The French philosopher Jacques Ellul once wrote that “The biblical view [of the church] is not just apolitical but antipolitical in the sense that it refuses to confer any value on political power, or in the sense that it regards political power as idolatrous, inevitably entailing idolatry” (The Political Illusion, 1972, p. 113). These words profoundly echo in our moment, as numerous Christians are attracted to the appeal of political engagement.
Whether donning collars at protests or adopting the language of organizing, Christians appear increasingly eager to immerse themselves in the mechanisms of political change. In doing so, we risk losing sight of our true calling and the instruments of transformation that have already been entrusted to us. We not only dilute our mission but also alienate those who seek authentically Christian guidance from the Church.
My words of caution come from experience. I began organizing shortly after high school. Over the years, I’ve worked with various organizations, addressing multiple issues. I’ve been in living rooms with passionate neighbors and boardrooms where city strategies were formed. Whether in coalitions or local initiatives, I fully engaged, believing change was possible with hard work. I have come to the conviction that churches are undeniably called to speak truth to power but are not called to organize politically as we often expect.
Political organizing, while a necessary and sometimes noble endeavor, demands compromises that should make Christians deeply uncomfortable. It operates on a plane of pragmatism and policy minutiae that, compared with the eternal truths of the gospel and the realities of governance, is ultimately insufficient for the kind of change we claim to seek. This overreliance on political solutions reflects a more profound theological issue: the temptation to place our hope in human institutions rather than God. It is easier to organize a march or pass a resolution than to cultivate the spiritual renewal that leads to lasting transformation. The church’s true power lies not in its ability to mobilize for political action but in its ability to bear witness to the kingdom of God.
My experiences as an organizer taught me about people, power, and the slow pace of real change. I’ve witnessed highs and lows, breakthroughs and setbacks, learning what works, what doesn’t, and how messy the process can be. I also saw firsthand the stark difference between the idealized vision of organizing and its mundane realities. Organizing is portrayed as dynamic and revolutionary — a bold stand against injustice that ignites change. In practice, it is often tedious work involving countless meetings, painstaking negotiations, and incremental victories that rarely satisfy the appetite for sweeping reform. Organizing is essential, but its reliance on compromise and gradualism also constrains it.
Clergy often approach organizing naively, mistaking visibility for impact. Protests, for example, are treated as the apex of social engagement. Donning a collar and marching in the streets can be a powerful symbol, but it is not the substance of lasting change. If protesting is the confetti at a wedding, real organizing involves hours of marriage counseling, logistics, and planning that make the event possible — and sustain the relationship afterward. This work is rarely glamorous, but it is vital.
The disconnect between visibility and impact is perhaps most evident in the Church’s tendency toward performative activism. This is a harmless act of appearing concerned and a dangerous game that can do more harm than good. Too often, our efforts are more about appearing concerned than honestly being concerned. This performativity manifests in grandiose gestures, self-congratulatory rhetoric, and a savior complex that blinds us to our limitations.
I once attended an immigration rally at which a Unitarian minister addressed the crowd in English, delivering a sermon that might have inspired her Sunday congregation but fell flat in the context of the event. The audience, mainly composed of working-class Latinos, looked on in confusion. What could have been an opportunity for solidarity became a moment of alienation. This example illustrates the danger of assuming that our presence and eloquence are enough to effect change. Without cultural humility and an awareness of the community’s needs, our best intentions can do more harm than good.
To focus specifically on the Episcopal Church, a major challenge lies in its self-perception. As members of a predominantly white, upper-middle-class denomination, we often approach social issues with a paternalistic mindset. We want to be saviors, sweeping the marginalized from their conditions without fully understanding their experiences. This savior complex undermines our efforts and reveals a more profound spiritual issue: our failure to embody Christ’s humility. We need to be more self-critical and introspective in our approach to social engagement.
Another challenge arises when clergy attempt to merge their pastoral roles with those of political organizers. While the intention is often noble, this conflation can lead to significant harm. Organizing requires special skills — building trust, navigating power dynamics, and developing strategies for systemic change. These skills take years to cultivate and are not easily transferred from the pulpit to the public square.
One of our bishops proclaimed boldly that her clergy would serve as spiritual leaders and community organizers. While the sentiment was inspiring, it also raised serious concerns. Clergy who take on organizing roles without adequate training risk undermining the trust and relationships that organizers work so hard to build. They may also inadvertently impose their agendas, sidelining the voices of those most affected by injustice. This potential for harm underscores the need for a more thoughtful and humble approach to social engagement within the church.
The current lack of preparation endangers the community. Poor coordination leads to fractured communities, eroded trust, and disillusionment among those seeking support. The church should recognize its limitations and avoid overstepping into trained professionals’ roles. Instead, it must collaborate with experienced organizers who grasp community dynamics. This approach will enable the church to help rebuild trust and unity.
A common rebuttal to these critiques might be to advocate for “real activism” or to suggest that clergy need better training to fulfill dual roles as pastors and organizers. While these ideas may sound practical, they fail to address the heart of the issue: the church’s unique role is not to imitate the world’s systems but to transcend them. Training clergy to be better organizers might improve some results in the short term, but it risks doubling down on a flawed assumption — that the church’s primary responsibility is to engage with the world on its terms. Even with the best training, clergy would be stretched too thin, torn between their vocation’s spiritual and administrative demands and the complex realities of organizing. This jeopardizes clerics’ effectiveness and distracts them from the church’s true calling.
Furthermore, the push for “real activism” often overlooks the more profound theological implications of the church’s engagement. Activism, no matter how authentic, is still rooted in human effort, subject to the same compromises and power dynamics that Ellul warns us against. It perpetuates the illusion that political action is the ultimate solution, encouraging us to place our hope in systems and strategies rather than the transformative power of God.
As Ellul noted, this misplaced hope is dangerous and ultimately deadly, as it closes our eyes to the trustworthy source of redemption and change. Instead of attempting to do everything, the church needs to reclaim its role — one given by Christ himself — as a witness to God’s kingdom. It was for this purpose that God sent the Holy Spirit to the church. In the economy of salvation, this is a role, a vocation, a purpose, and a mission that no other institution or organization or body is equipped to fulfill. By stepping back from the illusion of political salvation, we can focus on what we are uniquely equipped by God himself to offer: hope, reconciliation, and a vision of justice rooted in Christ’s love.
The Rev. Omar Cisneros is assisting priest at Christ Episcopal Church, Tulsa, Oklahoma.