Tale of Two Christianities

The Christianity of This Land and the Christianity of Christ

Inspired by Frederick Douglass and Philippians 3:10–21

“We have men-stealers for ministers, women-whippers for missionaries, and cradle-plunderers for church members.” — Frederick Douglass, 1845

“Our citizenship is in heaven, and we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ.” — Philippians 3:20

The Christianity of This Land

In his Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave (1845), the great abolitionist drew one of the most piercing contrasts in American religious history: between “the Christianity of this land” and “the Christianity of Christ.” Douglass’s critique was not of faith itself, but of its corruption—how the gospel of love had been twisted to justify hate. He wrote with searing irony:

“The slave dealer gives his blood-stained gold to support the pulpit, and the pulpit, in return, covers his infernal business with the garb of Christianity.”

In those words, Douglass exposed a devastating truth: that religion, when allied with power instead of compassion, becomes idolatry. He saw the same hands that broke bread at Communion breaking human bodies in the fields. He watched preachers quote Scripture to defend property rights rather than human rights. It was a religion that baptized greed, comfort, and control—a counterfeit gospel. Douglass’s righteous anger mirrored that of the prophets who cried out against Israel’s hypocrisy: “They sell the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair of sandals” (Amos 2:6). For him, the Christianity of this land was a religion of empire, not of the cross—a faith that comforted the privileged while crucifying the powerless.

The Christianity of Christ

In contrast, Douglass lifted up the Christianity of Christ—the faith of the crucified Redeemer who “came to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free” (Luke 4:18). This was the gospel that sustained the enslaved: a faith born in sorrow but rooted in hope, sung through spirituals and whispered in prayer meetings hidden from the master’s eye. It was the Christianity of the underground church, not the plantation chapel; the faith of the Christ who washed feet, not the one invoked to justify chains.

The revival fires of nineteenth-century America produced both saints and scandals. While some believers—like Sojourner Truth, Charles Finney, and the early Methodists—marched for abolition and human dignity, many white churches in both North and South twisted Scripture to preserve their power and profit. Evangelical fervor stirred repentance in some hearts but hardened complacency in others. The same pulpits that preached salvation by grace too often denied grace to their enslaved brothers and sisters. Yet through the faithful few, the Spirit of Christ continued to burn—a holy flame of justice, compassion, and truth. Douglass’s call still echoes through history: that every generation must choose between the comfortable Christianity of this land and the liberating Christianity of Christ.

How the White Church Supported Slavery

1. Theological Distortion.

Southern preachers justified bondage by misusing the Bible, citing verses like Ephesians 6:5 (“Slaves, obey your masters”) and Genesis 9:25 (“the curse of Ham”) to declare slavery God-ordained. They preached that enslaved people’s obedience was holy, while rebellion was sin. In doing so, they stripped the gospel of its liberating power and turned Christ’s cross into a symbol of control rather than compassion.

2. Institutional Complicity.

Churches profited materially and socially from slavery. Denominations such as the Methodists, Baptists, and Presbyterians split over the issue, yet even many Northern congregations remained silent. Seminaries were funded by plantation wealth. Ministers accepted tithes from slave traders. Enslaved worshipers were segregated to church balconies—invited to pray but not to lead.

3. Moral Fear and Spiritual Blindness.

Many white Christians feared that confronting slavery would divide their churches or endanger their livelihoods. They equated prosperity with divine blessing, assuming that the existing social order was God’s will. The theologian Willie James Jennings later called this a “colonial imagination” that fused whiteness with holiness—a tragic confusion of God’s kingdom with human empire.

A Better Citizenship

Paul’s letter to the Philippians exposes the difference between false religion and true discipleship. “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection,” he writes, “and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings” (Philippians 3:10). To know Christ is not to seek privilege but to embrace humility. The Christianity of Christ bears the marks of love, justice, and mercy; it cannot coexist with chains.

“Our citizenship is in heaven,” Paul reminds us. Those who follow Jesus must never pledge allegiance to systems of oppression. The gospel calls us to live as citizens of another realm, where every tribe and tongue are equal before the Lamb.

Modern Echoes and the Call of Conscience

The church’s complicity in slavery stands as a sobering warning to every generation of believers. It reminds us how easily faith can be corrupted when it aligns itself with comfort, culture, or political convenience rather than with the crucified Christ. Whenever Christians seek comfort over conviction or privilege over love, the “Christianity of this land” rises again—in new forms such as racism, apathy, and exclusion. These are not merely relics of the past; they are recurring temptations that test whether our allegiance lies with earthly systems or with the kingdom of God.

Yet even amid compromise, the Holy Spirit continues to awaken the Christianity of Christ—a faith marked by compassion, justice, and freedom. The Spirit still moves through those who, like Frederick Douglass, Jarena Lee, and Harriet Tubman, risked their lives and reputations to proclaim that true religion sets the captive free. Their faith was not theoretical but embodied—born in suffering, sustained by prayer, and directed toward liberation. It was a gospel not of domination but of deliverance, not of status but of service.

The gospel always tests the conscience of a nation. It calls the church not to bless power but to bear the cross. True discipleship requires moral courage: to speak truth when silence feels safe, to stand with the oppressed when comfort beckons, and to embody love that overcomes fear. Christ’s followers are summoned to live as citizens of heaven whose loyalty to God’s kingdom makes them agents of justice and reconciliation on earth. When the church remembers this call, it reflects not the Christianity of this land, but the radiant and redeeming Christianity of Christ.

Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ,

Deliver us from every false religion that bears Your name but not Your heart.

Give us courage to confront injustice, humility to repent, and compassion to heal.

Make us citizens of heaven who live for Your kingdom on earth.

Teach us to know You—not only in glory, but in suffering love.

Amen.

Soli Deo Gloria

The Gospel of Freedom

Frederick Douglass: The Gospel of Freedom

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.” — Galatians 5:1

“We have men-stealers for ministers, women-whippers for missionaries, and cradle-plunderers for church members.” 

 Frederick Douglass, 1845

Born into Bondage

Frederick Douglass was born around February 1818 on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, the child of an enslaved mother and an unknown white father. He grew up separated from his family, enduring the brutality and humiliation of slavery. Yet even as a boy, Douglass sensed that his humanity came from God, not from the approval of any master. When Sophia Auld, the wife of one of his owners, briefly taught him the alphabet, he discovered that literacy was liberation. “Once you learn to read,” he later said, “you will be forever free.” When her husband forbade further lessons, Douglass secretly continued to study, understanding that the power of the Word—like the Word of God itself—could break chains.

In those years of darkness, the young Douglass began to glimpse the light of a different kingdom, one not built on the cruelty of men but on the justice of Christ. He witnessed the hypocrisy of a church that blessed slavery in the name of God and began to distinguish between the Christianity of Christ and the Christianity of this land. His conscience was already being shaped by divine truth, even before his body was free.

Escaping to Freedom

In 1838, at the age of twenty, Frederick Douglass risked everything for liberty. Disguised as a sailor and carrying borrowed “free papers,” he boarded a northbound train and escaped from Maryland to New York, then to New Bedford, Massachusetts. Every mile of that journey was a prayer in motion, a dangerous pilgrimage toward dignity. One mistake, one suspicious glance, could have meant capture or death. But Douglass later said that as he stepped onto free soil, he felt “as one might feel upon escape from the jaws of the lion.” Freedom was not simply a change of location—it was the birth of a new identity.

In New Bedford, Douglass found more than safety; he found community. The North was not free from prejudice, yet he discovered among free Black believers and abolitionist allies a fellowship that nourished both his soul and his voice. There he married Anna Murray, the courageous woman who had financed and encouraged his escape—a partner whose quiet strength became his anchor in the storm. For the first time, Douglass could earn an honest living, worship without chains, and read Scripture without fear. It was as if God had parted a modern Red Sea, leading him from Pharaoh’s bondage into the wilderness of freedom, where faith would be tested and refined.

Soon after, Douglass began to speak publicly about his life in bondage, joining the abolitionist movement led by William Lloyd Garrison. Audiences who had expected to see a broken man instead encountered a voice of fire and conviction. His eloquence stunned them—his words cut through the polite racism of northern society like a prophet’s cry. The system that once declared him ignorant now faced a man whose intellect, passion, and moral clarity exposed its lies. He spoke not merely as a freed slave but as a messenger of truth, proclaiming liberty in the language of Scripture and conscience. Like Moses standing before Pharaoh, Douglass became the voice of the enslaved, bearing witness to a God who hears the cry of the oppressed and calls His children to freedom. 

The Narrative That Awakened a Nation

In 1845, Frederick Douglass published Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave—a work that shook the conscience of the Atlantic world. In vivid, unflinching prose, he exposed the sin of slavery and the moral collapse of a church that blessed it. The book became an instant best-seller, forcing readers in both America and Britain to confront the contradiction between their faith and their practice. Yet its success also placed Douglass in danger; his former enslavers could still claim him as property. To preserve his freedom, he sailed to Britain, where friends and supporters eventually raised the funds to purchase his legal emancipation. His words, once bound in silence, now became instruments of liberation across nations.

When Douglass wrote, “We have men-stealers for ministers, women-whippers for missionaries, and cradle-plunderers for church members,” he was not indulging in bitterness but proclaiming prophetic truth. His satire cut through polite religion like the voice of Amos crying, “I despise your religious festivals; your assemblies are a stench to me” (Amos 5:21). Each phrase revealed the grotesque inversion of the gospel that allowed preachers to enslave, missionaries to brutalize, and churchgoers to profit from suffering. Douglass had seen this hypocrisy with his own eyes—ministers preaching mercy on Sunday and wielding the whip on Monday. His anger was not against Christ but against the betrayal of Christ’s name.

This passage remains a timeless warning. Whenever the church trades conviction for comfort or allows injustice to wear a religious mask, it repeats the sins Douglass condemned. His words summon believers back to the Christianity of Christ—a faith that liberates, heals, and honors every life as the image of God. The question he posed then still confronts us now: Whose Christianity do we practice—the comfortable one of this land, or the costly one of Christ?

God is the Father of us all

When Frederick Douglass returned from Britain in 1847, he did more than resume his activism—he gave it a voice in the form of The North Star, his own abolitionist newspaper printed in Rochester, New York. The paper’s motto declared his creed:

“Right is of no sex—Truth is of no color—God is the Father of us all, and we are all brethren.”In a single sentence, Douglass dismantled the moral foundations of both racism and sexism, proclaiming that justice was not a partisan or racial possession but a divine mandate. He envisioned a Christianity that transcended boundaries, where every human being—male or female, Black or white—stood equal before the Creator.

Through The North Star, Douglass became both prophet and pastor to a wounded nation. His editorials were sermons in print—calling readers to repentance, moral clarity, and action. He championed not only abolition but also women’s suffrage, education, and economic equality. Every issue carried the spirit of the gospel’s liberating power: that truth is not chained by prejudice, and righteousness cannot be confined to one race or class. The paper’s title itself, drawn from the celestial guide that led enslaved people north to freedom, symbolized divine direction for those seeking moral and spiritual liberation.

Like the Apostle Paul writing from prison, Douglass turned his own suffering into witness. The lash marks on his back became lines of sacred testimony, and the words that once branded him as property became proclamations of freedom. His pen became a pulpit from which he preached a gospel that confronted hypocrisy and awakened conscience. Through The North Star, Douglass reminded his readers—and the church—that the true light of Christ shines brightest when it exposes darkness. In his courage, conviction, and compassion, he reflected the faith of one who not only knew about freedom but lived it in body, mind, and soul.

Prophet to the Nation

Douglass became one of the great moral voices of the nineteenth century—a reformer, orator, and statesman who challenged both church and nation. During the Civil War he urged President Lincoln to enlist Black soldiers, insisting that freedom must be defended by those who yearned for it. After the war he continued to fight for education, equality, and voting rights, exposing how racism survived even after slavery’s legal end.

Yet his greatest battle was spiritual. He warned that whenever the church sought comfort over conviction or privilege over love, the “Christianity of this land” returned in new forms—racism, indifference, exclusion. True faith, he declared, was measured by its alignment with Christ’s heart for the oppressed. The gospel always tests the conscience of a nation; it calls the church not to bless power but to bear the cross.

Reflection

Frederick Douglass’s life reveals that true freedom begins not in politics but in the soul. He understood that emancipation without moral awakening leaves people still enslaved—to prejudice, greed, fear, or indifference. The same society that broke physical chains could remain bound by invisible ones unless hearts were transformed by truth. Douglass’s witness reminds us that Christianity, when rightly lived, addresses not only the external systems of oppression but the inner captivity of the human spirit. Christ came to proclaim liberty to captives in every form (Luke 4:18)—and Douglass’s journey from bondage to boldness became a living testimony of that divine promise.

His famous declaration, “If there is no struggle, there is no progress… Power concedes nothing without a demand”, was not a call to violence but to moral courage. Douglass believed that spiritual and social renewal require perseverance and costly faith. Just as Moses confronted Pharaoh and Paul confronted Caesar, Douglass confronted the moral blindness of a nation that had forgotten the God of justice. His struggle was the crucible in which faith became action, and prayer became protest. It was grace that gave him both the voice to speak and the strength to forgive—grace that refused to be silent in the face of sin disguised as righteousness.

In Douglass, the gospel took flesh: a man liberated by the truth (John 8:32), guided by conscience rather than comfort, and sustained by the God who delivers His people. His story invites every believer to examine what kind of faith we live—one that protects privilege, or one that sets captives free. To follow Christ, as Douglass did, is to confront injustice wherever it thrives and to proclaim freedom in every sphere—body, mind, and soul. This is the gospel of transformation: the good news that grace not only redeems the oppressed but also calls the oppressor to repentance, until both stand free in the light of God’s truth.

Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ,

You are the true Liberator of every heart and every people.

Deliver us from false religion that blesses oppression and silence.

Give us courage, like Frederick Douglass, to speak truth in love,

to stand with the broken, and to live as citizens of heaven on earth.

May Your Spirit make us instruments of freedom and peace.

Amen.

Soli Deo Gloria

A Whole Savior, a Whole Gospel

A Whole Savior, a Whole Gospel

“If the man may preach, because the Saviour died for him, why not the woman, seeing He died for her also? Is He not a whole Saviour, instead of a half one?” — Jarena Lee, 1849

When Jarena Lee declared, “If the man may preach because the Saviour died for him, why not the woman, seeing He died for her also?” she wasn’t merely defending her right to speak — she was proclaiming a theology of wholeness. To Jarena, salvation was not partial, conditional, or confined. Christ’s redeeming love reached every soul, and His Spirit equipped every believer to serve. Hers was not the cry of rebellion, but the conviction of revelation — that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is whole: it saves fully, sanctifies deeply, and calls universally.

By the time of her death in 1849, Jarena Lee had preached across thousands of miles, breaking barriers of race and gender that the world thought unshakable. Yet she did not see herself as an exception, but as a witness — proof that the same Spirit who filled the apostles still breathes life into the least expected vessels. Her story reminds us that a half Gospel can never heal a broken world. Only a whole Savior, freely offered to all, can bring full redemption.

A Gospel for Every Voice

Jarena Lee’s life stands as a living sermon — a declaration that the Gospel of Jesus Christ belongs to all.

Born in 1783, without formal education, she found in Scripture a truth deeper than law or custom: that salvation is not partial, nor grace selective. Christ is a whole Savior, redeeming and empowering both men and women, rich and poor, Black and white.

Lee’s conviction was not theoretical — it was forged through suffering, isolation, and obedience. She preached because she could not do otherwise. Like the prophet Jeremiah, she confessed that the Word of God burned within her “like fire shut up in my bones.”

Holiness of Heart and Life

Jarena’s message was simple but revolutionary: salvation is not merely pardon — it is transformation.

“He told me the progress of the soul from a state of darkness … consisted in three degrees: conviction, justification, and entire sanctification.”

She believed that sanctification — a heart fully devoted to God — was available to every believer. This holiness was not a privilege of the educated or the ordained, but the gift of a living Spirit to any heart humble enough to receive it.

Her own sanctification became the source of her authority. When she prayed, “Lord, sanctify my soul for Christ’s sake,” she said it was as though lightning darted through her — a sign that the Spirit had claimed her fully. That holy fire never left her.

The Power of a Whole Gospel

Jarena Lee’s theology was large enough to hold both heaven’s fire and earth’s suffering.

She preached repentance with tears, endurance through trial, and the hope of glory for the weary. She could testify:

“I have ever been fed by His bounty, clothed by His mercy, comforted and healed when sick, succored when tempted, and everywhere upheld by His hand.”

Her Gospel was whole — not divided by gender or race, not confined to pulpits or pews. It was a Gospel that reached the margins, speaking redemption into fields and kitchens, forests and city streets. She proclaimed that “God is no respecter of persons,” and her very life proved it.

Her Legacy Still Burns

Jarena Lee’s voice still echoes today — in every woman who preaches the Word, in every believer who follows God’s call despite opposition. She reminds the Church that the Spirit cannot be contained by human order or custom.

When Jarena died around 1849, she left behind no wealth, no position — only a blazing testimony. Through her faith and courage, she helped shape the soul of the A.M.E. Church and planted the seeds of equality that would grow long after her death.

Her story remains a challenge and a comfort to us: that obedience is the truest measure of faith, and that a whole Savior still calls us to proclaim a whole Gospel.

Reflection

• Where have I limited the reach of God’s grace — in others or in myself?
  
  
  
• What would it mean to live and speak as though Christ truly were a whole Savior?
  
  
  
• How can I honor Jarena Lee’s legacy by empowering the voices God is still raising today?
  
  
  

Prayer

O Christ, our whole Savior,

break every boundary that divides Your children.

Fill us with the fire of Your Spirit —

the same fire that burned in Jarena Lee.

Sanctify our hearts, steady our steps, and strengthen our voices

to proclaim Your whole Gospel to the whole world.

May our lives, like hers, shine with Your unquenchable love.

Amen.

Soli Deo Gloria