Christianity: What Happened to the Love?
Half the church won’t even try to give up its addiction to damnation.
For most of my first 60 years of life, I was a Christian. A Methodist in childhood, Presbyterian in young adulthood, Episcopalian from 25 till 50-something, then a couple years of UCC before eventually turning my back on the whole shebang.
I loved the Church, because the Church loved. Every church I joined showed that commitment, a commitment to healing a broken world by loving its people in practical ways. Like feeding hungry bodies, building houses for the homeless, and offering public support and community to other-gendered people and same-sex couples. Like joining with Reverend Barber for the “Moral Monday” marches in Raleigh to call attention to the racist bills that were being passed by the veto-proof Republican majority in the state legislature.
The fact that I could not intellectually assent to most of the Christian dogma — or believe most of the Bible was anything but mythology — didn’t really matter to any of my ministers. They knew they could count on me to show up with a casserole, a hammer, my guitar, my walking shoes, or whatever else Love might be calling for on any given day.
Still, no matter how deeply I respected my pastors and my fellow congregants, I could not turn off my awareness of what the Church had come to represent in the world around us. I kept waiting, hoping that the national leadership of the mainline denominations would realize it had to step up to denounce the hateful politics of the evangelicals.
Had that ever happened, I might still call myself a Christian today. (Even though, frankly, I’m much more comfortable in the warmly humanistic embrace of the Unitarian Universalists.) But it didn’t, and I realize now that it never will, not unless there is a radical re-visioning of the meaning of the Christian faith.
I loved the Church, because the Church loved.
The problem is, the hate is baked into the cake. To renounce the anti-human rhetoric, they would have to disavow the hell that Jesus is supposed to save us from. The belief that our creator hates us all so much — just for being the way he created us — that he’s determined to consign us all to neverending torture. That the only way this “loving” god will be appeased, persuaded not to punish all of us for all eternity, is for a perfect man to die for all the rest of us. And that even then, the only people saved will be the ones who speak the right words of contrition and commitment.
Many modern Christian churches downplay that part of the catechism. Some point out that Jesus never made those threats, and that the current picture of the afterlife is more Neoplatonic than Christian. But at the denominational level, tradition holds. The leaders grit their teeth, smile sweetly, and assure us that it really is good news.
And most of them, at least the ones I’ve known, sincerely mean it. Even though they can’t see any way around the fact that their religion threatens sinners with eternal damnation, they believe that God will find a way for everyone to end up saved. Or if not everyone, at least all the good-hearted ones. And meanwhile, while we’re here on Earth, we all can work together to build a kingdom ruled by love.
Thy grit their teeth, smile sweetly, and assure us that it really is good news.
But their good will isn’t good enough. Because within a few blocks of every one of those sincerely loving church communities, there is another — probably much larger — edifice dedicated to a very different mission.
That church, which proudly calls itself evangelical (a term which once upon a time meant “spreading good news”) doesn’t downplay Hell; it keeps it front and center. For its members, one of the best things about Heaven is the assurance that the people they despise will go the other way. In fact, few hints are given about what an afterlife in Heaven will be like, though detailed and lurid descriptions are regularly proffered of the excruciating miseries of the damned.
That evangelical church does talk about love — it’s hard to say much about Jesus without mentioning that feature of his teachings — but the kind of love it advocates is shockingly restricted and subject to a lot of conditions.
Love gay, lesbian, or transgendered people? Yes, but not until they’ve been converted to “normal” sexuality, through harsh experimental therapies if necessary. Definitely do not bless their unnatural relationships or marriages, and picket any politician who suggests such people have rights that should be protected.
Love women? Of course, as long as they aren’t feminists. Godly women, the kind deserving of our love, don’t want abortion rights or equal pay or protection from workplace harassment. All they want is Christian husbands who will give them lots of children. If those righteous men also give them broken bones and bruises, pray for them (that’s love!) to see the light and beg their husbands’ forgiveness for provoking them.
Love children? Absolutely! Just remember that love may require occasionally beating them. And if they — God forbid! — begin to show romantic interest in people of the same sex, throw them out on their ungrateful asses and pray that they will freeze or starve to death before they act on those perverted urges.
Love our neighbors in far-off countries? That’s the Christian thing to do! As long as those far-away people are also Christians, and as long as they stay far away and don’t attempt to immigrate, move into our community, steal our jobs (and probably anything else that isn’t nailed down), and put more strain on our already overburdened welfare state.
Love our Christian neighbors here in town? Yes, but test them first to make sure they’re “real” Christians. Do they believe every word of the Bible as the literal Truth, or do they think it needs to be “interpreted?” Do they believe in evolution and worry about climate change? Do they wear masks instead of trusting God to save them from the COVID hoax? False Christians are as bad as atheists.
Love the poor? Ahem. Yes, yes, of course. But keep in mind that it would not be loving to provide too much for them or try to lift them out of poverty. After all, did anyone do that for us? No, they must learn to stand on their own feet, just like all of us did, in this great country where we all are blessed with equal opportunity. If they were actually starving, God would find a way to help them.
Love your enemies? Okay, maybe Jesus said that, but we can’t be sure of what he really meant. God obviously has no room in his kingdom for Muslims, BLM supporters, scientists, or Democrats.
The kind of love it advocates is shockingly restricted.
Recent statistical surveys indicate membership is declining in those churches that identify as evangelical, while the mainline denominations are holding their own. That’s a hopeful sign, probably reflecting both the rise in education nationally and the common sense of Generation Z.
I have been delighted and amazed to see the generations after mine embrace interracial relationships, other sexualities, new ways of defining family, new forms of self-expression, and a truly international community via the internet. I’m hopeful these young social pioneers will insist on their right to a spiritual life that rejects all forms of hate.
If the Christian Church can grow past its traditions to reclaim its loving roots and thereby offer real community to rising generations, maybe it will be able to reclaim the sacred task of building the kingdom envisioned by that wandering Rabbi long ago.
If it can’t, we’ll all be better off without it.
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