How To Preach To The Choir

My boss gave me a book today. The title could be roughly paraphrased as "101 Reasons You Already Know For Thinking What You Already Think." It was, in other words, a sermon to the choir. It is also the kind of book I probably wouldn't read even if I was getting paid for it (which I suppose I am) because I find it a waste of time to page through a document that exists for like-minded people to pat each other on the back about having the Right Beliefs. Don't bother talking if you're only going to tell me something I want to hear. The irony of preaching to the choir is one of the most annoying pitfalls of public discourse, conjuring up to me images of a marionette parson spouting canned platitudes while a crowd of the already-converted stands behind him, hymnals at the ready, nodding self-satisfied assent in bobble-headed unison.

There is no challenge in this kind of discourse. There is no realism, no honor, no passion, and no progress. We see far too much of it, from the ivory tower to the mass media; people huddled together with like-minded people, whose rhetoric spirals around the need to prove to themselves that they are justified in channeling their outrage into a like-minded comfort zone.

It might sound hypocritical, after that, to say that I was a convert to the Obama mission the first time I heard him speak. I was watching the 2004 Democratic National Convention Keynote with my mouth hanging open, wondering who was this guy who seemed to have taken my own ideals of national identity and written them in vibrant letters on his banner of hope. I've been in the choir ever since, and I'm not sure I'll ever get tired of listening to Obama preach.

Unlike most of the self-appointed prophets and pundits who hold court in the blogs, in the press, and on the campaign trail, Obama grasps the difference between a choir and a chorus line. The disappointment I feel in reading my boss's self-affirming books comes from the knowledge that their circulation is limited to people who think exactly the same way I do, who thought that way before they read the book, and who will continue to think and act in the same bubble once they've put it down. This kind of closed loop has no momentum, and we're past the point where we can afford to watch politicians bow, pander, and chase their tails. Obama's supporters are not yes-men. His message does not rely on everyone getting together in the green room to learn a pre-choreographed routine. Most of the men and women who are flocking to his standard are people who until now were convinced the choir was not for them. Our advantage is in our dissimilarity, in the tide of cacaphony that makes our harmony rich, and in our common realization that something remarkable is bringing us together.

Good preaching is a hard skill to come by. It takes great eloquence to convince the cynics that your cause is worth believing in; it takes great leadership to show the disillusioned that their actions matter; and it takes great heart to tell people what they may not want to hear and still promise that we have reasons to hope. Obama can preach without self-righteousness and unite us through our challenges, not our blind assent. He understands the two key obligations of the pulpit: you must tell people what they need to do, not just what they want to hear; and even when a mighty choir has got your back, you must give them their chance to sing.