Cultural Evangelicals.

EVANGELICALISM i.væn'ʤɛl.ə.kəl.ɪz.əm noun. Having to do with the evangel (i.e. the gospel) or Christianity.

2. [capitalized] One who holds to the Protestant tradition of individual conversion to Christianity (i.e. being born again) through faith. Plus Jesus’s atonement, the bible’s authority, and active evangelism.

3. noun. The mainstream Protestant subculture in the United States.

4. noun. A conservative political movement in the United States which coopts white Evangelicals.

[Evangelical i.væn'ʤɛl.ə.kəl adjective.]

Previously I wrote about the Evangelical movement, which is what I mean whenever I write about “Evangelicals.” Unfortunately my usage has confused a lot of people who think I’m instead talking about the Evangelical culture, or Evangelical politics. These are two other uses of the word “Evangelical,” and they’re far more common than the Evangelical movement. I figured it was way past time for me to write on the subject.

In the United States, “Evangelical” seldom means the Evangelical movement. It did in the beginning, when evangelists like John Wesley, George Whitfield, D.L. Moody, Billy Sunday, and Billy Graham were promoting that very movement, and trying to get American Christians to make their own personal decisions to follow Christ Jesus, instead of foolishly presuming, “My family’s Christian, my country’s Christian, so I’m Christian.”

The shift in definitions largely happened because of Graham. Wasn’t his intention; it’s just what happened. Graham was really good at evangelism, and he was just as good at promoting Evangelicalism—the movement which emphasizes conversion, atonement, bible, and evangelism. He was an Evangelical, and he worked with and was supported by fellow Evangelicals—people who likewise held to conversion, atonement, bible, and evangelism. And Evangelicals weren’t just found in only one church or denomination. They’re all over. Plenty of Christians are Evangelical.

Graham regularly emphasized it’s more important that we be Evangelical, than conform to any particular church tradition. Doesn’t matter whether you’re Methodist, Baptist, Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Foursquare, Nazarene, or what have you. What matters is you made a personal decision to follow Jesus, you recongize Jesus died for your sins, you read that bible, and you share Jesus with your neighbors. It’s about being Evangelical.

And Graham tried to network Evangelicals. Often through his evangelism campaigns; multiple churches would provide support in the cities he preached in, and in so doing they’d interact with one another, and notice they all had Evangelicalism in common. It’s what all Christians should have in common, right?

Hence Evangelical grew to become the term American Christians with conservative theology used to define themselves. (Even when they weren’t all that Evangelical.) And this also became the term others used to define conservative American Christians. It’s also caught on in other countries, as Americans began referring to their conservative churches which believe in individual salvation as “Evangelical,” and their natives started using the term just as Americans do.

Where it gradually started moving away from being the same thing as the Evangelical movement, is when certain Fundamentalists started to rebrand themselves as “Evangelical” in the 1900s. ’Cause I should point out not all Fundies are all that Evangelical. Some most definitely are; the Fundie church I grew up in was. Others are more about making people Christian by enforcing piety—by legalism—and by trying to overturn our secular culture and make it Christian, rather than through evangelism. Regardless of their beliefs, the Fundies wanted to be mainstream like they believed Evangelicals were, so they simply started calling themselves Evangelical.

And it worked. As a result there are a lot of Fundie beliefs mixed in with American Evangelism, and the beliefs are often considered mandatory by many Evangelicals. Like Darbyism, young-earth creationism, a rejection of science (yet not technology; man alive do they love A.I.), and far too often, sexism and white Christian nationalism. And there are a bothersome number of these self-described Evangelicals who aren’t Evangelical at all; they want to take over the country and mandate Christianity in precisely the way the first Evangelicals rejected.

But I’ll write about these political Evangelicals another time. There’s a lot of overlap between them and cultural Evangelicals, but they’re not always the same thing eiher.

In any event, what people in the United States typically mean by “Evangelical” is mainstream cultural Christianity; what Vintage Faith pastor Dan Kimball calls “Churchland” and late blogger Michael Spencer called “Churchianity.” It’s not always about individual trust in Jesus and his scriptures, nor evangelism, nor piety, nor active Christian lifestyles—although your average cultural Evangelical does consider these things very important. Even those who won’t do ’em themselves.

Plenty of people don’t realize there’s a difference between the Evangelical movement, and the Evangelical culture. Most articles about the history of Evangelicals will automatically mix the two together. They think cultural Evangelicals still uphold the movement’s principles… or even think of them as their principles. Even when they bluntly say they’re not.

To be fair there’s a whole lot of hypocrisy involved in cultural Evangelicalism. So much so, I’m often tempted to call the whole thing just another form of Christianism. Way too many churches are about the trappings of religion, and not the substance thereof. Way too often cultural Evangelicals only care to pass for Christian. Sometimes to appease judgmental fellow Christians… but weirdly, it’s often to appease Christ Jesus himself, so he’ll let them into his kingdom despite their obvious unbelief and irreligion. They wanna do just enough to not wind up outside the gates of New Jerusalem, weeping and gnashing their teeth. So they’ll do just enough, in their eyes… and call themselves Christian, and Evangelical, and figure they’re good. While the rest of the world figures they’re hypocrites.

The Evangelical movement.

EVANGELICALISM i.væn'ʤɛl.ə.kəl.ɪz.əm noun. Having to do with the evangel (i.e. the gospel) or Christianity.

2. [capitalized] One who holds to the Protestant tradition of individual conversion to Christianity (i.e. being born again) through faith. Plus Jesus’s atonement, the bible’s authority, and active evangelism.

3. [capitalized] The mainstream Protestant subculture in the United States.

4. [capitalized] A conservative political movement in the United States which coopts white Evangelicals.

[Evangelical i.væn'ʤɛl.ə.kəl adjective.]

There are multiple definitions of evangelical, as you can see in the definition up top. And most of the time when you hear people talk about Evangelicals, they mean the second definition: “The mainstream Protestant subculture in the United States.”

Yes there are similar “Evangelicals” in other countries. There’s a mainstream Protestant subculture in the United Kingdom, in Nigeria, in South Korea, in Canada, in Brazil, and so forth. In some of these countries they likewise refer to their Protestant mainstream as “Evangelicals.” And no, they don’t mean the other definitions: “Having to do with the gospel,” nor “Individual conversion of Christianity,” nor “Conservative political movement.” Their Evangelicals might not even be those things.

I’ll write elsewhere about mainstream Evangelicalism, but today I’m zeroing in on what I mean by “Evangelical”: The Protestant movement which emphasizes individual conversion.

In other words we aren’t simply born Christian, as you’ll see in countries which practice Christian nationalism or baptize babies. In those countries they presume you’re Christian because everyone in that country is supposed to be Christian; that’s the culture. It’s like Texas—it’s exactly how Texans look at you funny, and doubt your patriotism, when you tell ’em you’re not Christian: Why aren’t you Christian? Texans are Christian! (And don’t let the rampant footbalotry tell you otherwise.)

Evangelicalism arose in that very environment, in Europe, in Christian-nationalist countries where everyone was presumed Christian. The early Evangelicals insisted no, we aren’t Christian by default. Every individual has to choose for ourselves whether to follow Jesus. If we never make that choice, yet call ourselves Christian, we’re really not; we’re hypocrites. The king might call himself Christian, and everyone in the state would refer to him as “your most Christian majesty,” but if he never chose for himself to follow Jesus—and his attitudes and actions, his fruit, visibly demonstrate whether he has or not—he’s a liar who’s only using Christianity as a tool to keep his subjects in line; he doesn’t give a rip about Jesus. He’s an antichrist—although the early Evangelicals would never bluntly say so, ’cause you’d get executed for treason.

In the United States we recognize we’re not Christians by default. (Well, we have some Bible Belt states in denial about that.) Hence the Evangelical movement is kinda our default movement: We recognize every individual has to choose for ourselves—and have the right to choose for ourselves—whether to follow Jesus. We recognize (well, again, some of us; our partisans deliberately overlook this) our leaders might call themselves Christian, but if they lack fruit they’re lying hypocrite antichrists. And since the people, not the leaders, are sovereign, it’s not treason to call ’em out.

Descendants of Abraham, and rocks.

Matthew 3.9, Luke 3.8B.

Sometimes Matthew and Luke match one another word-for-word, or nearly word-for-word. ’Cause the authors of these gospels got their data from the same source, and since it’s not in Mark, it’s not Mark. Is it another gospel?—one we no longer have a copy of? Yes.

It’s a gospel that’s been lost to history… but not really, because Matthew and Luke may very well have quoted it in its entirety, so the ancient Christians didn’t see any point in keeping it. We don’t know whether it’s a narrative gospel like the ones in the New Testament, and it probably wasn’t; it was likely a list of Jesus-sayings like we find in the Gospel of Thomas. Scholars call it Q, from the German word Quelle/“source.”

Anyway, this teaching of John the baptist is one of those Q sayings:

Matthew 3.9 KWL

“Don’t presume to tell yourselves,²

‘We have a father in Abraham.’

I tell you² God can raise up children for Abraham

from these rocks.”

Luke 3.8 KWL

8B“Don’t start to tell yourselves,²

‘We have a father in Abraham.’

I tell you² God can raise up children for Abraham

from these rocks.”

John said it to those religious folks who came to check him out, but had no intention of repenting, ’cause they presumed they had nothing to repent. And of course they did. John immediately zeroed in on it in the words right before this saying: “So produce the worthy fruit of repentance!” Mt 3.8, Lk 3.8 They had little to no good fruit, and God’s people should have abundant good fruit.

And then he told them this bit about not just taking it for granted they were descendants of Abraham ben Terah. And this statement has confused Christians for millennia. The usual way it’s been taught, is by presuming the Jews of John’s day believed they were saved simply by being Jews; by being God’s chosen people.

And while Christians might say John’s right—that no, they’re not saved by simply by being Jews—that’s actually not what a lot of Christians actually believe. You know all those Christians who think it’s perfectly fine for present-day Israelis to do hateful things to the Palestinians? To drive ’em out of their towns so they can move in, to bomb Gaza into oblivion, to invade Lebanon with the hope of expanding Israel’s borders? And American Christians give ’em a free pass because they think it’s fulfilling End Times prophecies, and never you mind about the murdering and raping. “All Israel will be saved,” Ro 11.26 they insist, so if you don’t wanna get on God’s bad side during the End Times, shut up and support Israel. No matter how evil their leaders and soldiers behave.

American hypocrisy aside, let’s get into whether this is the correct way to understand John’s words. (Spoiler: It’s not.)

The Judean senate.

Today, a senate is the upper house of a bicameral legislature. When the American states redid their constitutions in 1775, they patterned their state government like the British Parliament: A lower house for the commoners, and an upper house for the upper class, like the House of Lords. Americans don’t have nobles, but we do have an upper class, and that’s what the states expected their upper houses to consist of: Aristocrats. Appointed—not elected—by the governor or lower house, meant to represent the interests of those who owned a lot of property and wealth in the state.

Exactly like the senate of the Roman Republic and Roman Empire, which is what those states usually named their upper houses.

Over the years, American senates became more democratic. No more appointments (except to fill a vacancy); popular elections. Less about giving aristocrats a say in the government (they got money; they’ll always have a say), and more a check and balance against the lower house. Anybody can now be elected senator, and needn’t be wealthy. The fact they often already are wealthy is a minor issue; when you have many possessions you’ll often be interested in government’s power over that. The fact they often quickly become wealthy indicates a profoundly corrupt system. But these are digressions, and not what this article is about today.

Thanks to democracy the meaning of “senate” gradually changed, which is why any article or talk about senates has to include this introduction. Senates before 1913 were unelected oligarchies. The wealthiest bunched together, and made decisions for the whole country. As, they believed, was their right; they owned it. They paid for it. Their families founded the country. Their ancestors had been senators for generations; senatorial rank was their birthright.

Ancient Judea also had a senate. After the Achæmenid Empire (i.e. the Persian Empire) let Jews return to their homeland, they organized the elders into a governing council, loosely based on the 70 elders of Israel in Moses’s day. Ex 24.1 By the first century this συνέδριον/synédrion (Greek for “seated together,” which the Mishnah translated סנהדרין/sanhédrin—mistakenly called “sanhedrim” by people who think it’s a plural noun, and it’s not) consisted of 71 people: Seventy elders of Judea, supposedly representing the great Judean families; plus the head priest, its נָשִׂיא/naši, “chief,” nowadays translated “president.”

Over time, and exposure to the Roman senate, this council gradually became a Judean senate, likewise consisting of all the wealthy, noble families of Judea. Americans regularly mix it up with our government bodies, and overlay democratic ideas upon it, and that’d be wrong. Or they’ll claim people got into this sanhédrin by merit: They’ll point to Gamaliel bar Gamaliel Ac 5.34 a great Pharisee rabbi and one of Paul’s instructors, Ac 22.3 and figure he was a member because he was such an outstanding scholar… and no, that’s not why. He was there because his family was wealthy; wealthy enough to have their son study the Law all day instead of farming or bricklaying or tentmaking. All of them were there because they were wealthy. It was an unelected oligarchy. Just like the Roman senate.

Elijah proposes a contest.

1 Kings 18.20-24.

Upon finally reappearing to Ahab ben Omri, king of Ephraim, Elijah instructed the king to gather 850 of his Baalist prophets, plus the people of Israel, at Mt. Karmél. I have no idea how many of Ahab’s subjects actually showed up for this; absolute monarch or not, some of ’em may have found the trip impossible. But enough of them showed.

Tradition has it the people climbed Mt. Karmél, ’cause ritual sacrifices (of all religions) were customarily done on high places. On the summit today, you’ll see various monuments to Elijah. But I don’t think the Israelis had to climb to the top; in fact they just needed to be at a location where Elijah could stand slightly above them to be seen and heard.

First thing Elijah did was berate them for their paganism:

1 Kings 18.20-21 KWL

20Ahab reached out to all Israel’s descendants,

and gathered the prophets at Mt. Karmél.

21Elijah approached all the people

and said, “For how long

must you² stagger on two unequal stilts?

If YHWH is your god, follow him!

If Baal, follow him!”

The people answered him not a single word.

Verse 21 literally means “on two branches,” and a number of commentators imagine the Hebrews would’ve used such branches as crutches… and it somehow wouldn’t have worked. I’ve used crutches before, and if you don’t adjust them to the same height, it’s awkward but they still work. The Septuagint isn’t much help; it’s translated, “How long will you walk on both your upper legs?” Elijah’s talking about something which doesn’t work. If you used these branches as peglegs they wouldn’t work so well. Stilts too.

Now, other translations treat this saying as an idiom meaning two opinions, which is why the KJV has, “How long halt ye between two opinions?” And maybe that’s more accurate. But if Elijah was using an idiom, sometimes it’s best to translate it with another idiom: “How long are you people gonna sit on the fence?”

But this didn’t impress the Israelis. They’d been hearing such things from every prophet of the LORD who came out of the chute: “God doesn’t like idolatry. Stop worshipping other gods. Baal is nasty; get away from him. Repent. Follow the Law.” Blah blah blah. They’d tuned it out years ago.

As far as the Israelis were concerned, they had no motivation or reason to turn to the LORD. The king and queen were enthusiastic Baalists, so there’s a strong political motivation to get into their religion. There was also the common public perception that the LORD was a mountain god, a desert god, and an Egypt-smiting god… but for weather and crops, you wanted Baal-Hadad, who wielded the lightning bolts.

Plus the LORD had all these extra rules. Wearing special clothes, eating special foods, following special rituals, stuff about land management and economics which helped out the poor… whereas Baal had little to no rules. And ritual sex with temple prostitutes.

If you want a religion which definitely appeals to the selfish and horny, Baalism’s for you. So when Elijah got up and gave the same speech as usual, it didn’t win him any converts. They’d been staggering on two stilts, but staying up, which was good enough for them. Hebrew festivals one week, Baalist feasts the next.

Same as pagans in the United States, who happily celebrate Christmas and Easter along with the Christians, but when their pagan friends invite them to a Diwali festival, they’ll happily check that out too. It’s so open-minded and “spiritual” of ’em! Never mind how really it’s just superficial—they won’t pick a religion and stick with it. It’s all about what entertains ’em more. As usual, it’s selfishness.

Thy word have I hid in mine heart. [Ps 119.11]

Psalm 119.11 KJV

Thy word have I hid in mine heart,

that I might not sin against thee.

 

When I was a kid I memorized this verse. Helped a lot that musician Dan Whittemore has a song about it, which he played at our church, and I still own a cassette of that album. Years later I discovered a hymn which also has it as its chorus; one of my professors loved to sing it in chapel for us, once a semester. (Brilliant guy, lovable character, but terrible singing voice. He sounded like Chewbacca from Star Wars. Still, God listens to the heart, not the vocal cords.)

In context this verse comes from Psalm 119, the longest psalm (and chapter) in the bible. It’s a massive acrostic. It starts with eight verses which each begin with א/alef, the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet; then the next eight verses begin with the next letter, ב/bet, and so on through the whole alphabet. Only the 1949 Knox Bible (a Roman Catholic translation of the Vulgate, in which Psalm 119 is numbered 118), kept it an acrostic.

Psalm 119 is dedicated to the Law of Moses, and how great and useful it is. It’s a psalm Christians tend to skip. We quote this verse, and a few other memorable verses like it, and ignore the rest. It’s because this passion for the Law… honestly, bugs Christians a little. Too many dispensationalists among us think the Law was nullified by Jesus, so we can ignore it, except for maybe the 10 commandments, plus that one command against homosexuality. We figure grace cancels out the rest. So reading Psalm 119 weirds Christians out, because we look at the psalmist’s passionate love for the Law, and we don’t share that love, and think he’s being kinda gross about it.

But verse 19 is fine. It uses the synonym אִמְרָה/imráh, “utterance, speech, word.” And the bible is God’s word, right?—and we revere the bible. So we’re good… so long that we never read the verse in context and find out the psalmist really means the Law.

Prayers we don’t expect answers to.

When I talk about people who don’t expect God to answer, I’m not necessarily speaking of hypocrites. There are those.

Hypocrites would be the people who offer prayers instead of help; those who wish people to be warm and well fed but won’t offer clothes and food. Jm 2.15-16 Or politicians offer “thoughts and prayers” after a mass shooting, instead of writing laws to control guns. I also wonder how often they actually follow up with prayer—and that’s why they never expect God to answer; they never spoke to him in the first place.

Nope, today I mean the people who don’t believe prayer works. They do pray, but they never, ever expect God to answer. Sometimes because they figure God stopped answering once the bible was complete—so from now on, if you have any God-questions, direct ’em towards the bible, not the Almighty.

And sometimes—and probably more often—they claim prayer doesn’t work that way. They say prayer is meant to be unidirectional. The purpose of prayer isn’t to communicate with God; it’s not to ask him anything, or ask him for anything. Those who make requests of God misunderstand its purpose, get their hopes up that God might hear ’em, but only set themselves up for disappointment. Because God’s not gonna answer them. That’s not why we pray.

Okay, so why do we pray? Well, they explain, that’s the religion. We’re told to pray. Christians pray. If you don’t pray, you’re not following the religion. But don’t expect anything out of the prayer itself; expect it out of the obedience. God wants us to pray, so we do; we’re obedient. That’s the point.

So when they pray, they go through all the motions of talking to God. They address God, praise him, lift up people they think God might want to see us lift up, talk about their own personal religious improvement, add a lot of pious-sounding things which God might like to hear, invoke Jesus’s name, and say Amen. For all the world it looks like they talked to God.

But no, not really. It’s entirely ritual. Or, as any reasonable onlooker might conclude, pure hypocrisy.

No, seriously. If we’re going through all the motions of talking to God, but we’re not really talking to God; we’re just going through the motions because we need to fulfill a religious duty, how is it not hypocrisy? And y’might recall the one thing which, in the gospels, pissed off Jesus more than anything, was hypocrisy. Why on earth would hypocrisy, in any form, be a legitimate part of Jesus’s religion?