by Blaine Eldredge

2020 was hard on my vainglory. 

It went this way. I sat back, watching Christendom from (I thought) a safe distance, wondering why people were acting so crazy. Why wouldn’t they just stop and think? If they read the right articles about COVID-19 and the right articles about race and the right articles about post-Enlightenment politics, they’d be saved. Which articles were those? Well—lucky for them—the ultimate curator already existed. Me! Born for such a time as this. All that remained was to find or inherit or receive a megaphone.

Then one day Jesus spoke up. I was driving. My son was screaming like a Nazgûl. He was a few months old at the time. Anyway. I was praying, when suddenly: Jesus. And he said, in effect, Tell me about this plan of yours. I explained. People were crazy. They should stop and think. They should listen to me. Etc, etc, etc.

There followed one of those long, pregnant silences.

Then Jesus replied, So your plan is to get people to say and do the right things, and that’ll fix the world? That has a name, in history. It’s called the law. And anyone who is under the law is under a curse, and the curse is death. So. You want to bring death to the world.

Oops.

You see, rational progress is my favorite false gospel. It goes this way: though Jesus definitely helps, people can see the truth apart from him (ignore, for a second, Jesus’s own thoughts on this), and when they do, they’ll do the right thing. Good information saves the world.

Silly, right? Indeed. But no more so than the other false gospels, which are, in effect, alternative salvation strategies. Everybody has one. My neighbor, he thinks that everyone should mind their own business, work hard, and be decent, and that would save the world. This woman I know, she thinks people should wait because improvement is a thing that just happens. I was in a coffee shop, and the guy was insisting that people should just listen and things would be better.

If these sound funny to you, that’s only because they’re not your false gospel. What is? Complete the following exercise:

1. Think about the state of the world.

2. In a rare honest moment, fill in the blank: If people would just ______, the world would be better.

Just what, exactly? Calm down? Wait? Read that book you recommended? Adhere to tradition? Remember who they are? Love (what’s that mean?)? Hope (in what?)?

If, like me, you fill in that blank with anything other than put their faith in Jesus and join him in overthrowing spiritual evil and restoring the human heart and love and serve their enemies and renounce all other allegiances, then you’ve found your false gospel.

Finding these is good. Because the world is a mess, and false gospels won’t fix it. The real gospel will.

So. In the spirit of excavation, let’s bring in Bonhoeffer. Back in 1942, he wrote a brilliant essay. It’s called “After Ten Years”—it’s a series of reflections on life in a hard time. In it, old Bonhoeffer spends a long time unpacking ineffective positions, aka false gospels, to save his peers some heartache. It’s an embarrassing read because I see myself in most of these, but remember, that’s good. If you’d like to save the world, you’ve got to renounce the stuff that doesn’t work. Here’s Dietrich.

“The failure of rationalism is evident. With the best of intentions, but with a naive lack of realism, the rationalist imagines that a small dose of reason will be enough to put the world right. In his short sightedness he wants to do justice on all sides, but in the melee of conflicting forces he gets trampled upon without having achieved the slightest effect.”

Ouch. We’ve talked about this: People are not driven by their intellect. Reason will not save the world. But if, like me, you try to save the world with reason, you’ll end up hurt, disillusioned, and unloving.

“Then there is the man of conscience. He fights single-handed against overwhelming odds in situations which demand a decision. But there are so many conflicts going on, all of which demand some vital choice, that he is torn to pieces.”

This for the guy who tries to do what he thinks is right as an alternative to operating out of a life with God. Should you go to church or quarantine? Should you protest or stay home? Should you post on Facebook or hold your tongue? As Bonhoeffer notes, there’s simply too much going on to follow your conscience. You’ll end up shattered.

“When men are confronted by a bewildering variety of alternatives, the path of duty seems to offer a sure way out…But when men are confined to the limits of duty, they never risk a daring deed on their own responsibility, which is the only way to score a bull’s eye against evil.”

It’s not enough to do your job. It’s not enough to be nice to your neighbors. It’s not enough to focus on the micro because you can’t change the macro. Why? Because, and this is the point, maybe Jesus wants you to. You’ll only know what you’re supposed to do if you ask him.

“What then of the man of freedom? He is the man who aspires to stand his ground in the world, who values the necessary deed more highly than a clear conscience…He must beware lest his freedom should become his undoing. For in choosing the lesser of two evils he may fail to see that the greater evil he seeks to avoid may prove the lesser.”

Pay. Attention. This is for the guy who acts. When people believe that a particular movement, virtue, value, tradition or anything else is more important than everything else, they’re set up for failure.

In 2016, I knew conservatives who believed it was more important to stop Hillary than to call out the excesses of their own party. I knew liberals who believed that it was more important to stop Donald than to call out the excesses of their own party. This is a dangerous impulse and everyone is vulnerable. You cannot choose good and evil for yourself. You cannot, in your own time, determine the most important issues of your time. You must follow Jesus.

What then, Bonny? Here is his advice:

“Who stands his ground? Only the man whose ultimate criterion is not in his reason, his principles, his conscience, his freedom or his virtue, but who is ready to sacrifice all these things when he is called to obedience and responsible action in faith and exclusive allegiance to God.”

That’s it, folks. Exclusive allegiance. This starts with renouncing our alternative salvation strategies. Then we can ask Jesus to give us a heart like his. Then we can ask him to see the world the way he sees it. Then, when we find ourselves loving God, and even loving our enemies, we can ask him what we should do.