We’re often told to vote based on our values. Which is probably good advice. The difficulty is that our values are many, and no one candidate or party shares those values in the same way. So we have to prioritize which values to promote above the others.

But as I head out to vote today, another possibility came to me: What if we voted based on our sins? What if we voted as repentance?

Follow me here.

Whatever is meant by “sin” matters and greatly influences what is meant by “repent.” I’m going with these definitions: 

History is always a mixed bag. Rarely is it all bad. I have much to be thankful for and rejoice in. Yet sometimes one can’t help look back and recall the crops that were stolen. To mourn what what was lost. To grieve dreams that never came into reality. To wonder what could have been. To live with some intangible sense of regret that you can’t name clearly enough to shake off. To name the shame that comes from barren fields.

We live by faith, not by touch.

We live by faith, not by taste.

We live by faith, not by smell.

We live by faith, not by hearing.

Is more significant than whoever is behind you or beside you. Whoever you’re following is more important than whoever is following behind you or partnering beside you. Your guide is the single most important person in the equation.

Everyone follows someone. That’s leadership 101.

Sometimes looks like an intentional shipwreck. Because losing your ship on a sandbar beats drowning at sea.

When daylight came, they did not recognize the land, but they saw a bay with a sandy beach, where they decided to run the ship aground if they could… [The centurion] ordered those who could swim to jump overboard first and get to land. The rest were to get there on planks or on other pieces of the ship. In this way everyone reached land safely.

Acts 27:39, 43b-44

Everyone who gets on a ship has a destination in mind. No one gets on a ship hoping for a shipwreck. But life being what it is, unpredictable challenges sometimes force us to make hard decisions.

Everyone needs private encouragement. A quiet word that no one else may ever hear. A word of thanks, a naming of strengths, a calling out of unique and beautiful gifts. We need this because we are prone to see only the worst in ourselves.

Everyone also needs public praise. A word that others are allowed to overhear. A word of thanks, a naming of strengths, a calling out of unique and beautiful gifts. We need this because we are prone to imagine that others see only the worst in us.

This was the first message from the risen Jesus to his disciples. It was given to the women, who were the first to hear the earth-shattering news of the resurrection:

The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.”

Matthew 28:5-7

Why Galilee? This was home for most if not all of the disciples. “Go home. And stay home. And wait.” It strikes me today that this might have seemed rather like a step backward for the disciples, or at least mundane.

It just has to be. It doesn’t have to strategize and schedule and strain to bear its fruit. It just has to sit. Soak in the light of the sun, absorb the water and nutrients of the soil, and settle into the rhythm of the seasons.

For a tree to begin to do otherwise would mean the end of the tree. It would mean attempting to be something other than it was created to be.

So it is with us humans. 

The Resurrection doesn’t need us to defend it. Jesus doesn’t need us to stick up for him. Other people—unbelievers, doubters, skeptics, whoever—don’t need us to convince them.

There is inherent power in simply telling the story of Jesus. In being witnesses rather than lawyers. In saying “Here’s what I know…” rather than “Here’s why you should believe me…”

That’s Holy Saturday. It’s perhaps the most non-anything day on the Christian Calendar. A day when all we can really do is join the crucified and buried Jesus in the silence, stillness, and darkness of his tomb.

On Friday we can mourn. On Sunday we can rejoice. But today, on Saturday, all we can do is wait.