Teslas are burning in the streets.
For Americans, cars—and these cars in particular—were once symbols of innovation and modernity, but now they’ve become an outlet for frustration and disillusionment. The shift feels emblematic of a broader breakdown in our society, a loss of civility, trust, and commitment to the common good.
Christians should stand apart from that trend. Yet even many Christians seem to be cowed by this climate of public discord and political upheaval, not least from the Trump administration and its key adviser, Tesla CEO Elon Musk. Christians may not be burning Teslas, but neither are we particularly known in this moment for credible action and a gospel-grounded hope.
On January 24, 1874, Richard H. Cain—a pastor, abolitionist, newspaper publisher, and congressman—stood ten toes down on the floor of the US Congress advocating for the bill that would become the Civil Rights Act of 1875. Cain represented a people who had technically been emancipated but were not fully free. More important, he spoke as an ambassador of a God who demands justice and order.
Opponents of the bill denied the humanity and equality of Cain’s people—a people these critics believed were unfit to uphold the American ideal and ineligible to pursue the American dream. And Cain had two obvious options for his response: He could run and hide, protecting himself and his career but abandoning the civil rights legislation he knew was needed. Or he could react with rage and hateful reciprocity, venting his animosity but losing the audience he needed to persuade.
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Cain had every reason to succumb to fear or indulge his anger, but he knew neither would best advance his cause or faithfully serve his God. So instead, he discerned a less obvious but more excellent way. He responded with tenacity and grace, fiercely demanding justice while exuding moral imagination and maintaining his moral authority.
Rather than offering a broken word of retribution, Cain waxed redemptive on God’s purposes for this country. “I believe Almighty God has placed [the] races on this broad theater of activity, where thoughts and opinions are freely expressed … where we may take hold of every truth and develop every art and science that can advance the prosperity of the nation,” he said, and to “develop this great idea that all men are the children of one Father.”
Cain’s words cast a moral vision far beyond the conflict of the moment. Instead of offering bitter fruit born from justifiable anger, Cain offered a reconciled, purposeful path forward.
Christians today face a similar choice. As frustration mounts with political actors in high places, will we retreat into fear or lash out with unbridled anger? Or will we choose Cain’s path of tenacity and grace?
To “develop every art and science that can advance the prosperity of the nation”—Christians of the past took that task seriously. They did not merely debate education and health care policies; they founded school systems, both private and public, and built much of the health care infrastructure that still benefits us today. They matched words to deeds, faith to action (James 2:14–17).
When the US struggled to throw off the shameful legacy of Jim Crow, the church led the Civil Rights Movement on the same ground where we stand today, advancing a prosperity more significant than any material gain. And like Mahalia Jackson singing sweet spirituals in front of the 36 columns of the Lincoln Memorial, this work testified to the goodness of God and to the nature of his kingdom.
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The gospel isn’t dead words or idle theory. It is not a spiritual philosophy with no effects on the world God made. For the heroes of our faith, spiritual conviction yielded righteous action (Heb. 11). It must yield the same in us.
We can’t hide or resort to public temper tantrums for the next four years—and we shouldn’t settle for such small, pedestrian responses anyway. The legacy of our faith calls us toward something greater.
Consider our country’s escalating crisis of literacy. The church must not ignore the problem or passively wait for some external savior or aimlessly lash out against perceived oppressors outside our communities. We can reclaim our long tradition of innovation and activism around literacy and work tirelessly for measurable change. Raising literacy rates by, say, 25 percent in underserved communities is a concrete, achievable, and worthy kingdom goal. Will we work toward that end? Or will we give in to social paralysis or fruitless cynicism, rage or hysteria?
Seriously: Are you upset about the dismantling of the Department of Education and unable to do anything to stop it? Don’t sulk. Go teach a child to read.
This is not a glib suggestion. The work the church would do and the relationships thousands or millions of Christians would build in pursuit of a literacy goal on that scale would change this country. Such work would itself be a source of resistance to trends of discord, chaos, and distrust. It would be a choice of vision over vandalism. (We are undertaking this very work through the And Campaign in the Atlanta metro area.)
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And that choice is vital, because resistance to evils and errors in our society is necessary, but it’s not enough for disciples of Christ. When we lose in seminal elections (or in any other consequential matters in life), we can start to feel helpless and insecure, and we often want to put up a fight—any fight. But not all fights are prophetic or productive. Some are destructive and make things worse.
Beyond resisting, then, we must also seek to build and redeem, to imitate Jesus and the good work of the saints who have gone before us. This is not a time for timidity or retribution but tenacity and grace. The church’s voice cannot be silenced by fear and lost influence or screaming with rage. We must speak boldly, reclaiming our role as humble but determined innovators, powerfully serving our neighbors, and proclaiming Christ’s kingdom.
Justin Giboney is an ordained minister, an attorney, and the president of And Campaign, a Christian civic organization. He’s the author of the forthcoming book Don’t Let Nobody Turn You Around: How the Black Church’s Public Witness Leads Us out of the Culture War.
Chris Butler is the director of Christian civic formation at the Center for Christianity & Public Life.
