The broader context of Romans thus indicates that Paul’s admonition to submit to authorities rests on several critical assumptions that recast submission not as base compliance, but as a glorious partnership. Romans 13 could be reframed thusly: God’s moral law has authority over civil authorities. God institutes civil authority (including the power to tax) for the common good. What is good can be known and acted on. Government has a duty to do and defend this good (that’s the only way its use of the sword is legitimate). We have a duty to work towards, encourage and fulfill that good in as, and in cooperation with, civil authorities. All of these ideas are presented as being assumed to be true in Romans 13, meaning Paul either outlined them earlier in Romans and/or is referencing other Scripture.

A homeschooling parent emailed me this past summer asking for recommendations on Christian resources to work into her student’s government curriculum. She specifically asked about applying Romans 13 to thinking about government and politics. After replying to the email with some book recommendations, I found myself stuck on that perception of Romans 13. Why do we keep going back to this passage as the seminal biblical passage on the relationship of Christians to the state? In some cases, it may be the only passage that gets cited in discussions on Christian participation in the political space. However, the more I thought about Romans 13 as the starting point for a political theology the less I liked the idea and the more I realized why: it’s too easy a proof-text.
At best, it creates contradictory applications (see progressive calls to submit to COVID-19 restrictions while opposing enforcement of border security), and at worst promotes a view of blind compliance with the state (see former Attorney General Jeff Sessions’s comments to pastors) that is totally at odds with Paul and indeed the whole of Scripture. I acknowledge this mostly as a corrective to myself, because I know I’ve often started discussions with students on thinking Christianly about politics with Romans 13. However, I’ve now come to the conclusion that this passage is not the place to start a discussion on Christians and politics. An overemphasis on Romans 13 as the linchpin of our political theology obscures the broader context of Romans and Paul’s life, draws the wrong parallels between Paul’s time and our, and creates a false model of citizenship for Christians in liberal democracies.
Paul and the Limits of Compliance
The political theology of Paul does not start in Romans 13, but in Romans 1. Paul’s treatment of the depth of man’s sinfulness in Romans 1 indicates that associations of humans were part of God’s created order, but were subsequently corrupted by the Fall. For example, Paul’s references to collective man in Romans 1:18-23 demonstrate that the fall from grace was a collective action. As Paul develops his argument about God’s salvific plan (Romans 4-8), though, he doesn’t do away with human associations as beyond redemption, indeed, in Christ it is redeemed. Paul doesn’t talk of an atomistic individual in Romans 8 as being “more than conquerors,” he refers to a community. In other words, human society and presumably the governing entities that organize them are not necessary evils to restrain a corrupt humanity, but integral to humanity realizing its cultural mandate to “be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth and subdue it” (Genesis 1: 26-28). The broader context of Romans thus indicates that Paul’s admonition to submit to authorities rests on several critical assumptions that recast submission not as base compliance, but as a glorious partnership. Romans 13 could be reframed thusly:

God’s moral law has authority over civil authorities.

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It seems as though the American church, having taken a disastrous turn into (largely but not exclusively) right wing politics, is now in danger of overcompensating and repenting in a progressive, rather than a biblical, direction. Fault Lines exposes this and thus is largely a book about American cultural wars and American church politics. 

There are not many books that have such an impact that they have made me change my mind. It turns out that Faultlines is one of them. Initially, I approached the book with a degree of scepticism. After all I had heard on the evangelical grapevine that it was ‘extremist’, ‘unbalanced’, and that Baucham was guilty of ‘plagiarism’. And I am against racism and think it is a major problem in the US and the church. However, I am thankful that instead of just reading about the book, I read it myself. And I can only suggest you do the same.
Baucham’s thesis is that the current culture wars in the US over racism and Critical Race Theory (CRT) are in danger of splitting the evangelical church and causing considerable harm. He believes that the acceptance of some of the language and premises of CRT by evangelical leaders is the acceptance of a Trojan horse. He argues that ‘the United States is on the verge of a race war, if not a complete cultural meltdown’ (p. 7).
Fault Lines is not a fundamentalist diatribe or political rant. It is a well-researched, well-written and well-argued clarion call from someone who has not only studied the issues in some depth but, as a black descendant of slaves, has lived them. Fault Lines is not a detailed academic textbook, although it should be required reading for all evangelical students. It is, as Baucham stated in an interview, “the view from 35,000 feet.” If you are confused about what CRT is (and some evangelicals even deny that it exists), then this book is an excellent primer.
His personal story is powerful. He grew up poor without a father, was bussed to a white school and has battled against racism throughout his life. He has walked the walk. Maybe we should listen to his story rather than the white saviours like Robin DiAngelo who make their living out of telling white people they are racist by virtue of their skin colour? The notion that if you are white, then you are racist is itself racist. For Christians we need to ask what has the priority: our skin colour, our culture or our identity in Christ?
Baucham is controversial—at times breathtakingly so. For example, he points out that he had never heard of a black pastor arguing for racial reconciliation or lamenting that their church was 99% black. He states the incontrovertible truth that Africans sold Africans into slavery—to Arabs and to Europeans. And the not so incontrovertible view that ‘America is one of the least racist countries in the world’ (p. 201).
One highlight is the exposure of the false narratives that play such a part in the impressions that many of us base our opinions upon. Some quotes stunned me: ‘We’re literally hunted EVERYDAY/EVERYTIME we step outside the comfort of our homes’ (NBA star LeBron James, p. 45). Or the oft cited and completely false claim from the National Academy of Sciences that ‘one in every 1,000 black men and boys can expect to be killed by police in this country’ (pp. 47–48). That would mean that 18,000 black men and boys would be killed by police. The facts are that, in 2014, 250 black men were killed, of whom only 19 were unarmed. In 2019, the figure was nine (p. 113). How we interpret facts is also crucial. What do you do with the fact that 96% of those killed by police are male? Is this de facto proof that the police are discriminatory against men?
Baucham’s strongest and most important insight is that in dealing with anti-racism, we are dealing a with a new religion—complete with its own cosmology, law, priesthood and canon.
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Your conscience must be ruled by God’s Word regardless of how many vaccines you’ve received or masks you wear. If we were facing a future in which the government would require everyone not to be vaccinated and never to wear a medical mask in public, then I would say the same thing. If we were facing a future in which churches were requiring people to leave if they had been vaccinated or were wearing a medical mask, I would say the same thing. That’s not a likely future, so I say this instead: the unvaccinated, too, can be saved. They may come into the church of God. They may receive the Word and the Supper of Christ. Our churches are open to the vaccinated and to the unvaccinated.

Soon the churches will be thronged or at least fuller than usual. As the people come into a sanctuary familiar or a little unfamiliar to them, ask yourself a few questions. What is the vaccination status of those people shuffling into unfamiliar pews? Have the college kids back in a church for the first time in months received their booster shots? Do these questions seem silly to you?
They aren’t silly to many, including governments in Europe and Canada, not even to our own federal government, which speaks to the unvaccinated as if they are a class of demons destined to torture and to be tortured while the righteous vaccinated shall persevere through every trial. Such questions already shape policy in German Lutheran congregations now requiring one’s Covid-19 status to determine entry into the house of God (a policy commonly called 3G abbreviating the German words for “recovered,” “vaccinated,” and “tested”). That policy is recommended by the government and required by some congregations, here for example. Easily and swiftly what is said in media broadcasts becomes required in churches. There is no time to ask whether Romans 13 means that everything someone in government says or proposes is constitutional. There is no time to ask whether the church must regulate its worship according to governmental dictate, as if the three young men’s worship should have been to the golden statue Nebuchadnezzar had commanded them to worship instead of to the true God. There is no time to distinguish between what is legal (abortion, for example) and what is godly (not committing murder). Conscience has no time to ponder or to compare the dictates with Scripture. Compliance is required now.
The invasion of everyone’s conscience by governmental and media pronouncements is not a matter for the church’s silence. If I am silent on something affecting people’s understanding of how daily life functions, what will I choose to discuss instead? Luther’s protest against indulgences mattered not because it was the hottest topic of medieval academic theology but because it impinged on what Christians did with their lives. The church cannot let her people’s lives and hearts be determined by everything except God’s Word.
We have perhaps been silent on practically all matters of everyday life except abortion because to speak about the required HR training in diversity that means our people’s tacit assent to transsexual ideology or about the incessant consumption of social media and news that sets everyone’s teeth and tempers on edge would be “too political” from the pulpit. But our consciences have all been informed therefore largely by educational history and media consumption, largely by Fox or CNN or MSNBC, largely by Apple News or Breitbart. The Word of God did not change in the past two years. Baptism and the Lord’s Supper are still divine institutions. We are still encouraged to meet together, not neglecting to do so, as is the habit of some. God’s Word did not change between January 2020 and January 2022. What our phones and TVs told us changed, so we changed.
In the past two years the divisions that have opened up in our churches were therefore predictable. We often broke sharply along the lines of media consumption with vastly differing perceptions of what was true, what was worthwhile, what was good. This has created clean breaks in what were once small fissures in the body of Christ. These divisions have deepened with the media portrayal of dissent from official Covid-19 policies as “selfish,” which some Christians have explained to themselves as “not keeping the Fifth Commandment” if you are not (as time has gone on and media messaging has changed) not masked if you’re not sick, then masked, then double-vaccinated, now perhaps boosted.
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