Yves here. Discussing American Christianity might seem narrow, but its influence in the US has become significant, particularly through Evangelical support for Zionism and its lasting impact on social values. Unlike many, I did not grow up in any religious tradition, limiting my ability to fully grasp Dannebohm’s perspective. Nevertheless, he appears to have gathered enough anecdotal evidence to approach a more substantial understanding of the issue.
Dannebohm clearly states that the American Christian aversion to the poor is not confined to Evangelicals; many Catholic leaders now share this sentiment. I’m not well-informed about the internal politics of organized religion. Is this shift partly rooted in the longstanding American efforts to vilify Latin American and African priests who advocated for social and political reforms, often pegged as communists?
By J. Basil Dannebohm: a columnist, speaker, consultant, and former state legislator dividing his time between Kansas and Washington DC. He identifies as a registered Independent. Originally published at his website
Approximately a year ago, actor Rainn Wilson shared a striking observation on social media: “The metamorphosis of Jesus Christ from a humble servant of the abject poor to a symbol that stands for gun rights, prosperity theology, anti-science, limited government (that neglects the destitute), and fierce nationalism is truly the strangest transformation in human history.”
It is not surprising that the rise of religious extremism coincides with political extremism; both stem from fear.
For how long have we heard, “They’re coming for your rights?” Yet, as Wilson noted, the individuals truly stripping Americans of their rights are those politicians who profess a belief in “limited government.”
Every accusation seems to reveal an uncomfortable truth.
What once raised red flags has become the norm. In the 1970s, we had Jonestown; in the 1990s, it was Waco. Today, dysfunction is commonplace. A significant portion of American Christianity has assumed the conductor’s role on a chaotic train.
As Roman Catholic theologian Karl Rahner astutely remarked, “The number one cause of atheism is Christians. Those who proclaim Him with their mouths and deny Him with their actions are what an unbelieving world finds unbelievable.”
To secular observers, many Christian denominations often appear to contradict the Gospel they promote, focusing on “self” rather than “service.”
This “my way or the highway” mentality fails to recognize that one person’s doctrine might be another’s heresy. It demonstrates respect and compassion only to those who conform to a specific creed, hardly resonating with Christ’s message; it is a form of legalistic nationalism.
Combining this with a politicized faith brings us to our current situation.
As Blaise Pascal once stated, “Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.”
Recently, a prominent Catholic journalist was publicly mocked by a priest who, with fervent conviction, called him “a waste of baptismal water” for refusing to debate liberal theological views.
I have faced similar rebukes from pastors, “influencers,” and newly converted individuals, all suggesting that my interpretation of the Gospel is “naïve,” “liberal,” “obsessed with social justice,” and “consumed by the heresy of empathy,” and too focused on Christ’s message instead of “the messages handed down by the Holy Spirit through sacred tradition.”
It’s important to note that “sacred tradition” is often a euphemism for manipulation. Catholic and Orthodox leaders invoke it to justify a male-only priesthood, despite the fact that it was women who first discovered the empty tomb after Christ’s Resurrection. The men, on the other hand, were hiding.
But I digress.
The people filling my inbox with critique often share extreme political and theological views. Their social media is overflowing with religious symbols, prayers, and protests, along with images of vengeance, weaponry, and disparaging remarks aimed at “the least of these.” Among these are the symbols associated with hatred and conspiracy.
These individuals embody Rahner’s warning about what an unbelieving world finds unbelievable.
As they post countless selfies, claiming their faith is “under attack,” it is striking that none show any genuine interest in serving others. They seem uninterested in actions reflecting Christ’s message, such as volunteering at shelters, fundraising, or contributing to food banks. Instead, their energy is directed towards aggressive protests and self-congratulatory rhetoric, mistaking nationalism for faith.
Their focus on “me-atitudes” stands in stark contrast to the Beatitudes, confusing nationalism for the essence of the Gospel.
As countercultural theologian Godfrey Diekmann aptly remarked, “What difference does it make if the bread and wine turn into the Body and Blood of Christ and we don’t?”
I cannot speak for that Catholic journalist, but I have no intention of “debating” my “liberal theological views”; I plan to live by them instead.
Sure, I’ve been told that I “disrupt the peace.”
That may be true.
I might be unwelcome in certain branches of Christianity, but let’s face facts: attending a service for an hour every Sunday doesn’t make one a Christian, just as sitting in a garage doesn’t make someone a Chevrolet. Judas Iscariot illustrates that you can be part of an incredible movement while still becoming lost if your heart isn’t truly committed to the very Christ you claim to follow.
In conclusion, the conversation about faith extends beyond mere belief systems; it challenges the actions of those who profess spirituality and the values they exhibit in their daily lives. Genuine faith should manifest in service, compassion, and an unwavering commitment to the teachings of Christ, rather than nationalism or divisiveness.
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1 My father identified as an undeclared atheist, worried that admitting this would jeopardize his career. He lived with this belief quietly until shortly before his death, viewing religion as a means to help people reconcile with mortality. My mother was also non-religious, with no Bible reading or prayers in our home. We attended the Unitarian church in Boston for about two years due to my father’s connection with their pastor, and later, a Presbyterian church for a brief period in Oregon. Although I had some exposure to Protestantism, it never shaped my beliefs in any meaningful way.
