The End of Christian Supremacy and Its Quest for Dominance

Call for a New Reformation, Part 5

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A long, long time ago (380 C.E.) in a land far, far away (at least from me), Emperor Theodocious l declared Christianity to be the only legitimate religion of the Roman Empire. The sword and cross joined together and became tools to further the quest for dominion and power.

The image of Christ as Pantocrator (“ruler of all”) arose in the 6th and 7th centuries and reflected this new emphasis on his global dominance. While many Christians resisted the image, it was ultimately considered a faithful expression of an important part of the Christian faith.

Ever since Christianity became the official state religion of the Empire, the primary way to convert non-Christians to the faith was through fear. It was simple: convert or die.

In the British Isles, for example, it is strongly believed that those Celts who worshiped the old gods, such as the druids, would have to abandon those deities and embrace Christ or suffer the price for (presumably) worshiping demons. While today we celebrate St Patty's Day as a way to honor the saint who brought Christianity to the Irish, what is often overlooked is that we are actually celebrating genocide.

Truth be told, the quest for power and dominance has been an integral part of the Christian religion for many, many more centuries than it has not.

Postmodern culture is experiencing a meaning crisis.

Why have we lost sight of Meaning?
Is there any hope of getting it back?
Better yet, is the loss of Meaning really a bad thing?

If you long for a theological path forward, Drinking from an Empty Glass: Living Out of a Meaningless Spirituality is the book you’re looking for.

Rage against the machine

For a few decades now there has been a movement within Christianity to resist the danger of what is called “civil religion”. Civil religion is where patriotism and national rituals function as a socially-binding element in the same way that religion does. More significantly for Christians, it’s when Christianity is infused with the spirit of patriotism.

Theologians such as Stanley Hauerwas have decried what they call “Constantinian Christianity” for years. That’s why many pastors have argued that we need to remove American flags from sanctuaries. We need to create distance between the symbols of the church and the symbols of the state to avoid confusing the two.

One way I resist civil religion is at sporting events. When the national anthem plays, I stand with the people in solidarity as a fellow human being. But, I refuse to sing or take my hat off because that is liturgical knee bending to Caesar. Instead, I stand quietly with my hands behind my back, thus making a symbolic statement. (And, yes, I get very, very nasty looks.)

A radical response to civil religion

I know of one pastor who removed the flag from the sanctuary without the church council's permission. Controversy ensued. Many in that congregation had served in wars or had family who had served. It was an important part of their identity, and understandably so. The flag symbolized the sacrifice made to keep fellow Americans safe. So, they perceived the flag’s removal as an attack on their identity.

But, I would argue that drawing out this emotional response was part of the point of that particular act. The pastor wanted the congregation to see themselves as Christian above any other identity. For him, a worship service was a time set aside to celebrate that very specific singular identity.

Removing the flag shone a light into the darkness. It revealed the extent to which that symbol had become so important to them that they couldn't worship without it. And, in case you couldn't guess, several longstanding members left that congregation for another one.

A cautious response to civil religion

A couple of decades ago I was having a conversation with a pastor who despised having the flag in his church’s sanctuary. But, he wasn't even going to bring up the issue.

When I asked why, he said that it would split the church, they would lose members, and they were already struggling with finances.

From what I gather, there are a great number of pastors concerned about the problem of civil religion, but they choose not to act against it because of the potential damage it could do to congregational membership.

It's not surprising that membership, money, and job security are powerful motivators.

The heir to Christian empire

When I think of Christian Nationalism (the poster child for extreme civil religion), I imagine a group of people gathering in a room and saying…

“Hey, here's an idea. Why don't we take everything that Jesus ever said and did as recorded in the Gospels, and then institutionalize the exact opposite. We can even call it ‘The Only Real Christianity™’ because it's great marketing.”

In other words…

“Let's embody a spirit that is anti-christ, and tell everybody that it is the Spirit of Christ so people will fall in line and support our agenda.”

When I think of Christian Nationalism today, I like to think of it as an aberration. It’s something so unrecognizable when compared with the Spirit of Christ that it cannot be considered “Christian” at all.

I tell myself that, and it makes me feel better.

But I also know it's a lie.

The goal of Christian Nationalism is to impose the Christian faith upon others by force.

Is this really any different from the way Christianity has operated for nearly 1,700 years?

Taking a good hard look in the mirror

Perhaps the most frightening thing a human being can encounter is their own reflection in a mirror, the opportunity to see themselves for who they truly are.

Think about this for a moment…

How do you react to someone else who does not paint you in a positive light?

Maybe they say you are a dick. Maybe they avoid you because they find you to be annoying. Maybe they don't want to talk with you because they believe you only care about yourself and not them.

When faced with such critical assessments, we typically decry them. “That’s not me!”, we may exclaim.

But…what if it IS you?

How often do you hide the truth of yourself from yourself? How often do others see you more clearly than you see yourself? How often do their negative assessments reflect that truth back to you, not unlike the mirror in the bathroom that shows you every wrinkle and flaw upon your face?

Could it be that you truly are a dick? Annoying? Self-absorbed?

Facing the truth

The rise of Christian Nationalism is a testimony to the extent that it is quite possibly the 21st-century’s true heir to Christendom. No, it doesn't embody the Spirit of Jesus. But, how much of the history of Christendom truly has?

Christendom IS Christian Empire.

Christendom is the earthly manifestation of Christ as Pantocrator (“ruler of all”).

“Pantocrator” is all about power, superiority, dominance, and total control.

“Pantocrator” is about centralizing all power under one man on Earth.

“Pantocrator” is about subjecting all humans, and indeed all creation, under this one man.

To assert boldly that “Christ is Pantocrator” is to assert the primacy of patriarchal absolute control.

The language of Christ as Pantocrator not only reinforces the desire for patriarchal absolute control but also feeds it. It subtly nourishes and draws out the darkest desire for conquest in the human heart every time the word passes the lips.

The language we use matters because it shapes us.

Oh, one thing I should mention before I continue…

“Pantocrator” is an ancient word that nobody uses anymore. We don’t really need it, though. Today, we are generally comfortable using a more commonplace word that actually goes back to biblical texts, a descriptor that carries the exact same meaning, evokes the exact same imagery, and nourishes and draws out the exact same dark patriarchal impulses.

“Jesus is Lord.”

“Oh no, that's not what it means at all”

I know, this is a hard pill to swallow. And it's natural to want to spit it back up before it goes all the way down.

The typical Christian resistance asserts that using the word “Lord” doesn’t affirm cultural conceptions, but rather challenges them. It's to say,

“The world's understanding of lordship isn't real lordship. Jesus redefines it for us. When we say ‘Jesus is Lord’ we are saying that he is the one to whom we give our allegiance, not Caesar. We are saying that true lordship—divine lordship—cares for people rather than subjugating them.”

I get it. I’ve preached sermons on that. And, if that helps you sleep at night by insulating you from the realization that the language you're using supports and empowers the Christian Nationalist spirit, then by all means embrace it. Getting a good night's sleep is important. This is how I cope as I do this, too.

But when the rubber hits the road, the language we use matters. And we don't get to say what words mean for others. Culture has as much say about it as we do. That's why changing the meaning of a word is extremely difficult, especially once the word has taken on toxic connotations. At that point, the word is simply irredeemable.

The truth of our postmodern context

In the ancient world, dominance hierarchies were just the way of things. Ancients considered it to be a good way to structure society. The question wasn't whether society was going to be structured vertically along a dominance hierarchy, but rather how a dominance hierarchy would function.

A major shift that came with the modern paradigm was the arrival of a horizontal social structure. In the place of vertical absolutism, we saw a move toward a more horizontally structured democracy. Even those organizations that maintained their vertical structure began to function in a more horizontal manner. Yet, it seems to me that while those organizations functioned more horizontally, they still maintained a strong sense of centralized authority.

Currently, the modern paradigm is giving way to the postmodern one. In this age, the natural tendency is to push authority to the margins. It's about decentralization.

The continuously emerging postmodern culture sees patriarchy and hierarchical dominance as harmful to human flourishing, and therefore bad. Any language that evokes such horrors naturally repulses those who inhabit a postmodern worldview.

What speaks to postmoderns is a more horizontal relational language. Consider this for example…

Let's do a thought experiment

I would like you to close your eyes and say a prayer of gratitude to God using patriarchal and hierarchical language. Afterward, keep your eyes closed and notice how you feel.

Here’s the prayer:

“All glory and honor to you, Lord of the Universe, Sovereign over All.”

Now do the same thing with much more horizontal and relational language.

“Thank you, my Deepest and Dearest Friend, who knows me better than I know myself.”

I suspect that (if you are self-aware enough) you will notice an emotional shift. Again, the language you use matters. In the same way that the intimate horizontal language affects how we experience and perceive God, so too does the language of hierarchical dominion.

Power-Over vs Power-With

Here’s something postmoderns seem to intuit that moderns do not. The language you use to talk about God reflects the God whom you serve as well as your motivation for serving.

The language of patriarchal dominion is inherently laced with fear. Even if that fear is the last resort, it's still ultimately ruling through fear.

This relational dynamic is one of “power-over”. The Lord rules over his subjects, and the subjects do as told to avoid their Lord’s wrath.

So, when the rubber hits the road, the God of patriarchy and dominion—aka, “the Lord”—is one who exercises power-over and motivates through fear.

In contrast, a God who is evoked using horizontal relational language doesn't exercise power-over, but rather “power-with”. This is the power of mutuality and cooperation. It is founded upon a shared sense of attentivness to the other and doesn’t ask the other to do more than they can do. We actually have a popular and theologically significant word to describe this power-with dynamic in the English language: “love”.

I believe that postmoderns are simply more attuned to the extent to which the language of patriarchal domination and control is incompatible with the power-with dynamic that IS love .

Which leads us to the BIG problem with “Jesus is Lord”

The power-over dynamic of patriarchal lordship is the antithesis to the power-with dynamic of love. And, inasmuch as the language of lordship inherently evokes patriarchal dominance, it is in direct opposition to the God who is Love incarnate in Jesus…which makes it anti-Christ(ian) language.

So the real question for today isn't whether “Jesus is Lord.”

The real question is whether Christians can proclaim that “Jesus is Lord” at all and still be faithful to the God who is Love revealed in Jesus Christ.

Quick aside: Faithful adults

I wouldn't be surprised if some scoff at my equating the power-with dynamic with love. They may argue that sometimes a power-over dynamic is also love. For example, if a child is running into the street, exercising power-over to stop the child is the most loving thing to do.

Here I want to emphasize that I'm talking about people who are functioning as adults in their faith, not children. It's an important distinction. Spiritual adults take responsibility for their spiritual lives. They function with a degree of social autonomy not extended to children.

Maybe the proof is in the pudding

Years ago I watched the movie Saved. In one scene, some stalwart Evangelical girls grab Mary and force her into a van to perform an exorcism on her because she is backsliding. Mary rejects their attempt.

“Mary, turn away from Satan” the lead Christian girl says. “Jesus, he loves you.”

At this point, Mary drops a truth bomb. “You don't know the first thing about love.” She turns her back and walks away.

The lead Christian girl becomes angry at Mary and exclaims “I am filled with Christ's love!” as she throws a Bible and hits Mary in the back with it.

(Yes, believe it or not, stabbed in the back with a Bible while professing Christ’s love.)

Mary returns the Bible and says with exasperation, “This is not a weapon, you idiot.”

Here is the scene:

Mary sees the truth of her Christian friends. She reveals the truth of who they are to them.

• No, they are not filled with Christ's love.

• No, they do not understand the Bible.

When faced with this revelation which is so abundantly obvious to any bystander who is not drinking the Kool-Aid, the Christian girls just cannot accept it. They have buried themselves so deep in a lie about who they are that when they do hear the truth it just doesn't register.

Right now, I cannot think of a more perfect visual to capture the American experience with evangelicalism and fundamentalism, and especially Christian Nationalism.

Listening to the exvangelicals

Perhaps no one knows the truth about the dominant form of Christianity in America today more so than those who call themselves “exvangelicals”. These are people who grew up drinking the Kool-Aid, but then for one reason or another turned a critical eye to their religion and began to ask questions. They discovered…

• The Bible is not what they were taught it was

• The “Christian” morality they grew up with has nothing to do with Christianity at all

• The divine love they learned about wasn't love at all, but an exercise of power and abuse

• Their religion was part of the problem rather than the solution, at least when measured against the portrayal of Jesus in the Gospels

What an eye-opening experience for them.

And, from what I've seen on social media, there seems to be a theme. It’s the theme highlighted in the video clip from Saved. Their former religion speaks a lot about love, but it doesn't know the first thing about love.

Or, to put it another way…

Their former religion speaks a lot about vertical patriarchal domineering power-over, and it doesn't know the first thing about horizontal power-with.

Down with Hell

Perhaps the area this realization manifests most fully is in the exvangelicals’ rejection of the concept of Hell.

Right-wing Evangelicalism tends to claim that those who do not accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior are going to burn in Hell for all eternity without any hope of relief. Such is the price paid for not bending the knee to Jesus' lordship.

To exvangelicals, this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. And they (or at least those still operating withing a somewhat Evangelical framework) have an answer to this: universalism.

The concept of universalism is not new. Basically, if you believe that God is love and that God ultimately wins in the end, then it is not a stretch at all to say that everybody gets saved. That means there is no hell. There is only salvation. Such is the way of divine grace.

All dogs go to heaven. Can I get an “amen”?

Don't be a dick Christian Nationalist

I recognize that I am being extremely harsh toward right-wing Evangelicalism and its self-deluding lie about itself. Let's face it, it has no interest whatsoever in listening to the voices that are critical of it so that it can find out more about who it truly is. It's far more interested in pretending it’s something it isn't.

Right now I want to emphasize that this is a natural part of the human condition. It's not just that Evangelicals should be listening to their critics so they can understand themselves better. We all need to do that.

• How often do conservatives decry “social justice warriors" as being nothing but mere bullies?

• How often do progressive Christians get criticized for being condescending and self-righteous?

• How often do white men get labeled as racist and sexist?

Personally, I fit the bill for all three. The question is, how should I deal with those criticisms? Should I reject them and say, “Those people don't know what they're talking about”? Or should I say, “Maybe they're on to something that I cannot see, and I should start recognizing it in myself”?

Sometimes, as we shroud ourselves in self-deception, others are able to see us more clearly than we can see ourselves. Listen to them. If someone says you are a self-absorbed dick, maybe it's because you are a self-absorbed dick. I know it's uncomfortable, but learning to listen to others is an important spiritual discipline. It is one of the keys to growth of consciousness.

Is that really the God you want to worship?

The language we use matters. It gives expression to who we are, and it shapes who we become.

If you believe that God is love (power-with), then give full expression to that. Let your personal theology reflect that in every way, including the intentional language you use.

If you believe that God is not a God of patriarchal dominance and control (the antithesis of love), then don't use language that inherently communicates that God is a God of patriarchal dominance and control, which includes the language of lordship (power-over).

It's hard to step away from traditional language because we are so used to it. But, we now live in an age in which we can see how such language has shaped the hearts and minds of self-professing Christians who publicly pursue the power necessary to impose their religion upon others. We see clearly how they strive to become Lord over others through the institutionalization of radical othering.

We have moved beyond the hypothetical “It could theoretically lead to harm” and into the observable “it has clearly done harm, and if we continue to use such language it is going to create more harm”.

Perhaps for the first time in history, our postmodern age has gifted us with an evolving consciousness that allows us to finally see that a power-over dynamic is not and should never be confused with the dynamic of love.

This new perspective changes so much for us when it comes to the use of traditional theological language. Adapting to this revelation is vital for the New Reformation

“If it means anything at all, it can be said another way”

That's a quote from an Emergent Conference back in 2005. I heard it from John Caputo, a Catholic deconstructionist theologian.

If we say there is only one way to communicate a theological concept, we run the risk of creating an idol. The language we use is meant to point us toward the God who is Love. That is the function it serves when the language is faithful.

But, what if the traditional language we use becomes the stumbling block that prevents us from encountering the God who is Love?

To me, the answer is clear. The best way to honor the truth of the traditional language is to recapture that original spirit through new articulations.

Out with the old. In with the new.

It doesn't mean that we don't accept older articulations as part of the tradition. It doesn't mean we stop using that language when we're talking about the tradition. It does, however, mean that we identify that the older language is a part of the tradition that is no longer appropriate because we have better ways of articulating what that language meant to articulate in the first place.

Remember, Christians are not called to be superior and lord over others. We are called to serve.

Yes, the language we use matters. It expresses whom we serve and shapes how we serve. And it’s the “how” part that I want to start tackling next week.

Peace, Bo
www.evolvingchristianfaith.net

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Credits

• Thanks to NightCafe for the cover art