously pushing the other underwater.
I wish I could say I fished them out of the water bowl, and they both flew off, but right about that moment the phone rang and I went inside. And then I forgot about them. When I went back outside to check on the dog, there they were—locked in an embrace, floating in the water dish. At that point, I fished them out and they landed on the ground next to the water dish. After a moment, one of them flew off, and the other remained motionless. It was a battle only one of them could win, and it nearly cost them both their lives.
It strikes me that this is far too often how we view politics these days. It feels like it’s a life and death battle, each side often acting like their survival can only come through the destruction of the other side. We try to sink the other side so that our own viewpoint might rise to the top. Rarely are we working together to see how we might all survive. Rarely are we asking what’s in the best interest for all involved.
Now I’m not saying both sides are equally good or equally bad or that both sides would do an equally fine (or terrible) job running this county. Each of us has our own opinions on that and I hope each of us is making informed decisions not guided by destructive rhetoric but based on careful analysis and much prayer.
What I am saying, though, is that cutthroat politics is destructive. Politics based on fear of the other is destructive. Politics that implies only one side can survive or that we can’t exist peacefully together is destructive. And it’s not what we’re called to as Christians.
When we were in Mexico on sabbatical, Elizabeth participated in a community-building exercise led by an economics professor. In the middle of a circle of six participants was a bucket of corn kernels. Each participant had an empty water bottle they were told they needed to fill with corn. When the professor said go, they all raced to the bucket of corn and fought each other for the one scoop to put corn in their bottles. Even with the scoop, though, corn flew everywhere as it tried to get through the narrow openings of the bottles. Those who could not get the scoop tried to grab corn with their hands and fill their bottles that way—grabbing as much as possible as fast as possible. The end result was that no one ended up with a full bottle and there was corn spilled everywhere.
The professor reset the experiment. “This time,” he said, “take turns using the scoop.” And as he said go, no one raced to the bucket. When they got there, they took turns in an orderly way, helping each other get corn through the narrow openings in the bottles. It wasn’t long and everyone had a full bottle of corn and there was very little that had been spilled on the ground. In fact, there was plenty of corn left over in the bucket. The message was clear—when we look out for one another, when we look to the interests of others, we all benefit.
In our backyard water dish, two bumblebees fought until only the strongest of them survived. This is not the way of the cross.
“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.” Philippians 2:3-4 (NIV)
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