In an era of polarized politics, it should come as no surprise that Christianity seems to have become polarized, too.

But that polarization isn’t really new. It has always lurked just beneath the surface, rearing its head in times of conflict and crisis, when two distinct branches of Christianity have the greatest incentive to vocalize their strikingly different approaches to life. One might even say they’re polar opposites. One focuses outward in a quest for power — believing it’s entitled to it — while the other looks inward to foster humility.

One takes an attitude of service; the other seeks domination (or dominion), believing that their status as God’s “chosen people” gives them the right to dictate how the world should run. Conversion at the point of a sword, the Spanish Inquisition, the displacement of “heathen” tribes by European settlers, the 19th-century doctrine of Manifest Destiny ... all are products of this entitled version of Christianity.

There’s an old saying that you can get the Bible to say anything you want it to say, and the proof is in the pudding here. The fact is, the Christians’ sacred texts have strains of both entitlement and humility running all through them, so it’s easy to cherry-pick what suits your own agenda.

The same Jesus who famously counseled his followers to “love thy enemies” and “turn the other cheek” in the face of violence also is said to have declared, “I come not to bring peace, but a sword.”

Smorgasbord

Some time ago, a group of scholars called The Jesus Seminar analyzed the sayings of Jesus to determine, as best they could, which were authentic. They came up with 11 sayings that were most likely to be credibly historical: Turning the other check and showing love for one’s enemies were among them. The saying about the sword was not.   

That’s interesting, but Bible scholars have a far impact on Christian belief than preachers, and the fact is that most Christians in both camps believe the entire Bible is either inerrant or divinely instructive. So that leaves them with choices to make about what they’re going to emphasize and what they’re not, as though they were going through a smorgasbord.

Old Testament edicts against homosexuality may be emphasized, while laws against eating certain kinds of food are brushed under the rug.

Many churches emphasize the Levitical commandment on tithing (giving a tenth of one’s bounty to the priesthood), while ignoring what Paul of Tarsus wrote to the Corinthians that “each one must give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.” Clearly, Paul was in favor of giving, but he explicitly stated it should not be done under compulsion — e.g., as the result of a commandment.

Two approaches

The more basic contrast, however, rests on two conflicting traditions: That of internally focused humility, which is contemplative, and that of bold evangelism, which looks outward.

Both traditions are found in Christian scripture, although the former is more heavily identified with the New Testament. “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild” counseled his followers not to pray in public for the approval of men, but to do so privately, behind closed doors. This would seem to suggest a private, contemplative faith. But Jesus the evangelist told his followers to “go into all the world and preach the good news.”

Jesus warned of wolves in sheep’s clothing and told his followers they would be known by their fruits — not, he implied, by empty words. His kingdom, he explicitly said, was “not of this world.” Again, this would seem to suggest a focus on the substance of a faith built on an inner communion with God that manifests itself as a positive example, which others will be drawn to follow.

The other tradition, however, focuses on a line from Jesus’ parable of the banquet: “Compel them to come in.” There’s the concept of compulsion again. That single line has been used time and again to justify forced conversions, crusades and all sorts of violence against those not of the Christian faith.

So maybe it’s a good idea to take a closer look at the parable where it’s found.

The banquet parable

As it appears in the Gospel of Luke, the parable of the banquet revolves around the master of a house who invites a number of guests to a feast. But they all make excuses and decline, so the man becomes angry and tells his servant to go invite “the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind” instead. Not surprisingly, these folks accept.

The parable is clearly meant to illustrate Jesus’ point, made a few verses earlier in the text of Luke, that someone throwing a feast should not invite their friends or rich neighbors, but should instead invite “the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind.” The wording is exactly the same. And this should be noted: The man in the parable did not follow Jesus’ advice: He invited his friends first. As a result, even when he did invite the poor and afflicted, he still had space left over.

This is where the key verse comes in: The master of the house sends the servant out again “to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house may be full” and concludes with what appears to be the moral of the story: “I tell you, not one of those who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.”

But that conclusion seems out of place for a couple of reasons. First of all, Jesus has already suggested that the point of the story is that his followers should show hospitality to the poor and afflicted. He’s providing moral guidance on how to behave. But the concluding statement seems almost like a non sequitur and makes and entirely different point: It’s a statement of condemnation and isn’t directed toward Jesus’ followers at all, but toward the people who rejected the householder’s invitation. And it also seems to equate Jesus with the householder.

Contradictions

This makes no sense. If Jesus were the householder, why would he ignore his own advice and invite his friends first? He wouldn’t. The most plausible explanation is that the author of Luke created a disjointed narrative by combining several sources — including the Gospel of Matthew, which emphasizes the householder’s (in this version, a king) wrath at those he’d invited to the feast.

Luke suggests in his prologue that he did, in fact, investigate other versions of Jesus’ story before writing his own, and scholars have concluded that he drew on Matthew, Mark and at least one other source in compiling his narrative.

Because there are two “morals to the story,” it’s possible to emphasize one aspect of the parable or another — which is exactly what the two different factions within the faith do.

Christians who focus on humility tend to highlight Jesus’ favorable treatment of the poor and afflicted. They empathize with the pain of the downtrodden, because they look inward and seek to treat others the way they would wish to be treated. They remember that Jesus associated with Samaritans and harlots; they don’t judge these people, lest they themselves be judged.

Many evangelically focused Christians, by contrast, direct their gaze outward and see a world that fails to live up to God’s (their) standards. This, they believe, must change, and they do judge — anyone who stands in their way. Instead of feeling compassion for the poor and afflicted, they fix their attention on the judgment passed against those who refused the householder’s invitation. And they join in that judgment, identifying with the master’s demand that his servant go out and find others so he can “compel them to come in.”

They believe that following Jesus requires them to do the same.

Fallout

When it comes to faith, compulsion can create obedience and order, but it can’t generate heartfelt belief — the sort of belief that’s the objective of those Christians concerned with humility and contemplation. They focus on the inner soul. Outwardly focused Christians, by contrast, focus on obedience, turning their attention to the world and trying to bring it into conformity with their interpretation of “God’s will.” By force if necessary.

Generally, the inwardly focused Christians have tended to gravitate toward monasteries, seminaries and denominations such as the Mennonites and Amish. Outwardly oriented Christians tend to be evangelical, seeking to bring the world into conformity with their values. Mainline denominations, and factions within them, fall at various points along the spectrum I between.

In times of polarization, however, people tend to gravitate toward one extreme or the other, and these times are no exception. Inwardly focused Christians have come down on the side of the poor and afflicted: black men who have been victims of police brutality, people without health care, those in need of public assistance. When they speak of change, they talk about easing the burdens of an afflicted soul. But when evangelical Christians speak of change, they cast their gaze outward, on an external world isn’t in compliance with what they think it should look like.

Trump’s constituency

Is it any wonder, then, that evangelicals have found a hero in Donald Trump, a man whose inner soul is bankrupt but who has declared himself committed to transforming the outer world into what evangelicals think it should be? Into compelling conformity and obedience. Into imposing order through domination.

Johnnie Moore, president of the Congress of Christian Leaders, epitomized this view when he wrote: “I will never forget seeing [Trump] slowly & in-total-command walk … across Lafayette Square to St. John’s Church defying those who aim to derail our national healing by spreading fear, hate & anarchy.”

In total command. That’s what’s important to this branch of the faith.

Trump’s use of a Bible as a prop in a staged appearance at the front door of St. John’s Episcopal Church horrified those in the more inwardly focused Christian camp. He didn’t read from the Bible or even open it; he didn’t offer a prayer or even enter the church. How could he possibly presume to make a credible appeal to Christians?

“We need moral leadership, and he’s done everything to divide us, and has just used one of the most sacred symbols of the Judeo-Christian tradition,” said Mariann Budd, Episcopal bishop of Washington, D.C., whose church served as a backdrop for Trump’s performance.

Budd views Trump’s actions as divisive and antithetical to Jesus’ teaching. But what she sees as divisive is viewed from the other side as separating the wheat from the chaff, the sheep from the goats. Jesus may have said that the kingdom of God is within, which accords with the humble Christians’ perspective, he also said that “whoever is not for me is against me,” which aligns very well with the Trumpian view of things.

In fact, Trump is tearing Christianity apart along with rest of the nation, by giving voice and sanction to the side that seeks division and domination.

Those who support Trump don’t worry about whether he knows what’s inside the Bible because they’re focused externally. As long as Trump holds it up for the world to see, they’re happy. It’s style over substance, which is Trump’s specialty. And, in turn, Trump doesn’t worry about the particulars of theology or ethics, as long as they vote for him.

Christian nation?

Evangelicals love to say the United States is a “Christian nation,” and even this confirms their externally focused outlook: They’re less concerned with individual spirituality than with corporate identity.

Of course, the idea of a “Christian nation” is a fiction that runs directly counter to the Constitution’s guarantee of religious freedom, but that scarcely matters to people who care more that Trump waves a Bible around than whether he reads it. They look at the Constitution the same way; it’s something to be invoked, and only followed if it serves the greater purpose of subjugating the world to (their idea of) the will of God.

Yes, the majority of people in this country still identify as Christians, but that figure is dropping, and what does being a Christian even mean? It’s hard to say. Are we to accept the contemplative, inwardly focused view, as represented in the Beatitudes and Jesus’ “peaceful” sayings, or the outwardly focused template that puts “wheat-and-chaff” divisions and “compelling them to come in” front and center?

These two worldviews seem so distinct from — even antithetical to — each other that it’s hard to believe they belong to the same spiritual tradition. In fact, those on each side seem to have more in common with followers of some other belief systems than they do with others within the Christian fold. What, then, does identifying as Christian even mean?

Polarization

If Christianity, the most widely held belief system in the United States, is so badly splintered against itself, is it any wonder that the nation as a whole is so polarized?

Some people say they’d prefer Russian interference to a Democratic administration. Others shame those who refuse to vote the party line. Just as both types of Christians still identify with Jesus Christ, Americans on both sides of the aisle still identify as Americans.

Until we focus on what we have in common — our shared humanity — none of this will change

It will only get worse.

Stephen H. Provost is a former journalist and author of “Jesus, You’re Fired! How Evangelicals Traded the Kingdom of Heaven for an Earthly Empire,” available on Amazon at www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08RC7L8X1.