The conversation explores:

- The way women and men both lose out in a sexist society.

- The importance of community in finding a better way to think about gender.

- The fact that "Rocky 3" is, perhaps, the most "manly" movie ever made.

- Sexism in film.

- Cookies.

- And much, much, more.

Here's the info:

IN THE BEGINNING: ANARCHISM, CHRISTIANITY AND THE ROOTS OF RESISTANCE
August 6 & 7, 2010
Portland, Oregon
www.jesusradicals.com

The theme for the 2010 anarchism and Christianity conference emerges out of the knowledge that without grasping the systems that shape our society — without understanding as well as we can how we got to where we are today — our ability to examine, unmask and resist the oppressive forces we encounter and create new, just life-ways will be crippled. To resist the powers of environmental destruction, of empire, of racism and a host of other social sins we must have more than just a passing understanding of how these death-dealing problems came to be. We must be willing to get at the root in order to discern a better way forward and sow new seeds. Come and dig deep together. There are some amazing presenters (like Wes Howard-Brook, Tre Arrow, John Zerzan and more).

CONFIRMED SESSIONS
- Anarchism and Christianity Primer
- On Empire and Civilization: Biblical interpretations and Anarchist
explorations (Tentative title)
- Race, Racism and the Nation-State: A Christian, Anarchist Perspective
- The Theology and Practice of Non/Violence
- Navigating the Security Culture: Activism in a Post 9/11 World
(Tentative title)
- The Struggle for Life on Big Mountain
- Beyond Creation Care: Environmental Activism & Christianity
- The Greening of Anarchy: the shift towards an anti-civilization approach
- Open Forum, workshops and more…

MORE INFORMATION
Conference site: www.jesusradicals.com/conference
Support the gathering: www.jesusradicals.com/conference/donate/
Past conference downloads: www.jesusradicals.com/conference/video/ and
www.jesusradicals.com/conference/conference-mp3s/

In this episode, co-hosts Sarah, Mark, and Jarrod interview Brian McLaren. Listen in as they explore the nonviolence of God, the state of the world, and our relationship to Empire.

Brian is an internationally known (and controversial) evangelical pastor, speaker, and activist. He is the author of numerous books, including his latest book, "a new kind of Christianity."

For more information about Brian, visit www.brianmclaren.net/archives/about-brian/

WHAT I LIKE ABOUT JESUS MANIFESTO

The truth is, I agree with perhaps 90% of the book–especially the central thrust–that Jesus Christ is a living and active presence here and now–and that we, by extension, are called to manifest Jesus' presence into the world. This idea might seem like a "no duh" to many Christians. However, as the authors point out, "the reality and experience of an indwelling Lord has been almost lost to the Christian faith." ¹

Jesus Manifesto serves as a helpful reminder that Jesus isn't some long-dead sage who showed us a new way to live. Nor is he a theologically abstract principle or idea. One needn't look too long to see that most of Christianity assumes a sort of deadness to Christianity–that it is a religion of principles laid out by someone who is no longer present. This has certainly been my own experience of Christianity, for the most part.

Rather, Jesus dwells in us ² and, therefore, the important question isn't "What would Jesus do?" but "What is Christ doing through me…through us? And how is He doing it?" ³

There are huge implications to such a shift in our thinking. If being the embodiment to Christ to the world is much more than simply living out good principles, then all bets are off. Our faith becomes a terrifyingly beautiful journey with Christ in the world.

Since Christ's abiding presence in his Church is central to our life together, Frank and Len set out to challenge those things that set themselves as the engine for our faith…like conservative morality, church growth, miracles, movement-building, social justice, evangelism, leadership principles, prosperity, spiritual warfare, systematic theology, etc.

I affirm, whole-heartedly, the attempt to articulate a Christianity that finds its beginning and end in the conviction that Christ is in us and we are in Christ. And for that reason, I recommend this book…with some reservation.

However, this book needs to be held to a high standard. Why? Because the book attempts to speak with a bold voice to a Church at a "crossroads."⁴ This book is a manifesto about Jesus–it is a strong call back to faithfulness to what the authors consider the absolute core of our faith.

So this review isn't exactly positive. If you're looking for a glowing review, don't worry. There are dozens of positive reviews on the web. Google "Jesus Manifesto review" and you'll find them. Jesus Manifesto, in its defense, does a better job of affirming the abiding indwelling presence of Christ than almost any other book I've read.

However, there are two ways in which the author's have fallen short to deliver on the promise of the book. My two primary concerns have to do with the inadequacy of the "message" of the book in regards to praxis as well as to the inadequacy of the "medium" of the book in regards to how it is (and is likely) to function within consumer-driven Christianity.

JESUS MANIFESTO HAS AN INADEQUATE VIEW OF "PRAXIS"

The book asserts—over and over again—that the center of our faith is the indwelling Christ. Any sort of pursuit of justice or embracing of praxis or embodied cruciformity of one's life flows out of that…right?

It is hard to challenge that sort of logic. I almost affirm it…yet…there is something that just doesn't sit right. My problem isn't with the premise of the book, but rather the author's relegating of praxis to, at best, the outcome of Christ-in-us (or, at worst, a secondary component to our faith).

We know Christ, and then we do justice, right? They write: “When the business of the church becomes more about pursuing the 'reign of God' than following Jesus, then we start hearing more about justice than justification, and Jesus the Liberator replaces Jesus the Way, the Truth, the Life.” ⁵

To the authors, “Jesus was not a political revolutionary.” ⁶ Justice and stuff is important, “but the social and political reform of the world through the powers than be has never been the agenda of the body of Christ. Ceasar sought to the change the hearts of men by laws and institutions. Jesus changes the hearts of women and men and brings them into a new society, the church…” ⁷

While I agree Jesus IS not a “mere” revolutionary and that our goal isn't to reform societies and nations, I'm uncomfortable with the pietist assumption that Jesus changes hearts, and THEN people are part of the church…wherein they can, secondarily, engage praxis.

Let me be clear here. I am suggesting that the faithful following of Jesus is a precondition for knowing Jesus. We don't, in an eruption of pietiestic “knowing” of Jesus come to know Jesus. Rather, in being with Jesus—tangibly in relationships with flesh-and-blood humanity—we come to know Jesus.

Can there be “knowing” apart from “doing?” Can we “know” Christ apart from “practicing” Christ? The authors apparently assume so. Viola and Sweet seem to be falling into a clearly pietist form of Protestantism in their understanding of how presence and praxis relate to one another in our relationship with Christ. But is that really how it works? Is that Biblical? Doesn't the Gospel begin with the call to “follow?”

And do Christians need to first experience the crucified Lord in their hearts and then follow him wherever he leads, or do Christians need to encounter the crucified and therein experience the crucified Lord? While I would be reluctant to say that such an encounter necessarily precedes revelation of Christ, I would be even more reluctant to grant that such encounter is secondary to knowing Christ and him crucified.

Can we know the Gospel apart from the poor? I don't believe so (yes, my liberationist sentiments are showing). The Gospel is more than about politics and the poor and justice and peace. But it isn't about less than those things. And, as far as I'm concerned, we cannot experience the indwelling Christ in a vaccum. The world encounters Christ through the church, who only encounters Christ in communion with the poor.

If, as the authors affirm, Christ and the church cannot be separated, ⁸ and that this link is, at least in some way, contingent upon the church "functioning properly," is it not fair to suggest that Christ's indwelling is contingent, at least in some way, on praxis?

This book, thought it points to embodiment as a necessary implication, doesn't really connect the presence of Christ in us to any particular expression whatsoever. And so, by falling into this generalizing tendency, it becomes practically gnostic. If we can come to know Christ apart from following him, and knowing Christ doesn't necessarily produce a Christ-shaped way of life, where does this indwelling lead? 

JESUS MANIFESTO "CLAIMS THE CENTER" RATHER THAN SPEAKING FROM THE MARGINS

I don't think I've ever read a book review that explores the implications of the manner in which a book is written. But, because I don't think books are discreet things that are analyzed solely for the words on the page, I'm want to explore the way that this book functions as a social tool.

As I've already pointed out (here and here), this book began with an online manifesto—a magna carta calling for people to re-center their lives on the risen Lord. That initial manifesto gained traction and turned into a book. The book has done well—even popping up in Amazon's top ten list.

This book about the humble Lord (who we meet in the margins) has endorsements from some of the most celebrated and influential leaders in the church today (from mega-church pastors, scholars, activists, and even an Archbishop).

And the book isn't just the opinion of two authors about who Jesus is…rather, it is a spark for renewal that has a growing list of signatories.

This book isn't just a book. It is a well-publicized manifesto about Jesus Christ that is being used to catalyze a movement. It is a social tool. It kinda feels like a "if you're not with us, you're a heretic" kind of book. It is an attempt to reclaim the center. This book is, perhaps, a "power move" of sorts acting as an "initiating event" that will, I suspect, try to kick off a social movement.

This sort of thing happens in social movements all the time. If you don't like the direction a movement is going, it is a natural impulse to try to come out with some sort of manifesto calling people to whatever it is you consider central and then to ask people to join your bandwagon. You might even throw in a conference or two.

This is how Christian publishing and Christian trends tend to work…you build social capital by nurturing your own "platform" and then spend that social capital trying to influence your larger circle.

Don't get me wrong–I struggle with this temptation all the time. After all, I started JesusManifesto.com when I decided to write a book of the same name. At the time, I was making all the right sorts of connections and getting invited to speak at more and more things. At the time, I was encouraged to write a book. Speaking and writing are the ways one influences movements, after all.

But I felt like there was something unhealthily self-promoting about going down that road. My anarchic sentiments make it hard for me to justify any sort of vanguardist posture. If I had any platform at all, I decided I would use it to share other people's stories–let other people speak (which is why this site has, for a while now, been driven by reader-submitted articles).

It is possible to influence and nurture the good things I long to see in the Church without setting myself up as a guru, without making a name for myself, without using marketing and buzz to promote my own vision of how things should go. And so, I spend a fair bit of time travelling to communities to connect and support. I try to resist the will to power. I'm not against writing books. But one needn't plug entirely into the consumer-machine to get a book "out there."

It is so common in our society for books of any sort to be published in this way that many folks probably don't see it as a negative thing at all. But using clout, marketing, buzz-fabrication, high-profile endorsements, social platform, and movement-building to affirm the abiding presence of our liberator doesn't SEEM to fit the message, does it? Should we really simply accept that this is the "way things are?"

Of course, Jesus Manifesto isn't unique in its method of publication. Nevertheless, I am taking the risk to "nit-pick" because of the lofty aim of this book–to clarify the centrality of our faith. In other words, if you are going to write a manifesto about Jesus that boldly claims the center, then the manner in which you proclaim that manifesto should be examined as well. And, given my earlier critique on praxis, I have problems with the fact that this manifesto isn't coming from the margins. In other words, it doesn't really seem that liberatory.

By appealing to Christians with clout (endorsers) and calling people to join the campaign (signatories), this isn't a call to engage Christ in the margins, but a calling to the center. It is, functionally, a power-move. Though the words in the book are humble (in the sense that they serve only to elevate Christ), the marketing campaign is not. Nor is the impulse towards movement building.

So this isn't a simple little manifesto or epistle that was written by those who are named blessed by Christ (ie, the poor) and distributed from community to community. It isn't a voice from the margins calling us to faithfulness. Rather, it is a book from the center, published by the largest Christian Publisher in the world, from two relatively well-known Christian writers, to build momentum around their vision of Jesus.

I realize that this all sounds ridiculous to many of you. I realize that this is how publishing “works” today. But, given the nature of the book in light of the concerns of the previous section, shouldn't the medium fit the message?

In the end, I suppose I'm a bit disappointed. I love the premise, but not the execution. I wish this book were called Jesus Manifesto: Restoring the Subservience and Humility of Jesus Christ. I wish the book was influenced more by marginal voices and contained more of a liberationist understanding of the indwelling of Christ. And I wish the book had been published in a way that corresponded to its message.

If this seems like silly naivete to you, then we probably differ on what makes for a good Jesus Manifesto.

* * * * *

Their conversation covers, among other things: the “argument” within Scripture between advocates of the “religion of Empire” and the “religion of Creation,” the ethic of love (rather than nonviolence in the New Testament) and the anarchic impulses within Scripture.

Wes is adult educator, writer, and co-founder of Abide in Me Ministries. His book  ‘Come Out, My People!’: God’s Call Out of Empire in the Bible and Beyond, is now scheduled for Fall 2010 for publication by Orbis Books. His other books include John’s Gospel and the Renewal of the Church, Becoming Children of God, The Church Before Christianity, and Unveiling Empire: Reading Revelation Then and Now (co-written by Anthony Gwyther).

Wes will be presenting at this year’s Jesus Radicals conference on August 6-7 in Portland. For more information, go here.

Our thinking has become so darkened that all we consider is ourselves. We have fallen into the hubris of pride and tell ourselves it is our God given duty. We believe that “God gave man the stewardship of the earth, to look after it and to use it for our enjoyment while living from its benefits. Plants, animals, fish, and fresh water. Minerals, such as coal, copper, gold, silver to make things and earn a living,” including that black sticky stuff.

We can be sad and shake our heads at the damage that black sticky stuff causes; the creatures that gasp and drown, the trees that fall, the mountains that crumble, the water that’s poisoned, the air that’s polluted. But we don’t have to do anything different, after all, we need that black sticky stuff and God gave it to us to use for our enjoyment.

Instead, we can blame the problems on someone else’s greed. Never mind the fact that they were only trying to make a living off of supplying our own greed; making so we can go where we want when we want; making it so we can eat what we want when we want; making so we can wear what we want when we want; feeding our insatiable desire for something new, whether or not its really better, whether or not what we had could be fixed.

We can be sad and shake our heads at the damage that black sticky stuff causes, because after all “the earth we inhabit is not a permanent planet. It is, frankly, a disposable planet – it is going to have a very short life. It’s been around six thousand years or so – that’s all – and it may last a few thousand more. And then the Lord is going to destroy it.” If what we do causes a little damage here or there, that’s regrettable, but in the long run it doesn’t really matter because it’s going to get destroyed any way.

The only thing that really matters is if “I confess with my mouth to be a believer and accept Jesus is Lord and I believe in my heart that he died for my sins and God the Father raised Jesus to life after his death. Romans 10:9” Since our salvation depends on faith and not works, black sticky stuff can still ooze into our lives and serve our every whim, even at the expense of other parts of creation, even at the expense of other human beings.

We can criticize our societies for having “departed from a Biblical worldview to that of a Humanistic and post modern one,” filled with “those who reject Jesus”. While at the same time we can believe that humans are God’s pinnacle of creation, that creation is here to serve human needs, and whatever the reality of global warming might be, it is subject to individual interpretations. The word that became the flesh of earth and sky, beast and bird, we reject as separate from God. And what we do to the least of creation is divorced from our beliefs in Jesus.

We can criticize our Jewish forebearers for not obeying the Mosaic Law, or listening to the warnings the Lord gave them of removing them from the land (Deuteronomy 28) if they apostatized. We can sadly shake our heads that the children of Israel did not listen and came under judgment – the Northern tribes falling to Assyria in 722 B.C., and Judah to Babylon in 605 B.C. In our Bibles we read how God designated the Babylonian captivity as a seventy-year captivity to rest the land for all the Sabbath years that Israel violated (cf. Leviticus 26:33-35; 2 Chronicles 36:17-21). And yet we never stop to think about giving our own land a rest.

We think we are smarter than the Israelites because we practice crop rotation, we have chemicals that fight off pestilence and weeds, and we have black sticky stuff that makes it so we don’t have to follow the natural rhythms of the earth. We have black sticky stuff that we can pump out of the ground every second of every hour of every day of every year. We never rest from pumping, shipping, refining, buying, selling, using and burning. We are so dependent on our black sticky stuff that we feel threatened whenever someone suggests we stop using it.

Instead we vilify environmentalists, claiming that because they serve creation, they worship the creature rather than the Creator. We vilify environmentalists for wanting to undermine the power our empire feeds upon. How dare they try and impose upon OUR freedom! How dare they suggest that our black sticky stuff could be irrevocably damaging the planet we live on! God’s in control and he would never let human greed and pride to murder millions of innocent people, not to mention many more plants and animals. This is just part of the natural cycle of things, over which we have no control. We are just innocent bystanders waiting to be raptured away.

And while we wait, we silence the groans of creation with pavement. We drown out its cries with our own noise bouncing through the airwaves, surrounding ourselves with incessant introspective chatter. We refashion creation according to our will and for our profit. All with the power of this black sticky substance.

By the power of the black sticky substance, we build bigger and better churches; we draw parishioners from afar off; we send our hand-me-downs and surplus to those who suffer from the poverty of supplying standardized products and services to a capricious market driven by fad and celebrity. By the power of the black sticky substance we proclaim the word of God louder, with cameras, lights, and action. By the power of the black sticky substance pages and pages of scripture, commentary, and devotion, are cranked out in version after version, language after language, until they weigh down our bookshelves, and overflow into our waste baskets.

I agree with those who claim that “we have collectively become ignorant and neglectful of God’s promised wrath on the children of disobedience.” We do not seek to put God’s kingdom first, his kingdom of the lowly worm, the humble donkey, or the peaceful dove. Instead, we worry over what we will eat and what we will wear. We worry over what the Jones will think of us instead of what God thinks of us. We emphasize the love of God to the exclusion of the coming day of reckoning.

We do not recognize the disaster we are bringing upon ourselves, our children, and their grandchildren. We believe that when things become difficult, that we will somehow escape the consequences, either by divine providence or by being raptured away. We do not recognize that the black sticky stuff that has oozed into every area of our lives has become the ipso facto god of our lives -a god that is destroying our lives down to the very core of our souls, a god that has imprisoned us in a web of catastrophic behaviors and blinded us to our own folly.

God is not deceived by our greed. Our God is a jealous God and will not settle for second place -not now, not ever. He will not settle for a second rate kingdom, despoiled of its natural beauty -not now, not ever. We have been hiding in the garden, donning the symbolic fig leaves of prosperity to hide the nakedness of our souls. He calls us out, and asks us what have we done?

Let us not try and pass the blame, but humbly repent with changed actions. Let us forsake our comfortable lives bought with the power of the black sticky god, and instead receive the new life bought with his blood. Let us pick up our crosses and follow in his footsteps, giving up our lives for new life of his creation -all of his creation. Let us rule creation as he rules: not with a scepter but a towel; stooping as he stooped to care for the needs of his subjects.

- – - – -

The quotes used in this article were taken from comments left on a blogpost by Kurt Willems and from the article “Evangelicalism and the Environmental Movement” written by John MacArthur. These quotes are typical of many discussions I’ve had with believers about the environment and are not used in order to single out certain individuals for criticism.

When I became a Christian in my teens, I was slowly sucked into adopting an increasingly conservative political way of seeing the world. I had moments, here and there, where the radical message of Jesus tried to come out, but it was usually rebuked away. And so, by the time I was 18 I was both an ardent follower of Jesus and an eager devotee of Rush Limbaugh.

That explains, at least in part, this image to the right. Yes, folks, that is a younger Mark Van Steenwyk proudly wearing a red, white, and blue rodeo-style shirt.

Up until my early-to-mid 20s, I wouldn’t have seen much of a conflict between the Kingdom of God and the US of A. I would have gladly affirmed the wise truths of the likes of Glenn Beck. And, if I were ever to disagree with conservative radio hosts, it would only have been because I was, ever-so-slightly, more libertarian than they were.

It would be fair to say that I believe that the Church was God’s beacon of light in the world to save people’s souls, and that the USA (and her allies) was God’s beacon of light in the world to save people from tyranny. These two kingdoms were, I believed, allies with only slight quarrels. And those quarrels were resolved through culture wars–where the Church re-asserted divine values so that the people of the US would be guided rightly.

In my mid-twenties, I had a crisis of faith. I realized–and it came as quite a shock–that I really didn’t love Jesus very much. I realized that I had treated him formulaicly. I realized that I really didn’t enjoy reading the Gospels, and that I thought Paul was a lot smarter than Jesus. Being a clever young man, I realized that either I needed to re-center my thinking and way of life on Christ, or I had to somehow maneuver myself theologically into justifying my marginalizing of Jesus. For some reason that I don’t quite understand, I gambled on Jesus.

This wasn’t a quick decision. It required months of cognitive-dissonance-fueled depression.

During that time, I came back to some conclusions that were rebuked away in my youth. I affirmed Jesus’ way of peace and poverty. From there, I stumbled into Anabaptist and Liberationist readings of Scripture. And my view of government became increasingly anarchic.

Let me clarify: anarchy isn’t blowing crap up. Anarchy isn’t chaos. It is, at its most basic, the conviction that there should be no hierarchies between people. Governments involve the rule over the many by the few…even in “democracies.” Corporations involve ownership of the few through the work of the many…even in “nice” companies like Apple. Etc. Any time anyone sets themselves over another, there is injustice. Anarchy rejects such over-one-another-ness and seeks to nurture deep mutuality. And, I believe, that this is very much complementary to the movement Jesus sparked 2000 years ago.

But, for a while, I still clung to this idea that there are two Kingdoms: on the one hand you have the kingdom of God, on the other hand you have Empire…the governments and powers of the world. I believed that, as a Christian, my duty was to nurture the Kingdom of God, and to disregard the other stuff altogether. In other words, I believed that I should proclaim Christ’s rule and, if those submitted to other authorities wanted to come and join team Jesus, they should leave Empire. I still resonate, mostly, with this.

However, in recent months I’ve shifted in some of my thinking. I once believed that followers of Jesus should really limit their engagement with government. That our task was purely evangelistic–to woo people out of Empire and into the Kingdom of God. But now, I’ve come to view the government in a different way. But, before I get to that, let me pause to clarify at least three of the predominant ways people understand these two “kingdoms.”

The view of Unam sanctum: Basically, in 1302, Pope Boniface VIII affirmed that there are two “swords”–a spiritual sword and a temporal sword. These two different sorts of authority…church authority and earthly authority. However, spiritual authority trumps earthly authority. Therefore, the Pope is God’s highest authority on earth. While it is easy to dismiss this view (and to see how it contributed to the Reformation), once can find variations of this in American society today. This is, essentially the view I held as a young man. I believed that America could only be a righteous beacon of liberty in the world insofar as it was properly submitted to the values of Jesus. In other words, America is awesome because it is a Christian nation. Jesus trumps America, paper covers rock.

One promblem with this view: Uh. There is something strange about using the religion started by a homeless prophet who preached good news to the poor and love of enemy as some sort of guiding set of values for Empire. Governments are made for power…the way of Jesus doesn’t really give much positive value to coercion and power.

Luther’s view: God rules the world through two kingdoms…one is the kingdom of the world, the other is the kingdom of God. He rules the world with reason and law by ordaining institutions like governments. The worldly kingdom restrains the “ravenous wolves” of the world. He rules the church through faith and grace. In this view, Christians are called to engage actively in both kingdoms in hopes that the kingdom of God can transform the kingdom of the world, however the two kingdoms are to remain seperate. They are both God’s kingdoms, both sanctioned, and are both to resist evil, each in their own seperate spheres. In other words, both God’s kingdom and Caesar’s kingdom are from God, and we should give proper respect to both, and engage in both.

One problem with Luther’s wiew: This leads to an impotent church. Conflicts of interest are kept to a minimum by a sort of dualism that easily seperates spirituality from every day life. This perspective is prevalent…and it allows for someone like George W. Bush or Barack Obama to espouse a firm commitment to Jesus Christ while bombing people (including the extra-wicked use of cluster bombs).

One traditional Anabaptist view: The two kingdoms should be kept totally seperate. Once you are baptized, you have nothing to do with the kingdom of the world. You can’t be a soldier or in the government. There are some variations on the view. For example, some early Anabaptists thought it was ok to work in certain government jobs. However, Anabaptists have generally held that our allegiance to Christ means that the worldly “kingdom” is not our kingdom. In other words, God’s kingdom is ok…and, perhaps, so is Caesar’s…but we should let Caesar have his kingdom and we’ll stay out of it. I realize that folks usually peg Anabaptists as separatists who have washed their hands and have left the world to its own devices. But this is an unfair perspective. While Anabaptists have, traditionally stayed out of politics and military, etc, they have been involved in service, relief, education and more around the world in a way that is largely disproportionate to their numbers.

Problem with this view: However, there can still be a lack of concern for the problems of the world that flows out of this. Also, this view allows for great acts of charity, but it potentially limits one’s ability to do justice. In other words, if Anabaptists avoid engaging structures of oppression, the best they can do is run from oppression or try to pull people out of oppressive structures. Yet, there tends to be an inability to challenge or reform oppressive structures.

There are other views, to be sure. And, though I’m attributing these three views to three different groups, these ideas aren’t unique to these groups. In other words, lots of people have grappled with these ideas in similar ways. But, it seems to me, these give us a general sense of three ways folks tend to think about how “two kingdoms” relate to one another.

I, quite frankly, see all of them as unsatisfactory. Oddly enough, I find myself resonating most with the first and third views. To me, if Jesus is king, he is king. If someone has to rule over everything, it should be Jesus. And his Church is his representative on earth. I mean, most Christian have always held that this is the way it will be in End. And, since I have a (mostly) realized eschatology, there is a straight-forwardness to this approach. However, I don’t think coercion and violence and domination fit with whatever I would consider Christ’s rule. So, I affirm the Anabaptist conviction that we shouldn’t contribute into systems of oppression.

The Un-Kingdom of God: In other words, I affirm that only Christ has authority to rule over the earth…and that the Church is his embodiment on earth. But, I don’t affirm, when it comes to tangible power, Christ’s Supremacy. Rather, I affirm his subservience…he is an “unking.” Jesus has the right to rule, but he doesn’t. And, neither should governments.

I don’t believe in two separate kingdoms with two separate spheres. Instead, I believe in an unkingdom–I believe in Anarchy in the way of Jesus. And any government that tries to set up authority–to oppress or dominate or rule over overs–is utterly illegitimate.

I affirm, as I did when I wrote this, that we aren’t to take up arms to challenge systems of oppression. But I’ve become increasingly convinced that, since only the un-kingdom of God, which is anarchic, is what God desires for our world, it is our duty as the Church to subvert the government, to non-violently revolt. Rather than simply ignoring it, we must struggle against it. Proactively. Actively. Creatively. We must take it down brick by brick. But, as with everything, we must do so with love.

And we must seek to replace it by forming, in the midst of the ruins of the old world, autonomous communities of deep mutuality and liberation. We must both create alternatives, as well as resist systems of oppression. If you do the former without the latter, you end up with a disconnected enclave. If you do the latter without the former, you end up making a lot of noise that never goes anywhere.

What follows is the text of the second version from three years ago. I still agree with my conclusions, but if I were to rewrite the piece today, I would make several changes. For one thing, I would adjust the “Hauerwasian” tone of the post as I have moved away from some of those emphases in some ways. And I would include a more nuanced (and more positive) description of “syncretism,” as I’ve come to understand more clearly that Christianity has always been syncretic. And I would probably even include some cases of what I would consider good or faithful expressions of American Christian syncretism, in particular American Catholic radicalism such as the Catholic Worker movement and radical Appalachian Christian communities. But these changes would all serve to qualify the same core critique: that the mixture of the dominant war-making mythologies of the u.s. american nation-state and Christian theology and liturgy — as we often see in mainline churches on Memorial Day and other state holy days — make for nothing but a perversion of the Gospel.

During my high school and college years and beyond, I thought about becoming a Catholic priest and made an effort to discern and pray about it over the course of those years. Eventually I discovered that part of my vocation was to marry—Emily and I will celebrate our two-year anniversary this July—and so the presbyteral ordination option was closed. As I have reflected on how my religio-political views have evolved over the last ten years or so, however, I sometimes wonder what sort of trouble I would get into if I had been led to the Catholic priesthood.

Let me explain more fully what I mean. One of my academic interests has been to explore American Christianity’s tendency to unite itself with American civil religion, to seamlessly ally itself, knowingly or unknowingly, with the interests of the nation-state. Even the Roman Catholic Church, a church that should (in theory) have a greater consciousness of its transnational (‘catholic’) character, perpetually succumbs to this sort of syncretism when we do things like place American flags in our sanctuaries, when we sing the national anthem at Mass, and when we refer to American soldiers in our prayers as “our” troops.[2]

Beyond these fairly obvious examples lies an even greater, though largely unrecognized, danger in our inability to distinguish between the state’s mythology and holidays and the mythology and holidays of Christianity. Many Catholics see no problem with celebrating any and all of the state’s holidays, and sometimes we even celebrate special Masses on these days, such as Independence Day and Thanksgiving, in effect “baptizing” them and making them an unofficial part of the liturgical calendar.

Memorial Day, which we celebrate this coming Monday, is a great example. Last year on Memorial Day, I was making the drive home from a family gathering. The occasion for the gathering was, in fact, not Memorial Day per se, but for the birthday of two relatives. On the drive home, Emily and I passed a small country Baptist church and on the marquee was the question: “What will you do for Christ this Memorial Day?” Aside from the fact that the question makesabsolutely no sense, I was irritated and almost stopped the car to take a digital picture of the sign because it was such a clear example of the sort of religious syncretism that exists in the United States. American Christians will even combine the mythology and holidays of Christianity and American civil religion even if the result is completely unintelligible nonsense.

Two years ago, on the Sunday before Memorial Day, a visiting priest was celebrating Mass at my parish in West Virginia. Near the end of Mass, before he processed out of the church he wanted, in light of the upcoming holiday, to honor the soldiers who “made the ultimate sacrifice for us.” All of this he said in front of a giant crucifix which, last time I checked, represents the “ultimate sacrifice” in which Christians believe and which, indeed, we had just celebrated in the Eucharistic action. As a fitting conclusion to the patriotic Mass, the congregation sang, not to Jesus, but to the country itself in the words of “America the Beautiful.”

We get into a really dangerous place when we start confusing our myths and our holidays. Memorial Day honors the memory of those who gave their lives serving the United States in its military, many of them making the “ultimate sacrifice” (in the state’s view) in service to the nation. That’s fine. The state needs holidays like this to support its grand narrative and mythology, just like any community of persons.[2] The Church, however, has its own “sort” of “Memorial Day.” In fact, our celebration of the Christian “Memorial Day” spans two days: All Saints Day and All Souls Day, November 1 and 2, respectively. These are the days that Christians celebrate the lives of those who have gone before us giving their lives specifically as followers of Christ, many of them making the ultimate sacrifice as martyrs on the way of the cross.

Independence Day, of course, celebrates the foundational acts of violence that founded this community of persons. The rhetoric that honors those who made the “ultimate sacrifice” is the same. A recent essay for Independence Day on the website of the Catholic Peace Fellowship reminded us,

[W]e are mistaken if we believe we have been set free by a bloody battle, a revolution in which thousands of people were killed over the course of eight years of violence.

As Catholics, we remember and celebrate the One who sacrificed and died over 2000 years ago in order to give us our freedom. “For freedom, Christ has set us free,” Paul says in his letter to the Galatians (Gal 5:1). As followers of Christ, we know that we have already been set free, and therefore we have no need to construct a new freedom.

[...]

So why do Christians continue to wave the flag, proudly and boldly, every Fourth of July? Why are Christians often the ones cheering the loudest at each parade? Because we have bought into the myth upon which every nation rests: that a bloody sacrifice, performed in battle, is necessary for a nation’s founding.

For Christians, our foundation is built on Christ’s ultimate sacrifice of Death on the cross. His sacrifice, however, was a nonviolent one, as he accepted total suffering on Himself, and inflicted none on other human beings. In contrast, the sacrifice of a soldier, while still a sacrifice, is often done at the cost of others’ lives.

As the ultimate sacrifice has already been completed, we do not need to trump it. We do not need to come up with a better one. We need to participate in the sacrifice of Jesus in order to partake in His redemption. Participation in this sacrifice means carrying His cross with humility,without violence.

Christians have their own liturgical calendar that marks time and significant events differently than the state. Our “Independence Day” as Christians is the Triduum, where we celebrate the freedom that comes from sharing in Christ’s death and resurrection. Just as Americans celebrate their pride of citizenship on the fourth of July, Christians celebrate their citizenship in another Kingdom on the feast of Christ the King, the last Sunday of the Church year.

The American narrative also features the holiday of Thanksgiving, a feast which seems to mirror the basic prayerful posture of Christian life, that of thankfulness. While giving thanks is certainly the heart of Christian life, it is important to reflect on the content of our thankfulness, and a closer look at the national holiday, with its connections to genocide and imperialism, should give Christian residents of the empire pause. Is the traditional celebration of Thanksgiving—with its focus on overeating, football, and pre-Christmas hype—really necessary for Catholics considering the Church’s ongoing focus of eucharist, the gathering of the Lord’s Supper, which some Christians celebrate weekly, or even daily?

Should not Christians at least consider resisting American holidays as a way of resisting the American mythology, the metanarrative that, as Catholic theologian William Cavanaugh says, serves as an “alternative soteriology” to the Church’s story of salvation history?[3] Should we not look for opportunites to subvert the holidays of the empire in which we find ourselves, reminding ourselves of and drawing attention to the ways in which these holidays, as part of American mythology, try to shape our loyalties and practices according to the ideals of the nation-state?

When I speak or write this way, I am often asked if I am advocating a Catholic type of separatism or sectarianism. The answer is no; I am not suggesting a withdrawal from the world. Such a suggestion would deny the mission of the Church for the world. On the other hand, I don’t think the careless syncretism of patriotic Christianity is the only alternative to sectarianism. I think we need a healthy, Catholic suspicion of alternative metanaratives to our own, an ability to clearly understand the differences between the two, and the courage to let that test our celebrations and our social ethics as Catholic Christians.

This affirmation of the distinctiveness of the Church and its practices is not lost on most Catholics when it comes to sexual and reproductive issues. With the exception of those Catholics who believe the Church must “get with the times” and update its sexual and reproductive ethics to match the dominant values of American society, most Catholics understand that our commitment to Christ entails the following of a different ethic when it comes to sexuality and the dignity of human life. Many Catholics do not even have a problem endorsing a “sectarian” view when it comes to holidays, at least when it is discussed from the opposite direction. Note the “battle for Christmas” debates that have occurred over the last couple of years, or the concern shown when non-Christians celebrate Easter. When it comes to these discussions, many Christians have no problem whatsoever making the “sectarian” separation between holidays that are “ours” and holidays that are “theirs.”

I know that, had I become a priest, I would not have been able to celebrate Memorial Day or Independence Day Masses in good conscience. And I know that, as a result, I would run into congregational resistance and be reviled by my “good, patriotic” churchgoers. But, I would remind them, the days are not on the liturgical calendar for, as much as we tend to forget, they are not part of our Christian story of salvation. The ministry of the priesthood, like the ministry of ecclesially-committed theologians, is to proclaim the Gospel, the Church’s alternative story of salvation. It is a story that exposes the lie of imperial mythologies and narratives through the distinctive life of citizens of an empire not of this world, the history-spanning community of “resident aliens” within the belly of the world’s empires.

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[1] The point here, of course, is not that we should stop praying for soldiers. The point is that in the context of liturgy, words like “we” and “our” refer to our collective identify as the Body of Christ and not to our collective identity as U.S. Americans.
[2] Cf. Carolyn Marvin and David W. Ingle, Blood Sacrifice and the Nation: Totem Rituals and the American Flag (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). For a shorter article which nicely summarizes the book, see their “Blood Sacrifice and the Nation: Revisiting Civil Religion,” in Journal of the American Academy of Religion 64 (Winter 1996): 767-780.
[3] William T. Cavanaugh, Theopolitical Imagination: Discovering the Liturgy as a Political Act in an Age of Global Consumerism (London: T & T Clark).

She is the author of such books as Say to the Darkness We Beg to Differ, Reweaving Religious Life: Beyond the Liberal Model, At the Border Called Hope: Where Refugees are Neighbors and Radical Gratitude.