“At times of crisis it is a natural human reaction to turn to the past for support.” [1] These words were written by evangelicals, to evangelicals. In 1983. Wait—1983? But Ronald Reagan was president at the time. What could possibly have been the source of evangelical angst back then? In fact, the causes were many. The wounds of Vietnam and Watergate were still fresh, the economy seemed on precarious footing, and the threat of nuclear annihilation persisted. Add to that evangelical concerns about their nation’s “flight from morality and godliness”—witness “the collapse of discipline in the schools, the spread of pornography, the strident voices proclaiming ‘rights’ for homosexuals and ‘freedom’ for abortion, along with the manifest presence of great social injustices.” In response to these uncertain times, American evangelicals looked to the past for guidance—specifically, to a time when America seemed truly to have been a “Christian nation.” In the wake of the recent Bicentennial, evangelical popular culture was rife with paeans to the nation’s Christian heritage. As they began to mobilize as a political movement, conservative evangelicals eagerly embraced an unabashed Christian nationalism. It was in the midst of this anxious yet celebratory moment that three prominent Christian historians—Mark Noll, Nathan Hatch, and George Marsden—penned The Search for Christian America. At the time, they shared many of their fellow evangelicals’ concerns about the state of American culture. But as professional historians, they also harbored concerns about the mythical past that evangelical Christians were inventing. Knowing that views of the past shaped perceptions of the present, these three authors felt the need to set the record straight. There was “no lost golden age to which American Christians may return,” they insisted. Rather, a careful study of history made clear that “early America does not deserve to be considered uniquely, distinctly or even predominately Christian”—that is “if we mean by the word ‘Christian’ a state of society reflecting the ideals presented in Scripture.” To begin with, they urged Christians to reconsider the very notion of a “Christian nation.” “How much action is required to make a whole society Christian?” the authors pondered. And the flip side: “How much evil can a society display before we disqualify it as a Christian society?” When it comes to the Puritans, for example, should one focus on their desire to fashion a godly society? Or should one look to their theft of Native American lands, their displacing and slaughtering Native Americans whenever it suited their purposes, not to mention their persecution of Quakers, whose only crime was seeking to worship God according to their conscience. Similar questions could be asked of Revolutionary patriots and antebellum Americans, they maintained. Beyond these concerns, the authors raised a theological question: Is it “ever proper to speak of a Christian nation after the coming of Christ?” Is there any justification for ascribing to America the special status that Israel enjoyed in the Old Testament scriptures? Clearly they felt the idea of Christian America could do more harm than good. It is important to note that Noll, Hatch, and Marsden were not writing as secular critics of evangelicalism. They identified as evangelicals, and made clear that they, too, shared many of their fellow evangelicals’ concerns. However, they feared that by promoting the myth of Christian America, American Christians in fact weakened their own public witness, and paradoxically contributed to the secularization of American society. How so? They warned that misperceptions of the past served as stumbling blocks to effective Christian witness. “Positive Christian action does not grow out of distortions or half-truths,” they contended. “Such errors lead rather to false militance, to unrealistic standards for American public life today, and to romanticized visions about the heights from which we have fallen.” Perhaps more perniciously, a mythical view of “Christian America” discouraged “a biblical analysis of our position today.” Here’s how they explained what was at stake: “If we accept traditional American attitudes toward public life as if these were Christian, when in fact they are not, we do the cause of Christ a disservice. Similarly, if we perpetuate the sinful behavior and the moral blind spots of our predecessors, even if these predecessors were Christians, it keeps us from understanding scriptural mandates for action today.”By conflating a certain understanding of American history with scriptural revelation, proponents of “Christian America” risked idolizing the nation and succumbing to an “irresistible temptation to national self-righteousness.” They also sacrificed any ability to offer a scriptural critique of the cultural values they themselves embraced. And this, ultimately, leads to secularization—for “uncritically patriotic Christians” are no longer able to articulate a prophetic critique of their own culture, or of any religious impulse that “does not have its ultimate end in the God of our Lord Jesus Christ.” What, then, might a Christian understanding of the nation look like? To begin with, it would reject any notion that the United States, or any other nation since the coming of Christ, occupies a unique position as God’s chosen people. It would recall that God’s people, wherever they find themselves, were to be “strangers and pilgrims”—good citizens, yes, but always remembering that their real home lies elsewhere. And Christians must also remember that they will be judged not according to what they profess, but rather according to how they act. Thus, the righteousness of any society should be judged “not merely by the religious professions that people make, but also by the extent to which Christian principles concerning personal morality and justice for the oppressed are realized in the society.” Normally historians would be gratified to find their work holds up well over time—three decades of enduring relevance is an impressive feat. Yet the book’s prophetic witness only endures because its lessons have been rejected by the majority of American evangelicals for over thirty years now. I know there are more recent and excellent studies of the idea of Christian America—John Fea’s Was America Founded as a Christian Nation? and John Wilsey’s One Nation Under God?: An Evangelical Critique of Christian America come to mind. But I still like to assign portions of The Search for Christian America in my American religious history courses—it’s a wonderful primary source, a window onto questions of faith and culture in the early years of the Religious Right. In recent years, however, I’ve been struck by how compellingly these words speak to our contemporary situation. That said, I do think that evangelicals would do well to ponder, once again, the warnings these historians have offered. Perhaps the notion of a “Christian America” does more harm than good, and hinders the witness of the Christian church—robbing Christians of a prophetic voice, and hastening the secularization they have long feared. 1. Mark A. Noll, Nathan O. Hatch, and George M. Marsden, The Search for Christian America (Westchester, IL: Crossway Books, 1983), 13. All quotes are taken from the book’s introduction. Originally published by Kristin Du Mez, used with permission https://kristindumez.com/resources/still-searching-for-christian-america/

First, in the face of severe suffering such as that many Americans began to experience on September 11th, our human response is naturally a desire for the downfall and destruction of our enemies. But Jesus taught clearly that we are to love them and not to retaliate no matter how much we have been hurt (Matthew 5). While the political and military powers may strike back aggressively, in our hearts we are called to peace. We do not wage war with the weapons of the world. Moreover the Bible says we are to pray for our leaders (1 Timothy 2). We are to desire good for our enemies and wisdom for our leaders. Failure to pray at a time like this is gross neglect of a biblical command. Finally it is my hope that, whatever happens, the end result may promote the gospel that it may open doors. God has already moved to bring down Apartheid in South Africa and the Iron Curtain in Europe. Could it be that now he is moving to deconstruct the Islamic empire, eroding confidence in its leaders who are fueled by religious nationalism? How will the stiff opposition to Jesus and his message throughout the world of Islam melt away? Could it not be that the Lord is moving in our world to pave the way for his church? May the Lord provide one day in the near future safe and free access to every nation, especially those under the Muslim crescent! Should a disciple kill in wartime? I know that if you haven't already been asked this question you will be soon: Should a disciple kill during a wartime situation? I honestly was surprised that a lot of disciples feel that we should kill during a wartime situation.... I believe there is a distinction between thoughts of personal vengeance and a desire to see societal justice done. Personal vengeance is wrong (as are the sins of the heart that may go along with it -- hatred, spite, ill will), but a desire for societal control, protection, and even societal punishment of wrongdoers is not is it? And is it not inconsistent for us to believe in societal justice in theory or on a limited scale, but then not support the national means necessary to carry this out with reference to the current crisis? After all, Jesus does not command any of the soldiers converted in the first century to abandon their profession... Now how should I respond? Both make some excellent points, and if we are quick to dismiss them we are oversimplifying the issues. So let me begin by saying I am fully aware that the war issue is one on which disciples have a range of viewpoints. The fact that there are so many differing interpretations of the scriptures should give us pause. For example, while we do not desire the demise of our enemies--since we are praying for them--sometimes there are overlapping or even conflicting principles which must be weighed. If the enemy if threatening my wife, my love for her being stronger than my love for him will naturally impel me to protect her, possibly to the point of force. One could actually reason that in some situations it would be wrong not to use force. And yet when confronted with the arrest party, Peter, drawing the sword to protect his Master, was rebuked for resorting to arms! Another principle always to be considered is conscience. One disciple may be forbidden by his conscience to use deadly force even in self defense. For him to violate his conscience would be sin (Romans 14). In no way do I wish to be ungrateful for the blessings many of us enjoy under (powerful) military protection. Yet as one who has traveled the world, I know how most people live (less affluently than, say, the Americans). Often our lifestyles are maintained at the expense of others. The minor prophets speak about those who "sell the needy for a sandal." Then there is another dilemma: the destruction of innocent bystanders victimized by their own governments. They may not agree with their governments' policies; they may not be violent persons themselves; yet in a bombing attack, let's say, they will be killed. Even more shocking will be the toll on the women and children. No war is waged without these casualties as a by-product. Every war begins with rhetoric talk of justice and the building of some sort of consensus. I am not claiming to be above the fray--I was hurt by the attacks of September 11th, and deep down I admit I would like to see all terrorists get justice too. But history shows us that it is not always that simple. Perhaps that is why Jesus himself did not get involved in politics. I do not believe everyone in politics is in it for wrong motives. All these principles need to be taken into account, and we must respect others' views when they have studied the scriptures--even if they disagree with our own. So to respond: of course I have a problem with any disciple who enjoys killing others or who has not thought about the innocent who may suffer the "collateral damage." I would strongly encourage all Christians to study this out. The distinction between societal justice and personal vengeance is an important one--as eloquently articulated by the second question. The truth is, you can make a pretty good case for the pacifist position. But, you can also build a (weaker in my opinion) case for military service. I think, however, that only the pacifist position resonates with the teachings of Christ, as in Matthew 5. Christians since the fourth century have been divided on the war issue. And yet that is also the time that the church en masse became apostate, drifting far from the teachings and the spirit of Jesus. originally posted from Douglas Jacoby, used with permission. https://www.douglasjacoby.com/q-a-0121-disciples-and-war/

Perhaps you are asking, “Where is the best place for me to begin to understand what Christian nonviolence is all about?” Start with Jesus. Start with the message that Matthew puts front and center as he writes his Gospel to focus us on Jesus. I am talking of course about the Sermon on the Mount (Mat 5-7). Using one of the new artificial intelligence apps that will soon be ever-present in most of our lives, I asked what are some of the things people have called the Sermon on the Mount, and instantly, it spit out this list: The Greatest Sermon Ever Preached The Sermon of the Kingdom The Magna Carta of Christianity The New Law The Ethics of the Kingdom The Radical Teachings of Jesus The Sermon of the Seven Blessings The Sermon of the Disciple's Calling. I was encouraged to see the Sermon of the Kingdom listed as the second item. For the last ten to twelve years, I have been teaching that a better term is the “Sermon on the Kingdom,” believing that the sermon is about living out the life of the Kingdom—doing the Father’s will on earth (now) as it is in heaven. The AI piece ended by talking about the enduring influence this sermon has had on Western civilization. While in some sense that may be true, I believe it has not had nearly the influence that it should have. Many are those who will pay lip service to its loftiness and grandeur, but few are those who believe its message can be lived in the modern world. Fewer still are those who will commit themselves to follow it with all their hearts. Preferring a broader way—a much safer and less demanding way—the “many” will turn away from this narrow path that tests our resolve, determination and spiritual conviction. So taught Jesus in the sermon itself. We desire to be those who want to be serious about living these words Jesus both spoke and embodied. There is no question about it, the sermon is a biblical Mount Everest, rising high above normal ethics, religion and spirituality. To stand at its base and contemplate living its message humbles every heart that gazes upon it clearly. To actually leave the security of the flatlands and climb toward its peak is to embark on a journey that can only be completed by the receiving of abundant grace. But that is the incredible news! There are no physical or intellectual requirements for this expedition. One does not have to be blessed with self-confidence, self- esteem, creativity or high energy to embark on the journey. As Jesus makes clear in the first moment of the message, only those who realize their utter inadequacy have a chance of ascending its great height. What is needed is not smarts, good looks, or strong sinews … but allegiance. This sermon is for those who dare to trust God, and to continue trusting in Him. Along the journey they will be called fools and fanatics, aliens and strange … but in the end, they will have no regrets and will have the Kingdom of every blessing the sermon promises. Here are a few things to keep in mind as you journey into the heart of this message: 1. These are the words of Jesus Christ. The Sermon on the Mount is so contrary to what we have learned in the world that there will be times when something inside us will fight against what we are hearing. But we must remember whose words these are. These are the words of the Alpha and the Omega, he who was in the beginning with God, he who was God. In Understanding the Sermon on the Mount, Harvey McArthur has a chapter on twelve different ways people interpret the sermon. He says he could have called this chapter “Versions and Evasions of the Sermon on the Mount” because eleven of the twelve give “reasonable explanations” why you really don’t have to do what the sermon says. If we are honest, we are all tempted to come up with some ourselves, but our allegiance is to the risen Lord. 2. This is a message for all of us. At one time Roman Catholic theology taught that some of the teachings here were only for certain monastic orders. Protestants later said the things here were just to make us realize how badly we needed grace. But both of these views are wrong as Jesus makes clear by the way the sermon ends: “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock.” Jesus is teaching these things so people would embody them. Only those who put them into practice are wise. 3. Every word here is spoken out of Jesus’ love and wisdom. In a bookstore one day I perused a book by a well-known psychologist. A line referring to the Sermon on the Mount caught my attention. “Jesus Christ had no right to tell people to do such a thing,” wrote the highly regarded counselor and self-help guru. Convinced that what Jesus was asking was harmful to people, he virtually demanded that Jesus apologize for at least one of his extreme statements. Such religion, he felt, was a burden to people. The psychologist was in error on two accounts: (1) his very limited view from his own finite perspective and (2) the wisdom and love of Jesus Christ behind every word in this sermon. Jesus Christ does not lay upon us a new law of heavy burden, but of incredible blessing. 4. The Beatitudes are at the beginning for a reason. The opening 12 verses are not just an italicized poetic introduction. They are ripe with power. In fact, everything else in the sermon flows from this. Without embracing these attitudes, and without a continual renewal of them, we have no chance of embodying this sermon. Trying to live Matthew 5-7 without the Beatitudes firmly in place in our hearts and minds is like trying to go up Mount Everest without hiking boots. 5. The Sermon on the Mount is more than the words of Jesus, it was his life. He lived this message before he ever preached it, and after he preached it, he kept living it. Even as he hung on a cross wrongfully accused and oppressed by the wicked hearts of people and their power structures, he pleaded to God for their forgiveness and loved his enemies to his death. To see the heart of this sermon is to see the heart of Jesus. As disciples, our basic goal is to follow our Lord and be like him, to model ourselves after him in every way. There has never before, or since, been a message like this one. The Sermon on the Mount is to religious thinking what the cross of Christ is to human effort. It towers above the best that people have to offer – or can even conceive. But like the cross, when it is lived, it will either be loved or hated. It is a double-edged sword, threatening and frightening to those who fight against it, but helping and healing to those who submit to its summons. Families will both be divided over it, and will be transformed by it. Some families may first be divided by it, and then later transformed by it (as was the case in Jesus’ own family). One thing is for sure, this sermon will neither generate change nor controversy until there are those who will dare to put it into practice. But when even a few throw off fear, pride, and insecurity, and put on the climbing gear of grace and start up the mountain, the world will feel the impact. It did two thousand years ago and it continues to do so.

Anchor-Cross Publishing and Followers of the Way sponsored a debate on the subject of just war. They sought to bring leading thinkers together to discuss the issue in historic Faneuil Hall in downtown Boston. Speaking on behalf of just war were Dr. Peter Kreeft (professor of philosophy at Boston College) and Dr. J. Daryl Charles (Berry College). Speaking against just war and for biblical nonresistance were David Bercot and Dean Taylor. Originally published by Followers of the Way, used with permission https://youtu.be/K4xQaDDKY7k

Excerpt taken from The Kingdom of God, Volume 3: Learning War No More by Tom A. Jones, used with permission From my study it seems that the first notable Christian writer who explicitly gives approval to Christian soldiering and killing is Athenasius (296–373), who is often called “the Father of Orthodoxy.” All his writings took place well into the Constantinian era, with his first treatise being done in 319. In his Letter 48 he states, “It is not right to kill, yet in war it is lawful and praiseworthy to destroy the enemy; accordingly, not only are they who have distinguished themselves in the field held worthy of great honors, but monuments are put up proclaiming their achievements. So that the same act is at one time and under some circumstances unlawful, while under others, and at the right time, it is lawful and permissible.” While in the Constantinian Era most church leaders came to support this view of Athenasius, there were some who continued to oppose military service. But gradually, there were fewer and fewer who agreed with this pacifist position. After Jesus, we have the Didache, Justin Martyr, and Clement of Alexander, saying, follow Jesus and “love your enemies and pray for them.” Then later—but not until well into the fourth century—we have a leader of the church saying it is praiseworthy to destroy the enemy. The United States of America has been a country for two-hundred and forty-three years. To those of us who live here, we sense that this a long time. Yet, for almost three hundred years Christians taught that they were to love their enemies and not kill them. But then came a great shift—what scholars call the Constantinian Shift. The emperor began to befriend the church and most church leaders began to embrace the empire, including its war machine. Second, we need to be transparent about the fact that there were Christians who were in the Roman army during the first three centuries. A story, describing events from about 173, appears in Cassius Dio’s Roman History describing the seemingly miraculous rescue of a Roman legion. As the story spread, credit was given, at least by some, to the prayers of Christian soldiers. This is the story of the so-called “Thundering Legion,” whose enemy was supposedly driven away by the sudden appearance of a violent thunderstorm. Tertullian wrote his The Crown because of a story he had heard about a soldier who was a Christian and who was eventually put to death. Tertullian indicates this soldier was not the only Christian in that force. There are a number of indications that Christians joined the army between 175 and 313, but there are many who say that this was part of a broader moral laxness that began to permeate the church. The persecution of Christians under Diocletian (who became Emperor in 284 and initiated the persecution in 303) is known to have begun in the army. Before he moved on to the general population, he wanted to be sure that all Christians had been purged from the military, clear evidence of the presence of believers in the army of the empire. However, the presence of confessing Christians in the army is no more an argument against the pacifism of the early church than the presence of sexual immorality in the church in Corinth was an argument against the first century church’s teaching on sexual purity. Just because certain individuals did not live out the message that was taught does not nullify the fact that the message was taught. The church regularly fails to live up to its teaching. I have to admit that I am perplexed when people supportive of the pro-military position seem eager to discount the value of the early church writers, and yet, want emphasize, that there were Christians in the army in the second and third centuries. Seems to me that you can’t have it both ways. Third, we can conclude that while Christian practice was not always consistent, the normal posture in the early church was one of pacifism until the time of Constantine. We see that there was a unified message from the leading teachers in the church. We have no writer or leader in almost three hundred years who approved of violence. However, even the early church’s critics show us the believers took a pacifist position. Celsus, a Greek philosopher writing about 178, attacked the church for its practice of not serving in the army, arguing that if all people did as the Christians, the emperor would be deserted and his realm would fall prey to savages and barbarians. (By the way, that is still an argument used against Christian pacifists today.) We know as much about Celsus as we do because later Origen would respond to his various attacks including this one. Some of the quotes from Origen mentioned earlier were in reply to this very point. While there were exceptions, the Christian movement was known for its commitment to peace, non-resistance and non-violence, and that stance greatly troubled an opponent like Celsus. While the early church leaders were united in their message of enemy-love and non-violence, the Christian world has been equally united for the last seventeen hundred years in defending Christians who train for and go to war. Only here and there have small minorities resisted this idea and they have often been regarded as rather odd. It should, however, be said that in recent decades, there has been a resurgence of support for the pacifist view outside the traditional “peace churches.” For our purposes, it is important to note that this development has been closely linked to greater emphasis on Jesus’ Kingdom teaching. Following Constantine, the idea of “just war” was adopted and has been the flag under which many have gone off to fight for centuries, more often than not against other “Christians.” We will examine that theory or teaching in the following chapter. Before we turn to that historical shift, I would leave us with this question: Do we find anything in the teachings of Jesus and his gospel of the Kingdom that would cause us to move away from the pacifist teaching that we find in the second and third century church leaders? At least at this point, were they showing us how to live out the teachings of Jesus in this present age?

Excerpt taken from The Kingdom of God, Volume 3: Learning War No More by Tom A. Jones, used with permission Tertullian (160 –220) was raised by pagan parents, and he did not become a Christian until sometime in his late thirties or early forties. Nevertheless, he became one of the most prolific writers in the early church. He is sometimes called the “Father of Western Theology” and the “The Father of Latin Christianity.” He was the first of these leaders to write most of his works in Latin. He eventually left the mainstream church and became part of the Montanist movement because he felt the majority was turning in a worldly direction. Particularly after he joined the Montanists, he wrote much about the need for Christians to avoid war. He wrote an entire treatise titled The Crown, in which he spelled out the Christian case against military involvement. Here is a sampling of the points that he made in that work and in other writings: “If then, we are commanded to love our enemies, whom have we to hate? If injured, we are forbidden to retaliate, lest we become just as bad ourselves who can suffer injury at our hands.” [1] “Only without the sword can the Christian wage war: the Lord has abolished the sword. Christ, in disarming Peter, disarmed every soldier.” [2] “But now inquiry is being made concerning these issues. First, can any believer enlist in the military? Second, can any soldier, even those of the rank and file or lesser grades who neither engage in pagan sacrifices nor capital punishment, be admitted into the church? No on both counts—for there is no agreement between the divine sacrament and the human sacrament, the standard of Christ and the standard of the devil, the camp of light and the camp of darkness. One soul cannot serve two masters—God and Caesar…But how will a Christian engage in war (indeed, how will a Christian even engage in military service during peacetime) without the sword, which the Lord has taken away?” [3] “Shall it be held lawful to make an occupation of the sword, when the Lord proclaims that he who uses the sword shall perish by the sword? And shall the son of peace take part in the battle when it does not become him even to sue at law?” [4] “Will those who are forbidden to engage in a lawsuit espouse the deeds of war? Will a Christian who is told to turn the other cheek when struck unjustly, guard prisoners in chains, and administer torture and capital punishment?” [5] Tertullian’s arguments revolved around three points: (1) Jesus’ command for us to love enemies, (2) Jesus’ call for Peter to put down the sword while condemning those who lived by the sword, and (3) Jesus’ overall ethic involving non-resistance and non-retaliation. Sometimes it is said that Tertullian and other writers were mainly concerned about the idolatry that was a consistent part of Roman military experience—something that would not be found in the military today. There is no doubt that this was a concern, and Tertullian addresses that in The Crown and in On Idolatry, but from the quotes we have here, we can see that his objections to the military were not limited to that concern. Some who don’t believe Tertullian to be useful in this discussion often point out that he also forbids a Christian to be a schoolmaster, a teacher of literature, a seller of frankincense, and that he condemns all forms of painting, modelling and sculpture. The argument is if he was wrong about these, then he was also wrong about the military. However, one must consider how biblically based was his critique of military service while his condemnation of other things was more based on his general concern for how far the church was drifting in worldly directions. Origen (185–254 ) was even more prolific than Tertullian, writing an astonishing 2,000 plus treatises on nearly every biblical subject imaginable. His works contain a great many comments related to our topic. Here are some of those: “Yet Christ nowhere teaches that it is right for his disciples to offer violence to anyone, no matter how wicked. For he did not consider it to be in accord with his laws. To allow for the killing of any individual whomever for his laws are derived from a Divine source ... For his laws do not allow them on any occasion to resist their persecutors even when it is their fate to be slain as sheep.” [6] “To those who ask us whence we have come or whom we have for a leader, we say that we have come in accordance with the counsels of Jesus to cut down our warlike and arrogant swords of argument into ploughshares, and we convert into sickles the spears we formerly used in fighting. For we no longer take ‘sword against a nation,’ nor do we learn ‘any more to make war,’ having become sons of peace for the sake of Jesus, who is our leader, instead of following the ancestral customs in which we were strangers to the covenants.” [7] “To this our answer is, we do give help to Kings when needed. But this is so to speak, a Divine help, ‘putting on the whole armor of God.’” Origin then mentions Paul's command for us to pray for those in authority and ends with this statement: “This is a greater help than what is done by soldiers who go forth to kill as many of the enemy as they can.” [8] “How was it possible for the gospel doctrine of peace to prevail throughout the world? For it does not permit men to take vengeance even on their enemies.” [9] The man who has been described as “the greatest genius the early church ever produced” consistently opposed Christian participation in military activities. He was tortured for his faith during the Decian persecution in 250 and died three to four years later from his injuries. Lactantius (c.250–c.325) is our main example of a church father whose early writing occurred before Constantine and his later work after the edict of Constantine in the new era when the Christian Church was viewed favorably by the empire. In his Divine Institutes, written in the earlier period, he makes as strong a statement as we can find, writing, “It is not right for a just man to serve in the army . . . Nor is it right for a just man to charge someone with a capital crime. It does not matter whether you kill a man with the sword or with a word, since it is killing itself that is prohibited. So, there must be no exception to this command of God. Killing a human being whom God willed to be inviolable [some translations: “a sacred animal”] is always wrong.” [10] After Constantine experiences his “conversion” and gives the edict legalizing Christianity, he asked Lactantius to become his spiritual advisor, tutor his son, and help shape the church’s relationship to the empire. At some point we find Lactantius changing his posture. In his Epitome, he writes: “Just as courage is good, if you are fighting for your country but evil if you are rebelling against it, so too with the emotions. If you use them for good ends, they will be virtues; if for evil ends, they will be called vices.” [11] In other places we see that he no longer opposed all violence. Pacifists see this as an example of letting politics take priority over conviction. They see how gaining power has a corrupting effect and here is an example of what happened to the church in general in the era of Constantine. Others argue he was just faithfully adapting to new circumstances. So, what is our conclusion? First, there is a united message from the church fathers of the first three centuries that the disciple of Jesus does not kill his enemy, but loves him. Let’s hear from Roland Bainton, the renowned church historian. In his Christian Attitudes toward War and Peace, he has a chapter titled “The Pacifism of the Early Church,” where he makes the following assertion: “The three Christian positions with regard to war . . . matured in chronological sequence, moving from pacifism to the just war to the Crusade. The age of persecution down to the time of Constantine was the age of pacifism to the degree that during this period no Christian author to our knowledge approved of Christian participation in battle.” [12] 1 Bercot, A Dictionary of Early Christian Beliefs, 677. 2 Bercot, 677. 3 Tertullian, De idololatria (Anti-Nicene Fathers 3:73). 4 Bercot, A Dictionary of Early Christian Beliefs, 678. 5 Bercot, 678. 6 Bercot, 678. 7 Bercot, 678. 8 Bercot, 679. 9 Bercot, 678. 10 Bercot, 681. 11 Epitome of the Divine Institutes, Chapter 61. http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/0702.htm. 12 Roland H. Bainton, Christian Attitudes toward War and Peace (New York, Abington, 1960), 66.

One of the abiding difficulties of living as a disciple of Jesus and attempting to teach others about the way of Jesus is the wall of resistance that one meets when Jesus’ way of peacemaking comes up for discussion. It appears that the world has so thoroughly groomed us in the way of violence that I might as well be an alien from another planet when I speak of this – even among other Christians. This impulse was driven home for me when my church in Accra, Ghana had conversations around what to do in an armed robbery scenario, given the slow response of our already overstretched police forces. It was such a given that one had to defend one’s family through a ​“kill or be killed” approach that there was very little room for imagining a different approach. First Century Expectations of a Messiah But perhaps that state of affairs is a symptom of a disease with which centuries of Christendom has left the church. And that disease is a spiritualization of Jesus so we can ignore his context and background. So we will attempt to cure a bit of that here and help establish the fact that the way of peace is not a bug but a feature of Jesus’ life and ministry and of our discipleship after him. You see, in the world of first century Palestine that Jesus lived in, one thing that everybody expected of a ​“Messiah,” aka ​“the Chosen One,” was that he would lead the Jewish people to violently overthrow the Roman empire that dominated them at the time. Such a victory would have signified that Yahweh was indeed with this ​“Chosen One” and with his people. What many Christians are not aware of while reading the Gospels is that there were indeed many ​“messiahs” who came before Jesus and many who came after him. Many such ​“messiahs” only ended up suffering a violent death. If you are a well-groomed spiritualizing reader of the Bible like I was brought up to be, you might not notice that the fate of two of such revolutionaries is mentioned by Gamaliel the Pharisee in Acts 5:34 – 37 during the persecution of the apostles. In fact, the Macabbean family dynasty, centuries before Jesus, had achieved a semblance of this desire for a 150 year period as they violently overthrew the Syrian empire and won Palestine their independence. But the nation couldn’t withstand the might of the Roman empire’s military machine and were back in subjugation by Jesus’ day. It is against this backdrop and with these pre-established expectations that Jesus enters the scene and totally repudiates violence towards ​“the enemy,” the most obvious one of which was the Roman empire. And it is this that we intend to establish as we go along. Redefining Messiahship Let’s be clear. Jesus commended Peter for declaring him ​“the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16 – 17), which means he does accept the title. But his refusal to participate in removing the political ​“enemy” meant that for Jesus, being a Messiah meant something different than to the ordinary first century Jew. And this is part of what confused Jesus’ disciples about him. He obviously had the power through the signs and wonders he did – and hence the backing of Yahweh, Israel’s God – so what was power for, if it couldn’t be used against the enemy? The last thing anyone expected of a true Messiah was for him to die, not least on a cross, made doubly shameful because it was at the hands of the enemy. One can see the significance of Jesus’ rejection of the devil’s offer of ​“authority and splendor” as the NIV puts it in Luke 5:5 – 8. The only power that the devil can give is the same that he’s been giving since the fall – power by violence and lording it over, and not Jesus’ kind of paradoxical power that works by peace and nonviolent trust in God and in his wisdom to overcome by love. The devil offered Jesus something that God did intend him to have, but the temptation was to seize it in the wrong way. It’s no surprise that the devil exercised this power by violence – orchestrating the death of the Son of God – only for death to be the tool of the devil’s own defeat. So when Jesus tells his disciples to ​“love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44 – 45), it really is a manifestation of the radically different nature of Jesus’ ​“messiahship.” And yes, he means even the ​“wicked” political enemy – the Roman empire as represented by their soldiers dispatched to Palestine. That will certainly not have gone down well with his disciples, not to speak of the ordinary Jew suffering under the stifling control of Roman taxation and military brutality. Interestingly, this call to ​“love your enemies” is embedded in a much larger manifesto for living within his kingdom called ​“The Sermon on the Mount,” at the beginning of which is the ​“Beatitudes.” Here, Jesus teaches ​“blessed are the peacemakers” (Matthew 5:9). Just like his command to ​“love your enemies,” being peacemakers also shows whose children his disciples truly are. The two are intimately linked. Peace is the way of our God, and his children are manifested when they copy his behavior. But Jesus’ teachings thoroughly perplexed his disciples. Not only were they expecting him to use his power to violently advance his course and remove all resistance to his reign, but they were also quick to interpret any semblance of confrontation as one that will trigger that transformation from a peaceful messiah to a violent one. Jesus tells his disciples to get swords so he might look like a violent revolutionary, and his disciples think it means Jesus is finally going to be their hoped-for violent revolutionary (Luke 22:36 – 38). When two swords are made available, he shuts down their imagination with ​“that’s enough.” Anyone who knows anything about violent overthrows knows that two swords are light-years away from being enough. But that didn’t stop an impatient disciple from swinging that sword when Jesus was being arrested, cutting off an ear of a member of the arresting party (Luke 22:49 – 51). Not only does Jesus correct his disciple and heal the man’s ear, but he also questions his arresting party’s perception of him: ​“Am I leading a rebellion that you have come with swords and clubs?” (v52). That question was meant to drive home the point of how radically different he was from any ​“messiah,” past or future. Jesus practicalizes his own call to ​“love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” not only by dying naked at the hands of his enemy on a Roman cross but by also praying for forgiveness for them, ​“for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). As Peter pointed out in his sermonizing all over the book of Acts, Jesus may have been handed over to die by God’s plan, but the religious and political leaders of the day were certainly not blind to their active participation in the process. One of the ​“spiritualizing” failures of many church traditions today is to assume that the answer to the question ​“Why was Jesus killed?” is the same as ​“Why did Jesus die?” which then leads to religious leaders blindly behaving the same way now as the first century Jewish leaders behaved then. But perhaps Jesus’ statements in Matthew 23:37 hold a clue. For Jesus reminds Jerusalem of its sordid history of killing God’s prophets, then also reminds them that he had sought to ​“gather your children together … and you were not willing.” While many of us are quick to answer ​“Why did Jesus die” with one atonement theory or the other, a large majority of us fail to realize the challenge that Jesus’ alternative teaching of peace posed to his critics then and continues to pose to us today. Jesus’ death then triggered the same feelings that we can imagine all the other followers of previous failed ​“messiahs” had – feelings of fear and of failure. And in recorded history, every first century Jewish messianic movement either died with their leader or a brother of the dead leader was chosen to continue the course. And yet for Christianity, Jesus’ brothers didn’t take center stage and the course didn’t die. So what was different about this one? The Resurrection Makes Sense of Peacemaking Jesus’ resurrection and ascension to the right hand of the Father made all the difference. One of the important points to keep in mind about the Jewish belief in the resurrection was that not only was it meant to happen to the whole Israel at once, but it was also meant to happen only to those whom Yahweh had found to be faithful in keeping his commands. So Jesus’ resurrection on his own meant that he was indeed special. But more importantly, it meant that the claims he made about himself were true. Therefore, his radical, sometimes paradoxical teachings to his disciples were to be taken seriously, including those about peace and enemy love. New Testament scholar NT Wright puts it this way: “The resurrection and exaltation of Jesus proclaims and installs him as the world’s true lord and saviour … The future resurrection and glorification of Jesus’ followers will vindicate them as the true people of the one true God, despite their present suffering and humiliation.” ‑The Resurrection of the Son of God, pp 233. It is against this backdrop that his disciples went forth as witnesses to this nonviolent life, with Peter, the often impetuous and violent disciple, now ​“announcing the good news of peace through Jesus Christ, who is Lord of all” (Acts 10:36). The resurrection of Jesus now made sense of the way of life that he calls his disciples to live. It gave courage to his disciples that the way of peace was not only a possible way to live, but it was also the hopeful and true way to live. The resurrection of Jesus reminded his disciples (as it should remind us today) that peacemaking is not guaranteed to ​“work” every time, but it is their default way of engaging with the world because they are witnesses to a different kingdom than the kingdom that the world disciples them into. At the end of the day, his disciples knew that their pain and suffering in following the way of Jesus – including his call to be peacemakers – wouldn’t be in vain because their faithfulness to his way would be rewarded with resurrection from the dead. The Early Church: A people shaped by peacemaking This explains why we see such a strong emphasis on peace and nonviolence in the early church. Until the church gained political patronage and power in the fourth century with the conversion of Emperor Constantine, Christianity was a movement of people who took the way of peace seriously and required non-participation in military service for all its members. If a new member joined who was already in the army, it was made clear to them that they were in a compromised position and needed to look for an opportunity to exit the army. They refused to attend gladiatorial entertainment where gladiators fought to the death, a popular pastime in their day. They created communities where people from different ethnic and socio-economic groups were able to see each other as brother and sister, overcoming the barriers that the world had erected for such unions. Of course, there was friction between these ethnic and socio-economic groups which they tried to navigate within their communities, but the idea that the church was a place of welcome for all such people was driven by their belief that Jesus had brought peace to all near and far. If Acts 6 was anything to go by, then friction and its resolution according to Jesus’ example was par for the course instead of something to be afraid of. Many took on extra burdens and difficulties by rescuing abandoned infants from rubbish dumps so they could raise them in addition to their existing families. And when push came to shove and their way of life led to persecution, their leaders taught them to endure it faithfully, even to the point of death as martyrs. They weren’t ready to kill or hate for their cause. They were instead ready to die or suffer for it. Taking hope from Jesus’ example that the resurrection and not death was the true end of their lives, they came to not fear death for the sake of bearing witness to the unique kingdom of Jesus Christ. For them, peace meant not only nonviolence but also a wholeness of life that looked to live out the kingdom in self-sacrificial ways that the culture hadn’t even imagined possible. Athenagoras, a second century Christian apologist, captures the active peacemaking approach of early Christians this way: “Among us, however, it is easy to find simple people, artisans and old men who, if they are not capable of manifesting the usefulness of their religion in words, prove it by deeds. Because speeches are not learned by heart, but good deeds are manifested: not to hurt the one who hurts them, not to pursue in justice the one who despoils them, to give to everyone who asks of them and to love one’s neighbor as oneself.” ‑Athenagoras: Legation in favor of Christians, 11 How Power Ate Peacemaking for Lunch But what happened to this way of peace, this prioritizing of peacemaking among people of different backgrounds? You can start to see a move away from nonviolent peacemaking to the use of force and coercion as the church gained more political power with the conversion of Emperor Constantine to Christianity. This transition was certainly not a sudden one. But because the church had experienced many bouts of persecution over the first four centuries of its life, many leaders of the church viewed Constantine’s supposed conversion to Christianity with such joy that they began to throw off the habits learned from being a persecuted people to being the favored people of the empire. Let’s explore two examples of such diversions from the way of peace. During Emperor Constantine’s reign, Christianity became an accepted religion, no longer meant to face persecution. But a few emperors later, during the reign of Emperor Theodosius I, not only was Christianity an accepted religion, but it was the official one. It’s on record that in AD 388 in faraway Calinicium (now Raqqah, Syria,) a Christian mob attacked a Jewish synagogue and destroyed it. Emperor Theodosius, a professing Christian, ordered the punishment of the arsonists and the immediate rebuilding of the synagogue at the church’s expense. Many Christians today will agree that this was the just and fair thing to do. But Ambrose, bishop of Milan whose church Theodosius regularly attended, is captured in his own words in ​“Epistle 74,” rebuking the emperor for such an order, claiming that in times past Christians had to rebuild their own temples when they were under persecution. To our shame today, Ambrose prevailed. Another example is St Augustine, a keen student of Ambrose of Milan, calling on the empire to use violent means to suppress the Donatist heretics who had risen in the church long before he arrived on the scene. He questioned the church’s received tradition on peace and patience in his ​“On Patience” treatise. He calls some forms of patience ​“false patience” and tells us not to look at overt actions but to ​“discern their inner motivations.” In this, he became one of the first Christian leaders to call for the use of violence against others of the same faith, even if they preached a heretical set of teachings. Augustine then goes on to lay the foundations of what is called a ​“just war” position. Whereas Jesus’ teaching posited the church as an alternative community that is able to live by his kingdom ethics, Augustine lays the foundation for just war theory – proposing that violence would be needed to run the world and to coerce others to do what is perceived to be good for society. With the church’s blessing, war became legitimized and Jesus’ way of peace further marginalized. These two examples show the gradual ​“sophistry” around the peace teaching of Jesus, which only got worse over the course of the 2000-year history of the church. For the church to maintain its positions of power and privilege, it has had to move further and further away from Jesus’ teaching, using the Bible and a large dose of the Old Testament to justify its love of violence. The way of Jesus has always been a way in which peace is both the means and the end, because the Christian life is one of discipleship after our master, Jesus the king. And if his life was marked by peace, so that his way was rewarded by resurrection from the dead, then peace isn’t an afterthought of our discipleship but core to it. Unfortunately, many church traditions have taught us to read Jesus with rose-tinted glasses that teach us to focus only on his spiritual benefits and not his earthiness and the real challenges he confronted. The church’s collective amnesia about the way of peace is rather the bug in our witness. If we are to be a people of peace, we must become a people who are deeply soaked in the hope that the resurrection of the dead gives us, so we can face the challenges of being faithful to Jesus, knowing that our faithful peacemaking will not be in vain. References Bainton, R. (1963) Christian attitudes to war and peace. Trad. Rafael Munoz Rojas. Madrid, Spain: Tecnos. Well, R.D. (1950). Apostolic Fathers. Madrid, Spain: Catholic. Originally posted at Jesus Collective, used with permission https://jesuscollective.com/media/blog/jesus-and-peace

Jesus’ message of peace for all time The earliest Christians embraced Jesus’ message of peace. Indeed, up until the time of Constantine the early church taught that Jesus forbade his followers to kill. The most profound theological foundation for this conviction was the cross – that Christians should love, not kill, their enemies, as Jesus had shown them. Miroslav Volf is right: “If one decides to put on soldier’s gear instead of carrying one’s cross, one should not seek legitimation in the religion that worships the crucified Messiah.” Even so, when Jesus commanded his disciples to love their enemies, did he mean that they should never kill them? Did Jesus literally want his disciples to put down their swords? One may conclude with Reinhold Niebuhr that Jesus said to love one’s enemy, but that it does not work in the real world. One may also note the obvious, with C. S. Lewis: “Does anyone suppose that our Lord’s hearers understood him to mean that if a homicidal maniac, attempting to murder a third party, tried to knock me out of the way, I must stand aside and let him get his victim?” and with that, discount pacifism altogether. Yet Jesus’ command remains: Christians are to love their enemies. What does this mean? For two thousand years, Christians have sought – more or less seriously – to grapple with this question. What can we learn from the history of the church? Could Jesus have really intended his followers to lay down their arms? Originally published at Plough, used with permission https://www.plough.com/en/topics/justice/nonviolence/christian-nonviolence-and-church-history

What if Jesus meant every word he said? Dean Taylor is president of Sattler College in Boston and author of A Change of Allegiance, a book that chronicles his journey of faith to wrestle with the question, "what if Jesus meant every word he said?" While a soldier in the United States Army, Dean wrestled with the idea of Christian nationalism as he and his wife sat in the bunks reading their Bible every night. They simply couldn't get past Jesus' abundantly clear teaching to love your enemy. What if Jesus really meant every word he said ... Referenced Just War Debate: "It's Just War" : https://youtu.be/K4xQaDDKY7k

Pacifists always bear the burden of proof. They do so because, as attractive as nonviolence may be, most assume that pacifism just will not work. You may want to keep a few pacifists around for reminding those burdened with running the world that what they sometimes have to do is a lesser evil, but pacifism simply cannot and should not be, even for Christians, a normative stance. Nonviolence is assumed to be unworkable, or, to the extent it works at all, it does so only because it is parasitic on more determinative forms of order secured by violence. Those committed to nonviolence, in short, are not realistic. In contrast to pacifism, it is often assumed that just war reflection is “realistic.” It is by no means clear, however, if advocates of just war have provided an adequate account of what kind of conditions are necessary for just war to be a realistic alternative for the military policy of a nation. Just war in the Christian tradition In the Christian tradition, realism is often thought to have begun with Augustine’s account of the two cities, hardened into doctrine with Luther’s two kingdoms, and given its most distinctive formulation in the thought of Reinhold Niebuhr. Thus Augustine is often identified as the Christian theologian who set the stage for the development of just war reflection that enables Christians to use violence in a limited way to secure tolerable order. It is assumed, therefore, that just war is set within the larger framework of a realist view of the world. With his customary rhetorical brilliance, Luther gave expression to the realist perspective, asking: “If anyone attempted to rule the world by the gospel and to abolish all temporal law and the sword on the plea that all are baptized and Christian, and that, according to the gospel, there shall be among them no law or sword – or the need for either – pray tell me friend, what would he be doing? He would be loosing the ropes and chains of the savage wild beasts and letting them bite and mangle everyone, meanwhile insisting that they were harmless, tame, and gentle creatures; but I would have the proof in my wounds. Just so would the wicked under the name of Christian abuse evangelical freedom, carry on their rascality, and insist that they were Christians subject neither to law nor sword as some are already raving and ranting.” Luther is under no illusions. War is a plague, but it is a greater plague that war prevents. Of course, slaying and robbing do not seem the work of love, but, Luther says, “in truth even this is the work of love.” Christians do not fight for themselves, but for their neighbour. So if they see that there is a lack of hangmen, constables, judges, lords, or princes, and find they are qualified they should offer their services and assume these positions. That “small lack of peace called war,” according to Luther, “must set a limit to this universal, worldwide lack of peace which would destroy everyone.” Reinhold Niebuhr understood himself to stand in this “realist” tradition. In his 1940 “Open Letter (to Richard Roberts),” Niebuhr explains why he left the Fellowship of Reconciliation. He observes that he does not believe that “war is merely an ‘incident’ in history but is a final revelation of the very character of human history.” According to Niebuhr, the Incarnation is not “redemption” from history as conflict because sinful egoism continues to express itself at every level of human life, making it impossible to overcome the contradictions of human history. Niebuhr, therefore, accuses pacifists of failing to understand the Reformation doctrine of “justification by faith.” From Niebuhr’s perspective, pacifists are captured by a perfectionism that is more “deeply engulfed in illusion about human nature than the Catholic pretensions, against which the Reformation was a protest.” Just war theory as limit to state action Paul Ramsey understood his attempt to recover just war as a theory of statecraft – that is, that war is justified because our task is first and foremost to seek justice, to be “an extension within the Christian realism of Reinhold Niebuhr.” Ramsey saw, however, that there was more to be said about “justice in war than was articulated in Niebuhr’s sense of the ambiguities of politics and his greater/lesser evil doctrine of the use of force.” That “something more” Ramsey took to be the principle of discrimination, which requires that war be subject to political purpose through which war might be limited and conducted justly – that is, that non-combatants be protected. Yet it is by no means clear if just war reflection can be yoked consistently to Niebuhrian realism. Augustine’s and Luther’s “realism” presupposed there was another city that at least could call into question state powers. For Niebuhr, realism names the development of states and an international nation-state system that cannot be challenged. Niebuhrian realism assumes that war is a permanent reality for the relation between states because no overriding authority exists that might make war analogous to the police function of the state. Therefore each political society has the right to wage war because it is assumed to do so is part of its divinely ordained work of preservation. “Realism,” therefore, names the reality that at the end of the day, in the world of international relations, the nations with the largest army get to determine what counts for “justice.” To use Augustine or Luther to justify this understanding of “realism” is in effect to turn a description into a recommendation. In an article entitled “Just War Theory and the Problem of International Politics,” David Baer and Joseph Capizzi admirably try to show how just war requirements as developed by Ramsey can be reconciled with a realistic understanding of international relations. They argue that even though a certain pessimism surrounds a realistic account of international politics, that does not mean such a view of the world is necessarily amoral. To be sure, governments have the right to wage war because of their responsibility to a particular group of neighbours, but that does not mean that governments have a carte blanche to pursue every kind of interest. “The same conception that permits government to wage war also restricts the conditions of legitimate war making … Because each government is responsible for only a limited set of political goods, it must respect the legitimate jurisdiction of other governments.” But who is going to enforce the presumption that a government “must respect the legitimate jurisdiction of other governments”? Baer and Capizzi argue that Ramsey’s understanding of just war as the expression of Christian love by a third party in defence of the innocent requires that advocates of just war should favour the establishment of international law and institutions to better regulate the conduct of states in pursuit of their self-interest. Yet Baer and Capizzi recognize that international agencies cannot be relied on because there is no way that such an agency can judge an individual government’s understanding of just cause: “absent effective international institutions, warring governments are like Augustine’s individual pondering self-defence, moved by the temptation of inordinate self-love.” Baer and Capizzi argue that a more adequate understanding of just war will combine a realist understanding of international politics with a commitment to international order by emphasizing the importance of just intention. This means that a war can be undertaken only if peace – understood as a concept for a more “embracing and stable order” – be the reason a state gives for going to war. The requirement that the intention for going to war be so understood is an expression of love for the enemy just to the extent that the lasting order be one that encompasses the interests of the enemy. My first reaction to this suggestion is: And people say that pacifists are unrealistic? The idealism of such realist justifications of just war is nowhere better seen than in these attempts to fit just war considerations into the realist presuppositions that shape the behaviour of state actors. The likes of Ramsey, Baer and Capizzi are to be commended for trying to recover just war as a theory of statecraft – that is, as an alternative to the use of just war as merely a check list to judge if a particular war satisfies enough of the criteria to be judged just. Yet by doing so, they have made clear the tensions between the institutions necessary for just war to be a reality and the presumptions that shape international affairs. For example: What would an American foreign policy determined by just war principles look like? What would a just war Pentagon look like? What kind of virtues would the people of America have to have to sustain a just war foreign policy and Pentagon? What kind of training do those in the military have to undergo in order to be willing to take casualties rather than conduct the war unjustly? How would those with the patience necessary to insure that a war be a last resort be elected to office? Those are the kind of questions that advocates of just war must address before they accuse pacifists of being “unrealistic.” Ultimately, I think the lack of realism about realism by American just war advocates has everything to do with their being American. In particular, American advocates of just war seem to presume that democratic societies place an inherent limit on war that more authoritarian societies are unable to do. While such a view is quite understandable, I would argue that democratic society – at least, the American version – is unable to set limits on war because it is democratic. Put even more strongly, for Americans war is a necessity to sustain our belief that we are worthy to be recipients of the sacrifices made on our behalf in past wars. Americans are a people born of and in war, and only war can sustain our belief that we are a people set apart. The Civil War as sacred war For Americans war is a necessity for our moral well being. Which means it is by no means clear what it would mean for Americans to have a realistic understanding of war. In his extraordinary book, Upon the Altar of the Nation: A Moral History of the Civil War , Harry Stout tells the story of how the Civil War began as a limited war but ended as total war. He is quite well aware that the language of total war did not exist at the time of the Civil War, but he argues by 1864 the spirit of total war emerged and “prepared Americans for the even more devastating total wars they would pursue in the twentieth century.” Stout’s story of the transformation of the Civil War from limited to total war is also the story of how America became the nation called America. According to Stout: “Neither Puritans’ talk of a ‘city upon a hill” or Thomas Jefferson’s invocation of “inalienable rights’ is adequate to create a religious loyalty sufficiently powerful to claim the lives of its adherence. In 1860 no coherent nation commanded the sacred allegiance of all Americans over and against their states and regions. For the citizenry to embrace the idea of a nation-state that must have a messianic destiny and command one’s highest loyalty would require a massive sacrifice – a blood sacrifice … As the war descended into a killing horror, the grounds of justification underwent a transformation from a just defensive war fought out of sheer necessity to preserve home and nation to a moral crusade for ‘freedom’ that would involve nothing less than a national ‘rebirth’, a spiritual ‘revival’. And in that blood and transformation a national religion was born. Only as casualties rose to unimaginable levels did it dawn on some people that something mystical religious was taking place, a sort of massive sacrifice on the national altar.” The generals on both sides of the Civil War had been trained at West Point, not only to embody American might and power, but they were also taught to be gentlemen. The title of “gentlemen” not only carried with it expectations that the bearers of the title would be honourable, but they would also pursue their profession justly. They “imbibed” the code of limited war which demanded that they protect innocent lives and minimize destructive aspects of war. According to Stout they were even taught by Dennis Mahan, a professor of civil engineering, to use position and manoeuvre of interior lines of operations against armies rather than engaging in crushing overland campaigns that would involve civilian populations. Stout argues that Abraham Lincoln as early as 1862, prior to his generals, realized that the West Point Code of War would have to be abandoned. After Bull Run and frustrated by McClellan’s timidity, Lincoln understood that if the Union was to be preserved it would require that the war be escalated to be a war against both citizens and soldiers. In response to Unionists in New Orleans who protested Lincoln’s war policy, Lincoln replied: “What would you do in my position? Would you drop the war where it is? Or would you prosecute it in future with elder-stalk squirts charged with rose water? Would you deal lighter blows than heavier ones? I am in no boastful mood. I shall not do more than I can, and I shall do all I can, to save the government, which is my sworn duty as well as my personal inclination. I shall do nothing in malice.” Crucial to Lincoln’s strategy for the prosecution of the war against the population of the South was the Emancipation Proclamation which Lincoln signed on 22 September 1862. Lincoln’s primary concern was always the preservation of the Union, but the Emancipation Proclamation made clear to both sides that a way of life was at issue requiring a total war on all fronts. Emancipation blocked any attempt that an accommodation between the North and South could be found because now the war by necessity stood for moral aims which could not be compromised. Stout quotes Massachusetts’s abolitionist senator Charles Sumner who supported the Emancipation Proclamation as a “war measure” in these terms: “But, fellow-citizens, the war which we wage is not merely for ourselves; it is for all mankind … In ending slavery here we open its gates all over the world, and let the oppressed go free. Nor is this all. In saving the republic we shall save civilization … In such a cause no effort can be too great, no faith can be too determined. To die for country is pleasant and honorable. But all who die for country now die also for humanity. Wherever they lie, in bloody fields, they will be remembered as the heroes through whom the republic was saved and civilization established forever.” Stout’s book is distinguished from other books on the Civil War by his close attention to what religious figures on both sides were saying about the war. It was ministers of the Gospel that supplied the rhetoric necessary for the war to achieve its mythic status. To be sure, the South represented a more conservative form of Christianity than the North, as Christianity was recognized as the established religion in the Confederacy’s constitution, but for both sides, as Stout puts it, “Christianity offered the only terms out of which national identity could be constructed and a violent war pursued.” Stout provides ample examples of how Christians narrated the bloody sacrifice of the war, but Horace Bushnell’s contribution is particularly noteworthy for no other reason than his Christianity was liberal. Early in the war Bushnell suggested that morally and religiously a nation was being created by the bloodshed required by the war. According to Bushnell, through the shed blood of soldiers, soldiers of both sides, a kind of vicarious atonement was being made for the developing Christian nation. Such an atonement was not simply a metaphor, according to Stout, “but quite literally a blood sacrifice required by God for sinners North and South if they were to inherit their providential destiny.” Shortly after Gettysburg, Bushnell identified those who gave their lives in the war with the martyrs writing: “How far the loyal sentiment reaches and how much it carries with it, or after it, must also be noted. It yields up willingly husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons, consenting to the fearful chance of a home always desolate. It offers body and blood, and life on the altar of devotion. It is a fact, a political worship, offering to seal itself by martyrdom in the field.” As the toll of the war mounted the most strident voices calling for blood revenge came from the clergy. Thus Robert Dabney, at the funeral of his friend, Lieutenant Carrington, told his listeners that Carrington’s blood “seals upon you the obligation to fill their places in your country’s host, and ‘play the men for your people and the cities of your God,’ to complete the vindication of their rights.” One Confederate chaplain even prayed, “We should add to the prayer for peace, let this war continue, if we are not yet so humbled and disciplined by its trials, as to be prepared for those glorious moral and spiritual gifts, which Thou deignest it should confer upon us as a people.” Such a prayer makes clear that the war had become for both sides a ritual they had come to need to make sense of their lives. Stout’s account of the religious character of the Civil War, perhaps, is best illustrated by the most celebrated speech ever given by an American, that is, the Gettysburg Address. Stout observes that something “emerged from Gettysburg that would become forever etched in the American imagination. A sacralization of this particular battlefield would mark it forever after as the preeminent sacred ground of the Civil War – and American wars thereafter.” Stout is surely right, making these words all the more chilling: “It is for us the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us – that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion – that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain – that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom – and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” A nation determined by such words, such elegant and powerful words, simply does not have the capacity to keep war limited. A just war which can only be fought for limited political purposes cannot and should not be understood in terms shaped by the Gettysburg Address. Yet after the Civil War, Americans think they must go to war to insure that those who died in our past wars did not die in vain. Thus American wars are justified as a “war to end all wars” or “to make the world safe for democracy” or for “unconditional surrender” or “freedom.” Whatever may be the realist presuppositions of those who lead America to war those presuppositions cannot be used as the reasons given to justify the war. To do so would betray the tradition of war established in the Civil War. The unreality of war Realism is used to dismiss pacifism and to underwrite some version of just war. But it is not at all clear that the conditions for the possibility of just war are compatible with realism. At least, it is not clear that just war considerations can be constitutive of the decision-making processes of governments that must assume that might makes right. Attempts to justify wars begun and fought on realist grounds in the name of just war only serve to hide the reality of war. Yet war remains a reality. War not only remains a reality, war remains for Americans our most determinative moral reality. How do you get people who are taught they are free to follow their own interests to sacrifice themselves and their children in war? Democracies by their very nature seem to require that wars be fought in the name of ideals that make war self-justifying. Realists in the State Department and Pentagon may have no illusions about why American self-interest requires a war be fought, but Americans cannot fight a war as cynics. It may be that those who actually have to fight a war will – precisely because they have faced the reality of war – have no illusions about the reality of war. But those who would have them fight justify war using categories that require there be a “next war.” Pacifists are realists. Indeed, we have no reason to deny that the “realism” associated with Augustine, Luther and Niebuhr has much to teach us about how the world works. But that is why we do not trust those who would have us make sacrifices in the name of preserving a world at war. We believe a sacrifice has been made that has brought an end to the sacrifice of war. Augustine and Luther thought Christians might go to war because they assumed a church existed that provided an alternative to the sacrificial system war always threatens to become. When Christians no longer believe that Christ’s sacrifice is sufficient for the salvation of the world, we will find other forms of sacrificial behaviours that are as compelling as they are idolatrous. In the process, Christians confuse the sacrifice of war with the sacrifice of Christ. If a people does not exist that continually makes Christ present in the world, war will always threaten to become a sacrificial system. War is a counter church. War is the most determinative moral experience many people have. That is why Christian realism requires the disavowal of war. Christians do not disavow war because it is often so horrible, but because war, in spite of its horror – or perhaps because it is so horrible – can be so morally compelling. That is why the church does not have an alternative to war. The church is the alternative to war. When Christians lose that reality – that is, the reality of the church as an alternative to the world’s reality – we abandon the world to the unreality of war. Article first appeared in ABC Religion & Ethics. Posted at Stanley Hauerwas, used with permission https://stanleyhauerwas.org/the-end-of-just-war-why-christian-realism-requires-nonviolence/

Lecture by Dr. Douglas Jacoby, Harvard University 2013 Observations O.T. Church-state. Although priesthood and monarchy were separate, Israel was a “church-state.” Citizens were covenant members. Messianic expectation: political, economic, military. Lion of the tribe of Judah > Lamb that was slain. The teaching of Christ Isaiah 2:4 (Micah 4:3), 9:6, 52:13-53:12—Interpretations of the victorious Messiah Matthew 4:17 etc.—Kingdom of God as rival government Matthew 5:21-26,38-48; Romans 12:14-13:7—Love for enemies Antenicene Christianity: Good citizens: Paid taxes; prayed for government officials; engaged in social work. Counter-cultural: distanced themselves from (idolatrous) sacrifices; civic events; violence. Early Medieval Christendom: Legislating morality Persecuted becomes persecutor. “No wild beasts are such enemies to mankind as are the majority of Christians in their deadly hatred of one another.”– Ammianus (4th C.) State church: mandatory christening; clergy employed by government; churches exempt from taxes; magistrates enforce church decrees & doctrine; non-conformity (heresy) = sedition (political); militarism; civic duty and Christian duty coalesce. Later Christendom: Forced baptism, Crusades, Inquisition, armed bishops (personal armies) Reformation & dissent: Mainstream Reformation vs. the Radical Reformation (Anabaptists) Pacifist reaction: Quakers, Amish, Mennonites, Brethren, Churches of Christ (until 1917/1918) The American experience: John Winthrop’s “City upon a hill” (1630); American Civil Religion; the political right; pro-Israel sentiment; equation of Christianity with (American) democratic capitalism. Violent apocalypticism: Doctrine of the Tribulation; Armageddon and survivalists. “We, while the stars from heaven shall fall / And mountains on mountains are hurled / Shall stand unmoved amidst them all /And smile to see a burning world.”– Millerite hymn, 1843 Implications The place of the state Oaths of allegiance Warfare Business ethics (exploitation) Gentleness (driving, language, courtesy, aggressive activism) Entertainment (violent themes) Medical ethics (abortion, euthanasia, definition of life…) Litigation Nationalism. (U.S. nationalism: revolution, slavery, decimation of indigenous peoples) A moral and ethical trajectory? Originally posted at Douglas Jacoby, used with permission https://www.douglasjacoby.com/jesus-christ-prince-of-peace-or-god-of-war-douglas-jacoby/

Abstract In the course of Christian history, nowhere has the tension between the teachings of Jesus and valid application of those teachings in postbiblical socio-cultural circumstances manifested itself more clearly than surrounding the issue of violence. Stemming from the sixteenth-century divide between pro-statist Magisterial and anti-statist Radical Reformers, most scholarship on this issue may straightforwardly be split between “hawks”and “doves,”with each side open to the charge of reading the sacred text through the respective lenses of either the Protestant appropriation of Augustinian just war theory or the Anabaptist denouncement of the post-Constantinian alliance between church and state. Contents Introduction Justin Martyr: Apologia I (c. 150 C.E.) Authors during the Reign of Marcus Aurelius (161-80) The Works of Tertullian (197-212) The Works of Hippolytus (199-217) The Works of Origen (240-48) Concluding Reflections: Evaluating the Patristic Nonviolent Ethic Introduction In the course of Christian history, nowhere has the tension between the teachings of Jesus and valid application of those teachings in postbiblical socio-cultural circumstances manifested itself more clearly than surrounding the issue of violence. Stemming from the sixteenth-century divide between pro-statist Magisterial and anti-statist Radical Reformers, [1] most scholarship on this issue may straightforwardly be split between “hawks”and “doves,”with each side open to the charge of reading the sacred text through the respective lenses of either the Protestant appropriation of Augustinian just war theory or the Anabaptist denouncement of the post-Constantinian alliance between church and state. [2] Amidst the contemporary discussion, one important set of voices is often unwittingly silenced: the ante-Nicene Church Fathers, who, as the first New Testament exegetes and inhabitants of a Roman imperial climate continuous with the atmosphere experienced by the apostles, arguably stand in a better position to correctly interpret the message of Jesus as pertaining to violence than their early modern and modern successors. From the accumulated literature of the ante-Nicene church, three facts emerge as relatively noncontroversial. First, from the close of the New Testament era until 174 C.E., no Christians served in the military or assumed government offices. [3] Second, from 174 until the Edict of Milan (313), the ancient church treated those Christians who played such roles, including previous o ffice-holders who converted, with great suspicion. [4] Third, underlying this ecclesiastical antipathy to state positions exerting compulsion stood a theory of nonviolence hermeneutically derived from Jesus’ proclamation of the Kingdom of God. According to the ante-Nicene Fathers, the kerygma necessitated that Jesus constituted the Christian’s only commander, such that placing oneself under any other commander would spell treason. To explore the historical development of this theory of nonviolence, we must proceed chronologically, in the process focusing upon the writings of Tertullian, Hippolytus, and Origen, the three Fathers chiefly responsible for its exposition, along with brief references to the topic by other pre-Constantinian church leaders. [5] The soundness of this strategy is borne out by the fact that, as C. John Cadoux observes, this trio of thinkers provided a representative depiction of the prevailing sentiments among ante-Nicene church leaders: [T]he conviction that Christianity was incompatible with the shedding of blood, either in war or in the administration of justice, was not only maintained and vigorously defended by eminent individuals like Tertullian of Carthage, Hippolytus of Rome and Origen of Palestine and Egypt, but was widely held and acted on in the Churches up and down Christendom. [6] Thus we shall extensively delineate this nonviolent ethic from the primary sources, closing with a brief assessment of its strengths and weaknesses in light of historical Jesus studies and the ensuing course of Christian history. Justin Martyr: Apologia I (c. 150 C.E.) The first Patristic references to the issue of Christians and violence sprang from Justin Martyr (110-165), the early church’s foremost Greek apologist. Refuting the charge of sedition, which the Romans saw latent in the Christian proclamation of the Kingdom of God, Justin apprised Emperor Antoninus Pius that believers lived as citizens not of an alternative human kingdom governed by anti-imperial politicians but of an already inaugurated divine kingdom, presently ruled by Christ from the heavenly realm and soon to be physically implemented when Christ returns. [7] When the Kingdom is manifested on earth, Justin insisted, it will be a kingdom of peace fulfilling the prophecy of Isaiah 2:4, as people “will beinat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks”since nations will never again train for or engage in war. Since Christians find their citizenship in God’s Kingdom, Justin informed the Emperor that this prediction was starting to find fulfillment through the church and its missionary expansion: “That it is so coming to pass, let me convince you. . . . We who once murdered each other indeed no longer wage war against our enemies; moreover, so as not to bear false witness before our interrogators, we cheerfully die confessing Christ.” [8] The phrase “we who once murdered each other”proves all the more poignant when we realize that the first mass conversions from paganism to Christianity occurred publicly in the Roman army, as soldiers, risking life and limb, abandoned their posts to join the church. [9] Consequently in Pauline fashion, Justin reinterpreted martial language by announcing that Christians are warriors but of a special kind, namely, peaceful warriors. This apparent oxymoron is warranted because, on the peaceful side, Christians refused to practice violence and, on the warrior side, they excelled everyone, including Antoninus Pius’ own soldiers, in showing fidelity to their cause and courage in the face of imminent death. Such excellence stemmed from the fact that Christians, via the general resurrection, awaited a reward ontologically superior to the money earned by Roman soldiers: “But if your soldiers, who have taken the military oath, choose allegiance over their own lives, parents, countries, and families, although you cannot offer them anything incorruptible, then it would be absurd if we, who fervently long for incorruption, do not endure all things, so that we will receive what we desire from the One with the power to impart it.” [10] Therefore, from his complementary exegesis of the Hebrew Bible and the dominical message, Justin regarded non-violence as an essential attribute of discipleship, such that converts whose prior occupations featured violence as their modus operandi must abandon those occupations. Authors during the Reign of Marcus Aurelius (161-80) We now turn to indirect evidence for the early Christian repudiation of warfare provided by the anti-Christian satirist Celsus (fl. 170-80) and the apocryphal Acts of Paul (c. 175). A staunch patriot and leading representative of Roman bureaucracy, Celsus rejected Christianity in large part due to its nonviolent stance. Repeatedly attacking Christians for their refusal to fight in defense of the Roman Empire, Celsus sneered that if everyone behaved like the church, the emperor would be virtually isolated, and the empire would soon be conquered by the unruliest and fiercest barbarians. [11] Based undoubtedly on firsthand knowledge of Christian behavior, Celsus’ objection corroborates our observation that the church of his day would not permit believers to serve in the military. This impression is further substantiated by the presbyter of Asia Minor who penned the novel-like Acts of Paul. Here Jesus, the King of the Ages, is contrasted with Caesar, the earthly king, and Christians are portrayed as soldiers exclusively of Christ. In one notable scene, Nero accuses Paul of stealing soldiers from his army: “My prisoner, why did it seem good to you to sneak into the Roman Empire and enlist soldiers from my region?”Paul replies: “Caesar, we enlist soldiers not only from your region but from the whole world. . . . For we march not for an earthly king, but only for one who comes from heaven . . . to judge the world. . . . Thus I will never desert Christ, as a faithful soldier of the living God.” [12] The author then draws a sharp dichotomy between Jesus’ Kingdom and the kingdoms of the world: “Shall Christ, therefore, be King of the Ages and overthrow all earthly kingdoms? . . . Yes, he overthrows all earthly kingdoms and he alone shall live forever, and no earthly kingdom will escape him.” [13] Such “either-or”martial depictions make sense only on the assumption that, in the presbyter’s time, the church perceived military service and following Jesus as mutually exclusive, a choice which Roman soldiers attracted to the gospel were forced to make. The Works of Tertullian (197-212) Our earliest evidence for Christians serving in the military dates to 174 C.E., when a sizeable number of Christians in the eastern Cappadocian region of Melitene joined the Roman Legio Fulmata to fight against the central European Quadi tribe that was invading the region. [14] Although the evidence renders it uncertain whether these soldiers were chastised by their local congregations, the incident appears to have received little notice by either Christians or pagans outside Melitene. [15] Such an assessment is evidenced in the pre-Montanist writings of Tertullian, who in his early period showed categorical opposition to the military profession, notwithstanding that his father was a Roman centurion. Hence Tertullian articulated a position in Apologeticum (197) identified by Edward A. Ryan as “pacifism” [16]: “We are equally forbidden to wish evil, to do evil, to speak evil, and to think evil toward all people. . . . So if we are commanded to love our enemies, whom have we to hate? If injured, we are forbidden to retaliate, lest we become as evil as our attackers. No one can suffer injury at our hands . . . since we do not bear arms nor raise any banner of insurrection.” [17] This remained true despite the fact, as Tertullian provocatively pointed out, that in certain provinces Christians were sufficiently numerous and powerful to unite and stage an uprising: “For what wars, granted these unequal forces, would we not be prepared and eager to fight, we who so willingly surrender ourselves to death by the sword, if in our religion it were not better to be killed than to kill?” [18] But since the Kingdom of God belongs not to this world, Tertullian insisted that Christians could not, without forfeiting their citizenship in the Kingdom, defend themselves by earthly weapons but must accept death when under attack. In his treatise De idololatria, written between 198 and 201, [19] Tertullian explicitly answered the central questions of whether a believer may join the military and whether a soldier, once converted, can stay in the military. But now inquiry is being made concerning these issues. First, can any believer enlist in the military? Second, can any soldier, even those of the rank and file or lesser grades who neither engage in pagan sacrifices nor capital punishment, be admitted into the church? No on both counts—for there is no agreement between the divine sacrament and the human sacrament, the standard of Christ and the standard of the devil, the camp of light and the camp of darkness. One soul cannot serve two masters—God and Caesar. And yet some people toy with the subject by saying, “Moses carried a rod, Aaron wore a buckle, John the Baptist girded himself with leather just like soldiers do belts, and Joshua the son of Nun led troops into battle, such that the people waged war.”But how will a Christian engage in war—indeed, how will a Christian even engage in military service during peacetime—without the sword, which the Lord has taken away? For although soldiers had approached John to receive instructions and a centurion believed, this does not change the fact that afterward, the Lord, by disarming Peter, disarmed every soldier. [20] Several features of this speech emerge as noteworthy. First, we find that around the turn of the third century North African Christians began to inquire as to the compatibility of belief and military service. This probably transpired because the Roman military presence in North Africa was considerably small, faced little threat of war, and featured garrisons staffed predominantly by local inhabitants; consequently, Christians there regarded soldiering as a relatively innocuous occupation. Second, notwithstanding the present tranquility, Tertullian left no doubt as to the intrinsic ungodliness of the military profession itself: one cannot serve both God and Satan; one cannot serve both God and the Emperor. For Tertullian, no Christian may be a soldier and vice versa, a rule applying during war and peacetime alike. Third, as Jean-Michel Hornus observes, Tertullian’s prohibition against military service was not based simply on avoiding idolatry but also on avoiding bloodshed and violence. [21] For this prohibition served as a corollary of Tertullian’s earlier verdict that Christians could not hold governmental offices due to the responsibility of such posts to preside over matters of life and death. [22] Christians, in Tertullian’s estimation, would arrogate to themselves divine prerogatives if they took the lives of persons God purposed to redeem. Finally, Tertullian maintained that Jesus ushered in a new era marking a radical break with the former salvific program: God no longer employs the nation of Israel nor any violence associated with its protection to achieve his goal for humanity; rather, God now uses the peaceful fellowship of the regenerate in the final unveiling of his previously veiled will. Echoing this sentiment was Tertullian’s contemporary Clement of Alexandria (c. 200), who acknowledged the restful simplicity in Christ’s new commandment of love: “For we are trained not in war but in peace. War requires tremendous scheming, but peace and love, simple and quiet lives, require neither weapons nor tremendous scheming.” [23] But the simple solution lauded by Clement soon gave way to a more sophisticated model, as the third-century dominance of the pax Romana led congregations to increasingly perceive peacetime military protection as relatively, though not entirely, innocuous. This was especially true among the progressive Montanist sect, which was already admitting noncombatants into its ranks. Not surprisingly, this new perspective found its way into the later writings of Tertullian following his conversion to Montanism in 202. Even so, Tertullian continued to display personal ambivalence toward the military profession. In his Corona composed c. 208, Tertullian somewhat reluctantly applied Pauline thinking on such matters as circumcision and slavery (1 Cor 7:17-24) to the military profession. Here he argued that, on the one hand, baptized Christians could under no circumstances join the military, but on the other hand, soldiers and public officials could become converts without renouncing their posts so long as they refused to enjoin violence. Is it lawful for a human promise (sacramentum) to displace one divine, namely, for a person to promise himself to another master after Christ. . . . Shall it, in this case, be regarded lawful to make an occupation of the sword, when the Lord proclaims that he who takes the sword shall die by the sword? Shall the child of peace join in the battle when he is not even permitted to sue at law? . . . Shall he carry a flag, despite its hostility to Christ? Shall he request a command from the Emperor who has already received one from God? . . . The very transporting of the Christian name from the camp of light over to the camp of darkness constitutes a violation of God’s law. Of course, if faith comes later and finds any already enlisted in military service, their case is different. This is evident from the soldiers whom John baptized and the faithful centurions, namely, the centurion who believed in Christ and the centurion instructed by Peter. However, it needs to be emphasized that when someone becomes a believer and his faith is sealed, there must either be an immediate abandonment of military service (as has been the course with many) or all sorts of finagling must take place so as not to offend God (a strategy which scarcely works outside of the military). . . . Military service neither absolves one from punishment for sins nor exempts one from martyrdom. Nowhere may a Christian change his character. . . . If we were to make an exception for the Christian as soldier, when the command to openly live out the faith is binding on all Christians even in the face of mortal danger, one would overturn the essence of the sacramentum of baptism in such a way as to remove any obstacle even to voluntary sins. [24] From this quotation we can deduce several important points. First, when Christianity spread to the African army, many converts left the military service while others remained as soldiers. Second, congregations tacitly afforded converted soldiers exceptional treatment as pertaining to Christian discipline: soldiers were permitted to obey the commands of their superiors and carry out the demands of military discipline insofar as those obligations did not contravene the dominical prohibition against violence. Third, the fact that baptism constituted a sacrament, where the forensic Latin term sacramentum originally denoted an unbreakable promise or military vow, [25] spelled a palpable tension between the imperial vows taken by soldiers and the rite of Christian initiation. Hence, as Tertullian stated, soldiers trying to balance both sacramenta may well find themselves lost in hopeless wrangling. But notwithstanding his personal doubts, Tertullian allowed converted soldiers to attempt this balancing act of avoiding contamination with pagan coercion while serving as state representatives expected to implement such coercion. The Works of Hippolytus (199-217) As the latter sentiments of Tertullian evolved into mainstream Christian thought, they received reinforcement and amplification by the Roman presbyter Hippolytus. In the first decade of the third century, Hippolytus penned the Traditio Apostolica, one of the earliest church orders appearing to express the Christian consensus of his day. Several articles in the document delineate occupations forbidden to baptismal candidates, including brothel keepers, male and female prostitutes, actors, gladiators, idol manufacturers, magicians, and astrologers. Three succeeding articles address the question of the church’s attitude toward the military profession. A soldier, being inferior in rank to God, must not kill anyone. If ordered to, he must not carry out the order, nor may he take an oath (sacramentum) to do so. If he does not accept this, let him be dismissed from the church. Anyone bearing the power of the sword, or any city magistrate, who wears purple, let him cease from wearing it at once or be dismissed from the church. Any catechumen or believer who wishes to become a soldier must be dismissed from the church because they have despised God. [26] Here we again note the underlying subtext that baptism remains the sacramentum, a Christian’s military oath, with allegiance owed to Jesus as the imperator (commander and emperor). [27] Since purple garments designated an imperator, any Christian holding political or military position who dared to wear the royal color blasphemed Christ and exposed the disingenuousness of his faith. For Hippolytus, moreover, the Pauline maxim, “Everyone should remain in the state in which he was called”(1 Cor 7:24), could be applied to the soldier, but it must be counterbalanced by the Petrine dictum, “We must obey God rather than human beings”(Acts 5:29), through disobedience of all orders to exert deadly force. Such disobedience comprised the inevitable consequence of a Christian profession, which believing soldiers must accept even if, in the most extreme case, it cost them their own lives via martyrdom at the hands of their superiors or slaying at the hands of their enemies. In a linguistically primitive section of the Canones Hippolyti, which most Patrologists trace back to its namesake, [28] Hippolytus underscored the applicability of these observations to Christian soldiers and magistrates alike and, for the first time, expanded the treatment of nonviolence to the penitential requirements which must be undertaken by soldiers and magistrates who violate the dominical command against bloodshed. Rulers entrusted with the authority to take life and soldiers must not kill anyone, even if they are commanded to do so. . . . Anyone holding a prominent position of leadership or a ruler’s authority who does not keep himself disarmed, as the gospel necessitates, must be dismissed from the flock. Let no Christian become a soldier. Any official obligated to carry a sword must not bring bloodguilt upon himself; if he does, he must not participate in the mysteries until he is purified through correction, tears, and groans. [29] Here a significant distinction is drawn between soldiers, who were legally bound to bear the sword, and magistrates, who found themselves under no such compulsion. While Hippolytus refused any disciplinary leniency to magistrates, expelling them from the church for simply carrying the sword, he extended a great deal of flexibility to soldiers by mandating that they not be dismissed from the flock even if they killed but only suffer banishment from the Eucharist (i.e., “the mysteries”of Christ’s body and blood) until they completed a process of rehabilitation. This process consisted of “correction,”or receiving individual Scriptural instruction on the satanic nature of violence from the bishop or presbyter, followed by “tears and groans,”or publicly demonstrating contrition for the lives taken before the congregation. [30] Only when all members of the community accepted the genuineness of such repentance would the bishop or presbyter, acting on the community’s behalf, absolve the soldier of his crimes and readmit him to the Lord’s Supper. [31] To understand this reasoning, we must call attention to two features of Hippolytus’ thought delineated in his earlier exegesis of the Sermon on the Mount. First, commenting upon Jesus’ identification of anger with murder and lust with adultery, Hippolytus stipulated the equation of thought and act in determining the gravity of any sin. [32] Second, from the Pater Noster’s statement on tempting circumstances, Hippolytus argued that sins committed under inescapable temptation deserve little punishment, while sins committed under no such duress deserve severe punishment. [33] From these two sentiments, it logically follows that for Hippolytus, the magistrate who voluntarily takes the sword commits the functional equivalent of premeditated murder and hence merits ecclesiastical expulsion, whereas the soldier who sheds blood on the battlefield commits the functional equivalent of manslaughter and so warrants disciplinary mercy from the church. The Works of Origen (240-48) Taking a much harder line than either the late Tertullian or Hippolytus was Origen, who returned to the stance of the second-century church. For Origen, the army of Caesar was diametrically opposed to the army of Christ, which would ultimately stand victorious despite the Roman outlawing of Christianity and persecution against the church. As he wrote c. 240, The kings of the earth, the Roman senate, the Roman people, and the imperial nobility have banded together in order to vanquish at once the name of Jesus and of Israel, for they have established in their laws that there shall be no Christians. But under the leadership of Jesus, his soldiers will always triumph; hence we too say what is written in Ezra, “From you, Lord, is the victory, and I am your servant.” [34] Therefore, in an Isaianic vein, Origen’s classic Contra Celsum (248) absolutely forbade Christian military participation, such that soldiers must abjure their posts to become followers of Jesus: We must delightfully come to the counsels of Jesus by cutting down our hostile and impudent swords into plowshares and transforming into pruning-hooks the spears formerly employed in war. So we no longer take up the sword against nations, nor do we learn war anymore, since we have become children of peace, for the sake of Jesus, who is our leader, instead of those whom our ancestors followed. [35] Perhaps the most erudite biblical interpreter of his day, Origen supported this conclusion with two significant exegetical advances. Employing the technique of canonical synthesis, Origen first contended that the mitzvoth within Torah and the constitutional halakhah could not have remained unchanged if Israel had collectively embraced the gospel: “For Christians cannot slay their enemies or, as Moses commanded, condemn to be burned or stoned those who had violated the law.” [36] Notice that, contrary to the allegorical interpretation one might expect from Origen, this argument depends on the presupposition of Hebrew Biblical literalism. Similarly, as a bridge to his next insight, Origen remarkably proceeded to maintain that it was necessary for God to give Israel the right to use violence and capital punishment, since God knew in his omniscience the counterfactual truth that if Israel were not permitted to employ deadly force, then they would have quickly been vanquished by enemy nations. However, this same divine providence now elected to supplant the model of Jewish nationalism and install a new form, in light of God’s apprehension of the counterfactual truth that if Christ’s followers did not wield the sword, then paradoxically the church would become stronger the more it were persecuted. [37] Given this background, Origen made his second stride with a distinctive exegesis of Romans 13:1-7 and 1 Peter 2:13-17, two texts which have since functioned as the centerpiece of many just war arguments. Here Origen insisted that, indeed, Christians must obey the governing authorities; but the highest form of such obedience is to do whatever comprises the best interest of the authorities even if it contravenes their commands. Since underlying every physical battle is a greater spiritual one, when commanded to fight, Christians render obedience superior to the command itself by praying for the state, thus serving as warriors who fight the real battle of which the authorities are unaware: “Accordingly, no one fights better for the emperor than we do. We do not indeed fight under him, although he requires it; but we fight on his behalf, forming a special army—an army of piety—by offering our prayers to God.” [38] Origen cited as proof of this exegesis its ability to harmonize the texts under investigation both with 1 Timothy 2:1-3, which mandates prayer for the authorities so that believers may live peaceful lives, and with the logia Jesu. Reasoning by analogy from Roman religious praxis, Origen attempted to persuade the authorities that, while initially counterintuitive, his model of genuine obedience through formal disobedience proved ultimately compelling. We render assistance to the emperor by means of spiritual protection through our prayers. So we remind those who order us, ostensibly for the common good, to proceed into battle and to kill, that even their own priests are not allowed to be soldiers, because the Divine must be worshiped with pure hands. If that is reasonable, how much more reasonable is it that we, while others go to war, preside as priests and servants of God in the campaign by keeping our hands pure and praying for the lawful side and its victory. Consequently, we render a far greater service to the kings than the warriors in the field, because by our prayers we overcome the demons that provoke the war and destroy the peace. [39] After his martyrdom in 254, Origen’s unconditional ban against violence emerged as the official position of the Alexandrian church until 381, [40] when Theodosius I decreed Christianity the state religion of the Roman Empire. Moreover, this Alexandrian interdiction received acceptance among some Latin Fathers, even as late as the first decade of the fourth century. Thus writing c. 307, Lactantius, the traditionally styled “Christian Cicero,”declared that no just person could take the life of another, whether through combat or through capital punishment: “Before God it is unlawful for a just person either to engage in warfare, since warfare is injustice itself, or to judge anyone guilty of a capital charge, since it makes no difference whether you put someone to death by word or by sword—it is the act of putting to death itself which is prohibited.” [41] Likewise, in the anonymous Acta Maximiliani, the early fourth-century novelist portrays Maximilian, the son of a veteran who is thus obliged to serve in the army, declaring repeatedly, “I am a Christian, and therefore I will not serve.” [42] Concluding Reflections: Evaluating the Patristic Nonviolent Ethic Prior to the Edict of Milan, the ancient church leadership’s aversion to civic occupations invested with the sword, including magistracy and military, could be summarized in three observations. First, Christianity on principle rejected war and the shedding of human blood. Second, magistrates under certain circumstances were obliged to pass the death sentence, and soldiers were obliged to carry out all acts of violence ordered by their military commanders. Third, the unconditional imperial oath or sacramentum required of the civic official stood in direct conflict with the baptismal sacramentum to God. On this threefold basis, church leaders universally denounced the practice of baptized civilians serving in either the government or the military from the New Testament period to the reign of Constantine. Furthermore, while some segments of the post-174 church leadership permitted converted magistrates and soldiers to retain their positions insofar as they practiced civil disobedience when their duties violated the precepts of the gospel, other segments maintained the earlier ecumenical standard of not allowing converts this luxury. [43] With this ethic expounded, we shall now critically examine its validity against the absolute standard of Scripture, in order to reveal both our “blind spots”and those of the ante-Nicene church on the matter of nonviolence so that we may learn to emulate their successes and avoid their failures. Among recent historical Jesus scholarship, there has emerged something of a consensus (despite sharp disagreement on other points) that one of Jesus’ central aims in giving the Sermon on the Mount was to promote a countercultural program of nonviolent Jewish resistance against the oppressive Roman occupying forces. Through a series of real-life Palestinian examples, Jesus attempted to teach his Jewish contemporaries how to respond to the Romans in such a way as to not overcome evil with evil but to conquer evil with good, thereby proving to be the light of the world. [44] In sum, Jesus declared that any appropriate response to evil must refuse to let the evil define the sufferer (so the sufferer does not stoop to its level) and must poignantly expose the evil for precisely what it is to the one committing the evil. [45] Refraining from reading either pro- or anti-statist presuppositions into the text, an even-handed exegesis would therefore point out that, without demanding an exceptionless pacifism, the Sermon indeed compels believers to display extreme reluctance on matters of war and to exercise discernment toward political agendas by measuring them against Jesus’ proclamation of the Kingdom of God. Insofar as the ancient church correctly stressed this often underdeveloped aspect of Christian obedience, the contemporary church would do well to follow its lead by thoughtfully and prayerfully reconsidering the ethical viability of situations where believers take the acceptability of engagement in potentially violent government-sponsored causes for granted. To the contrary of the Patristic ethic, however, New Testament scholarship has reached something of a consensus as to the meaning of Jesus’ hallmark antithesis between the kingdom of the world (or, more simply, the world) and the Kingdom of God. On the one hand, the kingdom of the world denoted the philosophical system of self-centeredness, tribalism, domination, and oppression according to which the world operates and ultimately ruled by Satan. [46] On the other hand, the Kingdom of God conveyed the dynamic of God’s kingship being increasingly applied over all earthly affairs, whether social, political, economic, aesthetic, or religious, in a world that is not yet fully under his authority. But the way God rules is quite different from the “top-down”imposition of power over others endemic to the world; rather, God’s Kingdom functions as a “power-under”or “bottom-up”transformative system that works for the sole purpose of replicating agapÄ“ to all people at all times in all places unconditionally, carrying out the will of God at the probable cost of self-interest. [47] Now where in this scheme did the state fall? Understandably, because of their persecution by the Roman Empire, the second and third-century church conflated the world with the state. But although the state can become wrongly allied with the world, even to the degree of serving as the chief instrument of the world (as seen in the cases of the Babylonian and Roman Empires), no New Testament evidence indicates that the state in and of itself is identical to the world (or, conversely, the Kingdom of God). Rather, the biblical writers regarded the state as a tertian quid, providentially used by God for the protection of the good and the punishment of the wicked. We may also validly discern from Jesus’ relentless preaching against the blasphemy of conflating Judaism (whose redeemed community he was inaugurating) with nationalistic ambitions that church and government must remain separate since their divinely ordained roles are fundamentally distinct; confusion of one with the other inevitably destroys the purpose and structure of both. [48] Conjoining these insights with the testimony of the Hebrew Bible, it follows that the answer to whether Christians may serve in government seems to be yes, as long as they do so counterculturally. In other words, Christians in government must disregard the worldly standards permeating politics and instead govern by distinctly Kingdom-of-God standards. The classic example of Kingdom people so serving is Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah (Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego), who were pressed into service by the Babylonian Empire, the very government which had taken the Israelites captive and consequently became the paradigm of an anti-God and anti-Christian government throughout the remainder of Scripture. [49] Without trusting in the Babylonian Empire to accomplish God’s purposes, Daniel and his friends lovingly and responsibly served as “resident aliens”in this foreign juggernaut and thereby advanced the salvific plan of God. The fact that these Hebrew Biblical figures displayed obedience to God by serving in a state lying firmly within the world’s clutches further substantiates the fundamental distinction between these two concepts, a distinction that is not evaporated even when the world powerfully manifests itself through the state. Throughout church history, when Christians have disregarded this distinction and isolated themselves from participation in government, as seen in the separatist branch of sixteenth-century Anabaptism and in its contemporary descendants (e.g., Amish, Hutterites, Old Orders, conservative Mennonites), the case can be made that believers invite unnecessary suspicion of treason by the state [50] and, even worse, shirk their dominically assigned social responsibilities. Such criticisms were not only levied against the separatist Anabaptists by Magisterial reformers like Luther, Zwingli, and Calvin, but also by evangelical Radical reformers like Balthasar Hubmaier. [51] For tolerating society through nonresistance is a far cry from Jesus’ mandate to change society through nonviolent resistance. We close by pointing out that our historical investigation, although furnishing the necessary background to informed decision-making, leaves unanswered a series of controversial questions which immediately transpire from this discussion. For instance, are Christians allowed to take up arms in self-defense? Is there ever such a thing as a just war? Can Christians ever validly serve in the military? Since these questions fall outside this piece’s historical domain of interpretation and within the pastoral realm of application, we shall make no attempt to adjudicate them here. Rather, we shall note that these are precisely the questions Christians need to continually ask and wrestle with, always being sure to demonstrate a charitable openness toward, and an eagerness to learn from, solutions proposed by sisters and brothers in Christ outside their own faith communities. By so shining multiple lights on this ethical prism from the widest spectrum of angles, the church procures the best chance of authentically living out the social implications of the gospel and thereby displaying obedience to Jesus in both word and deed. Footnotes: 1. “Magisterial”refers to the top-down approach to religious change, adopted by the Protestant reformers, through conversion of magistrates, who in turn impose the new beliefs upon their subjects—this approach is encapsulated by the principle cuius regio eius religio (lit. “whose region, his religion”). By contrast, “Radical”denotes the bottom-up approach to religious change, adopted by the Anabaptists and other evangelical reform theologians, through evangelism of individuals. For a thorough discussion of this nomenclature see Kirk R. MacGregor, A Central European Synthesis of Radical and Magisterial Reform (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2006), 1-4. 2. For a representative sample of modern just war advocates see John C. Bennett, Foreign Policy in Christian Perspective (New York: Scribner, 1966); William R. Stevenson, Christian Love and Just War: Moral Paradox and Political Life in St. Augustine and his Modern Interpreters (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1988); Richard J. Regan, Just War: Principles and Causes (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1996); Darrell Cole, When God Says War Is Right: The Christian’s Perspective on When and How to Fight (Colorado Springs: WaterBrook, 2002); and J. Daryl Charles, Between Pacifism and Jihad: Just War and Christian Tradition (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2005). Conversely, representative modern exponents of nonviolence include Ronald V. Sampson, The Discovery of Peace (New York: Pantheon, 1973); John Lamoreau and Ralph Beebe, Waging Peace: A Study in Biblical Pacifism (Newberg, OR: Barclay Press, 1980); Gerard A. Vanderhaar, Beyond Violence: In the Spirit of the Non-Violent Christ (Mystic, CT: Twenty-Third Publications, 1998); John D. Roth, Choosing Against War: A Christian View (Intercourse, PA: Good Books, 2002); and Dale W. Brown, Biblical Pacifism (2d ed.; Nappanee, IN: Evangel Publishing House, 2003). 3. Guy F. Hershberger, War, Peace, and Nonresistance (Scottdale, PA: Herald Press, 1944), 57-59. 4. This point is nicely made by W. H. C. Frend, The Rise of Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 420, who ironically displays open criticism toward the third-century church for its so-called “inconsistent”and “impractical . . . inability to think out any positive evaluation of the soldier’s role.” 5. I have translated all primary source quotations directly from the Patrologia graeco-latina [hereafter PG], 161 vols., ed. Jacques-Paul Migne (Paris: Garnier Frères, 1857-64) and Patrologia Latina [hereafter PL], 221 vols., ed. Jacques-Paul Migne (Paris: Garnier Frères, 1841-80). Along with each quote I have, for the convenience of readers desiring further interaction with the sources, listed the corresponding page numbers from the standard English series The Ante-Nicene Fathers: Translations of the Writings of the Fathers Down to 325 a.d. [hereafter ANF], 10 vols., ed. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson (Buffalo: Christian Literature Publishing Company, 1885). 6. C. John Cadoux, The Early Christian Attitude to War (rep. ed.; New York: Gordon Press, 1975), 127-28. This general summary of the position of various churches is not negated by the fact that, as one stream of contemporary Patrology has inferred from late antique Mediterranean sociological analyses and epigraphic evidence, various individual Christians within those churches may have disobeyed their leaders by joining the military or assuming magisterial positions. 7. Justin Martyr, Apologia I, 11, in PG 6 (ANF 1:166). 8. Ibid., 39 (ANF 1:175-76). 9. Adolf von Harnack, Militia Christi: The Christian Religion and the Military in the First Three Centuries, trans. David McInnes Gracie (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981), 24. 10. Justin, Apologia I, 39 (ANF 1:176). 11. Celsus, quoted by Origen, Contra Celsum, 8:68-73, in PG 11 (ANF 4:665-68). 12. Acta Pauli aus der Heidelberger koptischen Papyrushandschrift, ed. Carl Schmidt (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1904), 10:3-4; for English translation see Edgar Hennecke, New Testament Apocrypha, 2 vols. (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1963-65), 2:385-86. 13. Ibid., 10:2 (Hennecke, Apocrypha, 2:384). 14. Cadoux, Early Christian Attitude, 229. 15. Ibid., 231-32. 16. Edward A. Ryan, S.J., “The Rejection of Military Service by the Early Christians,”Theological Studies 13 (March 1952): 14. 17. Tertullian, Apologeticum, 36-37, in PL 1 (ANF 3:45). 18. Ibid., 37 (ANF 3:45). 19. Timothy David Barnes, Tertullian: A Historical and Literary Study (rev. ed.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), 55, 326-28. 20. Tertullian, De idololatria, 19, in PL 1 (ANF 3:73). 21. Jean-Michel Hornus, It Is Not Lawful for Me to Fight (Scottdale, PA: Herald Press, 1980), 158. 22. Tertullian, De idololatria, 17-18, in PL 1 (ANF 3:71-73). 23. Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus, 1:98-99, in PG 8 (ANF 2:234-35). 24. Tertullian, De Corona, 11, in PL 2 (ANF 3:99-100). 25. Francis J. Hall, Theological Outlines Volume III: The Doctrine of the Church and of Last Things (Milwaukee: The Young Churchman, 1895), XXVI.141.2. 26. Hippolytus, Traditio Apostolica, ed. Dom Gregory Dix (London: Alban, 1937), 16:17-19; for English translation see Dom Gregory Dix and Henry Chadwick, The Treatise on the Apostolic Tradition of St. Hippolytus of Rome, Bishop and Martyr (3d ed.; London: Alban, 1992), 26-27. 27. Ibid., 21:9-11 (Dix and Chadwick, Treatise, 34-35); the same points would be asserted later in the third century by Cyprian, Epistolae, 15:1, 31:4-5, 54:1, in PL 4 (ANF 5:295, 313-14, 335-36). 28. Allen Brent, Hippolytus & the Roman Church in the Third Century (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 185-91. 29. Canones Hippolyti, in H. Achelis, Die ältesten Quellen des orientalischen Kirchenrechtes, Erstes Buch (Berlin: Berlin-Brandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1891), 13-14; for English translation see Paul F. Bradshaw, ed., The Canons of Hippolytus, trans. Carol Bebawi (Nottingham: Grove, 1987), 19. 30. H. B. Swete, “Penitential Discipline in the First Three Centuries,”in Paul Finney, Christian Life: Ethics, Morality, and Discipline in the Early Church (New York: Routledge, 1993), 256-62. 31. On the same score, Basil the Great significantly ruled during the post-Constantinian period that those who shed blood in war should abstain from the Eucharist for three years: see Epistolae, 188:13, 217:56-57, in PG 32; English translation available in The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Series 2, 14 vols., ed. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (Buffalo: Christian Literature Publishing Company, 1890), 8:228, 256. 32. Brent, Hippolytus, 520. 33. Ibid., 166. 34. Origen, Homilia in Jesu Nave, 9:11, in PG 12 (no English translation available). 35. Origen, Contra Celsum, 4:82, in PG 11 (ANF 4:558). 36. Ibid., 7:25, in PG 11 (ANF 4:621). 37. Ibid., 7:26, in PG 11 (ANF 4:622). 38. Ibid., 7:73, in PG 11 (ANF 4:668). 39. Ibid., 4:82, in PG 11 (ANF 4:187). 40. Frend, Rise of Christianity, 630-42, 699-701. As previously suggested in n. 6, assessing how widely this official position was obeyed by the laity depends upon one’s interpretation of highly equivocal epigraphic evidence and the degree to which one believes sociological analyses remedy the shortage of textual evidence as to the behavior of lay Christians in late antiquity. For an excellent discussion of this problem see Virginia Burrus, ed., Late Ancient Christianity: A People’s History of Christianity, Vol. 2 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), 1-25, 213-33. 41. Lactantius, Divinae Institutiones, 6:20,16, in PL 6 (ANF 7:186-88, 181). 42. Acta Maximiliani, in D. R. Knopf and G. Krüger, Ausgewälte Martyrerakten (3d ed.; Tübingen: Mohr, 1929), 86-87; for English translation see Herbert Musurillo, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), 248-49. 43. Early in the fourth century this situation became otherwise, as the Council of Arles (314), meeting one year after the Edict of Milan, demanded that Christians consent to being drafted into the military and forbade current Christian soldiers from deserting the military. As Harnack demonstrated (Militia Christi, 88-90), Arles marked a fundamental revision of the church leadership’s position concerning the army and war. 44. N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, vol. 2 of Christian Origins and the Question of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997), 530-31; Dale C. Allison, The Sermon on the Mount (New York: Herder & Herder, 1999), 27-40; John Dominic Crossan, God and Empire: Jesus Against Rome, Then and Now (San Francisco: HarperOne, 2007), 116-18. 45. Walter Wink, Jesus and Nonviolence: A Third Way (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 10-15; Wright, Jesus, 446. 46. Marcus Borg, Jesus: Uncovering the Life, Teachings, and Relevance of a Religious Revolutionary (San Francisco: HarperOne, 2006), 225-35; Wright, Jesus, 608; Crossan, God and Empire, 78-82; cf. John 12:31; 14:30; 16:11; 2 Cor 4:4; Eph 2:2; 6:12; 1 John 5:19; Rev 9:11; 11:15; 13:14; 18:23; 20:3, 8. 47. N. T. Wright, The Challenge of Jesus (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2001), 36-37; Kirk R. MacGregor, A Molinist-Anabaptist Systematic Theology (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2007), 275-77; Gregory A. Boyd, The Myth of a Christian Nation (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2005), 32. 48. MacGregor, Molinist-Anabaptist Systematic Theology, 295. 49. E.g., Ps 137:1, 8; Isa 43:14; 47:1; 48:14; Jer 50:13-14, 18, 23-24, 29; 51:7-24; Ezra 5:12; 1 Pet 5:13; Rev 14:8; 16:19; 18:2-21. 50. Here I am not arguing against suspicion of treason per se, as many times the state will exhibit such suspicion precisely as the result of believers living out their Kingdom vocation (e.g., the life of Jesus and the New Testament church), but rather against believers needlessly inciting such suspicion. 51. MacGregor, Central European Synthesis, 11-12, 227, 240-41. Originally published at Themelios, used with permission https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/themelios/article/nonviolence-in-the-ancient-church-and-christian-obedience/