WILLIAM G. JOHNSSON

he selection of Senator Joseph Lieberman to be Al Gore’s running mate in the United States presidential campaign has catapulted the Sabbath into new awareness. Lieberman, an Orthodox Jew, devoutly observes the seventh day.

Washington Post columnist Richard Cohen recounted a revealing vignette about the man who would be the next American vice president, only a heartbeat removed from the presidency. One Friday night Lieberman and his wife held a dinner party. But it was winter, and the sun set early. When the Senate adjourned, Lieberman—with guests waiting—set out for home on foot, about five miles in bitter cold.*

That is strange stuff indeed for Washington, D.C.  Here politicians invoke the name of deity and declare that they are “born again,” but their religion never gets in the way. It’s easy—in fact, politically astute—to be seen in church on Sunday morning.

Lieberman is different. Between sundown Friday and sundown Saturday he doesn’t drive, nor can he be driven; he doesn’t talk on the telephone, operate machinery, even turn the lights off or on. He spends at least Friday evening and Saturday morning in the synagogue. If an important vote falls on Sabbath, he slips away and walks to the Senate.

Because of the high holy days, he will miss nine days of election campaigning during the critical month of October.

In this cynical city one might expect Lieberman to be considered a religious zealot. Just the opposite: Deeply respected as a person of principle, he is the conscience of the Senate. His careful Sabbath observance isn’t branded as legalism but as fidelity to values. “My faith is part of me. It’s been at the center of who I’ve been all my life,” he told reporters.

Lieberman’s sudden elevation to national and international prominence suggests intriguing questions for Seventh-day Adventists. How shall Adventists relate to public life? What principles of Sabbath observance can be brought to bear when one’s duties demand activity on the seventh day?

These questions are no longer theoretical. For many years Adventists were a small people  who did not aspire to public office. But with the rapid growth of this church more of our brothers and sisters are coming to prominence in public life.

In some societies Adventists are very active in politics. One Adventist served as prime minister (Samson Kisekka in Uganda). One currently is head of state (Governor-General Silas Atopare in Papua New Guinea). Others serve, or have served, as members of government cabinets or heads of departments. And the United States House of Representatives has three of our number.

In the arts some of the world’s great musicians are practicing Seventh-day Adventists—Herbert Blomstedt and Janice Chandler, for instance. How will such individuals honor the Sabbath while nurturing the gift God has entrusted to them?

Let’s not forget it: The Bible itself motivates us to aim high. Joseph served as governor of Egypt, Daniel as chief minister in Babylon.

And Ellen White challenges young people: “Have you thoughts that you dare not express, that you may one day stand upon the summit of intellectual greatness; that you may sit in deliberative and legislative councils, and help to enact laws for the nation?” That clearly refers to public office.

We might expect her to reply: “Set aside such thoughts, because Jesus is coming soon.”  Instead she says: “There is nothing wrong in these aspirations. You may every one of you make your mark. You should be content with no mean attainments. Aim high, and spare no pains to reach the standard” (Messages to Young People, p. 36).

It’s time for Adventists to give serious thought to this matter. How did Joseph and Daniel handle their responsibilities vis-á-vis the Sabbath? Surely they at times had to deal with critical matters. But we just don’t know; we only know that they were people of principle.

Our church shouldn’t attempt to draw up a code of Sabbath conduct for Adventists in public life—these are matters for individual decision. But we can help by more theological reflection than we have done so far.

Richard Cohen closed his column about Joseph Lieberman with this arresting paragraph: “The man who walked home that cold night could have driven. No one would have known. He could have walked two blocks and hailed a cab. No one would have known that, either—or cared. I suspect, though, that Joe Lieberman walked all the way because he knew . . . that selling out, like a long walk home, begins with a single step.”

That’s the bottom line for us as well.

*Washington Post, Aug. 8, 2000.

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William G. Johnsson is editor of the Adventist Review.