[1] Amidst a society wrenched apart by forces hell-bent on splintering the body politic as well as the Body of Christ, Amy Carr and Christine Helmer have co-written Ordinary Faith in Polarized Times which offers a theological framework for helping Christians engage in moral discernment and “justice-seeking.” For the authors, the concept of Christian identity and belonging is the basis for an “ordinary faith” that engages in community dialogue. Rather than coming to the table wearing the mantle of a particular party or political ideology, Carr and Helmer argue that Christians must start from their baptismal identity as children of God.
[2] Both Carr and Helmer are well-established and respected scholars of Martin Luther and Lutheranism. Naturally, then, the book is Lutheran-centric, which is a strength for those who are seeking an approach to today’s divisiveness using the lens of Lutheran theology. Their explanations of concepts such as justification by grace, the relationship between grace and works, Luther’s “Two Kingdoms” theory, and his understanding of the sacraments are solid. These provide a sound foundation for their approach to politics and faith in the public square.
[3] Would the book be useful for those outside of a Lutheran context? As a Lutheran myself who has taught students from various denominations within a Disciples of Christ seminary for eight years, I would be hesitant to say yes. What the authors name as a “Christian” foundation is more of a Lutheran Christian foundation, one not necessarily shared by other Christian schools of thought. Thus, the book would be most useful for readers who assent to the basis of Lutheran theology for their engagement in public issues.
[4] The book is divided into six chapters. The first gives the overview of their premises and goals for the book, the latter of which is to use their theological frameworks to “reduce the temperature of animosity between Christians of different moral convictions, so that real mutual conversation can transpire, and conflict be transformed from ‘high’ to ‘constructive’” (8). The second chapter explains what justification by faith is and why it matters today. Chapter Three builds on this theological framework to show how justification by faith connects with justice-seeking regarding current issues. Chapter Four is where they test their framework using the case study of abortion. In Chapter Five, they explore the concept of “freedom” as it is understood regarding Christian participation in politics. The final chapter discusses the spiritual discipline of ordinary faith and what it means to live into Jesus’s Beloved Community through practices of de-centering and re-centering.
[5] I must admit that the first chapter raised several concerns for me. These concerns were allayed once I moved further into the book, but I will note the points that gave me pause. One was their assumption that all people desire fairness and equality. “Indeed, who among us does not have dreams for a just society?” they ask (2). A simple scroll through far-right extremist social media accounts shows us that there is a certain segment of the population who want anything but a just society. In fact, there are people in some Lutheran congregations who are steeped in this ideology.
[6] Another issue is with the terminology. The authors insist that all politically active Christians, no matter their ideology, believe “they are faithfully following Christ in trying to establish visions of justice in the world” (3). But what do the authors mean by the word “justice”? It would have been helpful if they had clearly defined what they meant by the term at the book’s outset and distinguished it from others’ definitions and uses. In chapter three, the authors do discuss the “messy question of justice,” noting the many ways in which theology and politics are deeply connected and intertwined. “The many sides to the embodied forms that the body of Christ takes in the world means that justice-seeking is inevitably a tangled, challenging, and creative process,” they state (65). Yet, they do not define precisely what justice is.
[7] Do they mean retributive justice (punishment)? Distributive justice (distribution of goods and burdens)? Restorative justice (compensation for past wrongs to reestablish relationships)? Some hear the term justice and think it has to do with individual morality, the proper behavior of persons. But it seems that the authors are referring to social justice, which is concerned with the ethics of systems, institutions, and society rather than merely individuals. This type of justice pertains to matters of governance and human rights, the conditions that enable fairness in society. In this sense, justice has deep biblical roots in the words mishpat and tsĕdaqah, Hebrew terms meaning “justice and righteousness” that are often paired together in the Hebrew Scriptures.
[8] The reason this clarification of terms is important is because the authors assume that when it comes to justice-seeking, all Christians are starting from a “shared identity in Christ” (5), even when they arrive at different conclusions about policies. But as scholars such as Andrew Whitehead (American Idolatry: How Christian Nationalism Betrays the Gospel and Threatens the Church, Brazos Press, 2023), Emerson and Bracey (The Religion of Whiteness: How Racism Distorts Christian Faith, Oxford Press, 2024), and others have noted, it is precisely the distorted Christology of white Christian nationalism that prevents such a shared identity.
[9] Yet, the authors appear hesitant to name this reality head-on. In fact, despite their solid use of The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s faith-informed activism for racial justice, they side-step the use of the term white Christian nationalism, preferring to use instead the term “ethnocentric Christian nationalism” (246). The authors themselves are White, and the Lutheran denominations in which they locate themselves are more than 90 percent White. It’s also noteworthy that most of the scholars they engage with in the book are White and European. And their attempt to describe the different narratives undergirding the conflicts around Critical Race Theory (179-191) may strike some as trying to appease both sides of the debate.
[10] Such an approach is concerning because the authors use “both-sides-ism” language in the first chapter that could be perceived as erasing the realities faced by those who they put in the “woke” camp. “The ‘woke’ camp, like the ‘Christ versus the world’ camp, claims the vantage point of purity,” they state (20). This statement is problematic because those who are trying to wake people up to the sinful systems that are causing suffering are concerned with much more than “purity.” Perhaps the authors have in mind only the progressive White Christians they have encountered in Lutheran churches who “reduce justice-seeking to upholding the idea of one’s own or one’s group’s moral purity” (28). But Lutherans of color would likely say that while one side is concerned with preserving the purity of a (White) way of life, the other side is concerned with surviving with their lives, rights, and safety intact.
[11] Despite these critiques, Carr and Helmer shine in the chapter on abortion. I have never encountered such a thoroughly researched, nuanced, and respectful engagement of the theological, biblical, moral, and ethical complexities surrounding this incredibly divisive issue. Not only do they accurately capture the arguments within both the pro-life and pro-choice movements, but they also skillfully deconstruct the theological imaginary that demonizes women in a way that men can never be simply by virtue of their biology. In addition, they point out the fallacies of using certain biblical texts (Jeremiah 1:5, Psalm 138:13, Genesis 1:26-28, and the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25-37) to justify shaming women or, at worst, criminalizing them for wanting agency over their own reproductive capacities.
[12] One of the things that is so powerful about the chapter on abortion is the use of stories and narratives from women from all walks of life about their experiences with fertility, sexual abuse, rape, pregnancy, and the dynamics around family, economics, and the church. “Behind the abortion debate lies a wrestling with competing visions not only of gender norms, but also of the range of ways that women do and may image the sacred itself,” they observe (153).
[13] Recognizing these competing visions raises the important question of how Christians should regard women who experience an unplanned pregnancy. Carr and Helmer compellingly argue that “to listen to the voice of the Spirit in the church involves no less than listening to the breadth and depth of pregnant women’s own insights and moral reasoning before the Holy One” (154). Thus, in both this chapter and the two that follow, the authors successfully model what Lutheran discernment around contested social issues can look like when done respectfully, responsibly, and theologically.
[14] Ordinary Faith is written for a college-educated reader and could be used as a book study in a Lutheran congregation that is seeking a firm theological foundation upon which to discuss the thorny public issues of our time. Despite my hesitations at the start in Chapter One, I found the book to be a strong offering in the field of Lutheran ethics, discernment, and theology in the public square.