A Defense of the Gospel

Though It's Not What You Might Think

Christ Pantocrator

I love to debate. Perhaps debate isn’t the best word because in our political climate, the only time most Americans see a debate is among politicians seeking to get elected. So, maybe better said, I love a spirited, deep, and moving conversation. So much so, that often in my dreams I engage in these types of conversations. Sometimes it’s with strangers. Other times it is with well-known authors, theologians, pastors, or philosophers. Sometimes it’s with family. Miraculously, I seem to always win the debate and everyone over to my side! That is why it’s called “a dream.”

This morning I woke up after one of those dreams. I was at a round table having a nice dinner at a reception of some sort. Sitting at the table were several family members and we were debating, I mean passionately talking, about Christianity, war, Christian Nationalism, politics, Christendom, empire, and the ethical response to such matters as people of faith. 

I mean, easy, light-hearted stuff. 

I am a pacifist, so it should come as no surprise that in my dream, I had some thoughts on the Christian’s role and response to such matters. Perhaps, this is also some unresolved tension within my psyche around the differences I have with my family of origin. (That conversation, however, is for my therapist and another article entirely.)

But, as I have had time to reflect upon the dream, I think what I am becoming increasingly passionate about is what for the moment I will call a defense of the gospel. Now, that’s a loaded phrase because it leans toward apologetics, and depending upon what tradition you were raised in, apologetics has often been an umbrella term for beating people over the head with the Bible. When I use the phrase defense of the gospel, I do in some manner mean an apologetic, but not in an aggressive manner. Rather, I see it as a return to the presentation of the gospel as the alternative to the ways and systems of the world, namely, that of nations and empires. 

Here is what I mean. In my dream, it was apparent that those with whom I was having conversation were representative of a version of Christianity that is a cultural and political phenomenon. Christianity for them is a means to a political end that marries faith with American exceptionalism, power, and cultural dominance. 

For me, I think the gospel is other-worldly—from a kingdom not of this world. The gospel, better said as the good news of Jesus, is not built upon power and dominance, but around humility, justice, equity, and human flourishing for all people. It’s a radical message of love, hospitality, inclusivity, unwarranted grace, mercy, and favor. It talks more about giving away as compared to storing up, tearing down powers and principalities instead building up empires and cultural influence. 

There is a fundamental difference among Christians these days (though I think it existed since Constantine) on what Christianity is. Is it simply a set of beliefs about the afterworld and how you get there? Is it a political tool to wield and subject others to? Is it about behavior modification (to borrow Dallas Willard’s use of the term)? 

Or is it a way of life within the power structures and systems of nations? A way of being that is shaped by belief? A lived-belief?

For centuries, Christians have operated within the power structures of their nations, within particular historical and cultural moments, and have exercised different means and standards. It’s important to note that some of those Christians became isolationists and formed communities that were separated from the world (think Amish). That is not what I am advocating for. I think the opposite. We engage the power dynamics of the world through our public witness, in word and deed, through acts of subversive humility, decrying injustices of all kinds, and presenting and working toward an alternative—thy Kingdom come ON EARTH as it is in heaven. 

In my tradition’s baptismal vows, all those being baptized (or their parents), and those becoming members of the church, vow the following:

We commit to, “renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness, reject the evil powers of this world” and to “resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.”

In surrendering ourselves to Christ, in accepting his Lordship over our lives (which is a political reality), we commit to actively engage in the world through resistance. 

If apologetics is a loaded term, so is resistance. 

But that is what some Christians have done for centuries. When the nations in which they inhabited used power to subject people, and in many cases to oppress them, some Christians have risen up, in protest, in marches, and in sit-ins demanding change. When nations have overlooked their moral responsibility to care for the least of these, some Christians have not only served them as if serving Jesus himself, but advocated on their behalf.

I’m being intentional with the use of the word some here. Because it certainly hasn’t been all Christians. And if we are being completely honest, it has most often been BIPOC Christians, or more broadly, marginalized Christians, who have led the way. God has this amazingly beautiful way of using those who have been victims of Christendom, white supremacy, patriarchy, and Christian Nationalism, to be the very movers and shakers that have brought down systems of injustice and oppression. 

Christians ought to be a thorn in the flesh of nations and empires. This doesn’t mean we need to be adversarial (though at times we must), but rather, we should continue to call to the attention of those in power how to best exercise such power. And if that power is not exercised for the common good and the flourishing of all people, then it is an abuse of power and should be named as such. 

So when I use the phrase, defense of the gospel, I don’t mean that we should just protect our theological beliefs (though I think that is important).

Rather, I am advocating for a lived defense, where Christians more readily put into practice our beliefs.

Or in the words of the late civil rights activist and congressman, John Lewis, we stir up good trouble. 

A faith that is individualistic on the one hand (my ticket to heaven) or is about building up nations and cultural dominance on the other, is not faith at all. It’s a fabrication of the original gospel. 

Rather, a faith that is lived, embodied and active, seeking to be a healing balm in the world, a faith that lifts up the marginalized and oppressed, a faith that engages through humility, a faith that is centered on the least and lowly, is a faith worth defending.