In this blog post, I ask you to consider that Christianity may be better off by being less central in American culture. After all, Christianity doesn’t have a particularly good record when it’s enmeshed with governmental power. Christianity took a major step forward in influence when it was endorsed by the emperor Constantine; it also took on the basic hierarchical structure of the Roman Empire, enabling the church to indulge in raw authority. The Crusades, the Inquisition, the intolerance of early American religiously-focused colonies, the opposition to the civil rights movement by many white churches: Christianity has a nasty tendency to get distorted when it is officially sanctioned.
Christianity may be more effective when it operates from the margins; when it is synonymous with existing social structures, the salt can lose its savor. Christ said that we are the salt of the earth; he didn’t say that we were the entrée. If your religion depends on being underwritten and endorsed by the culture at large, you’re in trouble.
I think many Christians are mourning a shift in their visibility within the culture. They sense that media everywhere seem to be advocating a less strict adherence to traditional moral codes. If characters with old-fashioned standards do appear on television/film, they are usually the ones who need to “learn” a better way. (think about the dance-hating preacher in Footloose) The best you can hope for in Christian portrayals is often a well-meaning, tender-hearted, but essentially simple-minded soul (Sheldon’s mom in Young Sheldon). The cool, hip, attractive, morally validated characters are those who believe in inclusion and broad-mindedness, not straight-laced standards. Characters with traditional morality are now less likely to be founts of wisdom; it’s more likely that they need to wise up.
I well understand the temptation to make uptight Christianity the “bad guy.” I did it myself when I wrote a graphic novel. I didn’t want to spend a lot of time establishing a villain (that wasn’t the focus of the horror comic), so I needed a fairly stock character to commit a heinous act. For various reasons, I didn’t settle on rednecks, Nazis, gang members, or terrorists; without giving too much of the plot away, I chose a sexually repressive church leader in the Old West. It was easy; no one has ever called me on it. It’s one of the things I regret about that graphic novel.
I recognize that politically conservative Christians do not see themselves and their own corner of the world being honored and valued. I can see, therefore, the temptation to echo charges of “fake news” (even though there’s no way they can have enough insider information into a journalist’s process to determine if there has been intentional “fakery”). Distrust of “the media” (another very useful choice of words that lumps together and generalizes) becomes a stance toward the world. Toss in a good bit of nostalgia for the “good old days,” and you have a fine recipe for conservative politics (which is inclined toward the past and which knows the mobilizing power of fear).
As a media scholar, it’s hard for me not to see this as partly a problem of representation, this inability for evangelical Christians to see themselves in the images created by Hollywood “elites.” It seems to me that this provides an opportunity for evangelical Christianity to understand a bit of what minorities have felt for ages: the pain of misrepresentation and stereotypes, the frustration with a lack of presence in mainstream imagery, the yearning to be seen.
White Christians have never before felt the hunger for images that minorities have. (I think of stories from early television history where the word that a black person was on television would spread like wildfire through an African American neighborhood. White people have never experienced anything like that desire for visibility.) Perhaps evangelical Christians can now get a taste of what it’s like to be represented badly or not at all, and that provides an opportunity for increasing your understanding. (For more about the importance of being seen and on the difficulty of feeling superfluous – among other things – I recommend Krista Tippett’s conversation with Lyndsey Stonebridge about the contemporary relevance of Hannah Arendt’s thought.)
I have long thought that American conservatives are pissed as much by the tone of liberal harangues as much as they are the content. As I have mentioned in a previous blog post, liberals have an unfortunate tendency toward being sanctimonious, and nothing seems to rile people more than a good dose of snooty elitism. Believe me, I understand; this is a blog called Confessions of a Reformed Hick. I know all too well the rhetorical power of an “I’m superior and you’re such an idiot” tone. I’ve heard this from academics, who should know better. Shaming someone’s knowledge is not a useful way to start the process of education. And how exactly do you argue against tone?
So the hick part of me understands evangelical Christians’ problems with liberal “elites.” The reformed part of me wonders if this isn’t a case of Christians reaping what they sow. My wife stayed away from church for a long time (in part) because of her distaste for the holier-than-thou attitudes expressed by many Christians. Smug judgmentalness did nothing to endear her to Christianity. (As the always quotable Alain de Botton says, “The great enemy of love, good relationships, good friendships, is self-righteousness.”)
Members of the church have had near exclusive privileges when it comes to moral self-righteousness, so perhaps it stings more to have that tone used on them, to have their morality dismissed by people’s attitudes. Here’s an opportunity to learn what how infuriating moral superiority can be.
So I ask white fundamentalist evangelical American Christians to consider giving up “warfare” and “attacks” as a framework for their experience. I realize that’s difficult. For one thing, war is exciting; its purpose and energy are addicting. We Americans love to declare war: on poverty, on drugs, on terror. War is an infinitely renewable political resource as long as there aren’t significant casualties and physical damage. Journalists from William Randolph Hearst (the Spanish American War) to Fox News (the “War on Christmas”) have learned that a call to “war” is great for business. The “warfare” frame of reference is a dependable button to push to garner support.
I encourage evangelicals to reframe this “warfare” as a chance to re-engage in nonsanctimonious discussion with the world. We have an opportunity here to refocus on the fundamentals of following Christ. “Values voters” could organize around kindness, gentleness, and other fruit of the Spirit. Jesus said little about sex, marriage, and reproduction or about taxes and government; he said much about love.
The distinctive “weapon” in the Christian “arsenal” is compassion. “Love your enemies” is Jesus’ explicit reframing response to Trump’s favorite verse: “An eye for an eye.” (Significantly, Trump has chosen the only Old Testament scripture that Jesus singles out as in need of repair: Matt. 5: 38-44)
Compassion is a weapon that disarms both its target and the one who wields it. Followers of Christ have faith that it transforms both sides of a combative dynamic. If we lose that faith, we lose far too much of who we are. If you’re willing to bypass your distinctive way of interacting with the world so that you can hold onto your importance, then you’re in danger of gaining the world and losing your soul.
I’ll go further in my unsolicited friendly advice to evangelicals. Don’t fight to regain your losses. Rejoice in your marginalization. Embrace the insights that come from being on the margins. Marginalization, through the upside-down logic of Christianity, can be a gift. As the Sermon on the Mount tells us, therein lies not persecution but blessedness.