Written by C. Jay Engel |
Wednesday, June 26, 2024
The Church can certainly become a political entity—which is what Luther criticized Rome as doing against the Turks—but it does not undermine the Schmittian framework if the Protestant Christian denies to the Church this civil function.

Among the growing number of self-consciously right-wing Christians, many are turning away from the core assumptions of what has been termed the Postwar Liberal Consensus. Included in these is this idea that the American political order can be explained with reference to eternal, abstract values that transcend the biased interests of the people and groups that make it up. As I wrote in a recent contribution to a Paleoconservative anthology,
Liberalism operates from the false premise that… political strife can be eliminated by a kind of “neutral” state. […] It attempts to supersede so-called outdated levels of intense political hostility by relegating such tensions to private economic competition, the “marketplace of ideas,” or competing ideological sects. Thus, conflict over once existential “ways of life” can be pacified and consigned to personal preference.
This attempt to remove human antagonism from the realm of politics and in its place implement mechanisms of procedure, legal norms, and value-free conventions is the essential story of liberalism’s trajectory in the twentieth century. It is the story of what might be described as managerial liberalism, the reign of expertise, or “public policy” as a function of public administration and organizational management.
One of the figures in the twentieth century who was most adamant about the failures of the procedural approach to matters of state was the German jurist, Carl Schmitt. For many, Schmitt’s critiques of the liberal tendency in the West offer a compelling challenge to the foundations of the now faltering liberal order—especially since it was Schmitt’s position that a committed drive toward liberalism would wind up laying the preconditions for what he called the Total State. If the state itself was denied the task of distinguishing between friends and enemies and absorbing the drama of man’s antagonistic nature, such elements of man’s natural being would not simply disappear. As Dr. Paul Gottfried explains in his study of Schmitt, for Schmitt, “liberals [are not merely] destroyers of our political nature, but [are] dangerously neglectful and even contemptuous of it.”
Schmitt represents a tradition of Western political theory that can best be described as realist; it is realist in the sense that Schmitt was famously disinterested in upholding the myths and ideals that animated Western liberal theorists. Laws and norms can never be the pinnacle of political action, because the political is animated by constant human judgement and determinations about Friends and Enemies.
For Schmitt, there is always a human actor, or human-controlled institutions, even if we don’t admit it, behind the veil sanctioning the legal order, interpreting it, applying it, determining its meaning, and its exceptions. This what Schmitt meant when he elaborates on the “challenge of the exception.” No matter how brilliantly exposited or constructed, the legal order cannot account for all situations and there is always a human element upholding the order based on judgement, interests, calculations, and a complex network of myriad factors. The legal order is not a machine that works itself out automatically. One can see glimpses of the reality of the political, beneath all the myths, in recent decades and especially during moments like Trump’s trials.
It is important to emphasize here that Schmitt is not calling on his readers to inject an element of antagonism into their political practices, but rather to step back and recognize that antagonism is the very cause of the political in the first place. The political is an aspect of the human experience which precedes the existence of the state. What then, is the essence of the political?
For Schmitt, whenever a collectivity of people contains any element that it considers a non-negotiable and intricate component of its own existence, and this collectivity comes into conflict with another collectivity which threatens that non-negotiable, there the political arises. Life is full of many types of disagreements between groups, but such disagreements transform into political phenomena when one group determines the threat against the non-negotiable is such that there is a need to distinguish between friends and enemies. Any cultural, ethnic, “religious, moral, economic, ethical, or other antithesis [can] transform into a political one if it is sufficiently strong to group human beings effectively according to friend and enemy.”
Schmitt attempts to make us aware of the danger in ignoring the reality behind everyday politics. Often this is done in an attempt to place a veil over the political with procedure, legislation, rules, and even Constitutions. Such things can be helpful—and a healthy society incorporates them to function well— but they must not be treated as effecting the elimination of the core of the political as the clash of friends and enemies. In the twentieth century there was strong danger, Schmitt declared, to treat legislation and procedures as themselves the final arbiter of political dispute. This significantly ignores the underlying essence of political conflict. As Auron Macintyre explains, “Schmitt sees the friend/enemy distinction as the fundamental organizing principle of politics and says all other distinctions that exist while forming political coalitions are subordinate.”
This doesn’t mean that there must constantly be an obvious enemy, that political actors must be always in conflict with others. If there were a situation where there was no clash between friend and enemy, the political itself would not be a component of that society. But, Schmitt warns, modern man deludes himself if he refuses to recognize that the political is always possible, lurking beneath the scene. The failure of liberalism was that it pretended that it could do away with this reality of human relations. In doing so, it was unable to see clearly the coming return of the political as the veil of neutrality has completely been torn down. Those who deny the existence of the political will always lose to those who embrace it—which is why Schmitt has for many decades been so popular among the Far Left, especially in Europe.
Macintyre explains this well:
Even when those in power were more disciplined, this was always an illusion. Schmitt says such carefully choreographed negotiations have always been window-dressing meant to obfuscate the continuing battle for control between friend and enemy that rages behind the scenes. Despite the comforting fiction of the marketplace of ideas where only the best policies were supposed to emerge victorious, it is increasingly clear that policies advantageous to the ruling groups and their interests win no matter what.
Liberalism, with its promise to eliminate existential political conflict and replace it with objectively beneficial governance, serves as the perfect narrative justification for the expansion of the total state. But the total state does not eliminate the friend/enemy distinction because that is impossible. Instead, it seeks to become the only entity with the authority to define the terms of the friend/enemy distinction for an ever-expanding ideological empire. Those who serve to strengthen the power of the state are friends, while those who seek to compete with or restrain it are the enemy.
With this as a backdrop, we can now turn to an essay published in Ad Fontes, which motivated the present article. There, John Ehrett struggles to understand Schmitt and in some places construes him quite poorly. His purpose is to confront the rising interest in Carl Schmitt among Christians. He does not grapple deeply with Schmitt’s critique of liberalism or his description of the political as built on antagonism, but instead spends most of his time on Christ’s call to love our enemies. If for Schmitt politics is animated by the distinction between Friends and Enemies, Ehrett wants Christians to consider that such an approach to human relations is undermined by Christian virtue.
It should be remarked, however, that it is not Schmitt’s purpose in his exposition of the political to advise Christians on how to act. Nor is he interested in urging increased agitation within the social order. Rather, Schmitt seeks to offer a realist framework for properly understanding the foundations of political phenomena, which then informs the political thinker as to the limits, possibilities, and necessities of political activity and statecraft. At least, Schmitt might say, we can proceed without all the liberal myths and delusions that taint our understanding of political reality.
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Since God “knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust” (Psalm 103:14), he is pleased to help us pray. When we don’t know what or how to pray, the indwelling Spirit of God prays for us “with groanings too deep for words,” (Romans 8:27). The Son of God himself intercedes for us from God’s right hand (Hebrews 7:23-25) that we might “with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:15-16).

Thanks to my wife, Jordan, we do birthdays big in our home. The night before, the birthday boy or girl is sent to bed while the rest of the family stays up late stringing streamers, hanging banners, wrapping presents, putting the finishing touches on the cake, and, who could forget, blowing up countless multicolored, confetti-filled balloons until they carpet the floor.  We fill so many balloons in a given year that Jordan caved and bought an automatic inflator! Well, once the candles have been blown out and the celebration is over, I go around popping one balloon at a time until the floor is visible again. Secretly, it’s one of my favorite parts of our birthdays.
When it comes to prayer, there are balloons littering the floor of our hearts that need to be popped; lies we believe that need to be burst with the needle of God’s Word because they discourage us from crying out to our Heavenly Father honestly and often. Here are 6 of those lies:

I don’t have the time

The first lie we believe that keeps us form praying is that prayers must be lengthy. We think, “If I don’t have a solid 20 or 30 minutes to devote to a robust time of prayer, why bother? Can a short, signal flare of a prayer really please God?” The Bible shouts, “Yes!” While we should strive to protect appointed times of prayer each day, we mustn’t run past the good in pursuit of the perfect.
In the momentary pause between Artaxerxes’ question and Nehemiah’s answer, the prophet fired up an SOS prayer that God was pleased to answer (Nehemiah 2:4).  In view of man’s nothingness and God’s transcendent majesty, the writer of Ecclesiastes suggested, “Therefore, let your words be few” (Ecclesiastes 5:1-2). If some psalms are long like Psalm 119 and some are short like, Psalm 117’s 2 verses, we can know that the Lord who inspired these model prayers is pleased by them regardless of length. Jesus himself instructed his disciples, “…when you pray, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do, for they think that they will be heard for their many words” (Matthew 6:7-13). Thus, the prayer our Lord taught his disciples was pretty short.God hears our prayers not because they are lengthy but because he loves us.

I don’t have the words

In seminary, one of my professors prayed in old English, sprinkling his prayers Shakespearean “thees,” “thous,” “wilts,” and “shalts.”  Now to be fair, he was old… and English. As he prayed, I thought to myself, “I will never be able to pray this beautifully.” You may feel the same thing reading the Puritan prayers preserved in The Valley of Vision. “Is God really pleased with my simple, unsophisticated, unvarnished words in prayer?” He certainly is! Do parents wait to listen to their children until they attain mastery of language? No, of course not. While we should to endeavor to speak to the Lord clearly and reverently, we must remember that some of the most profound prayers in the Bible are not literary masterpieces. In his final moment, Samson cried “O Lord GOD, please remember me and please strengthen me only this once…” (Judges 16:28). Jesus’ tax collector went home justified after praying, “God be merciful to me, a sinner” (Luke 18:9-4). Jesus stretched out his healing hand after the leper said to him, “If you will you can make me clean” (Mark 1:40-41).
Remember, though we are coming to the King when we pray, he is also, by grace, our Father, Shepherd, and Friend. He hears our prayers not because they are eloquent but because he loves us.

I don’t have the knowledge

“But,” we argue with ourselves, “I’m no great theologian. I am still trying to understand the gospel. I am still learning the doctrines of the faith. What if I make mistakes in my prayers? What if I say or ask for the wrong thing? Will God still hear me?” He will. While we should be moving from spiritual milk to meat as we grow in our knowledge of God’s person, work, and word, we should not allow our lack of learning to keep us from speaking to God. The father of the demonized boy admitted his ignorance and doubt to Jesus saying, “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief” (Mark 9:24). It was a prayer Christ was pleased to answer.
Since God “knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust” (Psalm 103:14), he is pleased to help us pray. When we don’t know what or how to pray, the indwelling Spirit of God prays for us “with groanings too deep for words,” (Romans 8:27). The Son of God himself intercedes for us from God’s right hand (Hebrews 7:23-25) that we might “with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:15-16).
If your child said, “I love you,” what parent in their right mind, would turn that child away snorting, “Love! You don’t even know what that word means!” No, we would accept their imperfect love with full hearts. So too, God hears our prayers not because of our theological brilliance, but because he loves us.4. I don’t have the feelings
Will God accept a cold-hearted prayer uttered in oughtness or spoken in duty? Yes. We don’t ultimately or only pray when we feel like it. We pray because we are commanded to. We pray because, like broccoli, we know it’s good for us. We pray because God is glorified and we are humbled by it. We pray because we know that like so many things in life, our feelings follow our feet. How often do we go to church begrudgingly but leave gladly?
Not praying because you don’t feel like it is like not going to the gym because you’re out of shape. Not praying because you don’t feel like it is a vicious, self-defeating cycle. How else will God spark the flame of desire within us?
In Lewis’ masterful fiction, Uncle Screwtape instructed the junior demon, Wormwood, to derail a certain Christian’s prayer life by tempting him to define the authenticity of his faith by his feelings:
Whenever they are attending to the Enemy Himself, we are defeated, but there are ways of preventing them from doing so. The simplest is to turn their gaze away from Him towards themselves. Keep them watching their own minds and trying to produce feelings there by the action of their own wills. When they meant to ask Him for charity, let them, instead, start trying to manufacture charitable feelings for themselves and not notice that this is what they are doing. When they meant to pray for courage, let them really be trying to feel brave. When they say they are praying for forgiveness, let them be trying to feel forgiven. Teach them to estimate the value of each prayer by their success in producing the desired feeling; and never let them suspect how much success or failure of that kind depends on whether they are well or ill, fresh or tired, at the moment.
God hears our prayers not because of our fickle feelings towards him or towards prayer itself, but because of his steadfast love towards us.

I don’t have the need

Prayer is only to be utilized by believers in cases of emergencies, right? Wrong! Imagine having a friend or family member that only ever called when they needed something. What if a husband only ever talked to his wife when he wanted something from her?  How would such treatment make her feel? Dehumanized? Objectified? Used? Uncherished? Is it so different with God? Marriage is, afterall, a mysterious picture of Christ and the church.
Corrie ten Boom asked, “Is prayer your steering wheel, or your spare tire?” You see, prayer is not only reserved for dire straits. Prayer is our living lifeline to God. Prayer is the umbilical connection between our hearts and Him who sits enthroned in the heavens. Prayer is the language of our love to Jesus; the secret communion of our souls with our Savior.
Unlike Christmas decorations that deck our halls from late November to early January, prayer is for all seasons! Paul told the Thessalonians to “pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:17-18)  Everyone prays in the fox hole. Only true believers pray on the plain of life’s mundane or on the mountain top of life’s golden moments.
You don’t need to pray? Is God so plain that you have nothing to tell Him about himself? Is your life so empty that you have you nothing for which to thank God? Is your soul so clean that you have you no sin that needs pardon? Are you so apathetic that you have no holy aspiration after which you are striving? We always have something, indeed many things, for which we can pray.

I don’t have the merit

We all know how this one goes: “Surely, a holy God only hears the prayers of holy people. Surely God only answers the pleas of those worthy of heaven’s help. I’m too dirty. I don’t deserve an audience with him whose robe is the light (Psalm 104:2) and who dwells in unapproachable light” (1 Timothy 6:16).
Indeed, our sin disqualified us from loving relationship with God. But (thanks be to God!) Jesus has qualified us by owning our sin on the cross and transferring the infinite worth of his righteous life to our account. “Dressed in his righteousness alone, faultless to stand before the throne…”; we pray not on the basis of our own merit, but upon the basis of his.
Some of the greatest prayers ever answered were uttered by the vilest people. Think of the Rahab the harlot, evil king Manasseh, Zacchaeus the thief, Saul the Christian killer, or Samson the philanderer. Consider the dying thief, who, with his last breath, looked to the man on the middle cross and begged, “‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ And he said to him, ‘Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.’” (Luke 23:42-43). If the Lord heard the prayers of people like these, he will hear any who call upon him in faith. God hears us not because of our merit, but because of Christ’s merit and because he loves us.
When the world, the flesh, and the devil lie to us to hinder our prayers, may we preach the truth of God’s Word to our own hearts and press on in prayer.
Jim McCarthy is a Minister in the Presbyterian Church in America and is Pastor of Trinity PCA in Statesboro, Ga.
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God is a God of relational intimacy through proximity. He walked in the cool of the garden with Adam and Eve (Gen. 3:8). Jesus ministered through proximity with his disciples. The first-century church was marked by communal living day by day (Acts 2:42–46; 4:32–35). Not all regions lend themselves to living within walking distance from where a church gathers, but in all situations, we must pastor our churches to fight the cultural bent toward isolation. 

Peter commands pastors to shepherd the flock that is among them (1 Pet. 5:2). Therefore, actually living among them—and your flock living among one another—is invaluable.
When we planted a church in the outskirts of New Orleans, one of the most significant decisions my family made was to move into the neighborhood. Many of our core team members moved as well.
I, along with more than ten other families, now live on the same avenue as our church. Out of 160 covenant members, more than half live within a couple miles of the church building. Here are three reasons why I would encourage every pastor to teach his congregation the value of proximity.
For Your Church’s Affection
Salvation is a community-creating event. The abundant life Christ offers is lived out in a family of brothers and sisters, living in harmony with one another (Rom. 15:5). Church is not an event you attend but a household you join (1 Tim. 3:15).
Many Americans leave worship on Sunday, return home, close the garage door, and are content not to re-engage their church until next Sunday.
Proximity combats this instinct. By reducing our distance, it increases our opportunities for the one-another commanded throughout the Bible. Organic relationships develop more easily and create a culture that affects the whole.
Pastors can lead the charge by prioritizing proximity themselves, modeling hospitality, and encouraging members to do the same. The community cultivated through this effort will then draw in the lost and lonely to hear the gospel preached and see the gospel lived out in the life of the church.
For Your Neighbors’ Salvation
Paige, Kelsi, and Carly all worked at the po-boy shop at the end of the street our church sits on. They were young adults with little religious background who also lived near our church.
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