Either I’m hearing it more or I’m just becoming more sensitive to it. Probably a bit of both. In this volatile, polarizing age I am increasingly noticing among Jesus-followers what I call a ‘Christendom nostalgia.’
A quick definition of terms – ‘Christendom’ refers to the historical period where Christianity enjoyed dominant political and social power. It usually refers to the period in western Europe following Constantine’s adoption of Christianity as the official religion of the Roman Empire in the fourth century. The political dominance looked different in varying times and location, but one trend is clear: across the western world over the second half of the twentieth century, this historic political and social power eroded. Most western countries can now be accurately described as Post-Christendom.[1] While the established church continues to wield a degree of power and while the influence of centuries of Christian thought can be seen everywhere in our ‘secular’ culture, identifying as Christian is no longer particularly socially advantageous, nor are Christian values (of some variety) the assumption in public life.
When I refer to Christendom nostalgia, I mean the sense of grief for a lost past, and the desire to return to some form of Christendom – for Christians to take back power. We’re seeing a particularly ugly form of this with Trumpian Christian Nationalism in the US but I want to focus particularly on my own context here in the UK.
People bemoan the fact that ‘we used to be a Christian country.’ They celebrate and vote for Christian politicians, with the assumption that if we can just get Christians into positions of power, that will be good news. And before we write this off as the preserve of the elderly who fondly remember the good old days of Billy Graham crusades, full churches and ‘traditional’ values, think of how many contemporary movements and worship songs use the quasi-militaristic language like ‘winning the nation back.’
I want to be careful here. I think the vast majority of people who express opinions like this are well-intentioned and fearful about what they (with plenty of justification) see as an increasingly chaotic, contested and dangerous world. The attraction of wanting to return to the stability and safety of an old order is certainly understanding.
So, what’s wrong with this sort of nostalgia?
- It is fiction
Is there a single point in British history where this country has vaguely resembled the Kingdom of God? The Christianity of the Middle Ages condoned the crusades. The Christianity of the Reformation was perfectly happy to torture and burn heretics. The Christianity of the early modern period accepted and often provided the moral justification for the transatlantic slave trade. The Christianity of the industrial revolution had little critique for the mass exploitation of labour and creation, and the avarice of global imperialism. The Christianity of the twentieth century held onto a colonial legacy and remained broadly silent on the dehumanising persecution of minorities.
Of course, there were countless voices of dissent along the way – faithfully living the way of Jesus in the midst of a Christendom that looked nothing like its Christ. But those faithful disciples have tended to be the exception.
It is just too simple to wish for the good old days where everyone went to church. Maybe in the 1950s most people did go to church. But we must not mistake church attendance for devoted discipleship and transformed lives. Breadth is not depth. Christendom bred a form of cultural Christianity that brought social reward to nominal belief but which generally frowned upon belief too zealous or committed. In other words, Christianity was accommodated to the dominant culture – where faith could be diluted and twisted to bolster the status quo all was well, but where faith might subvert or challenge the status quo it was supressed or mocked.
Of course, Christendom was not all bad. But we should be very careful not to assume that social and political power was a good thing for the church. When we wish for the good old days of Christendom, we too easily imagine a fictional past and whitewash the reality that power and comfort may have helped get bums in pews and it may have made us feel like we were more in control of moral norms, but it was a poor environment for growing deep faithful disciples.
2. It misunderstands discipleship
Most Christendom nostalgia comes across as being self-interested. Why do we desire a past where it was easier to identify as Christian, where it brough social and cultural benefit, and where Christians had more political clout? Maybe there are some more altruistic motives there but it certainly sounds like we just want our lives to be more comfortable.
Discipleship is always the tension of the yoke and the cross – there is comfort, for sure, but the comfort found is in a messiah who is with us in the daily dying to self, the daily bearing of our cross.
I wouldn’t mind the blatant self-interest of much of the Christendom nostalgia if it was in the context of a consistent care for others. For example, if the logic was that we fight for religious liberty for those of all faiths, because we’re concerned about the common good. But too often, we are far more concerned about my rights and my liberty, and I can’t help but think that Jesus generally seemed to be far more concerned about the wellbeing and flourishing of others. Are we aligning more closely with the hyper-individualism of American libertarianism than we are with the way of Jesus? Or worse, are we aligning with the uglier forms of Christian nationalism than, implicitly or explicitly, feel threatened by migration and think that the country would be better without those who think (or look) different from ‘us?’
3. It misunderstands the politics of Jesus
Christendom nostalgia wants Christians to be in power. Rather than the revolutionary subordination of Jesus, it fully co-opts the fallen power-games of the world.
We may not have quite the same degree of cultural-captivity as in the US, where the majority of white evangelicals have become so fixated on the quest for power that they are prepared to support candidates like Trump. But I still often hear among fellow believers the assumption that it is a good thing to have Christians in power (provided, of course, they are the right kind of Christian). I am certainly not opposed to Christians running for political office, but I seriously worry that when we assume putting Christians in charge is unambiguously a good thing we have assimilated the politics of power, not the politics of the kingdom. We are playing by the rules of the enemy, not by the rules of Jesus.
4. It misunderstands the mission of the church
And let’s be clear, when the politics of Christians looks like a self-interested quest to cling onto power, to guard privilege, to put people ‘like us’ in charge, and to reminisce about an old order without acknowledging or repenting of the vast sins in which the Church of the past colluded, it is hugely damaging to the witness of the church.
Christendom nostalgia assumes that the mission of the church relies on the exertion of political and social power. The way that we join in with God’s redemptive mission to put right all that is broken in creation, according to Christendom, is to legislate it into being.
While I think there absolutely is a place for Christian vocation in politics, this assumption that the kingdom of God requires top-down political enforcement seems wildly at odds with the bible. The kingdom is like yeast and mustard seeds – it begins small and insignificant. And God’s method of establishing his kingdom is the cross – God-forsaken, humiliation, defeat, shame, suffering, weakness – the antithesis of any political power play, or strong man, or PR campaign.
We are in a cultural moment of compounding crisis and breakdown of trust in institutions. It is an incredible missional opportunity for the church to offer a better story – a politics of justice, peace, reconciliation, flourishing and self-giving love in an age of violence, polarization, self-interest, greed and isolation. But we’re too often opting for assimilation rather than distinctiveness. Is it any surprise that people are not particularly interested in Jesus if all they see from the church is more of the same?
5. It is inconsistent in its political critique
This one is very much influenced by the religious right in the US, but I am increasingly encountering it here in the UK.
Christendom nostalgia does seem, more often than not, to be accompanied by an uncritical allegiance to those elements of the political right that seem determined to wage culture wars. That means that what might start as a more innocent fear at the pace of social change can often become morphed into a wider, and more insidious, agenda of conspiracy theories, political populism, anti-immigration xenophobia, misogyny, homophobia and racism.
I am all for a healthy critique of leftist ideology. But the politics of Jesus compels us distrust political ideologies from across the spectrum. What frustrates me is the inconsistency with which my brothers and sisters point out the dangers of critical theory or cultural Marxism or post-modernism, while uncritically upholding (and often benefiting from) the status quo of industrial capitalism, militarism, consumerism and cultural imperialism.
If our political witness is to be faithful and consistent, we need to be prepared to critique all ideology that is dehumanising and destructive. We need to model an alternative politics in our church communities. And from there we seek the welfare, the common good, of society.
So what should we do instead?
Perhaps I can write more about these another time, but some very quick ideas to get us started…
- Cultivate hope, not fear
Fear brings out the worst in us. When our posture towards the world is one of fear, we do two things: we look for strong men (and it is almost always men) who will fight our cause. And we look for others who seem to share our fears, forming homogenous echo chambers. These are both dangerous on so many levels.
We need to be a people of resurrection hope – hope that Jesus is risen, that he is Lord, and that he is at work, in the midst of all that is wrong and broken in our world to put things right. That hope is the antidote to the politics of fear.
2. Embrace marginality
The western church has lost most of its social and political power. What if we embraced that? What if we dared to believe that God’s mission has never been dependent on our power? What if we saw it as an opportunity for greater solidarity with those on the margins and greater intimacy with the messiah who moves towards the margins? What if we saw the marginality of the western church as a missional opportunity, rather than a threat to our comfort?
3. Find hills worth dying on
Christendom nostalgia picks the wrong fights. When we make a fuss about not being allowed to wear crosses in certain jobs, or being punished for offering prayer, or about other religions apparently getting preferential treatment (as in ‘they wouldn’t be allowed to say that about Muslims’) all the while staying silent on racial justice, or climate justice, or economic justice it communicates pure hypocrisy and self-interest. We have to decide what we focus our limited time and energy and resources on. Surely we need to focus it on where our fellow image-bearers across the globe are in greatest need.
4. Take political discipleship seriously in our churches
Most churches that I’ve been part of are very cautious of being ‘political.’ This often comes from a good place – a desire to stay out of the mess and tribalism of party politics. It tends to draw on Romans 13, which is an important passage for political theology, but certainly not all the bible has to say about politics. The problem is that if we are not forming disciples in our churches who are able to navigate the nuance and complexities of what faithful engagement with politics looks like, other forces will fill that discipleship void. The best antidote of the bad is the practice of the good. It’s complex, but I wonder if these contested and volatile times require us to re-imagine what it looks like to disciple our congregations in the politics of Jesus.
[1] It’s important to say that this is only true of the West (Europe and the US). Post-Christendom is not necessarily the same as Post-Christian – Tom Holland, in his book Dominion, makes a compelling case for the enduring legacy of Judeo-Christian heritage in western society, in spite of the decline in church attendance, religious affiliation and power.
Notes From the Potting Shed 