If I have to be an atheist in order to be a Christian in our culture, so be it.
I will not bow to the counterfeit gods dressed in vestments and slogans, to the idols cloaked in the language of faith yet hollowed of Christ. I will not sell my allegiance to a religion that has become more about preservation than presence, more about control than compassion, more about spectacle than Spirit. If that makes me atheist in their eyes, then it only proves how far they have drifted from the crucified.
From Constantine to Christendom, from councils to crusades, the faith that began as a trembling community of love was chained to empire. Once the cross was painted on shields and hoisted on banners, it ceased to be the scandal of self-giving love and became a tool of conquest. The Edict of Milan gave freedom of worship but also gave the state ownership of Christ. The medieval church, thick with incense and power, crowned kings, raised armies, and built inquisitions, all in the name of Christ who had no place to lay his head.
The Reformation shattered the illusion of one church but did not break the pattern of empire. Luther’s protest unshackled the gospel from indulgence but shackled it to princes who wielded faith for political survival. Calvin forged a Geneva where theology became law, proof that even reformers could build empires of their own. England’s break with Rome was not about fidelity to Christ but the lust of a king. Every supposed return to the gospel became another opportunity for Christ’s name to be co-opted by power.
The American experiment baptized this legacy with democratic vigor. The Puritans came to build a city on a hill but carried the seeds of civil religion. Covenant became nationalism. Manifest Destiny sanctified conquest. Slavery was defended from pulpits. Wars were preached as divine. The flag and the cross were bound so tightly together that to question one was to betray the other. Revivalism birthed industries of conversion and spectacle, evangelism turned into empire-building, and Christianity became less about Christ and more about identity—who belonged and who did not.
And now, in the twenty-first century, we reap the fruit. Christianity in America has been reduced to politics with prayer language. It is the Moral Majority demanding obedience. It is prosperity preachers selling hope as a product. It is megachurch stages mimicking entertainment industries. It is leaders who cover abuse to preserve reputation. It is fear wielded to ensure loyalty. It is nationalism disguised as gospel. It is Christendom in full bloom. And in this soil, fidelity to Christ requires a renunciation so stark it may sound like atheism.
The prophets always sounded like atheists. Jeremiah condemned the temple as a den of robbers. Amos denounced worship as noise when justice was absent. Jesus was accused of being against God precisely because he was God. Kierkegaard in Denmark declared Christendom the enemy of Christ. Bonhoeffer in Nazi Germany dreamed of a religionless Christianity because religion itself had been weaponized into allegiance to Hitler. Each of them knew what I now know: that to follow Christ requires denying the gods who wear his name.
I have lived within these walls. I have stood in pulpits, preached the gospel, counseled the broken, and watched the machine grind on. I have seen young believers crushed under the burden of performance. I have seen women silenced, children manipulated, men shackled by fear. I have seen giving demanded as proof of faith while the poor remained in need. I have seen love twisted into scorekeeping, leadership become control, worship become entertainment. I have smelled the rot of institutions that cared more for preservation than for people. And I confess that for too long, I stayed, trying to mend what was never alive.
But the Christ who called me has always stood outside. He has always been the one overturning tables, breaking sabbaths, befriending sinners, defying the priests. He has always been the one misunderstood, accused, betrayed, crucified by the religious. And if I must stand outside with him, then I will.
This is not atheism of despair but atheism of fidelity. It is refusing the false gods of nationalism, certainty, consumerism, and control. It is standing with Christ against the systems that crucify him anew. It is confessing that the kingdom is not of this world, not bound by empire, not sold by industry, not defended by dogma. It is declaring that Christ does not need Christendom.
So let them name me atheist. Let them call me heretic. Better to be cursed by Christendom than to betray Christ’ truth and message. Better to be cast out of the temples of empire than to miss the presence and essence of the crucified. If I must be an atheist to be a Christian in our culture, so be it. For only in this renunciation do I find Christ as he is, not as he has been branded.
Only in this fire is freedom born.
…to be continued…
This is excellent.