Now that we have a bit of distance from the Giglio controversy, it’s worth stepping back and thinking through this with a bit more depth:  how should Christians speak in public when those in government oppose them?

I’ve been rereading Luther’s Two Kinds of Righteousness and have found it illuminating in light of recent events.  A brief summary:

After describing public officials as those who have been ordained by God to “punish and judge evil men, to vindicate and defend the oppressed,” Luther turns toward private individuals–including, presumably, clergymen–and identifies three types of response when they have suffered injustices.  It’s an instructive taxonomy and comes very close to identifying some of the shortcomings I had tried to grasp at.

Martin Luther, commemorated on February 18 Eva...

Martin Luther, commemorated on February 18 Evangelical Lutheran Worship. Minneapolis: Fortress Press (2006), 15. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The first type Luther identifies are those who “seek vengeance and judgment from the representatives of God.”  Luther’s basic disposition toward these folk is that we should tolerate them, but not commend them.  In fact, he goes on to suggest that they may not enter the kingdom of heaven(!) unless they forsake “things that are merely lawful” and pursue “those that are helpful.  For that passion for one’s own advantage must be destroyed.”

The second class are those “who do not desire vengeance” and “do not resist any evil.”  Christian Citizenship 202as it were.  Yet Luther goes a step further and suggests that if the authorities seek to redress the wrongs done on their own, such Christians “do not desire it or seek it, or they only permit it.”  If they’re really advanced, then they may even prevent the government from pursuing justice as they are “prepared rather to lose their other possessions also.”

Yet this isn’t a form of political quietism, at least not of the sort that abdicates any responsibility toward the public square and those who are infringing other people’s liberties within it.  Instead, they “grieve more over the sin of their offenders than over the loss or offense to themselves.  And they do this that they may recall those offenders from sin rather than avenge the wrongs they themselves have suffered.”

There is a third class, though, who are like the second type in disposition but not like the second type in practice.  Which is to say, they “demand back their property or seek punishment to be meted out, not because they seek their own advantage but because they seek the betterment of the one who has stolen or offended.”  Yet Luther isn’t sanguine about this group:

“No one ought to attempt this unless he is mature and highly experienced in the second class just mentioned, lest he mistake wrath for zeal and be convicted of doing from anger and impatience that which he believes he is doing from love of justice.  For anger is like zeal, and impatience is like love of justice so that they cannot be sufficiently distinguished except by the most spiritual.”

Let me be the first to say that I am not among the most spiritual and am almost certainly not going to get the taxonomy of loves and passions right.  But it is  interesting that Luther (like Augustine) recognizes the subtle differences between zeal and love of justice on the one hand and anger and impatience on the other.  He is attentive not only to whether we are seeking the right, but the passions that motivate us to seek it. And one of the criterion he deploys is whether we are properly focused on the offender’s good, rather than rectifying the wrongs done to us for the sake of justice on its own.

Luther’s primary interest is in safeguarding the integrity of Christians’ witness to the Gospel. And no Christian is going to disagree with him on that, at least not that I know of. What’s more, Luther doesn’t specify whether his is only a criterion for action or whether it is also a criterion for communication.  Which is to say, we could conceivably be genuinely motivated to seek justice on account of the other person’s good, but not make that clear in our public reasoning about it. Yet the absence would, I think, reasonably call into question whether that had been our intention all along, or whether it was an ad hoc justification (even a true one!) for our public action.  Good intentions, after all, are not enough in marriage, economics, or political communications.

What’s more, those of us who speak publicly should remember the significant gap between our own characters and the intentions formed by them and the readers who come across our words (which I have been reminded of a good deal recently, having failed to clearly communicate myself several times over!).  To put a specific point on it, I am quite sure Al Mohler, Russell Moore, and Robert George are themselves motivated more by love of justice than impatience.  Those who know them well assure me such is the case and I have no reason to doubt it (and in George’s case, I’ve met him and have watched him interact with those he disagrees and am convinced for myself).

Yet our words about politics reach into an environment formed by impatient passions and a self-righteous sense of vengeance that we ourselves do not intend nor create.  In such a political context, strongly worded denunciations or even straight-forward arguments on behalf of justice by leaders might not be designed to enflame misguided passions, but it’s hard to see how they could do anything else.  Call it the problem that of the “unintended inevitable side-effects.”  “A gentle answer turns away wrath,” we remember, but it can also go a long ways toward minimizing the inflammation of controversy where, if anywhere, I suspect the love of justice is most likely to devolve into impatience and zeal into anger.

What’s more, as a movement I’d simply suggest that evangelicals aren’t terribly practiced at being in Luther’s “second class” and forgoing our own goods for the sake of the public witness of the Gospel.  There are many laws and parts of society that have not gone evangelicals’ way the past thirty years.  But the very real threat of being called “bigots” has made the problem personal for many conservatives in a way that the culture wars have not been before. We are concerned about the effects of being labeled bigots, and rightly so.  Yet the fact that the stakes are personal means we stand in even more danger of allowing our public opposition to the wrong slide into being motivated by a sense of anger and grievance.

Which is to say, I don’t get the sense we are facing up to the potential stigma with the sort of confident courage that we should be.  But then if my thesis about our underformed political passions is right, that’s not terribly surprising:  we haven’t had many opportunities to train our dispositions in the way Luther thinks necessary for Christians to speak Christianly in public.  Nor have we done a very good job of properly grieving for the other’s sake the wrongs those who oppose us do. If the bulk of our speech is oriented toward addressing “moral decline” and the loss of “religious freedom”–and it may be worth reminding you again that I have repeatedly and routinely raised worries about both for nine years here at Mere-O!–then I’m not sure we can claim to have reached “Christian Citizenship 202” in Luther’s taxonomy, much less the third class.

Ensuring that evangelical politics is properly evangelical–that it takes the form and tone of “good news”–is a good deal more sophisticated and difficult than it seems on the surface.  And I doubtlessly haven’t gotten it right and will certainly get it wrong in the future.  I have been comforted in recent weeks by remembering the failures of statesmen of old, failures that did far more damage than my own will ever do but which did not preclude them from participating in an even greater good.  For the failure of my own public witness, and of the movement I have grown up in and still love, are yet covered by the mercy, grace, and power of the resurrection.  The failure and triumph of Christ should give us courage even when we don’t arrive at Luther’s third class of Christian witness. The message will go forward in spite of our imperfect witness and messy political passions, just as it has for 2000 years.

But my hope and prayer for evangelicals is the same it has always been:  that in articulating the way things ought to be we would do so with the confidence that can endure our marginalization with a smile, with the shrewdness of those who have the wisdom of Christ, and with the perpetual willingness to seek the good of our neighbors even and especially when they treat us with scorn.

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Posted by Matthew Lee Anderson

Matthew Lee Anderson is the Founder and Lead Writer of Mere Orthodoxy. He is the author of Earthen Vessels: Why Our Bodies Matter to our Faith and The End of Our Exploring: A Book about Questioning and the Confidence of Faith. Follow him on Twitter or on Facebook.


  1. Luther’s second class of citizens made me think of Anabaptist theologies of politics (Luther does not generally have this effect on me!). It also made me think of a quote from Jacques Ellul’s book “Violence” where he says about the political actions of Christians:

    >So far as they act like the others—even to forward social justice,
    equality, etc.—I say that there is no sense and nothing specifically
    Christian in acting like the others. In fact the political and
    revolutionary attitude proper to the Christian is radically different
    than the attitude of others; it is specifically Christian or else it is

    So what would be the specifically Christian response in the whole Giglio brouhaha? Sure – you’re seeing the marginalization of Christian thought from the public square, the antagonism towards historic moral values in western civilization, a tolerance that only goes one way, etc etc. But pointing all that out, operating as just another interest group, mobilizing media campaigns, boycotts, etc all is perhaps not useless but is not specifically Christian and therefore not the primary vocation of the Church.

    What if instead Christians of all stripes – Catholics & Protestants – could unitedly respond in a way that exemplified grace and charity towards Obama, gay activists, & the nation, respectfully accepting the decision of Obama, and the feelings of Gay activists while being clear that as Christians we will proclaim the truth no matter the consequences because it is the loving thing to do towards everyone.

    Is there a way to make that statement in a way that isn’t just political (ie not just crafted to create a political response) but is specifically Christian?


    1. Mathew Anderson January 29, 2013 at 4:35 am


      Great question. Part of my concern is whether that sort of statement is even possible in the media context we have and with the history that conservative evangelicals have. If everything is filtered through a particular lens, then is it possible for even an appropriately framed response to *sound* like an apporpriately framed response?



  2. Matt, I’m wondering how sanguine even Luther would have been with a loss of religious freedom. Granted, he lived in a different context, but he was able to operate to do his work with political protections afforded him not found elsewhere in Europe. While I agree with the basic tenor of your post and with what Luther was saying, it seems to me to be fair game to remind others in the church (thinking American context) that religious freedom is a good and is not something to set aside lightly because some folks might think we’re more interested in personal rights than working toward servant-oriented Gospel witness. As you say, this may be something that should not constitute the bulk of our effort, but I would hate to see it jettisoned; as I see it, this kind of free exercise of religion is a blessing, and for benefit to us and our children we should name, teach, and practice it, realizing and communicating that it is not guaranteed or deserved, and God will accomplish His purposes regardless. Not easily done, but worth our due diligence.


  3. I think it gets very tricky when the arguments made are not about “justice” per se but about the relative prominence or power of our views. Three examples:

    -the Giglio affair was clearly about enforcing a certain liberal orthodoxy among people that Obama chose to be part of his administration. This is hardly about love or justice– as much as it is asinine and outrageous to deny someone a public prayer at an inauguration for holding to a biblical view of sexuality, it is not as though Giglio had a right denied.

    -the contraceptive mandate is more clearly about justice; while I (as a medical practitioner) do not think that most contraception is abortifacient, I would certainly defend the right of conscience of employers who do.

    -gay marriage, I think, is a mixture of the two. For some people it’s a matter of love & justice (again, I disagree with these people and think the most loving & just thing is to encourage monogamy among gay people.) For others, it’s way more about the government preferring our worldview.

    In response to what Simeon said, I would say that the most effective cultural strategy moving forward is a small minority of thinkers carefully churning out thoughtful, well-framed arguments for our position and an enormous majority of committed Christians living in such absurdly countercultural ways (lots of selling all you have, moving into the inner city, adopting/fostering multiple children, having gay people over for dinner etc. etc.) as to completely baffle the cultural opposition into dumbfounded silence hopefully followed by giving praise to God.


  4. […] “Martin Luther on the Passions of Evangelical Politics,” Mere Orthodoxy […]


  5. […] Matt Anderson applies some great advice from Martin Luther, addressing the importance of our motives in the way we engage politically as evangelicals: […]


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