Some years ago a group of Christian thinkers were asked to answer the question: How can followers of Christ be countercultural for the common good? Their answers ranged from becoming our own fiercest critics to experiencing life at the margins, from choosing our battles wisely to getting more sleep. A case could easily be made to add many other ideas to their thoughtful list, and its project leaders would agree. The possibilities for counterculturalism are perhaps as numerous as the cultures and sub-cultures of our globalized world. The idea was to get people thinking about what it means to be countercultural in the first place, a lifestyle Jesus heralded as a man with the government on his shoulders, one from whom others hid their faces, one for whom affliction was well known.
Of course, Jesus did not come to shape an insurgent army of cultural protestors. But he did turn both culture and cultural norms on their heads, and he continues to do so today. To crowds gathered in the first century, the wisdom of the rabbi from Nazareth was different than most. He taught with authority, but he also perplexed his would-be students with words about the first being last, and prostitutes and tax collectors making their way into the kingdom before religious experts. To crowds in the current century, this teacher continues to herald a radical message. Loving your neighbor is a command that runs counter to most cultural norms, loving your enemy all the more so. The entire Sermon on the Mount was, and remains, the most countercultural sermon ever given.
But still, the question persists: Did Jesus come to overturn cultural norms like he overturned the moneychangers’ tables? And exactly how, then, are his followers to be countercultural themselves? Are Christians to be inherently cultural naysayers, gypsies who wander through this world unattached and (hopefully) unaffected? Did Christ come to free us from the very fabric of culture and history into which our lives are woven? Or was his life’s ambition to unravel something much deeper?
To begin with, I think we misunderstand Jesus as a countercultural leader heralding a countercultural message if we separate his radical life and message from his radical work on the cross. Jesus did not come to destroy culture as we know it, but to save the world within it. “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets,” he told a Jewish world built upon the Law and the Prophets. “I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them” (Matthew 5:17).
Perhaps the best image of counterculturalism is an image of something that is being woven rather than unwound. Nancy Jackson, an artist who creates tapestries, notes the “countercultural” philosophy of weaving. “Weaving tapestry in our modern world requires a different mindset that has taken many years to cultivate,” she writes. “It requires faith that the world will still be here in two years…. Weaving a tapestry is good for the soul.” The equally foreign message of Christ is that God is not only near us, but that God’s presence is woven into all of life; God has been before us and will remain after us. The saving grace of God’s work among us can be seen throughout history, in the lives we live today, and in every stroke of time to come. Jesus did not come to unravel the fabric of the human story nor the human him or herself. On the contrary, he came to unravel confusion, shortfall, immaturity, sin, and chaos, and to make clear the beautiful tapestry made by a creator who has in mind the beginning, the middle, and the end.
Perhaps Christ’s followers are most adequately countercultural, then, when we live as people aware that there is an entire picture, when we counter the pervasive individualism that bids us to look no further than our own homes or schedules or priorities. Perhaps we are effectively countercultural when we testify to the radical work of the cross in the world and in our hearts, a cross which exchanges guilt for grace, ashes for beauty, collective sorrow for joy. Perhaps we are countercultural when we see the startling colors of Christ’s life in our own stories and in our neighbors’ stories and know that these are only small glimpses of the magnificent work that God is weaving through all of time, every tribe, and partial tapestry.
Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.
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