250 years ago, a group of rich, white men declared the thirteen British colonies free from imperial rule. In the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson wrote, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” 

250 years later, the United States of America continues to, despite the First Amendment’s right to freedom of religion, be heavily influenced by Christianity. Even with this consistent religious presence, the rights granted to me feel almost flipped from their original intentions. 

I have the right to own a machine gun and take my neighbor’s life in “self-defense.” I have the right to call Immigration and Customs Enforcement and take away the liberty of my Hispanic neighbor. I have the right, as a rich, white man, to study music education and find a career that brings me joy — a privilege that I understand a majority of the country does not have. 

I moved to Goshen a little over nine years ago. Since that time, I’ve become increasingly Mennonite; this began by visiting a variety of local churches, moved to regular attendance and currently stands in an exploration of baptism, the adult Mennonite ritual act of cleansing and full entrance into the church. 

My choice to begin undergoing this ritual began a couple of months ago, while listening to local pastor David Moser speak at Camp Friedenswald. His words finally allowed me to comprehend God — not as a big, glowing man in the sky, but rather as a societal force that “We the People” actively choose to put power and presence into. 

Today, I see this force in full effect in the Christian nationalist empire that the U.S. is. President Donald Trump, in his recent State of the Union address, said, “To have a great nation, you have to have religion.” According to the Public Religion Research Institute, in the recent presidential election, Trump clearly won every white Christian demographic sector, as well as Hispanic Protestants. The most overwhelming result was from white evangelical Protestants, among whom 85% of the demographic voted for Trump. 

In a baptismally-related follow-up conversation with David, he reassured me that, even though God is driven by society’s beliefs and values, I can choose to believe in a different God than the majority of America. I then asked David a follow-up question: “When I go out and protest this regime in the name of God, how is what I am doing any different from the tactics of the empire?” I believe that, intertwined or independent of religion, protesting is the morally correct response to the current administration; the ideologically opposing force believes the reverse, so how do we come to any philosophical or theological understanding?

David didn’t believe he had a satisfactory answer for me in the moment, so he pointed me toward Drew G.I. Hart, a Christian theologian who intertwines Black theology and modern Anabaptism to reach conclusions that energize protest and activism to fight “Christendom.” Hart’s book, “Who Will Be a Witness?” explores these topics and helped me shape three foundational principles that I hope to use as I move forward as an Anabaptist activist.

First: I need to understand joy, innately. Finding what makes me wake up in the morning with a smile on my face needs to be what shapes my life on macro and micro levels — it needs to drive my personal philosophies, my morality and my everyday actions. Presently, I believe my joy-filled macro-calling is to be a music educator. God speaks to me through music, and I wish nothing more than to spread this joy to future generations. But tomorrow, I may feel a micro-calling as simple as playing a board game with friends to something as complex as protesting the empire. I need to listen to this calling.

Second: I need to argue my faith. The conflict-avoidant Mennonite within me wants to reject this principle and remain passively faithful, but if I want to claim the title of Anabaptist activist, I need to push that part of me down. I can argue for what I believe in without dismissing or hurting other faith traditions, Christian or not. I need to get into the trenches of theological scholarship, find viewpoints that I agree with and can recapitulate upon and fight for my place as a theologian. 

Third: I need to ground myself in love. 1 John 4:20 says, “Those who say, ‘I love God,’ and hate a brother or sister are liars, for those who do not love a brother or sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen.” Bringing theological discussion back to Jesus’ greatest commandment is a way to not only create unity across Christianity, but also to defend further inferences that I choose to make. I choose pacifism because I love. I protest the empire because I love. I both find God, and God finds me, because I love.

After reading this, I challenge you to find your own principles — to find something you believe deeply in and ask yourself, “Why?” When you find the answer, ask, “Why?” again. Find your principles. Find what creates joy. Find what deepens faith. Find what strengthens love. 

 

Anton Alstrom-Brookhyser is a sophomore music education major from Goshen, Indiana. He spends his time practicing piano, playing board games and responding with “Cheers!” to anyone who greets him across campus.