Theological Truth: Our work is to abide in Christ, neither going too far ahead, nor lagging too far behind. And definitely not taking matters into our own hands.
You’ve probably heard Mark Twain’s advice, “Never argue with a fool, onlookers may not be able to tell the difference.”
That’s not only excellent advice for individuals, but also a timely reminder for the Church. Because it’s tempting for well-intentioned Christians to decide that the world has become such a mess and we’re so tired of waiting on God, that it’s time to take matters into our own hands. “Since this way of Love is so slow and painful,” we may say to ourselves, “Let’s speed things up a bit by adopting and co-opting some more worldly means. Since we know what God wants, we should impose and enforce God’s kingdom here on earth.”
But as tempting as that may be, it’s even more dangerous. The means are never justified by the end. Even worse, the use of earthly means of power and domination, force and coercion, corrupt the proclamation of the Gospel. We become indistinguishable from the world. We become less like the leaven and more like the loaf. Motivated more by the love of power than animated by the power of Love. We wind up proving Mark Twain right. Onlookers can no longer tell the difference because the Church has become like the world.
We’ve been talking about this kind of danger in our book group on Christian Nationalism. Sociologist Andrew Whitehead defines it as “a cultural
framework that idealizes and advocates a fusion of Christianity with American civic life.” (Taking America Back for God). It demands that Christianity (or a particular group’s understanding of Christianity) be privileged by the state, and it implies that to be a good American, you must be (that/their particular kind of) Christian. (Excerpt from Christians Against Christian Nationalism statement, parenthetical inserts mine).
Now there’s nothing wrong with loving our country, and our faith should absolutely guide our social values and political choices. But loving country more than God is idolatry. And forcing faith on someone is not only inconsistent with the Constitution, but it’s also contrary to the very nature of God’s redemptive love, which is authentic because it’s freely offered and freely chosen. Episcopal priest Barkley Thompson reminds us, “Who God redeems, and how God accomplishes that redemption, is up to God, not us. And while we should surely rejoice in our communion with God and effusively share that joy with others, it is ridiculous … for us to act as if we get to decide, or even that we know, to whom God extends love, grace, and mercy.” (In the Midst of the City, 77).
In addition to being ridiculous, politically enforced religion is also dangerous. Rev. Thompson goes on to tell about a trip he and his parishioners took to Wittenberg, Germany for the 500th anniversary of the start of the Protestant Reformation. Following an inspirational worship service in the cathedral, they encountered a shockingly, blatantly, grotesquely antisemitic sculpture. One that Martin Luther himself condoned. The next day their group traveled to Dachau. He recognized the, “direct historic line between the anti-Judaism of Martin Luther’s day and the antisemitism of Hitler’s Germany … Again and again in human history,” Thompson writes, “among those with power and privilege in society, the pretension of authority and the religious arrogance of one generation, when unchecked, morphs into the scapegoating and persecution of another generation.” (p. 77) Christian nationalism unchecked is dangerous—to our faith and to others.
But I get it. The world is a scary place and getting scarier every day, so it’s tempting to pin all the evil in the world on someone, or something, outside of us and then punish them or prohibit it. Political power becomes a dangerous, tantalizing preoccupation. But that kind of power and authority has not been granted to us. That power is only safe in God’s loving hands. That’s why we pray for God’s kingdom to come, God’s will to be done on earth as in heaven. The conclusion of the Lord’s prayer reminds us that, “the kingdom, the power, and the glory are God’s, now and forever.” And if they belong to God now and forever, they don’t belong to us.
So then, what is our role? If it’s not to impose God’s kingdom…if it’s not to fuse by force Christian and American identity … what are we supposed to do?
We’re supposed to love like Jesus. The First Letter of John reminds us of what this looks like: “God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us.” This is what the love of God looks like. Freely offered. Never earned or deserved. This pure, patient, self-giving, unlimited, and eternal love chooses to invite, refuses to coerce, patiently waits, never excludes. God doesn’t dominate us with power, God overpowers us with Love.
We are supposed to love like that. Acting justly. Offering mercy. Walking humbly. Giving generously. Living selflessly. Forgiving freely. Loving universally. People recognize the difference, and it changes our world.
We see this Love unleashed in the world after Easter. The Spirit of the risen Christ animates and inspires Philip to run down wilderness roads, chase down chariots, proclaiming the Good News all the way to Caesarea. This shocking profligate Love invites and includes someone as “other” in every imaginable way as that bible-reading, soul-searching, Ethiopian eunuch. This risk-taking Love crosses borders, erases boundaries, ignores divisions, and exceeds the preconceived, fear-based, scarcity minded limitations we tend to put on God’s grace.
Friends, our job is not to change the world. Our job is to love the world. Or as John puts it, “since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another.” That’s our work. It’s not to make this a Christian nation. Our job is simply to love one another with this particular, peculiar and ineffable Love that God has revealed to us in Jesus Christ.
And how do we do that amid the changes and chances, fears and frustrations of this life? I’ll share a little prayer that I’ve prayed this week, based on the First Letter of John — a helpful reminder that perfect love casts out fear. Maybe try setting a timer for a few minutes and then slowly breathe in while saying, “Lord Jesus Christ, fill me with your abiding love.” Picture being filled with the grace and mercy of God. And then as you exhale, say these words, “Cast out my faithless fears.” Fill me with your abiding love. Cast out my faithless fears.
By abiding in that Love, God changes the world, with us and through us. People see it, and they know the difference.
Sermon delivered by Rev. AJ Heine at Trinity Episcopal Church, Staunton, Va., on April 28, 2024, the Fifth Sunday of Easter.
