The Party Politics of Jesus

By Curtis Chang

Contemporary American politics may be polarized compared to our recent history, but it’s tame compared to politics in first-century Israel.

Jesus lived in a society suffering under Roman occupation, which split people along ideological, party, and policy lines. Jews of the first century had different ideas about what to do with the Roman Empire. Some wanted to cooperate with the invaders, while others wanted to oppose them.

This ideological split was expressed in two sets of opposing religio-political parties:

1. Cooperation with the Romans

  • Sadducees
  • Herodians
  • Tax Collectors

2. Oppose the Romans

  • Pharisees
  • Siccari
  • Zealots

You might be surprised to see the Pharisees categorized as a political party, since the Pharisees have been popularly mischaracterized as a group that cared only about religious legalism in private morality and spirituality. But the Pharisees’ strict adherence to the law was because of their belief that God would eject the Roman oppressors (and the Jews who had cooperated with them) only when enough Jews returned to God’s side.

Strict obedience to the Jewish law was how they drew the circle around “God’s side.” The Pharisees conceived of themselves as true Jewish patriots, intent on restoring Israel to its former glory as an independent nation.

Note the last oppositional pairing of parties: the tax collectors versus the Zealots. These two sides squared off on the hot-button policy issue of their day: Roman taxation. Like most colonial powers, Rome wanted to reap financial benefits from their occupation, and like many colonizers, they used natives to do the dirty work of collection. The Roman government had created a class of Jewish “tax collectors” to execute their tax policies.

Zealots were bitterly resentful of this Roman tax policy—and those who collaborated with it. Many Zealots believed violent action was warranted against the Romans and their Jewish collaborators. According to ancient historians, the Zealot movement was founded in Jesus’ neighborhood when he was a boy. This happened around 6 CE when Judas of Galilee (not Judas Iscariot, who later betrayed Jesus) led a tax revolt during which he and his followers burned the homes of tax collectors and plundered their property.

As the Zealots targeted the tax collectors, the Roman military (which was charged with protecting the tax collectors) targeted the Zealots. Roman legions crushed the first Zealot movement, and Judas of Galilee ended up crucified on a Roman cross. Crucifixion was a powerful political statement, one the Romans reserved for political rebels. Mere criminals were not crucified (the two individuals crucified next to Jesus were not petty thieves; a more accurate translation is that they were politically motivated bandits). The sheer brutality of the punishment—and why it was expressly reserved for political crimes—was Rome’s warning: cooperate with their policies or die.

Judas of Galilee’s revolt, and the cycle of violence it unleashed, took place just decades before the Gospels were written. Everyone, on all sides, would have remembered it. The tax collector who encountered the adult Jesus may very well have inherited the vocation from his father. He might have grown up scarred by a family history of having their property plundered by Zealots in the name of patriotism. The Zealot movement rebounded from its initial defeat and was growing in Jesus’ time, especially in Galilee. Around the dinner table of Zealot families, men undoubtedly told the tales of their fallen heroes and complained about the latest oppressive taxes and rules.

In all eras, the political stories we tell ourselves shape us, even across generations. In societies that are already divided by larger forces, this framework tends to accelerate adherents down a path of ever-increasing polarization, especially when there is no other kind of story to counterbalance its tendencies toward cycles of resentment, conflict, and even violence. The danger that emerges when the what of politics framework becomes fused indistinguishably with religious identity.

It’s one thing to believe that our religious commitments can and should inform our political commitments—there’s nothing inherently wrong or dangerous about that. But it’s another thing—a wrong and dangerous thing—to claim that our religion and our politics are one and the same.

The Life of the Party

Our politics today echo the dynamics of the politics in Jesus’ day. Two camps have squared off, with both sides drawing the boundaries by using religious and political markers, which in turn redraws our social boundaries. The resulting lines solidify into walls dividing who is in and who is out, who is us and who is them.

These boundaries get so hardened in our own minds that when someone comes along and messes with those lines, it can feel uncomfortable. That person can mess with the stories we tell in our minds.

Jesus was such a person in his day. He still is today.

Jesus loved parties, the social kind. We know this because his teachings consistently featured illustrations drawn from the party context. The Gospels are full of accounts of him attending dinner parties, helping wedding parties by getting everyone replenished with the best drinks, and hosting his own intimate meals. He received so many party invitations, and accepted so many, that his critics accused him of being “a glutton and a drunkard” (Matt. 11:19). He seems to have possessed the personality that made people want to invite him to their parties and also want to attend his parties.

But his party life messed with party lines. He accepted party invitations from Pharisees (Luke 7:36; 14:1–14). But he also invited himself to the house of Zacchaeus, a chief tax collector (Luke 19:1–6), an act that raised eyebrows: “All the people saw this and began to mutter, ‘He has gone to be the guest of a sinner’ ” (Luke 19:7). In multiple accounts, the Pharisees criticized him in front of his disciples: “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” (Mark 2:16).

This was no accident. Jesus threw social parties that deliberately messed with political party lines. Jesus hung out with the twelve disciples most of all. They worked, traveled, ate around campfires, and socialized together (John 21:9).

Who were the members of this inner circle? Read how the gospel of Matthew describes the core “Jesus Party”: “The names of the twelve apostles are these: first, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother; James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother; Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James the son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus; Simon the Zealot, and Judas Iscariot, who betrayed him” (Matt. 10:1–4 ESV, emphasis added).

Most of the disciples are identified in traditional fashion, by their family identity (“son of so-and-so”). But the Bible goes out of its way to identify two by their politics: “Matthew the tax collector and Simon the Zealot.”

Years of sitting under the teaching of Jesus transformed the mindsets of Matthew the tax collector and Simon the Zealot. Note that this transformation was much more than the superficial “avoid politics at the dinner table” tactic that, at best, works only to help you white-knuckle your way through a Thanksgiving dinner. Jesus did not require Simon and Matthew to check their politics at the door. The invite list in Matthew 10 identifies them by their political labels as “Simon the Zealot” and “Matthew the tax collector” and expects later readers to still recognize them by their political labels and differences.

A change deeper and more durable than short-term conflict management happened to the disciples. Jesus transformed their political thinking into something new.

The Big Shift

Jesus shifted his disciples away from remaining exclusively preoccupied with the existing what of politics to an increasing commitment to his distinctive how of politics. This how of politics begins with the spiritual values that Jesus taught, including love, forgiveness, mercy, justice, truth, and two more values The After Party will especially focus on: hope and humility.

An emphasis on spiritual values messes with the emphasis on ideology. Most political ideologies are defined by opposing contrasts: for example, a liberal favors a more active government while a conservative insists on a more limited government.

The ideology emphasis casts people into mutually exclusive camps. To remain a Zealot, you can only oppose your enemy. To remain a tax collector, you can only cooperate with your enemy.

But notice what happens when you make the Big Shift to the spiritual value of love. With this change, both the Zealot and the tax collector can adopt the same spiritual value: “love your enemies” (which Jesus commands his disciples to do in Matthew 5:43–44). They both can shift to a spiritual plane—a move that does not require them to completely abandon their differing what ideological commitments.

But here’s the key: both must adopt the same Jesus how, such that how they oppose or cooperate with Rome now must be informed by love. Love encompasses both ideological options: it is quite possible to simultaneously oppose and cooperate with someone you love. Just ask any happily married couple.

The example of love demonstrates how the Big Shift emphasizes relationships. The spiritual values of Jesus almost always flow into relationships. How do you forgive your enemy unless you are engaging with your enemy enough to feel hurt by him (Mark 11:25)? How do you practice humility except in a context where you are in conversation with the other side and you consider yourself to be right and they are wrong?

This shift to relationships messes with the what of party. A political party is defined by the collective drive to win, to defeat the opposing political party. A relationship is defined by the personal drive to connect with another person.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus shows how the Big Shift from policy to practice opens up creative new possibilities that minds narrowly locked in the what framework could never dream of.

Jesus intended his teaching to apply to political behavior. To drive this point home, he follows up his subversive teaching on going the extra mile by referencing the political parties that were hated by his mostly pro-Zealot audience: “If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that?” (Matt. 5:46–47, emphases mine).

In the audience’s political story, it was clear who was cast in the role of enemies: the tax collectors and the pagans (the latter was another term for the Romans).

His command radically changes their narrative: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven” (Matt. 5:43–45). Jesus is calling them to shift to the how of spiritual values (love), to relationship (with their political enemies), and to new practices (prayer for those enemies).

Christians can still care about the what of politics. But as we pursue the what of politics, the Jesus how must take priority. No political stakes can justify exempting ourselves from the how of spiritual values, relationships, and practices commanded by Jesus.

Adapted from The After Party: Toward Better Christian Politics, by Curtis Chang and Nancy French. Click here to learn more about his book.

For the exhausted, the hurting, and the faithful, The After Party helps reframe our political identity away from the “what” of political positions and toward the “how” being centered on Jesus.

This paradigm-shifting book complements The After Party Project—a six-part, video-based, highly interactive curriculum that provides churches, small groups, and individuals with an on-the-ground, biblically based approach to a very complex topic.

The After Party: Toward Better Christian Politics helps readers who feel despair about political divisiveness:

  • Engage with others across political differences
  • Learn specific steps to reframe political identity outside of partisan divides
  • Focus on how we relate to one another as Jesus teaches before moving to the what of political topics

The After Party is ideal for:

  • Republicans, Democrats, and Independents looking for renewed hope and humility for our nation
  • Local leaders seeking to counter animosity toward political opponents, susceptibility to lies, and other practices that threaten the common good
  • Congregations, classes, and small groups watching The After Party video series
  • Pastors who want to encourage their congregants to trade their partisan mindsets for the mind of Christ

It’s not too late.

Curtis Chang is a public theologian and consulting faculty member of Duke Divinity School and a senior fellow at Fuller Theological Seminary. Curtis has recently written for the New York Times and Christianity Today and has appeared on CNN, CBS, ABC, NBC, PBS, and NPR’s All Things Considered. Curtis is also the host of the Good Faith podcast and author of The Anxiety Opportunity.

Nancy French is a five-time New York Times bestselling author. Her most recent is her personal memoir, Ghosted: An American Story. As a ghostwriter, she has written for a variety of people, from Republican politicians to reality TV stars. As an award-winning investigative journalist, she uncovered sexual and spiritual abuse in America’s largest Christian camp.