Paul, Powers, Principalities, and the Problem with Satan

http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Pentecost/BProp16_RCL.html

In my earliest memories of Vacation Bible School (VBS), I sat with the other young children in the chapel of our large Baptist church, where other kids poured in the doors and filled the pews behind us. The room buzzed with the incomparable energy of children on summer break, and noise filled the space. The church organist began to play, the room quieted to a soft hum, and the teachers passed out pieces of paper with the words to a few songs. The organist transitioned into a familiar pounding march of a song, and we took to our feet, launching into the beloved hymn, “Onward Christian Soldiers.” We sang out, throwing ourselves with gusto into the refrain each time it came around.

To this day, the bulk of the first stanza pours easily from the deepest part of my memory well, along with “Rock of Ages,” “I’ll Fly Away,” “Blessed Assurance,” and “How Great Thou Art.” Some of the theology in those old hymns no longer squares with my own, but I’ll sing them out to this day because I love the melodies and the nostalgia for certainty and confidence that come with them. “Onward Christian Soldiers” stays at the top of that list, even if singing it fills me with conflict.

The conflict I feel today replaced the confusion I felt as a child. We sang that hymn every morning of VBS, and the tune hit its mark, making me proud to be a Christian and headed to the battlefields of spiritual war in the name of Christ. But as the words formed in my mouth, so did the questions in my mind: Why were we singing such a happy song about war? Did we mean literal war? Would I have to pick up a gun someday in the name of Jesus? And wasn’t Jesus the King of Peace? In which case, why in the world would we belt out a tune about war?

This Sunday, we find roots for our militaristic Christian language in our selection from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. He speaks of “the whole armor of God…the belt of truth…the breastplate of righteousness…the shield of faith…the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit.” In our current American context, with its love of guns and politics, I easily imagine literal armor emblazoned with the words “FAITH, “SALVATION,” and “RIGHTEOUSNESS,” written over a composite image, including the US flag and the cross of Christ in some combination. The other day, I sat behind a car at a red light that bore a bumper sticker of a newly created Christian Nationalism flag, complete with stars, stripes, and the cross.

Paul did not live in America, with such a strange marriage of patriotism and faith, and could not have imagined his words conjuring such images. His Christian community practiced pacifism in the face of actual religious persecution meted out by sword-wielding Roman soldiers. He looked upon the iconic armor of the centurions and guards as symbols of an evil regime, rooted in the powers and principalities of this world, not in the eternal strength of God. He called upon the symbols of their power to encourage and empower his readers to metaphorically protect themselves with the virtues of God; each piece of armor he mentions is of a protective nature, except the sword of the Spirit, which he clarifies is “the Word of God.”

Paul lived under the rule of one of the greatest empires of all time. He witnessed firsthand the power and corruption that inextricably combine in any system that grows larger than the sum of its parts. The evil Paul saw and described grew out of the dragon of domination, an animal that becomes nearly autonomous and unstoppable when an institution expands and evolves unchecked by a shared moral compass. He could not save his followers from the pain inflicted by this earthly beast but could equip them with the hope of eternal salvation, granting them spiritual protection in the form of truth and righteousness. We read a similar encouragement in Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” (4:16)

Though we do not face daily physical or psychological persecution from an empire determined to extinguish us, I find Paul’s words resonate with us still. When a large group of people begin to move in one direction, either physically or ideologically, we easily find ourselves moving along with it. The herd generates its own mindset, somehow nearly independent of its constituent members. Thoughts bounce from one brain to the next, evolving as they go, with no one mind ensuring a rational process. The ideas grow and begin to breathe independently, flying along with the hive mind above the logic of the individuals below. The next thing we know, we repeat words we have heard several times before realizing they do not align with our core beliefs.

Paul tells us that by beginning our day and our thought processes by grounding ourselves first in the mind and love of God, we don the armor of Christ to protect our spirits from being swept away in the madness. I find this word especially important amid a turbulent election season. If I begin with politics and then try to make room for my faith, my faith morphs under the corrupt influence of worldly political machinations. If I begin with faith and then align my politics accordingly, my spirit and integrity remain mostly intact, save for my passionate outbursts and errors.

“Onward Christian Solider,” I remind myself, but in the subversive way of Paul’s rendering. To begin first with faith, I must fight my impulse to dose myself with social media before I dose myself with prayer and meditation. I fail most days but wake the next with hopefulness. The closer we get to the election, the easier I find it to read first the emails from writers and spiritual guides and leave the daily news roundups for later in the day, maybe after two cups of coffee, a walk, and a conversation with a loved one.

Paul tries to arm us with the tools needed not to become swept away in corporate, cultural fervor, but anchor soundly into the still small voice of God. Holding to something quiet as the loud shouts of the concerns of this world surround us feels like an impossible feat. Yet, we have two thousand years of examples in the lives of the saints who marched ahead, faithful soldiers armed with the love of God. I hope to better align myself with the marching masses of the communion of saints rather than allowing the temporary passions of our immediate days carry me away.

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