News21 A Journalism Initiative of the Carnegie and Knight Foundations

Senator Barack Obama (D-Illinois)
A Politics of Conscience
Hartford CT – United Church of Christ General Synod
June 23, 2007

Obama delivered this speech to more than 12,000 members of the United Church of Christ at their biannual synod. The text as prepared for delivery can be seen here at the Senator’s website. Below is a video clip of the full speech and the text of his speech as he gave it, transcribed from audio.

Links are included to speeches or addresses in which Obama has said similar things before. The Call to Renewal Speech, which shows up throughout, is what Obama’s director of religious outreach called a comprehensive summation of the Senator’s beliefs.

Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you so much.

Thank you.

God bless you all. Thank you so much to all my brothers and sisters in the United Church of Christ. I want to begin by thanking Rev. John Thomas for his outstanding leadership. On behalf of the General Synod, I want to thank Edith Guthrie, who’s been so helpful to us and to everyone who’s involved in this wonderful event.

I want to acknowledge the members of Collegium of Officers; my Illinois Conference minister, Rev. Dr. Jane Fisler Hoffman. (applause) The Illinois contingent over here, it sounds like.

To all the delegates and visitors, and of course, my pastor, Dr. Rev. Jeremiah A. Wright, Jr. And my fellow members of Trinity United Church of Christ on 95th St. on the South Side of Chicago. And in case you guys haven’t been there, everybody’s invited. Any time you are in Chicago. Because we can – the Spirit moves in Trinity. And we’ve got a pretty good choir too.

You know, it’s great to be here. I’ve been speaking to a lot of churches recently, so it’s nice to be speaking to one that’s so familiar. I understand you switched venues at considerable expense and inconvenience because of unfair labor practices at the place you were going to be having the synod. And that tells me that the past 50 years have not weakened your resolve as faithful witnesses of the gospel, and I’m glad to see that.

It’s been several months now since I announced I was running for president. And in that time, I’ve had the chance to talk with Americans all across this country. And I’ve found that no matter where I am, or who I’m talking to, there’s a common theme that emerges. It’s that folks are hungry for change – they’re desperate for something new. They’re ready to turn the page on the old politics and the old policies – whether it’s the war in Iraq or the health care crisis we’re in, or a school system that’s leaving too many children behind despite the slogans.

But what’s fascinating to me is that I also get the sense that there’s a hunger that’s deeper than that – a hunger that goes beyond any single cause or any single issue. Because it seems to me that each day, thousands of Americans are going about their lives – they’re dropping the kids off at school, they’re driving to work, they’re shopping at the mall, trying to stay on their diets, they’re trying to kick a cigarette habit – and they’re coming to the realization that something is missing. They’re deciding that their work, their possessions, their diversions, their sheer busyness, is not enough.

They want a sense of purpose, a narrative arc to their lives. They’re looking to relieve a chronic loneliness. And so they need an assurance that somebody out there cares about them, that somebody is listening to them – that they’re not just destined to travel down that long road toward nothingness.

And this restlessness – this search for meaning, I understand – it is familiar to me. I was not raised in a particularly religious household.

My father, who I didn’t know, returned to Kenya when I was just two. He was nominally a Muslim that’s – the village where in which he had been born was a Muslim village. But by the time he was a young adult, he was an atheist. But my mother, whose parents were non-practicing Baptists and Methodists. And there’s a whole bunch of stuff between Baptists and Methodists back in small-town Kansas in the 30s and 40s, my grandmother tried to explain to me – because she was Methodist and they were elevated a little bit higher, according to here, in the small town where they grew up. But my mother – who came from small-town Kansas -- was one of the most spiritual souls that I ever knew. She had this enormous capacity for wonder. She understood how life could be lived by the Golden Rule. And yet she had a healthy skepticism of religion as an institution. Perhaps because in the churches that she had seen as a child, she had heard church deacons utter racial epithets. And had seen that actions didn’t always match up to the words that were being preached from the pulpit. And so she developed this skepticism, and as a consequence, so did I.

It wasn’t until after college, when I went to work in Chicago as a community organizer for a group of Christian churches, that I confronted my own spiritual dilemma.

In a sense, what brought me to Chicago in the first place was a hunger for some sort of meaning in my life. I’d been inspired by the civil rights movement – inspired by young people – straight-backed, clear-eyed – pouring into the South because they wanted to create a better world. I wanted to be part of that – I had been too young at the time to participate in the civil rights movement, but I wanted in some way to feel a part – a small part of the continuing battle for justice by helping rebuild some of Chicago’s poorest neighborhoods.

So it’s 1985, and I’m in Chicago, and I’m working with these churches, with lots of laypeople who are much older than I am. And I found that I recognized in these people a part of myself. I learned that everybody I met had a sacred story to tell when you took the time to listen to them. And I discovered that they recognized a part of themselves in me too. They saw that I knew their Scriptures – at least intellectually – and that many of the values I held and that propelled me in my work were values that they shared. But I think they also sensed that a part of me remained removed, remained detached. That skepticism was still lodged in me They understood that I was an observer in some sense their midst.

And some of the pastors who I was working with – they would smile and nod during the course of a meeting, and one of them would wink at another one and would say, ‘Now, Barack, what member – what church are you?’ And I’d mutter and I’d hem and haw, and they’d say, ‘You know, it might be easier to organize churches if you went to church sometime.’

And slowly, I came to realize that something was missing as well – that without an anchor for my beliefs, without a commitment to a particular community of faith, at some level I would always remain an observer. I would always remain apart. I would always remain in some sense – alone.

And it’s around this time, that these pastors who had asked me if I was going to be going to a church gave me a little more of a prod, and I thought, ‘Well, that makes sense.’

So one Sunday, I put on one of the few clean jackets I had – because I was only getting paid $13,000 a month, plus car expenses. A year. What did I say? A month. That would have been pretty good. I would have stayed a community organizer. I was getting paid $13,000 a year, plus car expenses. So, I didn’t have many – I haven’t had a lot of fancy clothes – but I figured I should get dressed up. I wore a jacket. Didn’t have a tie. Like – apparently I still can’t afford one.

And so I go over to Trinity United Church of Christ on 95th Street. And I heard Reverend Jeremiah A. Wright deliver a sermon called “The Audacity of Hope.” And during the course of that sermon, he introduced me to someone – named Jesus Christ. I learned that my sins could be redeemed. I learned that those things I was too weak to accomplish myself, He would accomplish with me if I placed my trust in Him. And in time, I came to see faith as more than just a comfort to the weary or a hedge against death, but rather as an active, palpable agent in the world and in my own life.

It was because of these newfound understandings that I was finally able to walk down the aisle of Trinity one day and affirm my Christian faith. And I say to all of you, it came about as a choice, and not an epiphany. I didn’t fall out in church, like sometime folks do, at least in Trinity. I don’t’ know if they do that in some of the other congregations. So, I didn’t fall out. I made a decision. And by the way, the questions, some of the doubts I had didn’t magically disappear. The skeptical bent of my mind didn’t suddenly vanish. But kneeling beneath that cross on the South Side, I felt I heard God’s spirit beckoning me. I submitted myself to His will, and dedicated myself to discovering His truths and carrying out His works.

Now, my journey is part of a larger journey – one shared by all who’ve ever sought to apply the values of their faith to our society. It’s a journey that takes us back to our nation’s founding, when none other than a UCC church inspired the Boston Tea Party. We were troublemakers even back then. We were shaking things back then. We helped bring an Empire to its knees. In the following century, men and women of faith waded into the battles over prison reform and temperance, public education and women’s rights – and above all, abolition. And when the Civil War was fought and our country was dedicated to a new birth of freedom, they took on the problems of an industrialized nation – fighting the crimes against society and the sins against God that they felt were being committed in our factories and in our slums.

And when these battles were overtaken by others and when the wars they opposed were waged and won, these faithful foot soldiers for justice kept marching. They stood on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, as the blows of billy clubs rained down. They held vigils across this country when four little girls were killed in the 16th Street Baptist Church. They cheered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial when Dr. King delivered his prayer for our country. And in all these ways, they helped make this country more decent and more just.

So doing the Lord’s work is a thread that runs through our politics since the very beginning. And it puts the lie to the notion that the separation of church and state in America – a principle that we all must uphold, a principle that I have embraced, as a constitutional lawyer, but more importantly, as a Christian – that the notion of separation and church in this country somehow means that faith should have no role in public life. I dispute that. Imagine Lincoln’s Second Inaugural without its reference to “the judgments of the Lord.” Or King’s “I Have a Dream” speech without its reference to “all of God’s children.” Or President Kennedy’s Inaugural without the words, “here on Earth, God’s work must truly be our own.” At each of these junctures, by summoning a higher truth and embracing a universal faith, our leaders inspired ordinary people to achieve extraordinary things.

But somehow, somewhere along the way, faith stopped being used to bring us together. Faith started being used to drive us apart. Faith got hijacked. Partly it’s because of the so-called leaders of the Christian Right, who’ve been all too eager to exploit what divides us. At every opportunity, they’ve told evangelical Christians that Democrats disrespect their values and dislike their Church, while suggesting to the rest of the country that religious Americans care only about issues like abortion and gay marriage; school prayer and intelligent design. There was even a time when the Christian Coalition determined that its number one legislative priority was tax cuts for the rich. I don’t know what Bible they were reading. I’ve been looking at what version that was – was it the King James version? Or New Standardized? I don’t know, but it didn’t jibe with any versions I read. It was this whole thing about a camel going through the eye of a …. awww.

But here’s the thing, I’m hopeful because I think there’s an awakening taking place in America. People are coming together around a simple truth – that we are all connected, that I am my brother’s keeper; I am my sister’s keeper.

And that it’s not enough to just believe this – to proclaim the words – we have to do our part to make it a reality. My faith teaches me that I can sit in church and pray all I want, but I won’t be fulfilling God’s will unless I go out and do the Lord’s work. That’s something that the UCC has known for a long time.

But I’m also encouraged by the fact that pastors, friends of mine in the evangelical community like Rick Warren and T.D. Jakes and organizations like World Vision and Catholic Charities are wielding their enormous influence to confront poverty, HIV and AIDS, and the genocide in Darfur. Religious leaders like my friends Rev. Jim Wallis, Rabbi David Saperstein and Nathan Diament are working for justice and fighting for change. And all across the country, communities of faith are sponsoring day care programs, building senior centers, and in so many other ways, taking part in the project of American renewal.

And what we also understand, though, is that our values should express themselves not just through our churches or synagogues, temples or mosques; they should express themselves through our government.

Because whether it’s poverty or racism, the uninsured or the unemployed, war or peace, the challenges we face today are not simply technical problems in search of the perfect ten-point plan. They are moral problems, rooted in societal indifference and individual callousness – in the imperfections of man. The cruelties of man towards man, and so we have to reach into ourselves – there’s a spiritual dimension to the work that we do.

And so long as we’re not doing everything in our personal and collective power to solve them, we know the conscience of our nation cannot rest.

Our conscience can’t rest so long as 37 million Americans are poor and forgotten by their leaders in Washington. We need to heed the biblical call to care for “the least of these” and lift the poor out of despair. That’s why – it’s not just a policy issue – we fight to expand the Earned Income Tax Credit and the minimum wage. It’s a moral issue If you’re working forty hours a week, you should not be living in poverty. But we also know that government initiatives are not enough. Each of us in our own lives needs to do what we can to help the poor. And until we do, our conscience cannot rest.

Our conscience can’t rest so long as nearly 45 million Americans don’t have health insurance and the millions more who do are going bankrupt trying to pay for it. I have made a solemn pledge that I will sign a universal health care bill into law by the end of my first term as president of these United States that will cover every single American and cut the typical family’s premiums. We can do this. It’s not simply a matter of policy or ideology – it’s a moral commitment. We can do this. It’s a matter of conscience, it’s a moral commitment.

This is a matter of conscience that we stop the genocide that’s being carried out in Darfur. Until the killing stops, our conscience cannot rest. This is a problem that’s brought together churches and synagogues and mosques and people of all faiths as part of a grassroots movement. Universities and states, including Illinois, are taking part in a divestment campaign to pressure the Sudanese government to stop the killings. It’s helping. It’s not enough, but it’s helping. Young people in particular are inspiring because they understand that there is nothing to excuse the inaction in the face of atrocity. And it’s a testament to what we can achieve when good people with strong convictions stand up for their beliefs. It’s not just Darfur.

Our conscience cannot rest until we close Guantanamo Bay and stop tolerating the torture of our enemies. That is not who we are, UCC. It’s not who we are, America. It’s not consistent with our traditions of justice and fairness. It offends our conscience. It offends our conscience to detain people without charge. It offends our conscience to suspend habeas corpus. It offends our traditions as Americans.

Our conscience cannot rest so long as the war goes on in Iraq. It’s a war that I’m proud I opposed from the start – a war that should never have been authorized. A war that should never been waged. Even then it was a bad idea. We knew then it was going to cost us billions of dollars and thousands of lives and going to make us less safe in the world. We knew it then. You know, I have a plan that would have already begun redeploying our troops out of Iraq with the goal of bringing all our combat brigades out by March 31st of next year. The President vetoed a similar plan, but the President doesn’t have the last word. We’re going to keep at it – we’re going to keep organizing – until we bring this war to an end. Because the Iraq war is not just a security problem, it is also a moral problem.

It’s a matter of conscience, just as it’s a matter of conscience that there are 12 million undocumented immigrants in America, most of them working in our communities, attending churches, many contributing to our country.

Now, as children of God, we believe in the worth and dignity of every human being; it doesn’t matter where that person comes from or what documents they have. They are still children of God. We believe that everyone, everywhere should be loved, and given the chance to work, and raise a family. That’s what we believe as Christians.

But as Americans, we also know that this is a nation of laws, and we cannot have those laws broken with impunity. We can’t have 2,000 people crossing our borders illegally every day. We can’t ignore that we have a right and a duty to protect our borders. And we cannot ignore the very real concerns of Americans who are not worried about illegal immigration simply because they are racist or xenophobic, but because they fear it will result in lower wages when they’re already struggling to raise a family. There are legitimate concerns on both sides.

And so this will be a difficult debate that we’re going to be having in Congress next week. Consensus and compromise will not come easy. Last time we took up immigration reform, it failed. But we can’t walk away this time. Our conscience cannot rest until we not only secure our borders, which we must do, but until we give the 12 million undocumented immigrants in this country a chance to rise up out of the shadows, a chance to pay a fine and wait in line behind all those who came here legally – but to become a part of this community that is recognized – so that they no longer have to live in fear and so that they no longer are depressing the wages of Americans because they now have rights that are being observed..

We will all have to make concessions to achieve this. That’s what compromise is about. But at the end of the day, we cannot walk away – simply because we need to pass a bill, but so that we can finally address the real concerns of Americans and the persistent hopes of all those brothers and sisters who want nothing more than their own chance at our common dream.

These are some of the challenges that test our conscience – as Americans and as people of faith. And meeting them won’t be easy. There is real evil in this world, there is hardship, and there’s pain and there’s suffering in the world. We should be humble in our belief that we can eliminate all that hardship and all that heartache. But we shouldn’t use our humility as an excuse for inaction. We shouldn’t use the obstacles we face as an excuse for cynicism. We have to do what we can, knowing it’s hard and not swinging from a naïve idealism to bitter defeatism – but rather, accepting the fact that we’re not going to solve every problem overnight, but we can still make a difference.

We can recognize the truth that is at the heart of the UCC: that the conversation is not over; that our roles are not defined; that through ancient texts and modern voices, God is still speaking, challenging us to change not just our own lives, but change the world around us. We are His instrument. We are His vessel. We can bring about changes.

I’m hearing from evangelicals who may not agree with progressives on every issue but agree that poverty has no place in a world of plenty; that hate and bigotry have no place in the hearts of believers; and that we all have to be good stewards of God’s creation. From Willow Creek to the ‘emerging churches,’ from the Southern Baptist Convention to the National Association of Evangelicals, folks are realizing that the four walls of the church are too small for a big God. God is still speaking to us. God is still speaking to us.

I’m hearing from progressives who understand that if we want to communicate our hopes and values as Americans, we can’t abandon the field of religious discourse.

That’s why organizations are rising up across the country to reclaim the language of faith to bring about change. They understand that God is still speaking to us.

He’s still speaking to our Catholic friends – who are holding up a consistent ethic of life that goes beyond abortion – one that includes a respect for life and dignity whether it’s in Iraq, in poor neighborhoods, in African villages or even on death row. They’re telling me that their conversation about what it means to be Catholic continues. They’re questioning. They’re doubting. But they understand that God is still speaking to us.

Right here in the UCC, we’re hearing from God about what it means to be a welcoming church that holds on to our Christian witness. The UCC is still listening because God is still speaking to us.

Now, some of you may have heard me talk awhile back in Selma, Alabama, about the Joshua generation.

I was relating to – my relationship to the civil rights movement. And how that previous generation that marched and got hosed and were beaten and they were like Moses. They might not be getting to the Promised Land, but we wouldn’t be there without them. And there’s a story I want to share that takes place before Moses passed the mantle of leadership on to Joshua. It comes from Deuteronomy 30 when Moses talks to his followers about the challenges they’ll find when they reach the Promised Land without him. To the Joshua generation, these challenges seem momentous – and they were. And Moses says: What I am commanding you is not too difficult for you or beyond your reach. It is not up in the heaven. Nor is it beyond the sea. No, the word is very near. It is on your lips and in your heart. It is on your lips, it is in your heart.

It’s an idea that’s often forgotten or dismissed in cynical times. Sometimes people talk about how I am talking about hope all the time in the press. It’s a little cynical. They say, ‘Oh, he’s a hope-monger. He’s a hope-peddler.’ But that’s ok. It’s a very simple concept that we all have the power within ourselves to make a better world. We all have the capacity to do justice and show mercy. We all have a chance to treat others with dignity and respect. We all have a chance to rise above what divides us and come together to meet those challenges we can’t meet alone. It’s the wisdom Moses imparted to those who would succeed him, us, the Joshua generation. And it’s a lesson we need to remember today – as members of that Joshua generation.

So let us rededicate ourselves to a new kind of politics – a politics of conscience. Let’s come together – Protestant and Catholic, Muslim and Hindu and Jew, believer, and yes, non-believer alike.

We’re not going to agree on everything, but we can disagree without being disagreeable. We can affirm our faith without endangering the separation of church and state, as long as we understand that when we’re in the public square, we have to speak in universal terms that everyone can understand.

And if we can do that – if we can embrace a common destiny – then I believe we’ll not just help bring about a more hopeful day in America, we’ll not just be caring for our own souls, we’ll do God’s work right here on this precious Earth. Thank you very much.

Click here to see what presidents have said about faith in the past

"We can affirm our faith without endangering the separation of church and state, as long as we understand that when we’re in the public square, we have to speak in universal terms that everyone can understand."

After delivering his address and accepting the applause, Obama stepped away from the podium in a moment of quiet reflection.

Photo by Lynae Anderson