If you believe a response is justified, let your first aim be to vindicate Christ’s honor, not that of yourself or your preferred candidate, party, or position. It is he who is most wronged when his forums are turned from a concern with his will to earthly affairs which distract from his redemptive kingly reign in the hearts of his people. This means that the main point should be objecting to others being political, not per se how they were political, and that bringing reasons why one might disagree is foremost a means to that end.

In a previous article I wrote about discussing politics in Christian forums, doing so in the abstract and in reference to a rather obscure example; and in so doing I was compelled to violate the very principles I announced. Space prevented further consideration, but there is more to be said, as some correspondents thought that I did not give the subject sufficient treatment. One said that I had said what not to do, but not what to do; an all too frequent problem in popular Christian ethics, to be sure. Another correspondent thought I had almost argued that we are to be silent in the face of the evils that afflict our nation, and before people who have no qualms being political to our harm. It was felt that I had so much made the faith a matter of spiritual concern as to have no bearing on our lives as temporal citizens. Those are serious objections, and I am pleased my correspondents brought them, for I am dependent on such correspondence to know how my thoughts are perceived by others. And how I intend them and how they are actually perceived do not always align, so for a few clarifications.
By a Christian forum, I meant any forum whose stated purpose is to advance the knowledge of Christ, be that forum ecclesiastical or parachurch in nature. I except personal blogs, podcasts, and other more informal things that claim to consider other things besides questions of our faith. By politics I meant the civil (legal, administrative) affairs of civil polities, that is, governments and their citizens. I did not mean ecclesiastical politics, nor comments on civil affairs that are moral in character.
Romans 13 tells us how to interact with civil authorities, which has some effect on our politics. Is a minister who expounds the meaning of that passage being political? Not in the sense that I meant. He is giving doctrinal and moral instruction, and doing so that believers may act in a manner that is conducive to peace, does not invite persecution, and is a testimony to the life in Christ that will hopefully commend it to unbelievers. He declares it for the benefit of the church and for unbelievers as neighbors; it is not an act in partisan political competition. That is different from saying ‘vote for candidate A’ from the pulpit. That would be political and inappropriate. Again, by ‘politics’ I meant a direct involvement in civil affairs – advocating this law or that party – not something that has an indirect effect on it, and whose main character and purpose is moral/doctrinal/faith-related.
I also left exceptions for when we are directly attacked and for moral matters in which there is a clear Christian position. If there is a sickness outbreak and casinos are left open but churches closed by law, an obvious injustice that makes claims of public health so much hypocrisy, by all means protest as Christians, both to the authorities and in Christian forums. And in matters in which there is a clear Christian position, I see no wrong in it being published in Christian outlets or from the pulpit. Murder is wrong, for example, and dueling involves such, hence we have historically opposed dueling. More contemporary examples would be infanticide, abortion, euthanasia, etc.
That exception, while appropriate, also invites the question of ‘who decides what is a matter with a clear Christian position?’ Assuming we agree on principles, who is to say whether an agreed principle requires a given application? We all agree the shedding of innocent blood (Prov. 6:17) is wrong. And I think we all agree that commends denouncing dueling, for dueling is indefensible, a matter of personal pride when insulted rather than public or private justice. There is a clear link between principle and application there.
What about when that link is not clear, when things are a matter of tradeoffs between imperfect options that carry both good and bad consequences? There is a clear Christian position on dueling. There is not a clear Christian position on form of government (representative v. monarchical), type of economy (agrarian v. industrial), or many of the particulars of criminal justice (how the courts work, policing tactics, etc.). Our faith has principles that can be brought to bear on that last question, such as that punishment should be proportionate to offenses punished (Ex. 21:23-25), corruption guarded against (23:8), trials fair with suitable evidentiary procedures (Deut. 19:15), etc. But how we implement those principles might vary, especially where our circumstances differ.
I think the legislature should not prescribe the particulars of law enforcement’s defensive tactics (i.e., how they physically restrain combative suspects), and that such questions are best answered by the people who actually have to use said techniques against wrongdoers who are trying to beat them unconscious or flee, rather than by office-dwelling politicians who have never faced such circumstances. The state where I live disagrees, forbidding certain holds to be employed in the restraint of suspects (SC Code 23-1-250). I think that’s mistaken, but I do not conclude that the legislators who profess faith who voted for said law are therefore to be accounted false professors of our faith. It’s a civil disagreement, not a question of orthodoxy or sincerity in the faith, and while it presumably has an effect on how well police are able to do their jobs, I don’t see where it would be appropriate to the mission of this outlet for me to write an extended article arguing why SC Code 23-1-250 should be abolished.
In saying this I touch another thing which some people felt I did not give sufficient consideration before, which is that I take it for granted that it is permissible for believers to engage in politics in general, and in other forums besides the church and Christian outlets. I shouldn’t write an article critiquing SC 23-1-250 for The Aquila Report or ask my local session to petition the state legislature to repeal it. But I can write a letter to the editor of the local newspaper doing so, or can write the head of the state house’s public safety committee to urge him to vote for its repeal. Again, I objected to politics in Christian forums, not Christians in political forums. Most of my action on this is private (direct correspondence), rather than public, but I am somewhat politically engaged myself, though one might not know it from my public writing at this outlet.
But I believe in respecting the proper time and place for such things, and Christian forums are not the right time or place. Political forums (or other means of political action) are. That was the substance of my previous argument, that bringing civil politics into Christian forums represented an intrusion where they do not belong, a trammeling the proper boundaries between faith-based outlets and civil-political ones in which the faith-based was made political much more than the political was sanctified.
(Before proceeding, let me point out that this is not limited to politics, and that many other matters do not belong in Christian forums: this is not the place to advance a critique of this or that school of art, recommend rule changes to college basketball, interject literary criticism, share recipes for chess pie, or otherwise intrude artistic, athletic, entertainment, scientific, or various other matters that distract from Christ’s gospel. Those are all fine things, in their proper place—and this isn’t it.)
Now granting that there are exceptions for moral matters and for when we are directly assailed, and granting that Christian liberty and Christ’s lordship over the rest of our lives permit us to be political in the proper forums, there does arise a further, rather rankling question: what do you do when other people drag politics into Christian forums? May you defend your own position if you disagree, lest people mistake the published opinion for the Christian one? I believe the answer is yes, but with some hefty caveats.
One, there is a time for all things (Eccl. 3), so it is sometimes best to let a matter pass without criticism, even when you think it is wrong. “Good sense makes one slow to anger, and it is his glory to overlook an offense” (Prov. 19:11); “love covers all offenses” (10:12); and “the beginning of strife is like letting out water, so quit before the quarrel breaks out” (17:14). If you believe the person who did it is a brother, it may be best, for sake of concord, to forebear his wrong in being political (and perhaps being wrong politically too) in a Christian forum (Gal. 5:15).
Two, if you believe a response is justified, let your first aim be to vindicate Christ’s honor, not that of yourself or your preferred candidate, party, or position. It is he who is most wronged when his forums are turned from a concern with his will to earthly affairs which distract from his redemptive kingly reign in the hearts of his people. This means that the main point should be objecting to others being political, not per se how they were political, and that bringing reasons why one might disagree is foremost a means to that end.
Three, recognize that once you engage politically it is easy to get carried away with it. When a Presbyterian elder implied that evangelicals who support Israel were selling their souls, I sought to rebut the slander, both of God’s people and of the Israeli people. In so doing I was compelled to consider technical questions like the blast area of 500 lb. bombs. It doesn’t take too much of that before your initial purpose gets lost in the weeds. Just as reading theology (especially polemics) ought to be abetted by a larger portion of scripture, prayer, and the other means of grace, so also should a political disagreement lead you back to God, lest it loom too large in your mind.
Four, while vindicating Christ’s honor ought to be our main concern, we do have the right to vindicate our own rights. It is best to respect the conscience of the weaker brother where we can (Rom. 14), but it is possible that our interlocutor is not a brother but a sly false teacher trying to subvert the faith to worldly purposes; and even where we think he is sincere (or can’t tell), it is not right for someone else to say that being a believer requires adhering to a debatable position. If a teetotaler says that our faith requires both personal abstention from alcoholic beverages as well as petitioning the government to prohibit them, I reserve the right to disagree, especially when he twists scripture (‘Jesus made grape juice, not wine’), implicitly slanders me for disagreeing, or says things in Jesus’s name that are simply ridiculous and false (‘beer is the devil’s brew,’ which openly contradicts 1 Tim. 4:4-5).
Five, those who are right ought to take the moral high ground and keep above mudslinging. Strong words are one thing; personal nastiness quite another. Even when we call a spade a spade we ought to be as honorable and charitable as we can.
The moral is: be slow to fight (Jas. 1:19), avoid it when you can, and disagree in a measured way that is balanced by other concerns. That said, there is a need for people to insist that politics be kept out of Christian forums at present, for intrusions are frequent and many of those that do it seem oblivious to what they are doing. There is behind this a matter of great import which I have not the space to consider here and that deserves its own treatment, namely that what appears to be only political is at root a clash between competing, all-encompassing worldviews. But a consideration of that requires a future article. Till then render unto Caesar, but not where you ought to render only unto God.
Tom Hervey is a member of Woodruff Road Presbyterian Church, Five Forks/Simpsonville (Greenville Co.), SC. The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not of necessity reflect those of his church or its leadership or other members. He welcomes comments at the email address provided with his name. He is also author of Reflections on the Word: Essays in Protestant Scriptural Contemplation. 

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Written by A.W. Workman |
Friday, January 27, 2023
We must have a category for God saying no, even when our requests are good, faith-filled, and according to his character. We see Jesus doing this very thing with Mary and Martha. When this happens, the reason is not some flaw in our asking. No, when God says no in these situations – like John 11 – there is something much deeper going on.

When it comes to the problem of evil and a theology of suffering, there is no text I have turned to more often that John chapter eleven. This post is the first of a series where I hope to mine some of the riches of this text, one point per each post. Well, really, it will be two points per post, because for this text to apply to personal or universal suffering, we must keep an initial point constantly before us. That point is one of the main themes of John’s gospel, namely that “No one has ever seen God; the only God, who is at the Father’s side, he has made him known” (John 1:18).
Essentially, this point means that Jesus explains the Father for us, he makes him understandable. He translates him for us so that our limited human brains and senses can understand and know him truly, though not completely. Why do we need help understanding God? Because he is so different from us and therefore so hard for us to comprehend. Everything else in existence that we interact with had a beginning. God was there before the beginning. Everything else is limited in its scale and presence. God is everywhere present, at the same time. Everything else has at least the capacity for evil. God is pure goodness and holiness. On top of all of it, we cannot in this age see God with our physical eyes and touch him with our hands. So yes, there is a need for a translator, someone who can explain and model God for us in ways and at a scale that we can comprehend. This is one of the reasons the eternal son became a human, so that he might become this crucial, necessary exegete of what God is really like. When we hear Jesus speak and see him act in the gospels, we are hearing and seeing things that are not just true of Jesus in the first century, we are hearing and seeing things that communicate the eternal nature of God himself.
This point is what makes Jesus’ conduct in John 11 relevant to our personal suffering, and the suffering of the entire creation. The problem of evil is huge, cosmic in its scope. It is difficult to grapple with, and on a scale that involves billions of humans throughout all time and history. If only we could have a story where God as a human character interacts with the suffering of a few friends – then we might be able to have some handles for how his sovereignty and love, our brokenness and faith, and the reality of evil and death truly intersect. That’s where John 11 comes in. Remember, Jesus explains the Father to us. So his interactions with his disciples and the family of the ill, later dead, later resurrected Lazarus show us what God is truly doing when his people suffer. Because we can see how he loved Lazarus and his family, we can also see how he loves us. And that gives us clues about how he also loves his entire created universe.
Entering into John 11 then, the first point we’ll focus on is that Jesus says no to a good, faith-filled request.
[1] Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. [2] It was Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was ill. [3] So the sisters sent to him, saying, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” [4] But when Jesus heard it he said, “This illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.”
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When God began to reconstruct my faith, I realized how lonely I was and how much I needed help. I needed a community of believers to walk alongside me. I needed to sit under a faithful minister of the gospel and hear the word of God preached. 

Among the ever-growing list of controversies and threats to Christ’s church, the disturbance of deconstruction looms large. Over the past two years, we have all seen and listened to many stories of deconstruction from authors, musicians, and even YouTube personalities. Sadly, these stories are celebrated even by some Christians—the same Christians who then mock those who raised alarm over deconstruction.[1]
What I don’t often hear are stories of those who have reconstructed their faith. Since I couldn’t find many, I thought I would offer my own story of reconstruction after I abandoned Christianity for progressive Christianity.[2]
Dynamics of Deconstructed Faith
Most deconstruction stories start with a crisis. This was certainly my experience. I spent 2006-2008 attending a progressive Christian church in my college town. I read leading progressive theologians and pastors: Paul Tillich, Marcus Borg, John Dominic Crossan, Barbara Brown Taylor, Phyllis Tickle, and Phillip Gulley. I no longer believed the Bible was inspired, let alone authoritative. I denied miracles, the virgin birth, the incarnation, and even had deep doubts about the resurrection. I affirmed homosexuality, universalism, and social justice.[3]
My crisis started on the first day of classes in the fall of 2008 at Andover-Newton Theological School just outside of Boston.[4] One of my first classes was a required course for all the new MDiv students. The professor was the Dean of the school and an influential queer-feminist theologian who had recently left Harvard. She spent a good deal of time talking about the intersectionality and the task of the minister to affirm and support all the identities represented in a church. Here was where my crisis began. We did a class assignment where we took an inventory of our identities: race, sexuality, gender, etc. Some of us were confused, so she clarified, “What are your strongest identities? The ones that define you? For example, my primary identity is a lesbian woman in a 20-year committed relationship to my partner.” As progressive as I was, I thought that a Christian’s primary identity would be Christian—certainly for those Christians preparing for ordained ministry.
When we were done with the inventory, the professor showed us a pyramid of oppression. She started at the bottom with the most oppressed identities and worked her way up. This was what I wanted; I wanted to speak truth to power, fight oppression, and labor for liberation. However, after the class I felt empty and bothered. The pastor was presented as a problem solver for the culture. My mission would then be to create a more just and equitable society, not to care for souls. It struck me that we always talked about sin at the structural level but never at the personal level.
It also made me think back through all those authors I read. I don’t remember a single one mentioning the problem of personal sins. These people claimed to follow Jesus, but Jesus said, “For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person” (Mark 7:21-23). Why shouldn’t we follow Jesus when he said this? I could feel a knot in my stomach. The crisis had begun.
Meeting Jesus Again
My last class that day was a New Testament elective on the historical Jesus. The professor began class with a statement that I firmly believed when I woke up that morning:
“The Bible is an ancient document written decades and centuries after the events they record. The Gospels are early Church stories about Jesus and have very little value as historical evidence of Jesus. He never claimed to be God and in fact, probably died in a shallow grave somewhere close to the crucifixion.”
I saw my classmates’ heads shake and confirm their agreement. I realized at that moment that there was no point in me continuing at the seminary.[5] If this was what these progressive ministers believed about Jesus, the Scriptures, and the Church, then what was the point? Why not simply be a “good” person and enjoy lazy Sunday mornings? What was I supposed to say to a wife in my congregation whose husband was leaving her? What was I supposed to say to her husband? If there is no resurrection hope, how do I comfort someone at the hour of their death? I deconstructed my faith for over two years, and now found myself in an empty pit of despair. I wanted to be at a progressive seminary, and God allowed me to be there—and I only lasted a day.
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