"It’s Always Open Season on Christianity"

Reflections on the "Christian victimhood complex"

Photo by Brad Dodson on Unsplash

(A seven-minute read.)

In a recent piece for First Things, entitled “It’s Always Open Season on Christianity,” Bishop Robert Barron, one of the most popular Roman Catholic priests in the world right now, argues that there continues to be an “assault on Christianity” in the West.

This is especially true this time of year, during the Easter season, when both “cultural” and “media” elites try to undermine the veracity of the resurrection story. Barron laments this, of course, and tries to rebut and push back against the forces that are seemingly trying to erode confidence in the message and mission of Jesus.

He ends the piece by asking these rhetorical questions:

Why, I wonder, are there no similar pieces on Islam written during Ramadan? Why is Upper East Side condescension not directed toward the Qur’an, a book sacred to 1.8 billion people? The questions answer themselves of course. Yet, it’s always open season on Christianity.

Barron is just one of an increasing number of Christians in America who seem to believe that Christianity is under attack. Indeed, as I noted a few weeks ago, President Trump has even signed an Executive Order which is aimed at snuffing out and confronting so-called “anti-Christian bias,” signaling to the world that the “open season” on Christianity is a thing of the past.

Actually, it’s quite remarkable. A growing number of Christians in America seem to be sounding this alarm, fervently insisting that Christianity is being assailed, and framing themselves as aggrieved victims who seek not only protection but occasionally the power to redress perceived wrongs.

This narrative is then used as a basis for all sorts of legislation and actions intended to place Christianity in a more favorable position, restoring it to its apparent former glory.

Admittedly, I have my doubts about this narrative. But leaving aside that question, I’ll just grant the premise that Christianity is under assault in America (and in the West more broadly) for the purposes of these reflections.

Because here’s the thing: if it is true that Christianity is under attack, my response is simply this: glory, hallelujah!

The gift of suffering

This may seem like a surprising attitude coming from a Christian pastor. But my reflections don’t stem from a secret disdain for Christianity, gleefully hoping for its demise, but a deep jealousy for its flourishing and vitality (though, in truth, the sooner we can obliterate some of what gets passed off as “Christianity,” the better).

This is because, as I was reading through Paul’s letter to the Philippians a few weeks ago, I was suddenly reminded that the attitude of victimhood that so many modern Christians choose to identify with is in direct contradiction to so much of what Paul wrote.

What I mean is this: writing from prison—where he was held for his faith—the apostle boldly told Jesus-followers that it had been “granted” to them not only to “believe” in Jesus, but also to “suffer” for him (see Philippians 1:29).

Did you catch that?

The word for “grant” in the original Greek, charizomai, means something like a “gracious gift” (the root of the word, charis, literally means “grace”).

So what Paul seems to be saying here is that God, in his infinite mercy, decided to give Christians one of the greatest gifts he could give them: the privilege of suffering on his behalf.

Suffering thus wasn’t something they were to lament, push back against, or seek to escape from. It wasn’t something they were to try to resolve or “get even” for.

It was considered to be one of the greatest gifts and privileges they could experience.

They therefore weren’t to consider themselves aggrieved victims of a vast conspiracy against Christianity, sulking about their plight and looking to settle scores.

They were to be the great exemplars of humble, patient, suffering love.

And this was the repeated message in the New Testament.

Indeed, the New Testament seems to say that the assault on Christianity should not only be expected but actually celebrated.

It shouldn’t be used as a basis to punch back, to play the “victim card” and grasp for power, but as something to welcome, recognizing that it offers an opportunity to witness to the suffering Messiah and develop our characters.

In embracing suffering, we are, of course, simply living out the teachings of our Master, Jesus, who declared to his followers that we should consider ourselves “blessed” when others “revile” and “persecute” us for our faith, and to “rejoice” and be “exceedingly glad” when we suffer for the sake of the kingdom (see Matthew 5:11-12).

This isn’t simply an unreasonable demand that Jesus places on his followers though. It’s what he fully embodied himself, with the most poignant and clear demonstration of his character revealed at the cross, where his victory came not through settling scores but through laying down his life and refusing to keep score.

Simply put, Jesus didn’t try to exert his will, he surrendered it. He didn’t try to punch back, he willingly turned the other cheek. He didn’t devolve to an attitude of victimhood, he freely chose to become a victim.

This is the truth of the matter, as it always has been throughout the history of Christianity: Christianity flourishes and grows when it suffers—when it allows itself to be the object of persecution.

Conversely, Christianity languishes and gets bastardized when it seeks to be the agent of suffering and persecution, using revenge and control as its instruments of choice.

But this message seems to be at such odds with some of modern American Christianity—where empathy is now called a “sin,” and Christ’s “Sermon on the Mount” apparently sounds like “liberal talking points.”

How have we gotten so far away from the actual message of Jesus?

Five caveats

In the interest of balance, I recognize five caveats with all the above said.

First, this message of Christian “suffering” can so often be used as its own instrument of control and abuse when we try to force it upon others as a basis for manipulation and coercion (think of all the Black people who were told by their enslavers to simply “turn the other cheek” in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries).

That’s not what I’m talking about though.

Second, I realize there are places around the world—the Middle East, for example—where many Christians are legitimately suffering for their faith. But that’s not what I’m addressing here either.

I’m talking about in the West, where Christianity has been the dominant religion—wielding a lot of influence and control—for two thousand years, but suddenly frames itself as an innocent victim (despite its acts of oppression and abuse for centuries).

Third, Paul and others weren’t living in modern democracies, so we need discernment in how we apply these texts in a society where we do have a say—and thus, more responsibility.

Fourth, there’s a line of thinking among some Christians which maintains that being persecuted necessarily means we’re being faithful Christians—and we therefore almost chase persecution as some sort of validation that we must be doing something right.

But I’m not sure this is always the case. Sometimes we suffer not because we’re being faithful but because we’re simply being jerks.

And we therefore need the Spirit to help us see which is which.

Fifth, I’m not at all implying that there isn’t a time and place for us to personally draw healthy and appropriate boundaries in some situations and with some people. Jesus is the savior of the world so we don’t have to be.

What I’m talking about is more on the level of cultural, missional, and spiritual engagement, where we’re directly expressing and living out our faith.

And in this context, when Bishop Barren claims that it’s apparently always “open season” on Christianity, I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

In fact, I think it’s actually a good thing, something to even celebrate, providing an opportunity to give powerful testimony to the suffering savior we follow and helping us become the kinds of people that more fully reflect his image of suffering love.

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Shawn is a pastor and church planter in Portland, Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational and embodied expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also a DPhil (PhD) candidate at the University of Oxford, focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.