The Lenten Fast 3

 This liturgical season of Lent goes way back. There seems to have been an early impetus for the Church to prepare for and commemorate Jesus’ suffering, death, and Resurrection by means of fasting.

If you'd like to take a deep dive into the history, I recommend this article in the Roman Catholic Church’s official encyclopedia, the New Advent: https://www.newadvent.org/cathen/09152a.htm

You can follow links in this article to articles on “fast” and “mortification,” which make for fascinating reading (if a bit dry, as you might expect from an encyclopedia article).

I tend to approach these things from a Protestant perspective, and more narrowly from a Reformed perspective, which biases me toward wearing certain lenses. One lens is polarized for legalism in the Church. You will see in the above article a broad historical concern for what the rules of Lent and the rules of fasting dictate. When fasting, at what time of day can one eat, what materials can one consume, and how much of each? While we may no longer adhere to the rules of Roman Catholic doctrine, seeing these rules unfold historically with such firmness reveals that we tend to substitute attention to the discipline for attention to the effects.

If you dig deep into the article on fasting in New Advent, you find an assertion that the specifics of fasting are really important because fasting is a tool of expiation for sin. And I see this topic, too, through another lens.

We have a long tradition that views fasting as somehow dealing with the problem of past sins. This perspective sets off alarm bells for me, because it threatens to dilute the conviction that we are fully forgiven in Christ, and do not have to bear the guilt or shame of past sins. This perspective reminds me of how we have on occasion taught our children to do chores: as punishment. Your consequence for bad behavior is to vacuum the house. But wait–isn’t the purpose of vacuuming so that we and guests can better enjoy the comfort of our home?

These two issues, legalism and penitence–and we might add limiting Christian discipline to seasons–remind us that it's hard to keep our eyes on the prize. We have been given the Spirit of Christ, forgiven from past sins and empowered to grow in love all of our days.

I would rather set aside the questions of “Am I following the fasting rules just right?” and “Am I fasting enough to atone for my sins?” I would rather pick up the question, “What is God showing me about myself in this fast?” I would rather ask God, “How do you want me to grow into the image of Jesus?”

When we offer ourselves to God, accentuating that offer with the space opened by fasting, God fills that space with the Spirit. And the Spirit always comes to make us more like Jesus, empowering us with grace and peace.

~ emrys

An Insider's Perspective

I appreciate the wide range of guests that Mark Labberton hosts on his podcast "Conversing." Especially apropos right now is this conversation with a Texas Republican Christian who has especial insight into national leadership: https://comment.org/podcasts/keeping-the-country-safe/

I recommend it to you.

~ emrys

The Lenten Fast 2

 It is a strange thing to fast. We give up things with some regularity: I may stop eating meat products in order to lower my cholesterol; I may stop scrolling Instagram in order to get some work done; I may stop buying books so that I can afford to go on vacation. Ceasing to do something I want to do constitutes part of normal life. But fasting is not normal.

In the Christian discipline of fasting, I cannot draw a straight line from not eating (something, or anything) to a particular goal. By abstaining I do not get something else done. And God does not promise a particular outcome from a fast. So what am I doing?

Paul of Tarsus wrote, “for if you live according to the flesh, you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live” (Romans 8:13, NRSV). As a condition of life, Paul writes, I “put to death” the deeds that my body drives me to do. The old-school term for this is “mortification.”

A full understanding of what's happening in mortification takes a lifetime. But I start by recognizing that somehow sin works in my body and therefore I train against sin by showing my body who’s boss. And I do that by telling a core craving, like hunger or the need to stay connected, to go to the principal's office while I get on with class. That's fasting.

What do I learn when I send hunger to sit in the corner? Only the Spirit knows exactly, but what might begin to dawn on me is that my belly is not in control of my life. If I am fasting from social media, I might learn that The Fear Of Missing Out is full of hot air and learn what it feels like to wake up, more alive and peaceful after a day and night of Missing That Meme.

I might. I also might discover that fasting is hard, and I am weak. Hallelujah: I have been given another grace from the originator and finalizer of our trust. I have discovered a place where God hopes to do more work in my heart. With either outcome, or any outcome, I have been given more life in Christ by putting to death the parasite of sin sucking on my soul.

Life, as Jesus teaches, does its own thing. The kingdom of heaven naturally expands from mustard seed to spreading tree, from a sprinkle of yeast to a lump of dough overflowing on the counter. By fasting we weed the garden, we clean out the proofing bowl, we scrub our hard drives of viruses. And then we see what the Spirit will grow in those open places.

~ emrys

The Lenten Fast 1

I am curious about fasting. We are about to enter a season in which the more liturgical Christian traditions encourage fasting: Lent, the six weeks leading up to Resurrection Sunday. I would like to engage the discipline of fasting this year; perhaps you will join me in this. But how to choose what to fast from?

Fasting is a discipline of abstinence, by definition. What shall I remove from my life for six weeks in order to . . . more on that later. First: What to choose?

In my experience, folks fast in Lent from something that is optional, but which also may be unhealthy in large or frequent doses. Like sugar, chocolate, social media, and so on. Generally there is an intention to return to the practice or consumption of the thing after Resurrection, though sometimes the Lenten fast is an attempt to begin a long-term reduction in usage. I do not have hard data, but reflecting on the phenomenon of New Year's resolutions I feel confident guessing that this attempt does not produce long-term results.

This is a strange confluence to me: that I should fast from something temporarily, something that my life might be better without, with a plan to return to it.

If I have a bonus motivation in Lent–motivation from liturgy, from tradition, from a community practice–why would I not use this opportunity to fast from something that I know I should be ushering out the door? In these six weeks, soon upon us, I will have an unusual number of accountability partners ready, unashamed, to ask me if I have been keeping my fast, for a full six weeks. Why not use this time for something more than a good feeling that will fade? Why not follow the Spirit into some more brightened life?

So my question is changing. I am beginning to wonder less, What good thing will I give up for Lent? and more, What thing will Lent help me give up for good?

~ emrys

Machiavelli: The Prince

I recently listened to an episode of "Honestly with Bari Weiss" about a Princeton professor who teaches his students to read and think critically. One of the (only) 5 books Professor Brooks assigns in his class is Niccolo Machiavelli's The Prince. I was inspired to read it. I might say that I was inspired to read it "again," except I'm not sure I actually read the whole thing in high school; we may only have read excerpts. (This time around I read Harvey Mansfield's translation, quoted below.)

Spoiler alert: nowhere in The Prince does the sentence "the ends justify the means" occur.

Machiavelli is writing only for princes: that is, men in 16th century Italy who are solely in charge of sovereign states (of which there were many on the Mediterranean boot). He is not writing for fathers, mothers, pastors, handymen, software developers, or members of Congress. However, the clarity of his writing borne from the narrowness of his audience produces thoughts valuable to everyone--which I suppose is why we're still reading his work.

I recommend the whole book to you, but as a sampling of Machiavelli's words that make me think more critically about my own understanding of leadership, here are a couple of quotations.

"And truly it is a very natural and ordinary thing to desire to acquire, and always, when men do it who can, they will be praised or not blamed; but when they cannot, and wish to do it anyway, here lie the error and blame" (ChIII, pg14). Machiavelli's assumption is that people want to acquire--stuff and power. He does not consider the case in which someone does not want to acquire. It's baked into the system. I think that our current American society makes the same assumption: A desire to acquire makes the market work, and democracy diffuses, by constant effort, dangerous acquisition of political power. While certain cultural threads, like simplicity movements in Christianity, attempt to reduce the desire to acquire, by and large it's keeping the wheels turning. Machiavelli has not patience for "wishful thinking." If we have the same view of human nature, then Machiavelli has strong grounds for his conclusions about how leaders should act.

"[Cruelties] can be called well used (if it is permissible to speak well of evil) that are done at a stroke, out of the necessity to secure oneself, and then are not persisted in but are turned to as much utility for the subjects as one can" (ChVIII, pg37-38). Here we approach the common summa shorthand of "the ends justify the means." Machiavelli allows for evildoing by leaders, as long as it is limited and stops at what is necessary for the leader to secure power. Machiavelli goes on to say that long-term power is best secured by doing things that are good for people (like letting them acquire stuff); but actions in the short term that may be shocking or cruel are allowable. I see a parallel in personal ethics when we articulate a right to self-defence: I may do things to secure the safety of my person which, if I did them spontaneously to a stranger on the street, would normally be considered criminal. Perhaps there is a parallel for leaders in a democracy assuming a position and then "cleaning house" of those who don't hold the new leader's political positions. Tenure is cast aside in order to secure the political goals of the new leader. Is this an acceptable carve-out for normally unacceptable behavior?

"For a man who wants to make a profession of good in all regards must come to ruin among so many who are not good. Hence it is necessary to a prince, if he wants to maintain himself, to learn to be able not to be good, and to use this and not use it according to necessity" (ChXV, pg 61). Trying to be 100% good in an evil world is doomed to failure. So all leaders must learn intentionally to be evil when it is necessary to keep power. I hear here echoes of a future Nietzschean "will to power" which is "beyond good and evil." In my personal search for leaders who have integrity, Machiavelli seems to suggest that in order for someone to stay in power they will need to sacrifice integrity. Is this an accurate description of our political life? In order to win elections, must I engage in smear campaigns against my opponents, because they will do that to me? Must I make collection of money the primary work of my career because others will amass more and oust me otherwise?

As one who complains inwardly about how hard it is to find "an honest politician," I find in Machiavelli a rather incisive critique of my hopes. I am led to think about the minority of Christians--a minority but not a small number over time and space--who absent themselves from all secular politics, because Jesus' kingdom work is incompatible with the worldly work. Maybe they have a valid point. I also think about the other side: "moral majority" Christians and those who want political leaders to give strict Christian ethics the power of the sword, in an effort to place our nation "under God." How does that work if Machiavelli is right and to maintain power in an evil world one must sacrifice one's goodness?

If you're interested in these core questions about ethics and leadership, The Prince is a great place to begin your exploration. And if we're near each other, I'd love to sit down for a cuppa with you and join in that exploratory work. May the Spirit grant us ever wider wisdom as we search.

~ emrys

Flags in the Sanctuary: The Christian Flag . . . ?

On the side of your sanctuary opposite the American flag may be a white flag with a blue upper corner and a red cross in that corner. That is (you may have wondered) the "Christian flag," invented in the early 20th century by a Sunday School class and one Charles Overton (no relation to the window). For a deep, enthusiastic, and patriotic dive into the history of the Christian flag, I direct you to this site from the Christian Heritage Fellowship.

It appears that the Christian flag came on the scene in the same era that American flags were proliferating in American Christian churches. This parallel seems significant to me, so much that I hypothesize that the Christian flag came about because American flags were multiplying in sacred spaces. I speculate (and let me name it as speculation now, because I'm not sure how to test this hypothesis) that folks saw the American flag and thought, "Wait a minute, Jesus is Lord over all the earth. So how can the American flag have pride of place?" But removing the American flag wasn't an option (see earlier posts), so the natural move is to fly another flag that lets the American flag know who's in charge.

But who's really in charge? Because the US Flag Code indicates that the US flag must be the highest in a place, Christian flag placement is fraught. James Pollock wrote a Christian flag code for just this reason (see Heritage Fellowship site above). In my view, the presence of a symbol in the sanctuary that immediately questions whether a Christian symbol can be lifted higher than it should immediately give us pause.

We should also pause over the colors of the Christian flag. Christianity has been around 750 years longer than the United States, and on the continents of Asia, Europe, and Africa long before North America. It has more adherents outside the United States than inside it. Yet the only three colors on the Christian flag are white, red, and blue--strangely identical to the colors of the American flag.

(If you wonder what those colors represent, look no further than this vendor of flags, which specializes in patriotic and Christian symbols.)

What of the enduring color of royalty (Christ the King), purple? What of the color of wealth (treasures in heaven), gold? What of the color of creation (Maker of heaven and earth), green? What of the grave conquered by the resurrection, black?

It is notable that only American churches and ecumenical groups have adopted the Christian flag. We might best re-name it the American Christian Flag--which leads back to the question of why the Prince of Peace needs a symbol whose use and meaning are tied to battle?

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As you may have surmised from this series, I find little to commend the use of the American flag or the Christian flag in Christian sanctuaries. I believe it is possible to thank God for the blessings of citizenship in any country without presenting a flag in the front of the worship space. I think national flags in those places dilute the confession of the Church that Christ calls together all nations, tongues, and peoples into one body. I think flag presentation obscures the fact that nations are human inventions--though good and useful in their own rights--far inferior to the power of the Holy Spirit and divisive even in the best of circumstances.

Does the cross not suffice to symbolize our identity and call us to be good Christians and good citizens wherever we are? And if walking the path of the cross were to make us bad citizens, change would be demanded not of Jesus but of the nation in question.

Thanks for taking our faith and symbols seriously. Even if we disagree on the meaning of the flag in worship, in whole or in part, I hope that I've offered you ideas that help you articulate your position more clearly. Holy Spirit, give us wisdom to navigate this world with love, grace, and truth.

~ emrys

Flags in the Sanctuary: Excursus: Christian Nationalism

 Or, "What the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is Christian nationalism?"

A concern often connected to the propriety of the flag in the sanctuary, and one which is making the rounds in media circles these days, is that of Christian nationalism. For most people "Christian nationalism" is a scare term: We say it or write it in order to signal that the people getting that label are dangerous.

Now, perhaps the danger attached to the term is warranted. I hesitate to make ethical arguments by using Hitler as a counterexample or bottom of a slippery slope, but history here has a fine point: the Nazi party branded itself as the party of "German Christians," and made it clear that Christians in Germany had better be loyal to the Nazi party. So wedding nationalism and faith can be a problem. As far as I know, we don't have a "Christian Nationalist" political party in the US. So what do we really mean by the term?

Most voices in the public sphere, in my albeit small-sample-size experience, are not using the term precisely. So let's explore some options for precision.

1. Christian nationalism = belief that Christians should support nation-statehood as the best way to understand sovereignty of peoples and boundaries for rule of law. Given that most of the developed world sees states as "nations" in the modern sense, this one is boringly common and probably not worth our worry. Unless someone wants to go back to Christian monarchy, in which case we should definitely talk.

2. Christian nationalism = belief that the United States was founded on "Christian principles" and therefore should be guided by those principles in its public entities. In weighing the validity and danger of this option, one has some critical decisions to make. When we talk about "Christian principles" of the US's founding, are we talking about the beliefs of 18th-century political leaders or the principles that can be extracted directly from founding documents? If the former, then one has some heavy lifting to describe exactly which Christian principles guided all of John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, etc. There is no guarantee that these folks would stand up to our tests of orthodoxy. If the latter, then it's worth starting our work by combing through the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution to find references to those hallmarks of Christianity: God, Jesus, the scriptures, the Church, etc. We might have to reframe our thesis.

Strictly speaking, the national buck stops with the Constitution, so whatever Christian "shoulds" we try to foist on the US that doesn't have any backing in that document is likely (or should be) doomed to fail.

3. Christian nationalism = belief that Christianity ought to be the official religion of the United States or that only Christians can be genuine Americans--perhaps for reasons linked to #2 above or for reasons of personal or tribal power. This one brings some danger with it: If folks in power believe that non-Christians are second-class citizens then bad things begin to happen. Though the First Amendment forbids establishment of a national religion, lots of cultural power can be wielded without legal sanction.

4. Christian nationalism = belief that being Christian means being completely loyal to the United States, or, in more common terms, strongly patriotic. This is a sort of converse of #3; it may result from a sense that God gives the US a "special" status in world history to do something especially cool. This one also carries some danger because of the problem of idolatry (being unconditionally loyal to something besides God). However, a quick look at the ministry of Jesus and the prophets before him reveals that God had persistent critiques of all people groups and human-made entities, so the US is likely not an exception. As always, when we find ourselves thinking that [entity in question besides Jesus] can do no wrong, we ought to have a moment of self-examination.

Those are the distinct definitions that jump to mind; I hope they are useful in your thinking about the cultural moment we live in. When you hear someone use the term "Christian nationalism," or you use it yourself, which one of these is in play? Or is it some different one? Given the range of meanings it's probably wise for us to clarify what we mean, lest we just dump more words into the swirling toilet-bowl of media chatter.

Next time, as a final meditation on flags in the sanctuary: What's up with that "Christian flag" on the other side of the room?

~ emrys

Flags in the Sanctuary: Protection

 On 11 October 1521 the Bishop of Rome, Pope Leo X, recognized a work published by King Henry VIII entitled "Declaration of the Seven Sacraments Against Martin Luther." For this work, Leo X bestowed on Henry VIII the title "Defender of the Faith." (Anglophiles and Francophiles should continue to debate whether this title is better than the title of "most Christian" that belonged to the king of France.)

Since the mid-fourth century, the Church has recognized the capacity for kings, queens, and parliaments to "defend the faith." In some places, as with Henry VIII, the defence made by monarchs is a defence of orthodoxy: Martin Luther had been declared a heretic and thus Henry's Declaration upheld Catholic doctrine. In some places and times, "defence of the faith" might be interpreted to mean association with or affirmation of Christianity more broadly. The crown or Parliament supports or encourages the beliefs and work of the Church, and backs up that support with arms.

Contemporary Americans live in a democracy, so we do not have a monarch to take the personal title, "Defender of the Faith." And we have a constitution that forbids the establishment of any religion by the state. Instead of upholding one particular religious system, the American system prides itself on defending freedom of religion: folks in the United States are free to believe and practice any religion they choose. So "defender of the faith" changes, for us, into "defender of the right to practice any faith."

I have heard many people give thanks--to God in prayer and to each other--that we live in a country where we are free to practice our faith unmolested. I am also thankful that we are not imprisoned for our faith, or otherwise persecuted for what we believe or how we practice our religion. I think that giving thanks to God for these blessings, as with all blessings, is good. Any freedom we have is a gift from God and ought to be recognized as such.

I think, however, that we sometimes cleave to a mirror-image understanding of our freedom of religion. Such an understanding shows up on t-shirts, sweatshirts, and other paraphernalia in the phrase, "Land of the free because of the brave." While this phrase speaks truth in a materialistic sense, it fails to recognize that victory only comes to the brave if God wills it; and it may come to pass that no bravery will bring about what God does not will. If we say that freedom of religion results only from national effort, we can then go one more step and assert that the Church owes something to the nation because it is the nation that provides opportunity for Christians to practice their faith.

I wonder if the placement of the flag in Christian sanctuaries doesn't, for some of us, signify an understanding that it is only because we are Americans that we are practicing Christians. Take away the protection of the American system of government (and military, etc), and the Church would fall to ruin. So Christian faith, for its survival, needs to recognize the flag.

I see two problems with this perspective. First, having the fullness of life for the Church depend on something other than God would seem to make that other thing sovereign and God less than sovereign. Which means Jesus isn't lord of all--he's lord of everything that America gives him to lord over. Second, it belies the experience of so many Christians around the world whose faith flourishes without legal freedom of religion. In fact, there may be cases in which the faith and community of the Church are stronger because protection from the forces of the world is not guaranteed.

It is a strong faith that gives thanks to God for every blessing we experience. It is a weaker faith that cannot survive without material protection.

~ emrys

Flags in the Sanctuary: Maybe Not About Nationalism?

To begin thinking about this issue, I asked Perplexity (an AI search engine) to find online articles discussing American flags in Christian sanctuaries. Most offered some history of flags in the sanctuary; many raised points of concern about the placement of national flags in worship space.

One site stood clearly on the supportive side of placing flags in sanctuaries. It is an article by Professor Miles Smith in First Things, a publication of The Institute on Religion and Public Life. Its argument includes three observations: 1) other countries fly their national flags in churches; 2) pre-flag western societies included their symbols in worship space; and 3) the flag in worship space displays the proper relationship between Church and state.

Professor Smith cites quotations from pastors outside of the United States, arguing that according to their testimony that "the presence of the national standard in their churches [is not] inherently idolatrous or even particularly nationalistic." We should expect that no Christian pastor will ever see something in his congregation's sanctuary as idolatrous. This is a frequent problem with idols: We don't see them. As for being "particularly nationalistic": Smith's citations include one pastor saying that "We want to honor our national identity." Another says they post the flag to "show our loyalty as citizens to the country." These are expressly nationalistic reasons for flying the flag. Being a national symbol, the flag's presentation is always nationalistic. Smith's assertion here contradicts the evidence he cites.

Before churches had flags to fly, Smith writes, they put heraldric symbols and shields in the sanctuaries "symbolizing a nobleman's protection of the church or denoted his support of the building's construction." We will return to the matter of protection of the Church later (put a pin in that one); for now I go on to Smith's next words: "These shields signified medieval Christians' belief that the glory of the church reflected the glory of the state." That is an interesting phrasing. It seems to indicate that glory originates with the state, and is then reflected in, passed on to, the Church. This directionality of glory is, to me, precisely backwards.

If Smith is trying simply to say that flags are OK in sanctuaries because people have been doing something similar for a long time, then I am unconvinced. Long-established erroneous practice is still erroneous practice--perhaps more grievous for its endurance.

On his third major point Professor Smith raises the issue of the relationship between the Church and the state. "[D]isplaying the national flag in a church is a sign that we expect our government to fulfill its duty to protect our religious freedom." Here is a fascinating and redemptive possibility. Has the flag come to the altar of God in order to receive its marching orders? Is the flag bowing to the cross, just as Christians individually come to bow their hearts before Christ in worship?

I agree with the assertion that Christians, as they go out and participate in the political world, act in obedience to the voice of Christ. And I agree that all people of all nations are subject to the sovereignty of God; by implication the existence of nations and their destinies are subject to God's will and decree.

However, flags don't bow. As I observed in an earlier piece about flags and loyalty: Flags stand and fly as a commanding presence, not a subservient one. They must be the highest standard in the room--even a room where the cross takes the highest place. They own the place. Thus to put the cross and the flag in the same space creates a conflict of power and loyalty. So I am not convinced by Professor Smith's argument about the meaning of the flag in a worship space.

But more on that Church-state relationship next time. Thanks for taking symbolism, meaning, and practice seriously.

~ emrys

Flags in the Sanctuary: Loyalty

 My dad did not spend much time in front of a television screen. (That's what they were called back then: "Televisions.") When so much of American society at the time learned to collect VHS tapes and DVDs, our living room had a blessedly minimal number of recorded films. But he did have a boxed set of Humphrey Bogart films.

One of the few times we took an evening to watch a film at home with Dad we watched Casablanca. This classic WWII film (produced in 1942) focused on Rick's Café Américain, a "gin-joint" in Morocco where Nazi officers and Resistance leaders end up dining in the same room. In one famous scene, German officers stand and begin singing their national anthem, "Die Wacht am Rhein." A leader of the Resistance goes to the band and directs them to play the French national anthem, "La Marseillaise." All the non-Germans in Rick's Café stand and drown out the song of the German officers.

(If you would enjoy a deep dive into this scene with some excellent commentary, check this out.)

The songs are just songs, right? Just like "The Star Spangled Banner" is just a bunch of words strung together and laid over a bunch of musical notes strung together, right?

Who sings which song in Casablanca, and how loudly, displays the loyalty of the characters in the film. Morocco is contested territory in a war. All wars are about loyalty and who will give their lives for one nation or another, one cause or another, one flag or another. Since flags usually represent nations, flags represent an entity in whose importance we believe so strongly that we would die for it.

Conversely, flags command responses to two questions: Will you die for this? Are you loyal to this? For many people--especially those who have risked their lives in uniforms bearing the American flag, or have lost beloved family or friends in uniform--these questions are two sides of the same coin. To be loyal to something or someone, really loyal, means being willing to risk one's life to defend that thing or person. A flag, therefore, represents a question of ultimate loyalty.

This question is not new. Quite pertinent to Christians was the need for subjects of the Roman empire to show their allegiance to the emperor. In much of imperial history, this display of allegiance took the form of sacrifices made to the imperial cult, which viewed emperors as divine. As far as we know, sacrificing to the emperor didn't change life very much; but if one did not show that loyalty to the empire, one was suspect. If nothing else, the emperor commanded loyalty.

And Christians did not show that loyalty. They would pray for the emperor, conform to imperial laws (as long as it did not violate their conscience), and treat the emperor with honor. But they would not perform the signs of ultimate loyalty to the emperor or empire. They confessed that they had loyalty to only one: Jesus Christ.

[A linguistic aside: I have heard folks attempt to make a distinction between loyalty or allegiance (which I might have for my nation) and trust/faith/belief (which I only have for God). The bible makes no distinction in its language for these things. Faith/belief/trust/loyalty/allegiance are of a piece; and each/all belong to God alone. In making a distinction without a difference we may be trying to evade a problem.]

When we gather in worship, we do so specifically to declare our complete loyalty and allegiance to God in Jesus Christ, the author of life who is also the only one to conquer death and offer eternal life. We do so in explicit defiance of all the powers in the world who would claim our loyalty, command our obedience, and divide our hearts.

I do find it strange, then, that we place a symbol in our sanctuaries for another entity which commands loyalty and sacrifice unto death. If it calls for something less than ultimate faith, why does it adorn a space dedicated to heaven and eternal life? And if it calls for complete loyalty, is it not in competition with the Lord of All?

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Next time: A first argument for flags in sanctuaries.

~ emrys