Diversity and the Ends of the Earth

I recently watched a video1 in which the speaker described diversity as something harmful—likening it to poison or cancer. His argument was that diversity “doesn’t work” in contexts like marriage or business because communication breaks down. But what he ultimately described wasn’t a failure of diversity; it was a failure of communication.

Yes, some kinds of diversity—such as speaking different languages—can create significant challenges. But that’s not what most conversations about diversity are actually addressing. Instead, they focus on differences of race, culture, citizenship, religion, and more. And while language can play a role, these issues must be understood within the broader context of human relationships and how we choose to engage one another.

The speaker in the video also appealed to Christian identity as if Christian sameness should be the foundation of unity—yet he offered no Scriptural grounding for this view. No teachings of Jesus. No reference to the overarching story of God’s people. Only personal opinion.

That disconnect made me curious to revisit what the Bible actually shows us about diversity.

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The Paradox of Christian Nationalism: When Law and Grace Collide

At the heart of American democracy lies a foundational principle: the rule of law. The United States operates under a constitutional framework where no individual—not even the president—stands above the law. This commitment distinguishes our republic from monarchies and dictatorships, establishing a system where every citizen, regardless of status or power, is equally bound by legal standards. This framework has proven essential to maintaining ordered liberty and protecting individual rights.

Christianity, by contrast, centers on something fundamentally different: relationship rather than regulation. The Christian faith emphasizes a personal connection with God that then naturally produces transformed behavior—what Scripture calls “good fruit.” This is a crucial distinction: good works flow from relationship, not the other way around. Many Christians express this as the doctrine that we are not “saved by works”—that no amount of rule-following can establish or earn our standing with God. The relationship precedes and produces the behavior, not vice versa.

This principle appears most clearly in Paul’s letter to the Galatians, where he vigorously opposed those who insisted that adherence to Jewish ceremonial law was necessary for salvation. While Paul’s immediate concern was a specific set of religious regulations, the underlying principle extends far beyond that historical context: legalistic compliance cannot create spiritual life. Authentic faith transforms from the inside out, not from the outside in.

Of course, this doesn’t mean Christians are exempt from civil law. Believers are called to be model citizens, obeying legitimate governmental authority as an expression of obedience to God. But this obedience is an outflow of an already-established relationship with God, not the means of creating one. The motivation differs entirely from legalism: Christians obey laws not to earn divine favor, but because they already possess it.

Christians have also historically engaged with legal systems to advance human flourishing. The abolition of slavery, efforts to care for the poor and the establishment of social safety nets, child labor laws, civil rights protections—these required legislative action, and Christians often led these efforts. Since Christ calls his followers to demonstrate God’s love through tangible care for others (the call to love one’s neighbor), pursuing just laws becomes a natural expression of faith. This engagement with law is about loving neighbors, not achieving salvation.

These two frameworks—American constitutional law and Christian theology—occupy separate spheres. The United States is built on the rule of law, and Christians rightly work within this legal system to serve others and promote justice. Yet this civic involvement remains categorically distinct from the gospel message of grace.

Christian nationalism, however, collapses these separate categories, fusing them in ways that distort both. It seeks to encode specific theological positions into civil law, transforming doctrinal beliefs into legally mandated behavior. Gender ideology becomes enforced through legislation. Public display of religious texts like the Ten Commandments becomes a legal requirement. Public prayer becomes a governmental function.

While proponents may not explicitly claim these measures “save” anyone, the practical effect reinforces a fundamentally legalistic message: that proper behavior and outward conformity define authentic Christianity. The public rhetoric surrounding these efforts often confirms this, emphasizing moral compliance as the marker of genuine faith. People absorb the implicit message that Christianity is primarily about following the right rules, displaying the right symbols, and enforcing the right behaviors on society.

This tendency appears most clearly in Christian nationalism’s heavy reliance on Old Testament law and its preoccupation with behavioral compliance as the measure of right standing with God. The Old Testament economy indeed operated under a legal framework where obedience to detailed regulations governed Israel’s covenant relationship with God. But this was always intended as a temporary system pointing toward something better. Christian theology teaches that Christ fulfilled this legal system, ushering in a new covenant based on faith and grace rather than law. Yet Christian nationalism frequently gravitates back toward Old Testament categories, emphasizing legal codes, punishments, and external conformity over internal transformation and grace.

The consequences of this conflation are serious and multifaceted. First, it systematically corrupts the Christian message itself, gradually shifting the faith from a gospel of grace to a burden of legalism. People inside the church begin to believe that Christianity is fundamentally about correct behavior and political alignment rather than about transformation through relationship with God. The message that drew people to faith in the first place—that God offers freely what we could never earn—gets obscured beneath layers of cultural and political requirements.
Second, this approach profoundly alienates those outside the faith. When Christianity becomes identified with political power, legal coercion, and cultural warfare, it creates barriers that make the actual message of grace nearly impossible to hear. Non-Christians see a religion that seems primarily concerned with control rather than love, with winning rather than serving, with power rather than humility. This cultural Christianity drives people away from the very message that might genuinely transform their lives.

The tragic irony is that Christian nationalism, despite its stated goal of advancing Christian faith and values, actually undermines both. By substituting legal enforcement for spiritual transformation, it produces neither true justice nor genuine faith. By collapsing law and grace into a single framework, it distorts both. And by alienating both believers and non-believers from the authentic gospel message, it works directly against the faith’s true mission.

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Beyond Antioch

Recently, I’ve been part of some conversations where Acts 16:5 has been used as an encouragement for pursuing church growth. Here’s the verse:

“So the churches were strengthened in the faith, and they increased in numbers daily.”  Acts 16:5 (ESV)

It is indeed an uplifting passage, describing churches that were flourishing both spiritually and numerically. But the natural question is: what was happening that led to this kind of growth—and what might it teach us about how the Spirit can still work among us today?

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False Witness and the Politics of Blasphemy

Revelation pulls no punches in unveiling how empire works against God’s kingdom. The dragon’s chosen servants are not only soldiers and governors, but storytellers—mouthpieces who shape the imagination of the world. Revelation 13 portrays the beast rising from the sea, armed not only with power but with propaganda:

And the beast was given a mouth uttering haughty and blasphemous words, and it was allowed to exercise authority for forty-two months. It opened its mouth to utter blasphemies against God, blaspheming his name and his dwelling, that is, those who dwell in heaven. Revelation 13:5–6 (ESV)

Here we learn something critical: empire’s greatest weapon is not its armies, but its lies. It reshapes God into its own image and invites the world to worship the counterfeit.

Blasphemy is not merely swearing or mockery—it is the slander of God’s character, the peddling of false testimony about who He is and what He desires. It is the beast taking the holy name of God upon its lips and twisting it into a justification for its violence, its greed, its lust for power. And this, Revelation insists, is not an ancient relic but an enduring temptation for every age. The beast still speaks.

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Seeing the Mark of the Beast

In the book of Revelation, the “mark” or “number” of the beast has often been used throughout history to target particular people, movements, or institutions. In many end-times interpretations, someone is linked with the number of the beast as if Revelation were predicting a specific person, event, or organization. The number itself—666—most likely refers to Nero, the cruel Roman emperor who was the first to really persecute Christians. Although Nero died before Revelation was written, rumors persisted that he might return.

Yet, given the symbolic nature of Revelation, the number was probably never meant to point to a single individual alone. Instead, it seems to represent recurring spiritual forces—patterns of evil—that can appear in many forms throughout history.

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Exploring This Lukewarm Empire

The church in the West—particularly in America—seems to have lost its way. It’s not advancing the Kingdom as it should. Some time ago, I was drawn to the Letter to the Laodiceans in the book of Revelation. Among the seven messages to the churches, this one is perhaps the most well-known, largely due to its use of the term “lukewarm.” That image powerfully captures a church that has drifted from its purpose, and it struck me that the critique and counsel Jesus offers there might still apply to us today.

Jesus’ commands in the letter are metaphorical rather than prescriptive. They don’t give us a checklist of actions, but they do serve as starting points for prayerful reflection and seeking. Although the letter was originally addressed to a congregation, Jesus ends it with a personal call: “If anyone hears my voice and opens the door…” That makes it clear that His appeal is not limited to a collective response but is extended to individuals willing to listen and respond.

Of course, this is just one of the seven letters to the churches. Each contains a different mix of commendation, correction, and encouragement. Still, the letter to Laodicea, as the final message, feels in some ways like a summary—a culminating call to attention.

Over the years, I’ve spent time meditating on the metaphors in this letter. It became increasingly clear that to grasp its full meaning—especially when compared and combined with insights from the other six letters—one must develop a deeper understanding of the book of Revelation as a whole. This is no small task. Revelation’s rich symbolic language and its distance from us in both time and culture make it a difficult book to fully interpret. Still, even the early stages of study have opened up fresh insights. I believe there’s fruitful ground here for ongoing spiritual discovery.

At a broad level, Revelation can be seen as portraying the conflict between the kingdom of God and worldly empires—essentially satanic in nature—that oppose it. Its vivid, symbolic imagery reveals the spiritual forces at work behind physical events. The negative powers, led by the dragon (Satan), are aligned with idolatry, greed, blasphemy, sexual immorality, abuse of power, and all that resists God’s purposes. These forces attack God’s people—sometimes through violent opposition, but often through subtle deception.

Though the cultural forms have changed, these same spiritual battles continue today. The false gods we face may not demand animal sacrifice, but they show up in the worship of wealth, self, and sensuality. Part of studying Revelation is to uncover spiritual truths that echo the teachings found throughout Scripture. It’s not just about decoding apocalyptic imagery—it’s about learning how to live faithfully in the midst of ongoing spiritual conflict.

God’s faithful people, both then and now, are called to witness against these forces. This witness takes two forms: the lived witness of actions aligned with the kingdom of God, and the verbal witness that proclaims His truth. The battle, at its heart, is spiritual. Satan’s weapon is deception, and the church’s counter-weapon is faithful witness. Along the way, believers may be misled, attacked, or worn down—but Revelation shows that victory belongs to God. The unfolding of that victory gives us insight into the challenges we face and what faithfulness looks like in the meantime.

This is the part I find most compelling. I’m seeking clarity on what this spiritual battle looks like today, what the church’s role is, and—most personally—what my role is within it. Along those lines, much of the future work of this blog will focus on exploring the spiritual themes in Revelation, lining them up against the current world, and seeking ways to witness more effectively.

The Hidden Idolatry of Modern Christianity

In Christianity, idolatry is traditionally understood as the act of worshiping something or someone other than the one true God. Worship, in this context, typically implies acts of adoration, dependence, and prioritization. This definition often conjures images of carved idols or golden statues—physical objects revered in place of God. Yet, the New Testament broadens this concept, equating greed with idolatry. This perspective invites us to rethink idolatry’s implications for our spiritual lives and interactions with the world around us.

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Pentecost and the End of Slavery

Pentecost is often seen to be the start of the church, as the Holy Spirit filled the small band of believers. Sometimes focus is placed on the result of the Spirit’s filling, namely speaking in tongues, as an indication of the presence of the Spirit. Others see the primary impact to be the fellowship that existed shortly after this event as more and more people entered the community.

In this blog, we’ve looked at the effectiveness of Peter’s speech, how it was the first example of Jesus’ statement that the Father would give us words to speak of Him, and how this example was followed by others in Acts, modeled by Paul’s prayer requests, and described in the theology in his letters.

I think that there’s another way of looking at the Spirit’s effects in the lives of the early believers, and that is to consider the difference between freeing slaves and ending slavery that I discussed earlier. In that discussion, slavery was used as both a literal problem and as a metaphor for the many ways that people are subject to the kingdom of this world, rather than the kingdom of God. The idea is that, while it is good to free slaves, to help people whenever we can in whatever ways we can, it is better to remove the institutions of slavery completely.

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Lukewarm Tools

On its own, humanity lives enslaved to a worldly system of excessive pleasure, greed, and selfish pride.

Jesus proclaimed freedom, the coming of the kingdom of God, in which such slavery would no longer exist. All forms of slavery that could not be eliminated through natural means would be eliminated as He sent His disciples out to announce this good news and bring about the kingdom, changing the nature of the world. To be effective at this work, the disciples learned to be channels through which the Spirit worked to change hearts, not just minds.

From the beginning, Christians followed this call in ways that overtook empires and changed society, altering the very fabric of Western civilization. When freeing slaves looked like healing people, ending slavery looked like establishing hospitals, advancing medicine. Reading and writing became ubiquitous as formal education was made widely available even up to university levels, and the institution of literal slavery itself was dismantled. All these are examples of the Spirit working through those who had more in order to help those with less.

Today, however, we have gone back to natural means for establishing God’s rule, relying on human capabilities. Through things like rationality, organization, and legalism, we have worked to change circumstances and behavior. This seems successful as we continue to free slaves, but falls short of both Jesus’ command and the early church’s example of ending slavery. Many of our efforts today reach only some of those who need to hear of God’s love, and so limit the degree to which the kingdom can advance.

Perhaps as Western society flourished as a largely Christian place, we became complacent to the spiritual needs around us. Perhaps we have allowed ourselves to feel good about freeing the occasional slave while leaving slavery itself intact. However, being a good steward of God’s grace means bringing reconciliation to society, not just individuals.

So, while we’re patting ourselves on the back for how many slaves we’ve freed, Jesus stands at the door, calling us out of lukewarmness with offers of His Spirit.

Creating God

There is a popular quote that expresses the ease with which we can deceive ourselves when it comes to understanding God:

“You can safely assume you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” ― Anne Lamott11

The quote makes the point that we tend to map our own preferences and biases onto God so that our image of Him is really just a projection of our own selves.

Although this quote was mainly about our relationships and how we think of other people, it seems the principle can also be applied elsewhere. In fact, there is probably a danger of mapping many of our own theological perspectives onto God, not just how we think about people.

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