Oct 18 | Reclaiming Church Militant (Letters from the Coast)

Every summer at a parish where I once worked, the organist would arrange for a series of Sundays where the hymns were all “by request.” Parishioners could fill out a form with their favourite hymns and be relatively sure to hear them throughout the summer Sundays.

Every year, without fail, one parishioner requested “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” and every year I would stumble through it with clenched teeth.

Despite the fact that I’m a Millennial who grew up in a mainline church, I do remember singing this hymn as a kid. It always seemed bizarre, a relic from a time utterly foreign to me. Now, to a proudly post-Christendom whippersnapper who is pretty vehemently anti-military industrial complex, it grinds my gears even harder.

North America already did the “recruit people from the pulpit” thing in the early twentieth century, and it gave us a huge drop in congregational numbers in those thousand-yard-stare Sundays immediately after the armistice of World War I. Those who managed to clamber out of the disease-riddled trenches resented the preachers who had encouraged them and their friends to spill their blood (and split their lungs with mustard gas) for their country in muddy fields far from home, and turned their backs on it for a long time.

It was much later, after World War II, that North American veterans and their families sought peace in churches again. The church, having learned its lesson, attempted to defang itself and become more of a sanctuary for the soul than a foundry for refining disciples.

“Church Militant” had become “Church Comfortable,” probably even “Church Complacent.”

This is not to say that the church of the ‘50s did not have strong disciples within; far from it. But over the years there was a slow uncoupling of one’s faith from one’s political stance and everyday public life. Churches were full, but of whom? Good people who helped their communities – never to be scorned, but primarily representing the baseline requirement for responsible citizenship.

Nowadays, those very people lament the lack of children and youth among them, and ask, “What went wrong?” At the parish I mentioned above, the constant refrain was, “Did you know we used to have the largest Sunday School in Canada?”

That’s nice, I would think. What happened to all those children?

Where are they now?

 

Later, of course, Evangelical and Fundamentalist churches began to thrive in the ‘70s. The quiet and polite theo-psychology of the mainline churches was not proving enough to fill souls hungry for transcendence. Folks wanted not only a sense of an unseen world but a politically relevant faith with clear answers as the world shifted on its axis into a time of questioning and deconstruction after the roiling ‘60s. Rules were strict, much was demanded, comfort was sacrificed, and magical metaphysics like faith healing and speaking in tongues were welcomed.

Fighting and challenging sin was trendy, but over time became a tremendous source of abuse and alienation. The church demanded people make choices they couldn’t make. While it encouraged people to once again wed their faith to their politics, it also began a very dangerous dance with power.

We all know where it ended.

 

“Church Militant” is not just a phrase I invented to make a point in the cheeky statement above. It is actually part of a concept called “the three states of the church” prevalent in Roman Catholic theology. The three states are: Church Militant, Church Penitent, and Church Triumphant.

Church Militant refers to the earthly church, the one which struggles against the “principalities and powers” of this world. Many Christians interpret this adversary in metaphysical terms, as Satan or sin or the works of darkness.

Although my beliefs on evil have evolved significantly in the last few years, I don’t think this metaphysical interpretation is sufficient on its own to describe the struggles of Church Militant. Principalities and powers are not merely metaphysical, but also decidedly physical. All around us exist poverty, violence, greed, material as well as spiritual warfare. All around us exist narratives which compete with and even seek to destroy God’s narrative of a world made holy in the shadow of the Cross. It is against these powers that we are called to struggle and strive. God gives us a choice when we are confronted with The Adversary (the actual meaning of the word Satan), and it is this choice in which we can claim righteousness.

And perhaps, also, we are called to struggle internally as an institution, to constantly be battling our own inclination to be power-hungry and exclusive.

As an Anglican, and especially as an Anglican of Celtic, Gaelic, and Anglo-Saxon ethnicity, I carry within me a reverence for our ancestors, especially the saints. These are the members of the Church Triumphant, the ones whose struggles have ended and now take their place at God’s side. These are wedded to the earthly church, through the work of Christ. They give me strength as I strive. They polish my armour and wipe my tears. They raise their voices with me through the fray.

But I hear a different hymn than “Onward, Christian Soldiers.”

Advancing through the lines, bearing not a battle standard but only my own wounded flesh, I murmur to myself words from John Bell of the Iona Community:

“The narrowness of vision and of mind, the need for other folk to serve my will

And every word and silence meant to hurt: these I lay down.

Of those around in whom I meet my Lord, I ask their pardon and I grant them mine,

that every contradiction to Christ’s peace might be laid down.”

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