Christians who display joy will bring something positive to the workplace that the world cannot provide. When we go through a trial and have confidence in God’s ability to work out all things for good, those who do not know him may ask us where this joy comes from. At that moment, we have earned the right to explain to our co-workers the reason for the hope we have in Christ (1 Peter 3:15).

In my Christian walk, I have observed several key truths about the Holy Spirit I would like to explore as we prepare for Pentecost Sunday. I discussed the first two in my recent article, and I will look at the third and fourth today.

The power of the indwelling Spirit enables Christians to do great things for Christ’s Kingdom.
We experience God’s presence through the Holy Spirit as he teaches us and reminds us of Jesus’s words.
The gifts of the Holy Spirit help us to find our purpose.
The fruit of the Spirit makes us like Christ.

The Gifts of the Holy Spirit
Here are the passages where the Apostle Paul provides a list of spiritual gifts for all believers: Romans 12:4-8, 1 Corinthians 12:4-11, and Ephesians 4:11-13. The Apostle Peter mentions them in 1 Peter 4:10-11.
To begin, let us go back to the book of Exodus, where we see a worker who yielded his talents to serve God. God selected a craftsman named Bezalel, one of the talented construction workers who he ordained to be in charge of building and furnishing his tabernacle. God tells Moses, “I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with skill, ability and knowledge in all kinds of crafts” (Ex. 31:1-3).
I do not think that Bezalel suddenly developed these things overnight. To the contrary, he had already possessed these technical skills, aptitudes, and know-how because God had sovereignly developed them over the course of his entire life “for such a time as this.” The presence of the Spirit of God enabled him to do the job well, with the strength that God provided to accomplish this great work.
The spiritual gifts each Christian has were designed to be used in and out of the church, wherever we work. Paul indicated that this outworking of the Holy Spirit was “given for the common good” (1 Cor. 12:7). Miroslav Volf writes, “As the firstfruits of salvation, the Spirit of Christ is not only active in the Christian fellowship but also desires to make an impact on the world through the fellowship.”
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In the face of the liberal peril, what should evangelicals do? A first step is to “encourage those who are engaging in the intellectual and spiritual struggle” (146–47). The intellectual battle must consist of both articulating and defending Christianity. Against those who focus solely on the propagation aspect, Machen suspects an anti-intellectualism underlying this approach, which he decries. While granting that the proclamation of the gospel might have sufficed historically,[9] given the juncture in which the church currently finds itself, Machen opines that “the slightest avoidance of the defense of the gospel is just sheer unfaithfulness to the Lord” (147).

Part 1: Historical Context and Summary of Machen’s Argument
To give a brief sketch of the historical context in which Machen addressed the church, I focus on two leading proponents of the type of liberalism against which Machen battled—namely, Adolph von Harnack and Albrecht Ritschl.
Adolph von Harnack’s Husk and Kernel
In his What is Christianity?, Adolph von Harnack decried Christianity as an institutionalized religion of dogma, an institutionalization and dogmatization that had corrupted the early church as evidenced by its councils and creedal formulations.[1] In its place, he advocated a religion of the heart: the way of life that Jesus himself had taught. His method in arriving at this liberal articulation of Christianity was that of distinguishing between the “kernel” and the “husk”: the kernel being the permanent, pure essence of Christianity, and the husk being its temporal/ historical, (often) corrupted expression. As von Harnack presented the kernel, “In the combination of these ideas—God the Father, Providence, the position of men as God’s children, the infinite value of the human soul—the whole gospel is expressed” (Lecture 4).
Amalgamating these ideas, von Harnack’s liberalism consisted of three tenets.[2] First, “the kingdom of God and its coming” (Lecture 3). Specifically, “The kingdom of God comes by coming to the individual, by entering into his soul and laying hold of it. True, the kingdom of God is the rule of God; but it is the rule of the holy God in the hearts of individuals. God Himself is the kingdom. It is . . . a question of . . . God and the soul, the soul and its God” (Lecture 3). The flavor of a de-institutionalized and non-dogmatic, subjective Christianity is well pronounced.
Second, “God the Father and the infinite value of the human soul” (Lecture 4). This tenet set the stage for von Harnack’s affirmations of (1) the Fatherhood of God, a principle he affirms is true of all human beings everywhere, not just of Christians in their churches; and, flowing from it, (2) the brotherhood of all humanity, again a principle that he would not restrict to followers of Jesus Christ. Because God the Father unites to himself all human beings as his children, the infinite value of their “ennobled” soul is underscored (Lecture 4).
Third, “the higher righteousness and the commandment of love” (Lecture 4). According to von Harnack, Jesus’s constant denunciation and overturning of the Jewish religion of his day established Christianity as an ethical religion freed of “self-seeking and ritual elements” that could be reduced ultimately “to one root and to one motive—love” (Lecture 4). Such love “must completely fill the soul; it is what remains when the soul dies to itself. In this sense of love is the new life already begun. But it is always the love which serves, and only in this function does it exist and live” (Lecture 4). Accordingly, this third tenet
combines religion and morality. It is a point which must be felt; it is not easy to define. In view of the Beatitudes, it may, perhaps, best be described as humility. Jesus made love and humility one. . . . In Jesus’ view, this humility, which is the love of God of which we are capable . . . is an abiding disposition towards the good, and that out of which everything that is good springs and grows. (Lecture 4)
Christianity as a moralistic religion of humble love is emphasized.
In his summary, von Harnack offers “the three spheres which we have distinguished—the kingdom of God, God as the Father and the infinite value of the human soul, and the higher righteousness showing itself in love—coalesce; for ultimately the kingdom is nothing but the treasure which the soul possesses in the eternal and merciful God” (Lecture 5).
Albrecht Ritschl’s Lived Faith
Similar to von Harnack, in The Christian Doctrine of Justification and Reconciliation,[3] Albrecht Ritschl bemoaned the traditional exposition and understanding of “the Christian faith [as] some imperfect form of theology, that is, some system of ideas of God and humanity” that is far removed from religious self-consciousness—particularly that of the original/apostolic Christian community (3)[4]—and worship of God (210–11).[5] For Ritschl, Christianity is not a doctrinal system, but a lived faith in community.
Like von Harnack’s focus on the kingdom of God as love, Ritschl emphasized “the Christian idea of the Kingdom of God, which [is] the correlate of the conception of God as love, denotes the association of mankind—an association both extensively and intensively the most comprehensive possible—through the reciprocal moral action of its members” (284). Emphasizing “the community,” Ritschl distinguished between the church and the kingdom:
The self-same subject, namely, the community drawn together by Christ, constitutes the Church in so far as its members unite in the same religious worship, and, further, create for this purpose a legal constitution; while, on the other hand, it constitutes the Kingdom of God in so far as the members of the community give themselves to the interchange of action prompted by love. (290)
By the community’s loving action comes about the revelation of the truth that God is love: “The creation of this fellowship of love among men, accordingly, is not only the end [purpose] of the world, but at the same time the completed revelation of God Himself, beyond which none other and none higher can be conceived” (291). The church, the kingdom of God, and love are interwoven as the summum bonum of existence, and this supreme good is known by the people of the community not rationally or dogmatically, but only as they relate to it.
Faith in God’s providence is an essential feature of Ritschl’s agenda:
For that unified view of the world, the ruling idea of which is that of the supramundane [spiritual, heavenly] God, Who as our Father in Christ loves us and unites us in His Kingdom for the realization of that destiny in which we see the final end [purpose] of the world, as well as the corresponding estimate of self, constitutes the realm within which come to be formed all such ideas as that all things and events in the world serve our good, because as children of God we are objects of His special care and help. (617–18)[6]
To members of the community, God promises to his providential care, which they know not theoretically but by personal experience (618).
In summary, both von Harnack and Ritschl proposed a liberal form of Christianity that (1) distanced itself from doctrine and institutionalism and re-envisioned it as living the way of Jesus; (2) conceptualized God as Father of all human beings (in the same way he is Father of Christians); (3) focused on the kingdom of God as his rule in human hearts and as related to the idea of God as love; (4) prioritized human experience over objective norms like Scripture and theology; (5) emphasized the common community or brotherhood of all human beings, whose souls are of infinite value; (6) appealed to the providence of God and his particular care for all human beings for their good; and (7) highlighted moralistic religion and the ethic of love.
This brief sketch of two leading theologians provides some of the context into which Machen stepped and directed his Christianity and Liberalism.
Machen’s Response to von Harnack and Ritschl
Specifically, in his seventh and final chapter, Machen treats the church.[7] While affirming that both Christianity and liberalism are “interested in social institutions” (133), Machen underscores the significant difference between the two religions’ notion of sociality. Reflecting the sentiments of P. T. Forsyth—“the same act which sets us in Christ sets us also in the society of Christ. . . . It puts us into a relation with all saints which we may neglect to our bane but which we cannot destroy”[8]—Machen insists, “When, according to Christian belief, lost souls are saved, the saved ones become united in . . . the brotherhood of the Christian Church” (133). For Machen, this is a far cry from “the liberal doctrine of the ‘brotherhood of man’ . . . that all men everywhere . . . are brothers” (133).
Nuancing his statement, Machen acknowledges that such a doctrine contains some truth: in the sense of creation, all human beings are creatures of the one Creator and are of the same nature. Accordingly, Christianity “can accept all that the modern liberal means by the brotherhood of man” (133). But Machen points to a different “Christian” notion of brotherhood: in the sense of salvation, only those who are rescued from sin by Jesus Christ constitute “the brotherhood of the redeemed” (134).
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Christianity should not only influence what we support but also how we engage in the political sphere, namely, in a spirit of humility, charity, and good-faith deliberation. Christians should reject Christian nationalism, but not allow the moral panic surrounding it to shame them out of fully engaging in the public square, and doing so as Christians. Overall, Hall’s book is a vital contribution and a welcome alternative to the series of muddled screeds that constitute the mainstream discourse on Christian nationalism.

A moderately informed observer of American politics in the 2020s might be forgiven for perceiving Christian nationalism to be an imminent and existential threat to our political order. As of this writing, a Google search for the term quickly yields headlines such as “Christian nationalism is a grave threat to America,” and the grammatically questionable “What is Christian nationalism and why it raises concerns about threats to democracy.” The past several years have produced a flurry of books and articles from both popular and academic presses claiming to unearth Christian nationalist designs in virtually every aspect of right-wing politics. It’s a moral panic. But at a glance, one might suppose so much smoke must surely emanate from a very great fire.
In his recent book, Who’s Afraid of Christian Nationalism? Why Christian Nationalism Is Not an Existential Threat to America or the Church, Mark David Hall calls for everyone to take a deep breath. Once we wave away the alarmist rhetoric and sort through the arguments and evidence, Hall suggests, there is ultimately little cause for concern. While acknowledging that Christian nationalism exists and is problematic, he argues that it is far less prevalent than we have been led to believe, and that the stakes are low in any case. In the unlikely and unfortunate event that Christian nationalists succeeded in securing a greater degree of state recognition of Christianity, this would not represent anything like a fundamental threat to American democracy. Nevertheless, he concludes we should still oppose Christian nationalism where we encounter it, in favor of a robust understanding of the religious freedom and pluralism that are fundamental principles of the American founding. The book is a timely and necessary response to the litany of doomsaying that has marked so much recent progressive commentary. The tragedy is that the people who most need to hear its message are the least likely to read it.
Hall first addresses polemical works from authors such as Katherine Stewart, Julie Ingersoll, Randall Balmer, and Andrew Seidel. In their work, he points to several problematic claims: that the Christian Reconstructionist movement is enormously influential, that the Christian Right originated as a defense of racial segregation, and that the current Supreme Court is on a crusade to establish Christian supremacy. Scrutinizing the evidence for these claims, he finds much of it to be incomplete, distorted, exaggerated, or in some cases fabricated outright. He marshals considerable counterevidence from the historical record as well as direct communications with key actors to argue that accounts of the Christian Right viewed as foundational in many progressive circles are of marginal evidentiary value. Some are better understood as minor subplots in the American Christian landscape, while others are pure partisan narrative.
He then turns to the empirical research on Christian nationalism. Hall is in many ways quite charitable towards social scientists, granting that their studies are more rigorous and made in good faith. Nevertheless, the studies too are ultimately susceptible to similar partisan distortions. For instance, in the widely cited Taking America Back for God, sociologists Andrew Whitehead and Samuel Perry offer an extreme definition of Christian nationalism as an ideology that “includes assumptions of nativism, white supremacy, patriarchy, and heteronormativity, along with divine sanction for authoritarian control and militarism,” a kind of toxic stew poisoning much of the political right. They proceed to claim, based on survey data, that over half of the American population (51.9 percent, to be exact) subscribes to this ideology to some extent, a prospect that does, indeed, seem to be cause for alarm. Yet these claims are based on survey questions that appear far more benign than the phenomenon they are purported to measure. For instance, respondents ostensibly show Christian nationalist sympathies by agreeing that “the federal government should advocate for Christian values.” Other social scientific sources demonstrate a similar mismatch between rhetoric and the evidence, which is wholly inadequate to support claims of Christian nationalism as something extreme and widespread.
Although Hall treats the polemical and social scientific work on Christian nationalism separately, this is something of a blurry distinction. Some of those he identifies as polemicists have academic credentials, while some of the work credited as scholarship is transparently partisan in its claims. Furthermore, through avenues such as collaborations, citations, and reviews, scholars of Christian nationalism treat even the most aggressive polemicists as if they were themselves credible authorities and comrades-in-arms. I fear this dynamic does more to degrade the credibility of the scholarship than it does to raise that of the polemical literature.
Having demonstrated serious flaws in claims regarding the prevalence and danger of Christian nationalism, Hall then turns to an assessment of the figures who have openly embraced the label. He focuses on published works articulating and advocating some form of Christian nationalism, specifically those by Douglas Wilson, Andrew Torba, Andrew Isker, and Stephen Wolfe. Though he finds little merit in their ideas, he nonetheless concludes, first, that their visions bear little resemblance to the kind of white supremacist hellscape feared by the critics of Christian nationalism (though they may be plausibly read as ethnocentric or patriarchal), and second, that “there is little reason to believe [these works] will have much impact beyond a handful of idiosyncratic Calvinists.”
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