Our Country — and Churches — Need Leaders Who Relinquish Power

Franciscan priest Richard Rohr emphasizes a spirituality of relinquishing.

“All great spirituality is about letting go,” he writes. “Instead, we have made it to be about taking in, attaining, performing, winning, and succeeding … [I]f we do not acquire good training in detachment, we may attach to the wrong things, especially our own self-image and its desire for security.”

No wonder it is so difficult to integrate authentic spirituality into the world of secular politics — which often measures worth in terms of winning and acquiring. The values of our political culture often contradict the wisdom of faithful Christian community. That’s why President Joe Biden’s decision to withdraw his candidacy for reelection felt so breathtaking. Voluntary relinquishment of political power is not commonly seen as a virtuous act, but rather a disorienting, shocking abandonment of prevailing norms.

Our political life puts one’s pride on steroids. Public image becomes a politician’s obsession, and it’s curated constantly on social media. Marvelous stories about one’s accomplishments are intentionally embellished, shading the truth and covering any encounter with one’s shadow self. Deceit creeps in. Defensive protectiveness and counterattacks become normal practice to protect one’s power.

In all this, the greatest danger to the politician’s soul is that one’s identity gets riveted to their accomplishments, enshrined in an external public image. Praise becomes a narcotic, never satisfying one’s deepest inner need. Ambition becomes boundless, restrained only by external obstacles (like term limits and ballot boxes) rather than internal wisdom. Frailties, whether physical, psychological, moral, or spiritual, are ignored, denied, and hidden. And the public comes to expect that politicians will be self-seeking: Shaped by proud grandiosity, they will cling to power and evade the full truth about themselves.

Within this political realm, the words of Jesus are incisive, disconcerting, and radical; they strike at the root, and open the heart. He tells us that only when a grain of wheat dies does it bear much fruit (John 12:24). He insists that if you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it (Matthew 16:25). He asks what it profits someone to gain the whole world but lose one’s soul (Mark 8:36). His words and parables point to a pattern of letting go of control instead of clinging to one’s prerogatives as the pathway to a fulfilled life.

The early emerging church seemed to understand this pattern. The letter to those in Philippi tells them to “do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit” urging them to look “not to your own interests, but to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:3-4). In that way, they are to mirror the self-emptying love of Christ. And Paul tells those in the church at Corinth that he will not boast in strength, for the word he’s heard is: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

So, what are we to make of this message as we are embroiled in our present political drama? The gospel points to the imperative of relinquishing an egocentric self that thrives on achievement. That reputation-driven identity must die if we are to live. That is what both politicians and faith leaders must relinquish to salvage their souls. At its heart, this is a spiritual struggle; instead of finding our security via the familiar societal avenues of achievement and acquisition, we must seek security in something deeper but more mysterious: the ocean of God’s love.

This doesn’t mean we should deny our gifts, abandon our good work for just causes, or forget our service to the marginalized and to the church. The challenge is to ground our identity and security in grace — grace that is sufficient — instead of attaching our hearts and our destiny to our achievements. Prayer is detachment from the fruit of our actions.

Only then do we become free to give ourselves away, with abandon, to joining in God’s work of healing the pain of the world.

So, let’s return to Biden’s journey of relinquishment. I have no doubt, of course, that tanking poll numbers, diminishing donations, and retreating political allies drove his decision to withdraw. But in his pain, I wonder if there was more. And I’m struck by the inspiring message which his sacrificial action has communicated.

Likely, one of Biden’s great difficulties was letting go of his desire to do more: to generate more jobs, to create more health care access, to cut back on more carbon emissions. When he became president, I said he would make an excellent “interim pastor” for our traumatized nation. But sometimes interims find it hard to leave, confusing their role. It’s the same at times for founders of churches and organizations. Their identity becomes wrapped up in their church or organization to the point where it feels impossible to untangle their personhood from their missional achievements. So they cling to what they’ve done rather than face the vulnerable path of relinquishment, emptying themselves.

Many have talked about Biden “passing the torch.” The more apt biblical metaphor is passing on the mantle, as from Elijah to Elisha. As the prophet Elijah was reaching the end of his courageous witness, he passed on his mantle, or cloak, to Elisha. Elisha experienced a “double portion” of Elijah’s capacity to speak and heal. The mantle signified the power of God. And it could get passed on because they both understood that it didn’t belong to either of them. Detachment from the fruit of our actions is what helps any politician or leader relinquish power and pass on the responsibility of service to another.

Henri Nouwen, in his book The Return of the Prodigal Son, says this about what it means for one to know they are held only and fully in God’s embracing love:

As the Beloved, I can confront, console, admonish and encourage without fear of rejection or need of affirmation. As the Beloved, I can suffer persecution without desire for revenge and receive praise without using it as a proof of my goodness.

I’d want to support any leader who had that quote framed and put on their desk — or made it their home page — and reflected daily on what it would mean to live and act that way. One who did so would know when and how to relinquish power.

I don’t pretend to know anything in depth about Biden’s spirituality. He is, of course, a devout Catholic. When he recovers from COVID-19, he will go back to Mass, the regular practice of his life. Then, I hope that as he prays and receives the sacrament, he may hear those words: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.”