Category: Book Reviews

A Review of “Jesus and the Powers” by N. T. Wright and Michael F. Bird

A Review of N. T. Wright and Michael F. Bird, Jesus and the Powers: Christian Political Witness In an Age of Totalitarian Terror and Dysfunctional Democracies (Zondervan, 2024, $22.99)

As I begin this review, I must admit that I am not a dispassionate analyst. I do have some skin in the game since this new book by Wright and Bird covers very similar ground as does my book, I Pledge Allegiance. I have some firm opinions in this area of study.

Having put my cards on the table, however, I can say that Wright and Bird have given the church a very helpful book providing biblical guidance on how followers of Jesus are to deal with the practical matters of church–state relations. Can a Christian be involved with politics? What is the proper relationship between church and state? How are disciples to conduct themselves as responsible citizens? What guidance does scripture offer for answering these types of questions?

All this and more is tackled here with the deft biblical–theological hand one has come to expect from Wright and Bird.  With numerous historical examples illustrating the strengths and weaknesses of alternative approaches to such matters.

The first three chapters lay out the church’s relationship to world empires, beginning with Rome’s domination of Jesus’ homeland, up to the church’s contemporary interactions with the Soviet Union, China and the United States. The spiritual backdrop to these interactions is helpfully cast in terms of the spiritual, cosmic powers always at work behind the temporal authorities we see in our national, international, global relations. Thus, Wright and Bird endorse Walter Wink’s important three–volume work on Christianity and the Powers.

Chapter four, “The Kingdom of God as Vision and Vocation” begins the turn to a more pragmatic description of what exactly Christian disciples ought to be doing, and how we ought to be thinking, about our place in secular society. Here they thankfully emphasize the vital unification of both gospel proclamation and social justice activism as equally vital, and ultimately indivisible, kingdom activities for the local church. Across the entire spectrum of Christian, kingdom activities we are reminded that “the whole purpose of Christian influence is not the pursuit of Christian hegemony but the giving of faithful Christian witness,” thereby endorsing James Davison Hunter’s concept of the Christian church offering a “faithful presence” in the world (93).

The book’s second half focuses on matters of church–state relations in the modern day. There is an excellent critique of Christian Nationalism,” as well as the vigorous defense of liberal democracy, pluralism and secularism as the political venues most conducive to religious freedom.

The book’s conclusion reminds its readers that “we are called to be disciples with a theo–political vision of the gospel” (174) meaning that “a kingdom perspective requires prophetic witness, priestly intercession and political discernment” (175). The church cannot build the kingdom of God, only God can construct his kingdom on earth as it is in heaven (176).

This is a fine piece of work. And I am happy to encourage my subscribers to read this book by Wright and Bird, although I encourage you to do it in tandem with my book, I Pledge Allegiance: A Believer’s Guide to Kingdom Citizenship in 21st Century America (Eerdmans, 2018).

Now I must turn to my critical analysis of the work.

Wright and Bird have written a handbook of sorts dealing with the questions of church–state relationship and Christian political involvement. Biblical references are treated as proof–texts cited in footnotes with no close reading or interpretation provided along the way. Since both of these men are fine New Testament scholars, this was obviously a deliberate decision. But this  omission leaves the reader with yet another book on politics and theology where we are simply expected to take the authors at their own authoritative word.

The problem with this decision appears most obviously in the discussion of Romans 13. Despite the fact that Paul never uses the vocabulary of “obey” or “obedience” in these verses, Wright and Bird repeat the frequent mistake of taking Paul to say that Christians are responsible “to obey” their secular, civic authorities (105, 109, 110). But this is not the case, and I explain why at some length in my book, I Pledge Allegiance (55–62). Granted, the authors redeem themselves by eventually, and quite rightly, explaining that it is “only good government can claim the mantle of a divinely appointed authority. Accordingly, God brings order through government but does not ordain every individual ruler” (112). Thus, Paul does instruct us to submit to the divine ordering of government, but we are not responsible to obey every person or directive in authority.

Again, Wright and Bird finally reach this conclusion themselves in their section discussing civil disobedience (107–121). They agree that unjust laws may be resisted or disobeyed by believers, although, while admitting that “one needs to have criteria for determining unjust laws,” no specific guidance is offered (119).

They draw a distinction between civil disobedience and uncivil disobedience, the latter being “reserved only for violent authoritarians.” In the face of authoritarianism, Christians are justified in resorting to violence in their efforts to overthrow an oppressive, unjust government. In my view, this is where their argument and methodology go off the rails. Not only is there no biblical evidence on offer, but even the biblical footnotes disappear. Instead, the authors appeal to traditional just war theory, a few notable philosophers, and the example of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s involvement in a plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler.

I obviously disagree strongly with these (less than compelling) arguments justifying a Christian’s turn to violence in civil war. (Again, check out the extensive argument in my book insisting that Christians must always embrace non–violence in every circumstance.) Actually, Bonhoeffer’s own turn to violent anti–Nazi resistance is, in my opinion, the great tragedy of his otherwise exemplary life. For, when all is said and done, Bonhoeffer did not die as a martyr for Jesus Christ and the gospel. He died as a violent insurgent helping to plot a violent murder.

Here we come, perhaps, to the principal problem with Jesus and the Powers. For all the discussion of the kingdom of God and the need for Christian ethics to direct our political engagement, there is no extended discussion of the upside–down nature of Jesus’ kingdom ethics; no exposition of what numerous scholars have called the “kingdom reversal.” In my opinion, this is not only a major oversight but an inexplicable omission in a book like this. Jesus makes it clear, that living out the seemingly upside–down values of the kingdom of God — in every dimension of our public and private lives, political and apolitical — is THE means of demonstrating that the “not yet fulfilled” kingdom of God is, nevertheless, “already present” in this world. Living a non–violent life as Jesus lived a non–violent life, even in the face of the most authoritarian, bloodthirsty injustice exhibited on the cross at Calvary, is our gospel–kingdom mandate.

Similarly, a great deal of additional instruction in political directives could be added, but first we must immerse ourselves in a new way to think, a new way to view life in this world, a new way to live: an upside–down way, a contrarian way in all of life, whether the government is democratic or totalitarian. Unfortunately, Jesus and the Powers gives little attention to this crucial piece of the church and politics pie.

Book Review: “The Case for Christian Nationalism” by Stephen Wolfe

My pastor recently asked me if I had read Stephen Wolfe’s book, The Case for Christian Nationalism (Canon Press, 2022; 475 pages, $24.99). I assume that he asked because of my book, I Pledge Allegiance (Eerdmans, 2018), where I not only criticize all forms of nationalism but strongly condemn Christian nationalism, in particular.

Dr. Wolfe’s book was sitting untouched on my bookcase. So, I returned home from my conversation with my pastor determined to read a volume that seemed to be “making the rounds” in certain circles.

Sparked by the January 6th assault on the US Congress, decorated as it was with Christian imagery like a large wooden cross and handmade signs declaring “Jesus Saves,” there has been a recent flurry of books about Christian nationalism.

Some are for it. Some are against it.

Wolfe is very much in favor of overhauling America in order to make Christianity the national religion, the norm for public behavior and civic engagement, thus producing a thoroughly “Christian nation.”

Let me begin by putting my cards on the table: this book has so many serious problems, it made my head hurt to read more than short snippets at a time. A thorough review would require more space that I can give to it here, so I will focus my attention on Wolfe’s methodology and his consequent justification for viewing nationalism, especially Christian nationalism, as God’s plan for humanity.

A major part of the problem with The Case for Christian Nationalism arises from the fact that the author does not see its problems as a problem. In fact, he almost immediately dismisses any challenges to his approach as irrelevant or misplaced.

From the outset, Wolfe immunizes himself against any scripturally-based criticism by announcing that he “make(s) little effort to exegete biblical text (sic)” (16). Confessing that he is “neither a theologian nor a biblical scholar” with “no training in moving from scriptural interpretation to theological articulation,” Wolfe instead is content to draw from the work of 16th and 17th century, “very Thomistic” Reformed scholars such as John Calvin, Francis Turretin, and the English Puritans, trusting that their theologies have already told us everything we need to know about the New Testament, Christian theology and their intersection with political theory.

Consequently, Wolfe’s method also excludes any engagement with alternative political theologies and traditions. He regularly refers to “the” (Reformed) Christian tradition as if alternatives such as the Anabaptist heritage, an important political/theological strain that differs radically from that of his Reformed icons, never existed. Thus, Wolfe not only immunizes himself against any biblical analysis but also from any divergent theological debate, as well.

It all makes for a safe way to write an extremely odd book.

Having established his presuppositional background, Wolfe then proceeds along the lines of natural theology, building on “a foundation of natural principles” (18); a predictably scholastic move. Finding natural, universal, theological principles in our world today means that Wolfe sees substantial lines of behavioral and structural continuity between the contemporary world of human affairs, on the one hand, and the human situation prior to Adam and Eve’s Fall into sin in Genesis 3, on the other.

Hypothesizing backwards, from the way things are today to the way things would have been had sin never entered creation, Wolfe constructs his own imaginary picture of human development. He fantasizes about human society dividing itself as different family groups migrated, separated, and moved apart from each other.  Different linguistic dialects would have evolved, creating numerous, distinct communities increasingly distinguished from each other by geography, language, and cultural evolution.

“It follows,” Wolfe declares, “that Adam’s progeny would have formed many nations on earth, and thus the formation of nations is part of God’s design and intention for man (emphasis mine). . . the formation of nations is not a product of the fall; it is natural to man as man. . . The instinct to live within one’s ‘tribe’ or one’s own people is neither a product of the fall nor extinguished by grace; rather, it is natural and good” (22-23).

Notice how the imaginary elements of Wolfe’s theoretical, pre-Fall reconstruction are elevated to the status of God’s original design and intention for humanity. Tribalism is not an unfortunate expression of human divisiveness, antagonism, competition, or prejudice. Rather, it is “natural and good,” according to Wolfe. More on this in a moment.

This is a very old line of political argument following the dictates of natural theology. It is an important feature of the Dutch Kuyperian theological tradition that prevails, for instance, at Calvin University, the place where I used to teach. I have encountered it many times. But before we decide to join in with this Reformed theological mind-game, let’s be sure we understand the kind of game we are being asked to play.

For, remember, it is a fictitious game that makes up its own rules, leading to highly questionable results. Looking at “natural” human behavior today, Wolfe assumes a wide swath of unbroken continuity. He assumes that the contemporary modes of behavior we witness now would be equally natural and good for perfected humanity as originally designed by the Creator. In fact, it is the very behavior God originally intended! Thus, “the natural inclination to dwell among similar people is good and necessary (emphasis mine). Grace does not destroy or ‘critique’ it” (24).

In other words, God’s grace would never work to overcome segregation, the separation of the races, class divisions, or ethnic antagonism? Really? Wolfe can try to sugar-coat his whole-hearted embrace of divisive tribalism all he wants, but no amount of hemming or hawing will hide the fact that he offers a far-reaching theological hypothesis that opens a very wide door to the worst sorts of prejudice and discrimination.

Wolfe also leaves us wondering how he happens to know these things? He obviously assumes that we will share his faith in the power of fallen human reason rightly to discern the divinely ordained, robust continuity between the way things are and the way things would have been.

However, I, for one, cannot share his faith . . . or his naivete. For the fact is that Wolfe does not, because he cannot, know any of these things.

He is making it all up on the fly.

And he is making it up while perching precariously on two erroneous assumptions. We’ve touched on them already, but let’s make them explicit: one, he assumes that his fallen human mind can accurately discern God’s original intent for humanity by observing human behavior today; and two, he assumes that he does not need to read scripture for himself; the Reformed scholastics have already done all the necessary work for him.

Of course, this is all standard fare for those who embrace natural theology and theological scholasticism. It also illustrates why I have always rejected both.

Now, let’s try a different thought experiment – and unlike Wolfe, I will not posit any divine authority or normativity to my “mind game.” I offer it merely as a hypothetical alternative scenario.

Let’s dial down the continuity switch on our imaginary thought experiment and turn up the discontinuity dial as we compare the way things are today with respect to the way things might have been before sin entered the world.

Perhaps human beings would have recognized that they were inextricably bound together by the image of God, the distinguishing component of humanity which they all held in common. Perhaps, they would have invested deliberate energy – or perhaps it would have come naturally without any special effort at all – in maintaining loving, hospitable connections, no matter how widely their different family groups ranged across the planet. Maybe they would have wanted to maintain their common language in order to secure tight lines of communication, mutual understanding and trust, no matter the physical distance between them. New discoveries and developments would be shared so that everyone enjoyed the benefits equally, and no one could slip into isolation. As a result, nationalism would never develop. In fact, it would be antithetical to the Creator’s intentions.

I could go on, but you get the picture.

There are no logical or theological reasons to prefer Wolfe’s reconstruction over mine. On the contrary, I would argue that the biblical doctrine of original sin demands a much greater emphasis on behavioral discontinuity than Wolfe’s reconstruction allows.

More than that, aside from the fact that I would prefer to live in my pre-Fall creation than in his, Wolfe’s reconstruction (for biblical reasons that Wolfe prefers to ignore and that I cannot go into here) strikes me as the least likely of all pre-Fall worlds. I cannot help but conclude that Wolfe employs natural theology to sanctify human sinfulness when he should be using biblical theology to critique our sinfulness while holding out the ideals of God’s redemption.

The fact that The Case for Christian Nationalism contains chapters that seriously defend both the “great man” theory of government (chapter seven) – what he calls “a measured and theocratic Caesarism” – and the legitimacy of violent revolution (chapter eight) provides further evidence of how far astray a rationalistic, naturalistic theology can wander when it deliberately severs itself from biblical constraints.

The many Anabaptist martyrs who died at the hands of Reformed, theocratic Caesars shout a loud, uniform condemnation of Wolfe’s brand of theocratic nationalism. It should never be resurrected.

And I pray that God, and liberal democracy, will save us from all those, like Dr. Wolfe, who disagree.

Eric Metaxas Encourages Violence While Dietrich Bonhoeffer Rolls Over in His Grave

Are American church/state relations in 2022 comparable to German church/state relations in 1933 when the Nazi party began its rise to power?

Eric Metaxas thinks so, and he wants to warn the American church of the existential threat it now faces.

Metaxas’ new book, Letter to the American Church (Salem, 2022; 139 pp., $22.99), begins by declaring that “the parallels [in the American church] to where the German Church was in the 1930s are unavoidable and grim” (ix). These “parallels” are most clearly seen as the evangelical church remains silent in the face of America’s own Nazi-like atrocities.

America’s atrocious sins, which are allowed to flourish in the face of evangelical silence, are comparable to Nazi preparations for the Holocaust. These sins are listed as abortion, globalism, Critical Race Theory, transgenderism, creeping communism, and the state-directed church closures ordered during the covid-19 pandemic, all of which express an “atheistic Marxist ideology” otherwise known as cultural Marxism (xii, xiii, 13-15, 91).

The only solution to society’s slide into increasing moral chaos, according to Metaxas, is for a new crop of Dietrich Bonhoeffer-like church leaders to rise up and protest – violently, if need be (more on this below) – against the country’s drift toward cultural oblivion. Metaxas’ biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer figures as the major source for this book’s political arguments, despite the very negative reviews Metaxas’ biography received from Bonhoeffer specialists. (see here, here, and here).

According to Metaxas, Bonhoeffer described a three-point solution to both Germany’s and America’s problems in his essay, “The Church and the Jewish Question.” They are [1] as the conscience of the state, the church must loudly protest against government wrong-doing; [2] the church must assist the victims of immoral state policies; and [3] if the state refuses to change its course, then the church must embrace political activism, shoving “a stick in the spokes” of the “rumbling machine of the state” (39).

The body of Letter to the American Church excoriates evangelical leaders for withdrawing from their obligation to agitate for public morality and, instead, cocooning themselves in an exclusive focus on evangelism. Metaxas’ attacks against “the idol of evangelism” (75-85) provide an important reminder (very positively, in my view) of the inherently offensive nature of the gospel and how easy it is for preachers to avoid difficult subjects like sin and judgment in order not to “offend” their listeners.

Unfortunately, Metaxas conflates his (a) justified critique of timid preachers who knowingly compromise the gospel message with (b) a highly dubious attack against evangelical leaders who will not rally their congregations to become outspoken, right-wing, Republican political agitators. Aside from Metaxas’ remarkable blindness to his own political, as opposed to truly Christian, partisanship, his apparent ignorance of American church history is surprising.

I can only assume that in wanting to write “a book for the moment,” Metaxas has restricted the horizons of his historical interest to the rise of Donald Trump and events subsequent to the 2016 presidential election. His complaints about evangelicalism’s political lethargy not only ignore the long, activist history of the Religious Right – a movement that finally threw its weight behind Trump’s campaign and carried him to victory – but seems to know nothing about the long history of evangelical activism in progressive politics, represented by people like Jim Wallis and the Sojourners’ community.

But then, Metaxas suggests that all Christians with a progressive political bent have been deceived by Satan, so their activism only contributes to the cultural Marxist dangers threatening America.

Metaxas also appears to be unaware of the wide stream of American dispensational evangelicalism-fundamentalism, going back at least to the early nineteenth century, that actively discourages Christians against political activism. Shunning politics hardly originated with those contemporary pastors now intent on putting out the fires of political divisiveness consuming their congregations.

But Metaxas is clearly in favor of churches dividing over partisan politics. In an obvious reference to MAGA-enamored churchgoers leaving congregations where their politics are not sufficiently affirmed, Metaxas says, “Many Christians are abandoning such churches for the few that are alive to the situation, where the pastors are less timid about saying what needs to be said” (36).

Certainly, the most disturbing aspect of Metaxas’ book is its subtle yet clear justification of violence for political ends. The argument is carefully, if subtly, constructed.

First, Dietrich Bonhoeffer is Metaxas’ model of Christian virtue not only because he openly criticized the Nazi regime – along with many others; Bonhoeffer was not alone in doing this – but because Bonhoeffer participated in a plot to assassinate Hitler. It is Bonhoeffer’s willingness to embrace violence as a political weapon, the very definition of terrorism, that makes Bonhoeffer a hero to Metaxas. And this is the exemplary aspect of Bonhoeffer’s life that Metaxas clearly wants his readers to emulate, for “Bonhoeffer understood that to eschew violence whenever possible did not mean that it was always possible” (109).

Though he never says it explicitly, the unavoidable implication of Metaxas’ argument, from beginning to end, is that faithful Christians will do whatever it takes to change society and move it in the right-wing direction of Metaxas’ preferred political agenda. This includes resorting to violence, if need be.

Metaxas lays the “biblical” groundwork for his call to violence-when-necessary with several specious arguments.

He begins by describing his Manichean view of the world. Everything is black or white. Anyone who dissents from his verdict on the evils destroying American society is categorized as “demonic,” a tool of Satan (96, 101, 113-114, 117). The American culture wars are a fight of good against evil, of divine forces against demonic opponents. As Metaxas draws up the battlefield, people like Jim Wallis (a Christian active in progressive politics) and Andy Stanley (a pastor combatting political division within his church) are on the Devil’s team.

Furthermore, Metaxas seems convinced that if society is in decline, then it must be the church’s fault. A faithful, protesting, politically active church would presumably carry the day and turn the tide of spreading immorality.

Metaxas anticipates the inevitable objections to his promotion of political violence by distorting the biblical view of God with his own (ironic!) version of “cheap grace,” the very problem Bonhoeffer famously attributed to the German church under Hitler.

According to Metaxas, God is not looking for believers who concern themselves with purity. Rather, God is seeking courageous, even reckless devotees who are willing to risk incurring guilt as they sin on God’s behalf. This component of Metaxas’ argument is so shocking that a few quotations are warranted to make the point:

Page 110 – To love unreservedly – which is God’s call to us – is to risk everything, our lives and our reputations. Bonhoeffer’s view of God’s real grace made it possible for him to trust Him completely. As long as he earnestly desired to do God’s will and acted from that motive, he knew the God of the Bible would see his heart and grant him grace, if it happened that he had erred.

Page 118 – (Bonhoeffer understood that) God was calling His people to something far above merely avoiding sins and keeping their noses clean. . . Being a Christian is not about avoiding sin, but about passionately and courageously serving God.

Page 120-21 – God is not a moralistic fussbudget or nitpicking God who is lying in wait. When we tell a lie for a larger good, He does not swoop in and say “Aha!” and condemn us. If we know who God truly is, we know that He is not against us, but for us. He is not Satan the accuser, looking for what sins He can find to condemn us. He is the gracious and loving God who sent His own Son to die so that we could be forgiven and saved. And when He sees us act in a way that is not calculated to protect ourselves but that is rather magnanimous and self-sacrificing for the sake of another, He rejoices.

In any other context, Metaxas’ words might sound innocent enough. But tied as they are to Bonhoeffer’s willingness to commit murder, Metaxas’ urgings for courageous Christians to behave radically, even to the point of knowingly engaging in sin, take on an ominous significance.

Since Bonhoeffer believed that God would forgive his role in Hitler’s attempted murder, Christians today should also understand that God will forgive them for whatever violent acts they commit in their “godly” efforts to redeem our society.

There is much more to criticize in Metaxas’ new book, but these are the most salient problems, in my view. I am sure that Metaxas would insist that I am wrong when I accuse him of fomenting political violence. He has constructed his book in such a way as to provide himself with “plausible deniability.”

But in today’s world, more specifically, in today’s America, my mind is not the only one that will read Metaxas’ book as a call-to-arms with a get-out-of-jail-free card neatly included.

So, beware the author who tells his readers that political violence can be the answer, describing it as a courageous act of the truly spiritual person who will be forgiven by God.