March 22-23, 2018.
Learn more here.
March 22-23, 2018.
Learn more here.
Are American Christians being persecuted for their faith? I am not sure persecution is the right word. No one is coming into the homes of Christians with weapons threatening to kill them if they do not publicly denounce their faith.
But if this was happening, wouldn’t it be a good thing?
Didn’t Jesus say “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” (Matthew 5:11-12).
The other day, while lecturing on seventeenth-century Quakers and the deaths they suffered as martyrs for their faith, I recalled my old friend Tim. Back in the day Tim and I used to exchange letters. Rather than end his letters with the standard “Sincerely Yours” or “Warmly,” he would often write “May You Suffer and Die for Christ, Tim.” My Christian students got a good laugh when I told them about Tim, but I wonder how many of them took such a call to martyrdom seriously.
I should also say that claims of persecution by American Christians make them look foolish and petty in light of the real persecution Christians are suffering around the world.
But I digress.
It seems everywhere I look online these days someone is debating whether or not American Christians are experiencing persecution (or perhaps discrimination) for their beliefs. Over at Commonweal, Julia Marley suggests that the “evangelical martyr complex” was partially fueled by the 1995 D.C. Talk song “Jesus Freak.” More on this below.
But most of the discussion on this front has stemmed from Rod Dreher’s recent book The Benedict Option: A Strategy for Christians in a Post-Christian Nation. Some of you may recall that we blogged about this book a couple of weeks ago and tried to find common ground between “The Benedict Option” and what law professor John Inazu has called “Confident Pluralism.”
Recently Calvin College philosophy professor James K.A. Smith thought it was necessary to criticize Dreher’s book from the pages of the website of The Washington Post. (I am still a bit confused as to why Smith would turn to the Washington Post to debate how Christians should live in a secular world. But in an era of social media where everyone is privy to intramural debates among Christians I guess it doesn’t really matter). Smith’s points about Christians living in fear are well taken. I have made a similar argument in the context of the evangelical support of Donald Trump’s refugee policy. But Smith’s suggestion that he was trusting in “a savior who rose from the dead” (and by implication Dreher was not) seemed a bit over-the-top.
Dreher was particularly upset by the way Smith, who Dreher claims was an early supporter of the “Benedict Option,” apparently changed his mind about the book when writing for his Washington Post audience. Dreher responded with a post at his blog titled “The Benedict Arnold Option.” (This is not the first time Smith’s assault on a Christian writer has led to a strong push-back. The Smith-Dreher exchange reminds me a little bit of Smith’s scuffle in 2010 with Baylor philosopher Frank Beckwith).
Meanwhile, Darryl Hart offers some historical context. Evangelicals, he argues, have felt marginalized in American culture for over a century. This is why, for example, they founded faith-based “Christian colleges” like Calvin College to protect them from the secularizing tendencies of the outside world and to instill them with a “Christian world view.” (In the process he reminds Smith of the location from which he writes). As Hart notes: “As I have indicated many times, what bothers me about the BenOp is that Rod seems to understand a cultural crisis now when some Christians (the mainstream calls them fundamentalists) saw it at least a century ago.” Hart is right. At the turn of the 20th century when evangelicals were ousted from the denominations, and by extension the culture, they turned inward and founded a host of institutions that we now often describe as the “evangelical subculture.” Joel Carpenter wrote about this in Revive Us Again: The Reawakening of American Fundamentalism and a couple of oft-cited articles. Was this development something akin to a “Benedict Option?”
This leads me to best review of The Benedict Option I have read so far. It comes from Damon Linker at The Week. While Hart argues that the persecution complex in American evangelicalism began over a century ago, Linker takes an even longer view. He wonders if there was ever a moment when Christianity was powerful enough to hold sway over American life:
Yet it’s worth asking whether Christianity as both Neuhaus and Dreher understand it ever exercised rule in quite the way they imagine it did. Certainly it did in Puritan New England, and in certain regions of the country during the Great Awakenings of the 1730s and early 19th century. And clearly American civil religion, partly derived from Puritanism and reinvigorated countless times by various religious and cultural influences down through the centuries, has always had a broadly Protestant and deistic character.
But was this default Christianity anything like the doctrinally, liturgically, and morally rigorous forms of worship and belief that Dreher advocates? I don’t think so. Yes, rates of church attendance were higher in the past, but those rates fluctuated quite a bit from time to time and place to place. And in many of those times and places, the forms of worship were decidedly low-church, with tent revivals, renegade preachers, and faith healers barnstorming the country, while in most white churches the message broadcast from pulpits either explicitly endorsed a racist status quo or passed over it in silence.
But Linker’s approach is more nuanced than this. He differs slightly from those like Julia Marley who suggest that the sense of persecution felt by evangelicals is built on a false understanding of Christian persecution in the Roman Empire and the belief that the United States is a Christian nation. Linker argues that there have been significant changes in the culture–particularly in the area of sexual morality– that might justify evangelical concern. He writes:
Intercourse outside of marriage, masturbation, the use of contraception, homosexuality (including same-sex marriage), transgenderism — none of it will register as raising significant moral or theological issues and problems. That wasn’t true in the 19th-century U.S., in 17th-century Prussia, or in 11th-century France. In all of those times and places, news of what growing numbers of people (including people who define themselves as Christians) think of as sexually acceptable behavior would have been received as inexplicable, and an abomination.
That is what makes our time decisively different from past eras in the history of the Christian West: We live on the far side of the sexual revolution. Neuhaus thought that revolution could be at least partially reversed through concerted democratic action. Dreher has no such hopes and so advises withdrawal and self-protection.
If traditional sexual morality is an absolutely necessary component in an authentic Christian life, then America may well be the post-Christian nation Dreher insists it is, with devout Christians reduced to the status of exiles within it and facing the prospect of outright persecution in the workplace and elsewhere. (Dreher’s book discusses some of these persecutory possibilities, and he regularly highlights and ponders them in considerable detail on his blog at The American Conservative.)
Dreher’s concerns about persecution may be somewhat exaggerated, but they aren’t delusional. Now that same-sex marriage has been declared a constitutional right, the full weight of anti-discrimination law is poised to bear down on those whose faith precludes them from accepting the licitness of such arrangements. That has inspired many religious conservatives (and a few liberals, like myself) to demand new laws to strengthen the First Amendment’s religious liberty protections, specifically to clarify that the “free exercise” clause is not limited to what takes place within the walls of a church.
I appreciate Linker’s approach here because it acknowledges what I and others believe are real threats to religious liberty that should not be dismissed. At the same time, it affirms a lot of my own historical work on the problematic assertion that the United States was founded as a Christian nation.
What if Dreher and other conservative Christians could know that they would not be forced to bake cakes or provide other services for same-sex weddings, that religious colleges would not be forced to permit same-sex cohabitation, and that employees would not be fired or otherwise penalized for holding traditional views about sexuality? Would that render the Benedict Option unnecessary?
I doubt Dreher would think so — because Christians would still find themselves living in a country in which a range of authorities within civil society constantly convey the message that same-sex marriage is good and opposing it is bigotry, in which pornography is ubiquitous, and in which gender is increasingly treated as a human construct entirely disconnected from nature, marriage, procreation, and a divinely authored order of things.
But why is that such a problem? Don’t Orthodox Jews and observant Muslims, who hold analogous views about sex, manage to live and thrive in the United States, despite its sexual turmoil and lasciviousness? Indeed they do. But they are and have always been tiny minorities in America — which means that, in the decisive respect, they already practice something like the Benedict Option. They don’t need to be taught how to preserve themselves in the face of constant counter-religious temptations.
Perhaps that consideration partially explains why Dreher sometimes seems to hype the persecution that conservative Christians already confront or will soon face — as a kind of shock therapy for the complacent, as if to say: “We’re no longer in charge here! If we don’t start protecting and preserving ourselves soon, there won’t be anything left to protect or preserve!”
Read Linker’s entire piece here.
Phillip Luke Sinitiere is Professor of History at the College of Biblical Studies, a multiethnic school located in Houston’s Mahatma Gandhi District. This interview is based on his book Salvation with a Smile: Joel Osteen, Lakewood Church, and American Christianity (NYU Press, 2015).
JF: What led you to write Salvation with a Smile?
PLS: I wrote Salvation with a Smile out of a long-standing interest in the history of American evangelicalism. After completing a chapter on Joel Osteen in my first book Holy Mavericks (NYU Press, 2009), I wanted to write a larger story on the smiling preacher that considered his place in American religious history. As a life-long Houston resident, I also wanted to explore Osteen and Lakewood Church in relationship to Texas, and to the Sunbelt.
In my research, I found that everyone I spoke with had an opinion about the smiling preacher; folks either loved him or hated him. I wanted to investigate Osteen and Lakewood Church beyond the binary responses I was hearing. After all, there’s a reason why 40,000 people attend Lakewood weekly, millions of people read his New York Times best-selling books, and millions of people tune into his television broadcast. I wrote Salvation with a Smile to figure out why.
JF: In 2 sentences, what is the argument of Salvation with a Smile?
PLS: Salvation with a Smile argues that Joel Osteen, and by extension Lakewood Church, is America’s most powerful twenty-first century evangelical minister; it explains how Lakewood became America’s largest megachurch and Joel Osteen became Joel Osteen. While neither represents the sum total of American evangelicalism, the history of Lakewood Church and Joel Osteen explains significant developments that illuminate connections between neopentecostalism, the prosperity gospel, televangelism, and religion in the American South.
JF: Why do we need to read Salvation with a Smile?
PLS: Salvation with a Smile shows that Joel Osteen’s father, John Osteen, along with post-World War II neopentecostalism and the prosperity gospel movement helped to make the smiling preacher. In this regard, I hope the book adds another chapter to the broader history of the prosperity gospel that scholars such as Kate Bowler, Gerardo Marti, and Arlene Sánchez-Walsh, among others, have brilliantly documented. Furthermore, Osteen’s nearly two decades of religious television production and broadcasting experience before he became Lakewood’s full-time pastor in 1999 helps to contextualize how in the early 2000s Joel harnessed emerging social media platforms in the service of propagating his prosperity message. In this sense, Osteen and Lakewood’s story connects to the history of American televangelism. Finally, Osteen’s ascendance in American evangelicalism during the Internet Age—and his presence on television and social media—has generated a flurry of criticism, much of it from American evangelicals. Thus, Salvation with a Smile historicizes New Calvinist critiques of the smiling preacher as both an index of his notoriety and as a way to understand the fractures and fissures within contemporary U. S. evangelicalism; in other words, the account of Osteen and his detractors reflects the “crisis of authority” about which historian Molly Worthen has beautifully written.
JF: When and why did you decide to become an American historian?
PLS: While I had designs on pursuing a career in professional golf—I was a student-athlete on the golf team at the University of Houston, and later at Sam Houston State University—in college several professors brought history to life and I found that my passions shifted. The late Terry Bilhartz, one of my mentors at Sam Houston State, was one of the most engaging lecturers I’ve ever seen. At the University of Houston, James Kirby Martin always emphasized the importance of writing clearly and accessibly, Kairn Klieman helped me to understand the power of history beyond the classroom, and Gerald Horne modeled the centrality of archival research for academic scholarship. Reconstructing the past at its best tells a story and the ways that my professors and mentors conveyed history in lively, compelling, and comprehensible ways drew me in. Additionally, I found, and still find, archival research both enjoyable and exciting. Sure, the work at times gets tedious, but the detective sleuthing so vital to the art of reconstructing history is great fun. Connecting the dots between past and present is both challenging and exhilarating whether it is in the classroom with students or in moments of solitude when I’m writing. While I may be a professional historian according to industry standards, I remain very much a student of history with many questions for which I continuously seek answers.
JF: What is your next project?
PLS: For Rowman and Littlefield, I’m completing a short biography of 20th century writer and civil rights activist James Baldwin. I am also editor of and contributor to two essay collections on the twilight years of W. E. B. Du Bois between the 1930s and 1960s. One volume, under contract with Northwestern University Press, examines Du Bois’s career in global perspective; the second volume, which the University Press of Mississippi will publish, explores concepts of American freedom in Du Bois’s intellectual and political work.
JF: Thanks, Phil!
Speakers include David Bratt, George Marsden, David Bebbington, Molly Worthen, Thomas Kidd, Tal Howard, John Wilson, John McGreevy, Harry Stout, Tom Tweed, Catherine Brekus, Darren Dochuk and Albert Raboteau.
I recently finished reading Chris Lehmann’s The Money Cult: Capitalism, Christianity,and the Unmaking of the American Dream. I have been a fan of Lehmann’s writing for some time now. A former graduate student in history at the University of Rochester where he studied under the late Christopher Lasch, Lehmann is now the editor of the The Baffler, a journal of cultural criticism steeped in economic populism of the left-leaning variety.
I have been reading the Baffler for about fifteen years, ever since I taught Thomas Frank‘s book The Conquest of Cool: Business Culture, Counterculture, and the Rise of Hip Consumerism in a senior honors seminar on the history of American consumer culture. (Frank, who many may know for his book What’s the Matter With Kansas?, founded the journal). I also appreciated Lehmann’s review of my friend Eric Miller’s biography of Lasch, Hope in a Scattering Time. So when I learned that Lehmann was writing a book about Christianity and capitalism I rushed to my nearest Barnes & Noble on the night before a vacation to Maine and bought the only copy in the store.
At some point I hope to do an extended review of The Money Cult, but I feel like I need to read it again before that happens. It is a deeply challenging book. Lehmann is a public intellectual who has taken the time to steep himself in the historiography of American religious history. He clearly has an axe to grind against capitalism, and he sometimes fails to take Christianity seriously as a set of beliefs that motivate people to act in the world, but in the end he does a masterful job of showing the links between Christianity, capitalism, and the brand of Gnosticism that often disguises itself as American individualism.
I thought about Lehmann’s book as I read through Part 3 of Timothy Gloege’s series on “corporate evangelicalism” at The Anxious Bench blog. Some of the readers of The Way of Improvement Leads Home will recognize Gloege from his book Guaranteed Pure: The Moody Bible Institute, Business, and the Making of Modern Evangelicalism. (Back in June 2015 Gloege visited The Author’s Corner to discuss it). Lehmann’s chapter on fundamentalism does not cite Gloege, but it would be much stronger if he had. Much of Gloege’s work, both in Guaranteed Pure and his Anxious Bench series, confirms the idea that American evangelicalism has been deeply shaped by market forces.
Here is a taste of Part 3 of Gloege’s “The Crisis of Corporate Evangelicalism”:
Imagine a world where families operate like corporations. Parents are management, but efficiency and profitably determine all aspects of family life. Children are both assets and employees; resources are allocated according to potential. And if things don’t work out with a troublesome teen or toddler? Well, you can send them packing, no harm, no foul. Children too can move to another family or negotiate with their parents for bedroom upgrades, extended curfews, and increased
That disconcerted feeling you have right now? It’s probably similar to what an antebellum Protestant would experience encountering corporate evangelicalism. Never mind whether market-driven families are good or bad, it simply feels unnatural, right? Yet most evangelicals don’t think twice about “church shopping” based on programs, amenities, and “personal fit,” or devoting substantial portions of church budgets to the praise and worship industrial complex, or farming out the development of Vacation Bible School curriculum to an unknown corporation, or discarding a denominational affiliation like last year’s skinny jeans. It’s just what you do.
There is nothing intrinsically natural or unnatural about corporate evangelicalism. Religion is no less immune to business influence than family is to science, or business itself is to family. But such borrowings are not inevitable either. Some stick, others never take. They are, in other words, historically contingent, and as such they beg for an explanation.
Read the rest here.
Have you had a chance to see Marco Rubio’s stand-up comedy act? He has been getting a lot of laughs on the campaign trail at the expense of Donald Trump. When Rubio says that Trump has an orange face, has “small hands,” or wets his pants, the crowds at his rallies go wild.
I recently saw a spokesperson for the Rubio campaign talking about the need for his candidate to “hit back.” Rubio is trying to beat Trump at his own game–insults and personal attacks. Many politicos are wondering why he did not do this earlier.
Rubio’s raw ambition has been on display during the last week. He is desperate. He is willing to do anything to stop Donald Trump, even if it means getting down in the mud with the GOP front-runner.
It wasn’t too long ago that Rubio was in Iowa and South Carolina trying to paint himself as the evangelical alternative to Trump and Ted Cruz. What happened to this apparently Christian candidate?
This kind of eye-for-eye campaigning is embarrassing for the GOP. But it is especially problematic for someone who goes out on the campaign trail and names the name of Jesus Christ.
I imagine that Rubio still thinks he is a Christian candidate. In a world in which “evangelical” is defined by one’s position on abortion, marriage, and religious liberty for Christians, Rubio remains faithful. As long as he tows the line on these issues, no matter how he behaves, he can claim the Christian mantle. On this front, he is no better than Trump.
Rubio appears to be yet another product of the unholy alliance between Republican politics and American evangelicalism that came with the rise of the Christian Right in the 1980s. The leaders of the Christian Right–Falwell, Dobson, LaHaye, Bauer, Kennedy, Perkins, Reed, and Robertson–were successful in politicizing American evangelicalism by boiling it down to two or three moral issues.
I am beginning to wonder if it is possible in this day and age to run for President of the United States and still keep one’s integrity as a Christian.
Maybe Stephen Prothero was right when he said that Jesus would vote for Bernie Sanders.
Christopher D. Cantwell is Assistant Professor of History and Religious Studies at University of Missouri at Kansas City; Heath W. Carter is Assistant Professor of History at Valparaiso University; and Janine Giordano Drake is Assistant Professor of History at University of Great Falls. This interview with Cantwell is based on their new book, The Pew and the Picket Line: Christianity and the American Working Class (University of Illinois Press, 2016).
JF: What led you all to edit Pew and the Picket Line?
CC: In one sense this collection grew out of a panel on “Class and the Transformation of American Protestantism” that Janine, Heath, and I put together for the American Society for Church History’s 2012. In another sense, however, this project emerged from the growth of scholarship on the religious histories of working people that has emerged over the last ten years. All of the contributors are early- to mid-career scholars whose work is situated in those spaces where American religious history and American labor history intersect or overlap. And what’s remarkable, I think, is the breadth of this new work. The collections has essays on everything form the esoteric theology of nineteenth-century labor activists to the faith-healing practices of Midwestern metal miners to the role syncretic religious beliefs plaid in galvanizing a strike of female pecan shellers in San Antonio. We had hoped to have the collection cover as much temporal and geographic ground as possible, and we’re excited to have essays on working men and women from a range of racial, ethnic, and geographic categories. It gives the collection a decidedly multivocal quality. Indeed, we three editors occasionally argued at length over the consequences of blending religious and labor history–and I should note that the opinions here are my own. But we all agreed of the importance of this intervention.
JF: In 2 sentences, what is the argument of Pew and the Picket Line?
CC: There is no history of American religion that is not also a history of labor. Conversely, there is no history of America’s working people that does not also attend to the history of religion.
JF: Why do we need to read Pew and the Picket Line?
CC: In an era in which the history of capitalism is currently in vogue among scholars of religion, the collection argues for the inclusion of working people in this emerging field. While scholars have examined the faith of corporate leaders at great length few have ventured down to the shop floor. We think it’s important, indeed essential, to do so. The beliefs and practices of working people not only shaped their social lives, but also impacted the places they worked. This impact, in turn, could potentially effect the shape of entire industries. The collection is a call to attend to this complexity.
JF: Thanks, Christopher!
I Storified my tweets here.
JF: What led you to write A Sense of the Heart?
JF: In two sentences, what is the argument of A Sense of the Heart?