I have a prayer…

I pray that Christian nationalists, and those American evangelicals who have come to identify Christianity so closely with nationalism, power, political victory, and cultural control, might someday meet Jesus.

Not the Jesus of campaign slogans. Not the Jesus of the culture war. Not the Jesus who seems perpetually angry about who is using which bathroom, who is marrying whom, or who is crossing which border.

I mean Jesus. The Jesus we actually encounter in Scripture. The Jesus who sounds remarkably like Micah 6:8: do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.

The Jesus who, when given an opportunity to explain what life in the kingdom of God looks like, preached a Sermon on the Mount filled with blessings for the poor, the grieving, the meek, the merciful, the peacemakers, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.

The Jesus who said, “Love your enemies.” The Jesus who told his followers to turn the other cheek. The Jesus who warned us about our own hypocrisy before giving us permission to diagnose everyone else’s. The Jesus who touched people respectable religion had pushed to the margins. The Jesus who ate with sinners. The Jesus who welcomed children. The Jesus who wept. The Jesus who forgave.

The Jesus who repeatedly seemed far more interested in how human beings treated one another than in whether they had successfully established themselves as the righteous people on the right side of every cultural argument.

And then there is Matthew 25. It is difficult to read Jesus’ words about the final judgment and come away thinking that the central question is, “Did you win the culture war?”

Jesus says the question is whether we fed the hungry. Gave drink to the thirsty. Welcomed the stranger. Clothed the naked. Cared for the sick. Visited the prisoner.

And then comes the part that should make all of us uncomfortable: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did it to me.”

That sounds an awful lot like Jesus.

And here’s the awkward thing: Jesus never once mentions abortion in the canonical Gospels. He never once addresses homosexuality or same-sex relationships.

That doesn’t mean those issues are unimportant. Christians can, and do, reason from broader biblical, theological, ethical, and pastoral principles about them.

But Jesus himself spends an extraordinary amount of time talking about love, mercy, forgiveness, humility, justice, reconciliation, generosity, peacemaking, and how we treat people who are vulnerable or excluded.

Maybe we should notice that. Maybe we should be just a little suspicious when a version of Christianity becomes consumed by issues Jesus never explicitly addressed while becoming strangely quiet about the things he talked about constantly.

Maybe this is why I find myself praying for something much more radical than another political victory.

I pray for revival. But not the kind of revival that simply produces more people who vote the right way. Not the kind that fills stadiums, sells books, builds political coalitions, or gives Christians greater cultural influence.

I want a revival that actually makes us more like Jesus. A revival that makes us less obsessed with power and more committed to service. Less interested in domination and more interested in reconciliation. Less concerned with winning and more concerned with loving. Less eager to identify enemies and more willing to see the image of God in people we don’t understand. Less interested in being right and more committed to being Christlike.

That is why I struggle with the increasingly militarized language surrounding some expressions of American Christianity.

Our Secretary of Defense has spoken openly about restoring a “warrior ethos,” emphasizing lethality, deterrence, readiness, and the capacity to defeat enemies. Those are understandable concepts within the vocation of national defense.

Maybe I’m the odd man out, but I don’t want my theology to be shaped by the Pentagon.

I want my theology to be shaped by Jesus.

Jesus did not say, “Blessed are the powerful.” He said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.”

He did not say, “Blessed are those who dominate their enemies.” He said, “Love your enemies.”

He did not say, “Blessed are those who protect their status.” He repeatedly moved toward people who had none.

Jesus’ kingdom is not built through conquest. It is built through love.

That doesn’t mean Jesus was soft. He wasn’t. Jesus could be fierce. He confronted hypocrisy. He challenged religious authorities. He overturned tables. He spoke uncomfortable truths. He demanded radical obedience. But his power was cruciform.

He conquered not by killing his enemies, but by refusing to become like them. That is the kind of spiritual awakening I want.

Not a Christianity that becomes more powerful. A Christianity that becomes more faithful.

Not Christians who look more like America. Christians who look more like Jesus.

Maybe that kind of revival would change more than an election ever could. Maybe it would change the way we welcome immigrants. The way we care for the poor. The way we speak about people we disagree with. The way we respond to prisoners. The way we treat LGBTQ people. The way we care for our neighbors. The way we talk about race. The way we use wealth. The way we wield authority. The way we understand patriotism. The way we practice religion. The way we treat our enemies. The way we understand what it means to be a Christian.

And perhaps, if we experienced that kind of transformation, I could finally stop feeling like I need to introduce myself by saying: “I’m not that kind of Christian.”

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life explaining what Christianity isn’t. I want to be part of a Christianity so recognizably shaped by Jesus that people don’t have to ask.

A Christianity that does justice. Loves mercy. Walks humbly. Feeds the hungry. Welcomes the stranger. Visits the prisoner. Makes peace. Loves its enemies. Forgives extravagantly. Serves sacrificially. And follows Jesus, not because doing so will give us power over the world, but because Jesus showed us what the kingdom of God looks like.

So yes, I have a prayer. A rather audacious one.

I pray that Christian nationalists might meet Jesus. I pray that American evangelicals might meet Jesus. And, if I’m being completely honest, I pray that progressive Christians might meet Jesus too.

Because perhaps the deepest spiritual awakening we need isn’t one more battle for control. Maybe it is the rediscovery of the person at the center of our faith…Jesus.

Not the Jesus we have constructed to serve our politics. Not the Jesus we have recruited to bless our tribe. Not the Jesus we have enlisted in our cultural battles…Jesus.

The one who calls us to love God. Love our neighbor. Love our enemies. Do justice. Love mercy. Walk humbly. And become, in every possible way, more like him.

That is the revival I am praying for.

And maybe someday, if that prayer is answered, I won’t have to say, “I’m not that kind of Christian.”