People sometimes get trapped in a false choice here. They think that either we must compel people, by laws and policies, to conform to our vision or we have to keep our “private” convictions to ourselves. George Will addresses this question nicely when he argues that “compulsion and indifference” are not our only alternatives in the public square. Between these two alternatives, he says, lies a “broad area of persuasion, incentives, and other non-coercive encouragements to better living.”

Richard J. Mouw, Uncommon Decency: Christian Civility in an Uncivil World (1992); p. 115

Dear Saints,

Looking at lists of bestselling books over the past couple of years, it has seemed to me that about one third of the most popular non-fiction books have something to do with Christianity. Many are spin-offs of The Da Vinci Code, “scholarly” attempts to market Gnosticism as the original, authentic Christianity, deviously suppressed throughout history in the name of orthodoxy. But a lot of bestsellers are being written by authors who feel anxious whenever they see signs of resurgent Christian evangelicalism, or when they see Christians actively involved in politics.

Controversies about the display of the Ten Commandments on public property; the teaching of Intelligent Design in public schools alongside evolutionary biology; the legal definition of marriage; government funding for “faith-based initiatives”; the new requirement that military chaplains pray only generic prayers (not “in the name of Jesus”) at public “all hands” ceremonies; and the appropriateness of an inclusive “Seasons’ greetings” in place of the offending “Merry Christmas!”– all illustrate Christians’ attempts, often unsatisfactory, to find our place along the scale between “compulsion and indifference.”

The early Church had no alternative but “non-coercive encouragements.” The New Testament assumes that Christians are numbered among the “least of these” in terms of political power. Their only means of persuasion was the evidence of changed lives, sober and modest behavior, the radical love they showed towards each other, their charity toward “outsiders,” their dignity and grace in the face of opposition, and their willingness to suffer for their loyalty to the Lord Jesus.

In 313 a.d. an edict of the Emperor Constantine changed the status of Christianity in the Roman Empire from that of an outlawed religion to a legal one. It took only a short time for Christianity to become not only legal but, in certain times and under certain emperors, the favored religion. I don’t think the Church’s more godly leaders sought any such preferential treatment. The Church Fathers of the time were wary about a form of Christianity without the earlier costs and risks, where “members” sought their rewards and approval from society and the state in the present age, rather than from the Lord in the world to come. But before we judge the 4th century Church too harshly, try to imagine the bishops saying, “Pardon me, your majesty, but we actually liked it better when the state persecuted Christians.”

With the collapse of civil government in the Roman Empire, the Church, under figures like Pope Gregory the Great (ca. 540-604), filled the vacuum, not because the Church craved the state’s power, but because it was the only institution left with any credibility. People looked to the Church’s leadership for their very survival. Something comparable might be said about Archbishop Tutu’s tireless work and influence on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in post-apartheid South Africa, and Anglican Bishop Dinis Sengulane’s dynamic leadership in Mozambique in the years since that country’s Marxist government collapsed in the late 1980s.

The assumptions of Constantinianism or Christendom– a cozy relationship between church and state, state-sponsored religious teaching and ministry, the Church functioning as an arm of the government, and the idea that people are assumed to be Christians because they happen to live in a “Christian country”– survive in our inherited vocabulary. The word “parish” implies that all the geographical neighbors of a church building are members of the Church. The boundaries of a Diocese coincide (usually) with the state’s jurisdiction. The preferred use of the name “National Cathedral” for the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul in Washington suggests that Episcopalians still harbor a longing to be acknowledged as the established Church. I hear echoes of Constantinianism in those conversations where we focus more on “getting people into our [church building] doors” than on communicating the Gospel to people in our community who have never heard it, or have never experienced Christian worship and fellowship, in a life-changing way– and who would never dream of entering our green doors to satisfy a spiritual hunger.

About five years ago, I heard a persuasive speech by a well-known Unitarian minister, in which he argued that Unitarianism was the religion most compatible with American liberal democracy, with its light dogmatic baggage, optimism toward human nature and human potential, and ethical reasoning by consensus (as opposed to moral absolutes and revealed Commandments). I think about that speech whenever I hear references to the “Judeo-Christian heritage,” especially during election years or in times of national crisis. (In case you are wondering, I have no argument with consensus-building or optimism.)

Government officials and candidates appeal to the Judeo-Christian heritage whenever it serves their purposes to unite people behind some idea, program, or campaign. Yes, we Christians have areas of commonality with Jews and also Muslims. But don’t mistake the Judeo-Christian heritage for the Christian faith. It is a composite “civil religion” that competes with biblical Christianity. It has more in common with the Unitarianism I heard about in that speech five years ago. If you think the United States today is held together by a Christian consensus, see what happens when you ask your Senator or Representative to change the words on our currency – “In God we trust”– to “In Father, Son, and Holy Spirit we trust.” The god of our official national religion is probably the Unitarian god; definitely not the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ (and definitely not the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob).

Christendom has come and gone. In an important election year, and any time we try to respond to cultural and social change, establish justice at home, and negotiate our country’s relationship with the rest of the world, we need realistically to see ourselves in much the same light as the early Christians. One big difference between then and now is that we have political rights that they didn’t have: to petition legislators and other officials, vote, and hold office. Another difference is that, whereas early Christians were accused of being atheistic, unpatriotic, and anti-social, the Church today is often portrayed as a threat to liberty because of its having wielded political power at various times in history.

By its nature, Christianity is political and revolutionary. Those Roman Emperors of old were right to see it as a threat. We are called to obey the authorities in everything lawful and decent, and to participate in government affairs as far as our loyalty to Christ allows. Normally this shouldn’t be a problem. “Be subject for the Lord's sake to every human institution, whether it be to the emperor as supreme, or to governors as sent by him to punish those who do evil and to praise those who do good.” (1 Peter 2:13-14) BUT “...our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ…” (Philippians 3:20) We are to stand against the abuse of power, and to witness against idolatry.

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.” (Romans 12:2) Flexing our muscles at the voting booth is neither the goal nor the main method of our witness. Beware of any partisan political platform or agenda touted as the one “Christian” alternative. As stewards of our votes in this election year, and always, Saints– may our light shine to the glory of God!

Faithfully,

Chuck Bradshaw +