Why Christians Should Not Withdraw from Politics
There isn't a separate sphere to which we can retreat.
Speaking to Radio 4 in the wake of Vice President J.D. Vance’s criticism of Pope Leo XIV, who had been speaking out against the invasion of Iran, Professor Anna Rowlands commented that, “Theology is becoming a mainstream currency of ideas again”. But, she observed, that poses risks – her reading of Pope Leo’s response was that “God should not be co-opted”.
For those of us who remember the years of Government not “do[ing] God”, the recent resurgence in religious rhetoric among politicians is striking. With it comes opportunities – even expectations – for Christian leaders to participate in political debates.
This can be exciting, as it means we can speak to the relevance of Christ to our modern world, but also intimidating – in our politically polarised environment, speaking publicly without making an enemy of at least half the population can feel virtually impossible.
And as theological training rarely covers political topics or even political theology, Christian leaders can feel unequipped to deal with knotty and highly contested political questions.
That’s where this Substack comes in. Writing as a Bishop in the House of Lords and a Social Policy Advisor, our aim is to support Christians in contributing to political debates – particularly those on questions of national identity – by unpacking some of the theories and evidence which underlie them, and which often make them so heated.
Over the next few months, we will look at why public debates have become so polarised, the rise of politicised expressions of Christianity, and how to understand discussions about immigration. As well as exploring some of the psychology and social science behind these topics, we will discuss the pastoral and missional implications for Christian leaders.
But first, we should answer the obvious question: why should Christians engage with politics?
Professor Rowlands had been invited onto Radio 4 to speak about J.D. Vance’s comments of Pope Leo’s criticism of the invasion of Iran - one of which was that the Pope should “stick to matters of morality”. Although at odds with other speeches made by Vance, this is not an uncommon objection – that religion and politics are separate spheres, and religious leaders in particular should not cross the boundary between them because in doing so, they are imposing sectarian views on an otherwise neutral public square.
But, within Christianity, there is no such divide. Given we believe that God created the world and human beings, it follows that the world has a grain to it — a given structure, a set of ways in which things work. Follow that grain, and humans flourish. Go against it, and they suffer. And that grain is not purely a personal matter (how we should order our personal lives) but deeply structural (economic, international, domestic, environmental affairs all included).
This means that when Christians speak into political life, they are not “imposing their faith” on others, in the sense of making people Christians against their will. Rather, we seek to bear witness to realities which society is bumping up against, whether it acknowledges their source or not.
According to St Aquinas, politics is part of this created order. Even before the Fall, he argues, human beings would have needed some form of law and government — not because people would have needed restraint, but because human beings are by nature political animals who reach their proper fulfilment only in common life with others. This leads to Aquinas’s most important political concept: the bonum commune, the common good.
This argument from the creation order is built into Catholic Social Teaching, which applies Scripture, the work of the Church Fathers, and papal encyclicals to issues affecting modern society.
But it can also be found in Anglican theology. For instance, in The Desire of the Nations, Oliver O’Donovan begins from what he takes to be the core Christian confession: that Jesus Christ is Lord. If that is true, then there is no territory over which Christ does not have authority.
O’Donovan even suggests that drawing a distinction between politics and religion is itself a theological claim, as it implies that Christ’s rule applies to a limited domain, and other “lords” legitimately hold sway over others. And, he adds, that it is a division drawn from Christianity itself, but based on a misunderstanding. The word secular comes from the Latin saeculum, meaning “this present age” — the time between Christ’s first and second comings, in which earthly political authority is legitimate precisely because it is temporary, a provisional arrangement until the kingdom comes in fullness. That does not mean Christians should not engage in politics – but they should do so, bearing in mind its impermanence.
After all, what does it mean to be “religious”? Surely, as disciples of Christ it means to bring all areas of our life – not just our Sunday mornings – under His authority. In a similar way, Professor Luke Bretherton broadens out the definition of “politics” – rather than referring simply to elections, policies, laws, Bretherton conceptualises it as “the activity of neighbouring, negotiating a common life between friends, strangers, enemies, and the friendless.”
“When I meet someone I disagree with, dislike, find strange or threatening, I can do one of four things. I can kill them. I can create a structure of domination so I can control them. I can make life so difficult that they run away. Or I can do politics. That is to say, I can form, norm, and sustain some kind of common life — amid asymmetries of power, competing visions of the good, and my own feelings of fear or aversion — without killing, dominating, or causing them to flee.”
Although there is sometimes within Christianity a temptation to dominate or drive away those with whom we disagree (which we will discuss in a future blog), for most of us, it seems clear that “doing politics” is the most constructive, and most faithful, choice.
Against all this, there is a serious theological argument stretching back to the Anabaptists, which says that the way the Church should seek the transformation of society is by being the Church – living visibly and radically as a foretaste of the Kingdom of God. If the Church is known for forgiving enemies, sharing possessions, refusing violence, and welcoming strangers, then it will provide a compelling witness to the surrounding world.
This is, of course, exactly what the Church should be. And it offers an important reminder to those of us interested in the intersection of faith and politics that our advocacy and public speech should not outrun our practice. The early Church did not begin by telling the Roman Empire how it should order itself, but by practising the hospitality, equality, and compassion which it believed Christ had taught and the Holy Spirit made possible.
But, in our modern context, as churches serve their communities in practical ways – whether that’s in running a community pantry, a debt advice service, or supporting those experiencing homelessness – it is almost impossible to avoid asking the question: why? Why are so many people struggling to make ends meet? Are there laws, structures, and policies that are at fault? And, if I am to take seriously the command to love my neighbour and to do unto others as I would have them do unto me, should I not seek to prevent suffering from happening in the first place? To address the cause and not just the symptoms?
We think there is also potential to reframe political engagement – to consider it not just as a duty or obligation, but as a gift. Almost no Christian in almost any age of the Church has had what we as writers and you as readers have: the right to vote, the freedom to organise and to protest, the ability to speak publicly against those in power without fearing for our safety. These do not come naturally to the human condition – they are fragile, recent, and, given the long view of history, genuinely remarkable, and hard-won, privileges.
And, in regarding these rights and freedoms as gifts, we should consider The Parable of The Talents (Matthew 25:14–30). In Jesus’ parable, a master (representing God) entrusts three servants with varying portions of his wealth and then departs. Two put what they have been given to work and, even though one sees a larger return than the other, both are commended. The third, out of fear of any risk, buries his talent in the ground and returns it untouched when the master comes home. He expects to be praised for safeguarding the master’s money, but he is instead strongly rebuked.
If those of us who have democratic privileges that much of the rest of the world, and people throughout history, envy and would even risk their lives for, who are we to bury them in the ground? We might hope that withdrawal is regarded as faithfulness, but Jesus’ parable suggests otherwise.
Which brings us back to Professor Rowlands and her warning that God should not be co-opted. The risk is indeed real. When theology becomes a mainstream currency of ideas, it can easily be corrupted — deployed to bless positions at odds with the rest of Scripture, reduced to slogans, discarded as the political weather changes.
That is part of why we wanted to start this Substack. In the current climate, many Christians will be drawn into political arguments, whether they like it or not. Faced with similar fears to the third servant in the Parable of the Talents – fears of saying the wrong thing, of controversy, of raising one’s head above the parapet, all of which are understandable and even appropriate – it could be tempting to withdraw from the public square completely. We want to help equip Christian leaders so that they use their gifts – wisely, and with humility – for the common good. We hope you will join us.