Jesus and the Powers: Christian Political Witness in an Age of Totalitarian Terror and Dysfunctional Democracies
Harold Laswell famously defined politics as “who gets what, when, and how.” These decisions are surely as fraught now as they were when Aristotle wrote about politics in ancient Athens. Politics has always been about power: who has the power to determine who gets what, when, and how? When it comes to power, Christians live as “resident aliens” in a world where political power is vigorously contested. But as N. T. Wright and Michael Bird write in their recent book, Jesus and the Powers, “Theologians in the past have recognised that while all power is from God, the legitimation of that authority comes through the people” (163). Thus, they argue, Christians have a political role to play. For Wright and Bird, political power manifested through the State is a “divine servant” of God (94). They assert that a properly functioning government is used by God to redeem and reconcile humanity in anticipation of a new heaven and earth. Proper governance is a “gift to mankind,” toward the ends of justice, security, and welfare of the governed (152).
But what is proper governance? Should Christians seek to govern? To what extent should Christians obey the government, and is it ever permissible to disobey? Answers to these questions and more are sketched throughout the brief but accessible and timely book. The authors hope to chart a political approach for Christians that is neither passive resignation nor a manipulative co-opting of power for our own ends. As they write at the outset, “We need to grasp where the Church sits between presidents and principalities” (xiv). Their message is that if we sit too close, we become mesmerized by the “seduction of political power,” but if we stay too far away, we leave goods such as justice, mercy, and human flourishing to those power brokers who don’t know Christ. Perhaps in 2024 we feel a little too literally the words of the band Stealers Wheel: “Clowns to the left of me/Jokers to the right/Here I am stuck in the middle with you.” How do Christians get unstuck from the miasma of pervasive politics?
At the heart of Christians’ approach to politics and power should be the vision of the coming kingdom, which Wright and Bird emphasize is not of our making. “God builds God’s kingdom,” they write, but we must “build for the kingdom.” As they put it, we “curate creation for its consummation” (83–85). Because the phenomenon of power is here to stay, how do we build for the kingdom in a way that redeems power toward holy ends? Put more basically, how should Christians faithfully engage politics? The question is perhaps well-worn, from St. Augustine to Reinhold Niebuhr, but as Wright and Bird show, it is an ever-present and unavoidable dilemma for Christians of any age, especially now in a time of “totalitarian terror and dysfunctional democracies.”
The authors argue in chapter 2 that Christians cannot and should not retreat to hobbit-holes of ideological purity or provincial seclusion. Of course, this is one way for Christians to deal with the chaos of politics and power: tending our own gardens while paying no mind to the outside world. No one forces us to vote, or even stay up to date with elections and current events, for example. But the authors reject this sort of “agrarian anarchism” and theology of “escapist piety” (38, 65). “Christians might be safe hiding and huddled together in the catacombs for fear of being seduced by political power,” they write, “but that is not how discipleship works” (77). As they reiterate throughout the book, Christ’s kingdom is not of this world, but it is for this world, so the authors call for a revival of our kingdom vocation. But lest readers think they are pointing toward a sort of Christian nationalism—where Christians infiltrate the State to monopolize its capabilities—the authors offer a healthy degree of skepticism and wariness concerning political power. In the first two chapters they briefly chronicle the history of political power in the biblical narrative, from God’s punishment of his own people to be dominated by foreigners when disobedient, to John’s apocalyptic warnings of power and propaganda in the Book of Revelation. As readers see from their account, the use of political power is almost always at odds with the way Christians are called to live. And yet, like so many other facets of life, it is unavoidable in a fallen world; thus, they argue turning a blind eye is not the solution. They are not calling for the sort of state-sponsored religion of Constantine—which exchanged “the cross of Christ for the sword of Rome” (26)—but rather they adhere to, in their words, “a theo-political gospel that declares that Jesus is Lord and Caesar is not” (38).
In the view of Wright and Bird, the theology of the cross has implications for Christian politics, and aims to redeem earthly structures and institutions, including government. On the cross, “Jesus has robbed the ‘powers’ of their regular means of usurping human authority, freeing up humans of all sorts to become at last what they were made to be: worshippers of the one God, exercising royal priesthood in his world” (59). However, the authors argue that the apolitical among society—“cheerful anarchists”—miss the mark when they interpret the crucifixion as the elimination of power on earth. What really happened, and is happening, is the reconciliation of power. It is their contention that “God intends that humans should share in running his world, and should be held accountable.” Despite the possibility (and perhaps probability) of abuse within political structures, they assert that power is not “automatically evil” (60). Power has been redeemed, and thus Christians are obligated to faithfully participate in a way that promotes Christian ethics and human flourishing. In partaking in the ongoing reconciliation of all things to God, we call political power to account: “it is a central part of the Church’s task . . . to hold up a mirror to worldly power,” they write (63).
At this point, we’re reminded of the end of most of our Sunday sermons: What now? What do we do with this invocation—and indeed, as they argue, obligation—to faithfully participate in politics? Firstly, we ought not get caught up in the cyclical phenomenon that is Christian nationalism, where religion is called into service of, and by, the State. We are not to be, as the authors put it, the “religious department” of an empire (73). Instead, we maintain a sort of healthy skepticism toward political power, especially the type of seductive power that inverts our allegiance from altar to throne. As for what we should do, the authors argue that Christians must be willing to “do God” in public (76). Rather than resign ourselves to the eventual kingdom come, we help build for the kingdom by, in this instance, engaging politics. As previously mentioned, one way to do this is to hold governments to account. Those of us living in western liberal democracies—which is the preference of Wright and Bird, though they point out Christians have been and can still be faithful under any system—have options at our disposal. On the one hand, there are those seemingly non-political actions open to all of us, such as working with children, aiding those near death, and supporting refugees. Indeed, these simple, day-to-day actions in our own communities, and ideally through the community of believers that is the church, have a profound impact in preparing for “the new creation that God will one day make” (86). So, we should not forget about the political significance of the ordinary. But other questions remain: should we vote? Should we run for office? Should we impose Christianity on society through the coercive power of the State?
The short answers are, respectively, yes, maybe, and no. Wright and Bird argue that, despite the “temptations of power and the dangers of mixing God and politics,” Christians have a real opportunity to “leaven society with Christian influence” by working through the State (90–91). Of course, the authors are not demanding that all Christians pursue political office, but neither are they discounting that some Christians can build for the kingdom through it. Ultimately, it is up to individual Christians to decide if politics is their faithful vocation. And if so, the authors caution, it should not be an avenue by which Christians collectively impose some sort of modern theocracy on their non-Christian neighbors. This is why, in answer to question three above, Wright and Bird call for a secular, liberal democracy as the best safeguard for legal equality and civil liberties. In their view, our modern system, as seemingly chaotic as it is, provides for a plurality of personal views while protecting civil structures and society at large. “Secular government is still a divine servant and is therefore theological,” they assert (94). Finally, in terms of voting—which is often the key mechanism by which we engage in politics proper—Wright and Bird argue that “to defend democracy, we must practise it,” which means voting, helping candidates, and generally doing what we can to ensure fair elections (169).
Wright and Bird broach a variety of other helpful topics, such as why and how political power is ordained, why they believe liberal democracy is most in line with our modern mission, and if and when civil disobedience is permitted. But in closing, we should consider their analysis of a debated passage in Romans 13 where Paul begins, “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God.” Wright and Bird take this passage, among others, as the foundation for obedience to the State. They assert that the passage is not opaque, but all too clear: it carries a “plain and unqualified call for submission to governing authorities” (109). While they make room within the book for civil disobedience—for instance on grounds of religious liberty, illegality by the State, or its harm to citizens (112)—their general position is that Christians are called to submit to and obey the government, since the government orders civil society and avoids chaos. But there is an unrecognized irony within the book as a whole: Wright and Bird readily acknowledge the history of state violence and the seduction of political power, and yet conclude that not only should Christians continue to submit to it, but even that we should consistently participate in it. However, as they admit in the same chapter, “the exhortations toward submission and obedience given by Paul and Peter are a general principle, not a rule that should apply to every situation in every place in every age” (110). And again, on the next page, they assert that “Calvin rightly grasped that obedience to the State was never total or unqualified.” We are tempted to ask the authors: which is it? Is submission unqualified, or not? If obedience is qualified, as they expressly indicate above, this radically undermines their argument for the legitimacy of the State, as critical readers can point to a host of abuses from nearly all modern governments that seem to “forfeit” their claim to legitimate rule, to use Wright and Bird’s word. And if forfeited, how then can the authors encourage active and consistent participation in a political system governed by “rulers who engage in cruelty, injustice and avarice” (112)?
Regarding submission to the State, Wright and Bird commit the analytical oversight of moving to Romans 13 before engaging the preceding chapter, where Paul calls us to “live in harmony with one another” and to “live peaceably with all.” Politics is uniquely divisive, and Wright and Bird don’t fully confront the reality that politics often leads to strife, not harmony, and to chaos, not peace. They offer, to some degree, an unimaginative prescription, which is to participate in politics alongside our secular neighbors, albeit with different motivations. But there is no commandment in the Bible to participate in politics. The authors assert that given the proper framing of God-given political authority, “keeping out of politics is impossible” (36). But they confuse the issue. According to them, the minimum standard for what Christians owe rulers is obedience, respect, and revenue (109). If by “keeping out of politics” they mean that it would be impossible for Christians to avoid these actions, then they are generally correct (though the notion of respect invites more discussion). But they go much further, not only prescribing passive acceptance of laws and taxes, but active participation in politics, such as running for office, assisting campaigns, and voting in elections (169). But while it is impossible to avoid taxes and laws, it is entirely possible to reject and avoid active political participation of the sort they describe.1
While political non-participation may remind readers of the Quakers or Anabaptists of old, Wright and Bird are attempting to outline a path toward faithful participation in the here and now. Their approach reflects the reality that most of us living in democracies will participate in politics; indeed, it is their argument that we should do so. After reading the book, readers may find themselves looking for more direct answers: for whom should we vote? Which party should we support? Which issues are top priorities for Christians? But to their credit, Wright and Bird provide a framework, not a playbook. Part of their argument is that to be a Christian does not mean unwavering support for any single candidate or party. Like most things, Christians must use discernment when it comes time to put thought into action. As we “do God in public” now and in the future, we might keep the authors’ approach in mind, which is to participate in politics in ways that most love our neighbor and build for the kingdom.
[1]. This point is made by Jacques Ellul in Anarchy and Christianity, trans. Geoffrey W. Bromiley (Wipf and Stock, 2011 [1988]). In the book, Ellul describes a radical alternative to traditional notions of political participation and argues that Christ’s attitude toward political power in the New Testament was one of “irony, scorn, noncooperation, indifference, and sometimes accusation” (71).
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Footnotes
- This point is made by Jacques Ellul in Anarchy and Christianity, trans. Geoffrey W. Bromiley (Wipf and Stock, 2011 [1988]). In the book, Ellul describes a radical alternative to traditional notions of political participation and argues that Christ’s attitude toward political power in the New Testament was one of “irony, scorn, noncooperation, indifference, and sometimes accusation” (71).
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