I’m on social media. I see what my family, neighbors, and fellow church members post about politics. Some I agree with, some I don’t. In 2020, I recall one Sunday afternoon coming home from church and responding to a fellow congregant’s Facebook post about the upcoming presidential election. I took the bait and weighed in with a different perspective. We spent the next hour posting replies back and forth—other church attendees liking either my or his responses. It became a real-time chance to choose sides. A chance to divide.
Finally, I’d had enough. This isn’t who I wanted to be. This family had watched our son when we went out of town. I’d spent countless hours serving alongside his wife when we worked with the youth at church. I had a decision to make. Did I want our relationship defined by who we intended to vote for? Did I want my political identity to be the primary lens through which to view them?
I told my husband to pack up the family in the minivan (with dog Milo in tow). I wrapped up some freshly baked chocolate chip banana bread and made a sign that said: “Make America Bake Again.” He was surprised when he answered the door to find our family on his front steps. My message was simple: “You are my friend. We have so much more in common than that Facebook exchange suggests. I don’t want to forget that.”
I wish I could say I always respond thoughtfully to politically divisive situations. I don’t. But I sincerely want to, especially as we decide within families, cities, and our state who we want to be after a divisive 2024 election. One thing is clear: I want to be more than my political identity. And my family, my city, my state, and my nation need me to be.
On any given Thursday night, you can enter the multipurpose room at a meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in south Gilbert, Arizona, and experience joy. The room is filled with forty adults with special needs and their teenage “buddies.” The Special Needs Activity Program (SNAP) provides a fun weekly social event for adults with disabilities and gives area teenagers the opportunity to serve. A dedicated group of adults runs this labor-intensive program as a service to the community.
The blindness, cerebral palsy, and epilepsy that often define my 19-year-old son, Mattie, seem almost set aside as he giggles, sings, and dances with his buddies. Most attendees with disabilities are developmentally delayed, giving the room a giddy teenage vibe—in the best way possible. No matter what else is happening in the world, in our home, we know that Thursday nights are SNAP nights.
I know a bit about the political leanings of some adults who serve at SNAP. Some I agree with, some I don’t. What if I decided that who they vote for matters more than the beautiful service they offer my sweet Mattie each week? What if I curated my life to include only political allies, at the expense of seeing the abundant good in people who voted differently? Worst of all, what if I inadvertently teach my children to limit their exposure only to those who think just like them?
I am blessed to be part of a church community that—by its structure, in which geography determines your congregation—helps me find common ground even amid political differences. My life is enriched by the opportunity to regularly engage in civil society, leaving politics behind. I have the chance to build community.
The concern raised in Robert Putnam’s Bowling Alone has never been more relevant: “The decline of social capital is one of the most pressing problems facing our society.” Social capital doesn’t grow when we buy into the norms of polarization. It decreases when we opt out of social, neighborhood, and family gatherings because the only lens through which we see the world is politics. We don’t grow connectedness by cutting off ties.
What can you do to embrace your different identities and deliberately be in community with those who vote differently from you? How can you leave politics at the door and remember what connects you with others? What changes can you make to fight the tide of division? The strength of our nation depends on our ability to see ourselves—and others—as more than who we vote for. Our country needs you and me to be more than our political identities.