In 2017, Rod Dreher wanted to combat the “new post-Christian barbarism,” so he argued for the development of a Christian countercultural movement in exile, one committed to the virtues the modern world has discarded. He dubbed this strategy (and titled his book) The Benedict Option, for Benedict of Nursia, founder of the Western monastic movement.
I sympathize. In the West, Christianity no longer carries weight in the public sphere, and many regard the church’s morals and doctrine with suspicion, if not outright antagonism. Today, Christianity is simply one in the pantheon of worldviews. What remains is syncretism: take what you like from Christianity while jettisoning what’s offensive.
In some ways, the Benedict option has a lot going for it, but the trouble with a withdrawal strategy, as Richard Lovelace argues, is that “it erects too great a cultural gap between the believing community and the surrounding world, and it fails to see that converts are won. . . by the observable blessedness of a whole way of life.” Perhaps we should look to another monk for our model. Instead of Benedict, what if we chose the Boniface Option?
Boniface and Thor’s Tree
Boniface (675–754) had an unusual missionary strategy. Arriving in Hesse, he found the Saxons mixing what little Christianity they’d learned with ancestral paganism. Their “sacred forest” had altars to Germanic gods and Jesus Christ. The Saxons followed Jesus, so long as he didn’t ask too much. They’d take his protection alongside that of Thor and his kin. At the center of the forest towered Thor’s Tree, an immense oak casting shade on Christ’s altar. The symbolism was clear.
How could Boniface convince the Saxons of the one true God? Like a lightning bolt, an idea struck him. He’d expose Thor’s powerlessness at the roots—literally. Wielding an axe before the jeering Saxons, who came to witness Thor strike the monk with electrified justice, he notched his first blow at the base of the tree. According to his biographer, Willibald, that was enough: a rushing wind from heaven struck with such force that the mighty oak fell, bowing powerlessly before the King of kings. Willibald may have taken some poetic license, but one fact remains: whether by wind from heaven or sweat from Boniface’s brow, Thor’s tree fell, and in a final insult, Boniface used timber from Thor’s tree to construct a new church building.
If a puny priest from Britain could challenge Thor and win, the Saxons judged, perhaps he was right about Christ. Boniface struck a mighty blow for truth. With newfound clarity, the Saxons converted en masse. So what would Boniface do today?
Word of Warning
There’s a danger of misapplication here. In an American culture that fetishizes power, we can home in on Boniface’s near-violent confrontation with the pagans, as if he’d gone to war with his enemies. That’s not what happened. Boniface wasn’t trying to “own the Saxons”; he loved the Saxons. He didn’t attack them as enemies but exposed the powerlessness of their idol.
How could Boniface convince the Saxons of the one true God? He’d expose Thor’s powerlessness at the roots.
Remember, the Saxons eagerly watched him. When we confuse our audience with our enemy, we’ll wield our axe with hatred instead of love. We’ll cut people instead of idols. Boniface confronted Thor for the sake of the lost. That must be our attitude as well. The people who watch us aren’t the enemy but victims of the Enemy.
Expose Idols
The Boniface option is to expose the powerlessness of would-be gods before a world still in thrall to them and to build up the church with what remains. We’re unlikely to evangelize worshipers of Thor. So what gods must we confront and expose? Let’s consider three.
1. Status
Most of us strive to establish our worth through achievement. We seek the status that a promotion, championship, or grade confers. Like all false gods, status demands sacrifice: Giving up time and energy to win this god’s favor. Giving up time with family, working nights and weekends to “get ahead.” Even giving up integrity, cutting ethical corners to achieve more.
To fell this unholy tree, we must refuse to play the game. Jesus didn’t count his status as something to be exploited but made himself nothing for others (Phil. 2:6–7). We must follow in his steps (3:8). Some might decline a promotion to invest time and energy in serving their churches or discipling their kids. The wealthy will reject status symbols, preferring sacrificial generosity to imitate their Master. In so doing, they’ll befuddle a watching world. In these ways, timber from this unholy oak will strengthen God’s church.
2. Sex
Our culture teaches that sexuality is the core of being and identity. Not worshiping this god is seen as denying one’s truest self. The prevailing view is that if there’s consent, do whatever feels good. To do otherwise is lunacy.
Christians can uproot this tree by courageously and openly living out God’s beautiful design. We unapologetically practice chastity in singleness and faithfulness in marriage. Singles (including the same-sex attracted who choose celibacy) especially demonstrate that sexual activity isn’t a prerequisite for a fulfilled life. There’s a deeper, purer love that satisfies thirsty souls (John 4:13–18).
3. Supremacy
Visit our culture’s sacred grove today, and the tallest tree may well be power. We worship winning at any cost, yet all sides believe they’re losing and so perpetuate a state of fragile panic. The stakes couldn’t be higher, we’re told repeatedly, so now isn’t a time for persuasion but conquest (contrast 2 Cor. 5:11).
Christians need not worship at this tree. We need not succumb to the danger Jon Guerra describes as seeing love as a “tension between the call of the cross . . . and the old party line.” In Christ, believers possess all power, and the gates of hell shall not prevail (Matt. 16:18). Though we await final victory, it has already been won. So in this time between, we can exhibit a cheerful willingness to “lose” well, knowing that in God’s sovereignty, every seeming cultural loss moves us toward his final victory. He perfects his power in our weakness, not in our pretended strength (2 Cor. 12:9).
Visit our culture’s sacred grove today, and the tallest tree may well be power. Christians need not worship at this tree.
With timber from this felled tree, we don’t build a fortress against the world but a church that’s a hospital for the broken. Even sinners and enemies find welcome here. Instead of shouting down protesters outside our doors, we bring them hot coffee and warm smiles.
We need not fear our culture’s gods any more than Boniface feared Thor’s retribution. We expose their powerlessness when we refuse to offer them sacrifices. Instead, we worship Boniface’s Christ, the one true God, and see his church built from the timbers of idolatry.
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