The question was how Christians should respond to political developments. It came, as such questions often do, from deep anxiety about what was happening in her country. How should she be involved? Should she join a demonstration? Should she be shouting across the street at those who opposed what she stood for? What in these difficult times did Jesus ask of her?

We were in Korea at a small worship service in a library in Bucheon, a part of the Seoul metro area. I was the supposed outside expert, the pastor from the United States, but I had only the vaguest of answers to her question. I had been there for only two days. I knew little of her Korean context. What’s more, her question was not just her question but mine. 

In these times, when people can be snatched off the street and sent away without due process or any process at all, when universities can be threatened simply for the exercise of free speech, when the apparatus of government can be used to terrify and destroy those to whom the president takes exception, when elections seem imperiled, when the Constitution is routinely violated without recourse, what are Christians to do? It’s a question rooted not only in the experience of the Korean Christians who sat across from me last week in Bucheon or the many American Christians who are seeking answers in my own country but in the experience of those who accompanied Jesus into Jerusalem long ago. It’s a Palm Sunday question.

Korea

Sometimes it helps to step away to frame one’s own experience. I arrived in Seoul late on April 4 to the news that the Korean Constitutional Court had at last upheld the impeachment of former President Yoon Suk-yeol. For weeks before the ruling, downtown Seoul roiled with protests and counter-protests. The country was and still is sharply divided. The Christians with whom I worshiped two days later prayed prayers of deep gratitude for the ruling of the Constitutional Court, but among conservative Protestant Christians, they were much in the minority. Many Christians, perhaps most, supported Yoon and his attempted coup.

The crisis began on December 3, when Yoon declared martial law and commanded Korean special forces to prevent the National Assembly from meeting. Martial law has a history in Korea, having been used to support brutal dictatorships. Under Korean constitutional law, the National Assembly can suspend a declaration of martial law by a majority vote. In the hours that followed Yoon’s late night martial law declaration, members of the National Assembly rushed to their assembly hall to vote to find it surrounded by police. The leader of the opposition party, Lee Jae-myung, dramatically live streamed his trip on YouTube. He was forced to climb a wall in order to get into the hall. Ahn Gwi-ryeong, spokesperson for the opposition party, tried to seize a rifle from a soldier. When the soldier pointed the rifle at her, she responded, “Aren’t you ashamed?” The soldier walked away (story from Wikipedia).  In the end the police and military intervention proved too little, too late, and fortunately lacked conviction. 190 members of the Assembly gathered and voted unanimously, including several members of Yoon’s own party, to suspend martial law. A few hours later, the game up, Yoon appeared on television to rescind the law. 

The immediate crisis thus averted, the National Assembly promptly moved to impeach Yoon. Impeachment in Korean constitutional law must be upheld by the Constitutional Court. The court took its time, while demonstrations raged on both sides, finally ruling on April 4 to uphold the impeachment. Even then, for several days, Yoon refused to leave the official residence, finally departing for his own house on April 11. Elections are next, perhaps in June.

The outcome has been different—Yoon was impeached and convicted; Donald Trump was impeached, twice, but not convicted—but the conflict in South Korea in many respects echoes the conflict in the US. The Yoon playbook was borrowed in part from Trump. Like Trump, Yoon had been accused of corruption. Yoon’s declaration of martial law was at least in part a strategy to stop the National Assembly from investigating him and his wife. He also moved against the media, accusing them of fake news. And he claimed, after his party lost the last election, widespread election fraud. Notably, the martial law declaration sought to remove the National Election Commission. It is not surprising that his followers talk about making Korea great again. Or that pro-Yoon protesters wave American flags. 

Nor is it surprising in the light of this that Yoon enjoys the adamant support of conservative Christian churches. In a New York Times report (March 22, 2025), Choe Sang-Hun highlights the role of pastors and churches in the rallies supporting Yoon:

Polls in recent weeks showed that South Koreans preferred Mr. Yoon’s ouster to his reinstatement roughly three to two. But in a deeply divided nation, Parliament’s decision to impeach him has also galvanized the political right.

On Saturday, tens of thousands of Christian churchgoers, military veterans and other mostly older people occupied the main boulevard in central Seoul, many sitting in neat rows of plastic chairs, holding signs that called for Mr. Yoon’s reinstatement.

A parade of Christian pastors spoke from a raised platform, promising that Mr. Yoon “will return to office with spring winds.”

“Hallelujah!” the crowd erupted.

As one pastor urged the participants to show “thanks to God” for protecting Mr. Yoon, church staff members in orange vests passed through the crowd with blue bags for church donations.

For its support of right-wing politics, the church appears to be paying a price. Protestant church attendance has plummeted in the past few decades. The gap between old and young is worrisome: young people are far less likely to attend church than older people. To many in Korean society, the church seems to prefer a corrupt right-wing authoritarian to the ferment of a free society. In rejecting him, they are forced to reject the church. Or much of it.

America

This is true not only for the Korean church but also for the American church. Evangelical Christianity has closely allied itself with right-wing American politics. Their leaders have supported Donald Trump and his many lies about elections, about immigrants, about other countries, about America cities, about universities, about diversity, about poor people, and just about everything else. They have substituted the religion of the golden bull (see Exodus 32) for the faith of Jesus Christ.

And these churches are likely to pay a price. When the church identifies with power and privilege, the haves against the have nots, the church loses its connection with Jesus Christ and with biblical tradition, and when the church loses its connection with Jesus and biblical tradition, it loses its soul. It becomes another faith altogether. 

Palm Sunday

Which is why we need Palm Sunday. Especially this year. The Palm Sunday story gives the lie to the idea that Jesus is somehow above or beyond politics. To ride into the Jerusalem on a donkey with a crowd shouting messianic phrases from Psalm 118 was an expressly political act organized by Jesus. 

The script is found in Zechariah 9:9-10, which in turn builds on the story of Solomon riding his father’s mule into Jerusalem to claim the throne (1 Kings 1:38-40). The Zechariah prophecy proclaims a new kind of king for a kingdom that extends to the end of the earth. The politics of Jesus leans in the direction of inclusion—a kingdom that includes all people. 

Of course, a demonstration like that of Jesus on Palm Sunday is dangerous. You don’t tweak the nose of the empire as did Jesus without consequences. For Jesus the consequences came in the shape of a Roman cross. But the cross did not end the rule of Jesus. As Jesus says in John, it is from the throne of the cross that he reigns: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself” (John 12:32). In this Jesus brings together for his followers in that peculiar way of Jesus power and powerlessness, kingdom and love.

We are called to earth, and because we are called to earth we are called to power. Power—the ability and responsibility to effect good in the world—is gifted to us. We each have our own kingdom, small or large as it may be. And together we build larger kingdoms. We bear responsibility for these kingdoms individually and collectively. We rule them—or should rule them—as best we can. Politics are a practical art.

But always, if we are to follow and serve Jesus, the principle of these kingdoms must be love. Love in the biblical sense, not violence, not coercion. It is for love that Jesus rode into Jerusalem. It is for love that Jesus mounted the cross. To do so for love is to do what we do, as far as possible, that all may flourish, ourselves and others. 

The Question

The principle I’m trying to work out here is in order to better answer the question I was asked in Bucheon: How should Christians be involved in politics? The question in Bucheon was framed with all the immediate consequences for the Korean Christians among whom I sat. I could not then, nor can I now, answer for them. 

But I must answer for myself, as you must answer for yourself. These times require an answer. The answer as I see it from my limited perspective is yes and no. The yes is a yes to responsibility. Where I can, if I am to be a follower of Jesus, I must stand up to tyranny. I’m called along with you to be the Palm Sunday crowd—not just to cheer on but to pave the way for the coming of a new world of justice and peace. To take the risk of being identified with Jesus. To make his cross our cross. In that sense yes. 

But also no. The actions that I take must not be allowed to slip into my own tyranny, as they so easily do. Why am I cheering with this crowd or that one? Is it because I believe that in taking this action, I will promote justice and peace? Or am I simply choosing up sides, rooting for my team? Is what I do for and from love? Or is it from anger and hatred? There are no easy answers to these questions.

On Sunday at worship, we gathered outside in the intense heat of a Tucson day, and we processed, the unruly mob of us, down the street and around to the doors of the church. For a moment we were in Jerusalem. We sang, “All Glory, Laud, and Honor.” We proclaimed Jesus king: “Thou didst accept their praises; accept the prayers we bring, who in all good delightest, thou good and gracious King.” We raised our voices against the tyrants of the world. We did so, I would like to think, for love. For love of our people and our country and our world. For America and for Korea. 

May every Sunday be Palm Sunday.

Clay