Trading Jesus for Marx

Everyone in the room agreed that something was wrong with the world. The question was what—or Who—could make it right.

The room was already filling when Mike arrived.

By the time the extracurricular philosophy club meeting began, nearly sixty students and professors had crowded into the large classroom. Most sat at tables facing the front, but there were not enough chairs for everyone. Students stood along the walls. Others settled onto the floor. It was evening, and a few had brought takeout for supper.

At the front sat two students. One would moderate the discussion. The other had written the essay everyone had come to discuss. Its title was A Rant About the End of the World.

It was not a frivolous title.

The young writer was bright, articulate, and troubled. He looked at the world around him and saw exploitation, injustice, meaningless work, the loss of community, and a capitalist system he believed was crushing the people who lived under it. Marx offered him a way to understand what he was seeing.

But there was something deeper in the essay than economics. The student wrote that he had grown up with a disdain for religion, particularly Christianity. Now, looking back at the direction his life had taken, he made a remarkable observation:

He had, he said, seemingly traded Jesus and the Rapture for Marx and the Revolution.

He was careful to say that he did not consider Christianity and Marxism equals. Still, when he reached the end of his essay, his language sounded almost religious. The struggle against capitalism was, for him, “the only real hope left.” Humanity had a mission: transcend the system.

Mike listened.

When the student finished reading, the moderator explained the rules for discussion.

“If you have a question about the essay, raise your hand with one finger. If you have something you just want to add or something you want to say on your own, raise your hand with two fingers.”

Hands went up. They talked about Marx. Communism. Capitalism. Revolution.

Then Mike raised his hand. The moderator looked across the room at him. Mike had never met the young man before. As far as he knew, he had never even seen him.

“Our next question is from our hard-headed, narrow-minded Christian.”

Then he called Mike by name.

“Go ahead, Mike.”

Mike smiled.

“Thank you for recognizing that I’m a Christian. It actually encourages me that y’all know that.”

That was probably not the response the room expected.

“I do want you to know that I have a single source for my epistemology.” This was, after all, a room full of philosophy students. He could use the word. “My primary source of information is the Bible. But I am not closed-minded. I am very much willing to reason. I’m rational. I’m logical.”

Then he changed direction.

“But I want everybody in this room to know that I’m loving. And I love you. To the degree that I could ever serve you or do something loving for you, I’d be glad to do it.”

Near the door stood a large young man in a hoodie, the hood pulled low over his face, leaning against the wall. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet that Mike had to ask him to repeat himself.

“You say that you’re loving and that Christianity makes you loving. What evidence could you show me that you love me?”

It was a good question. And for a moment, Mike was on the spot. He prayed then spoke,

“For one thing, I could be home with my wife, my children, and my grandchildren. Instead, I’m here so that we can think together about what’s true and right.”

Then he gave him another answer.

“And because I love God and I love His law, I’m not going to hit on your wife. I’m not going to lead you into idolatry. I’m not going to steal your money. I’m not going to hate you or hurt you. I’m going to honor you.”

One by one, Mike worked his way through the Ten Commandments.

For Mike, God's law was not the enemy of love. It showed him what loving his neighbor objectively required.

Someone objected.

The conversation quickly moved from the commandments back to communism and capitalism.

“The problem with all of these systems,” Mike said, “is that they’re run by sinful men. Your problem and my problem is that you are sinful and I am sinful. We have a sin problem that needs a remedy, and Jesus Christ is the only remedy for our sin problem.”

Someone fired back.

“What about the Crusades? What about burning witches?”

Mike looked at him.

“Did Jesus burn those witches?”

“No, but Christians did.”

"You don't know that. Did Jesus lead the Crusades?”

The room went quiet.

“Don’t blame the One who set the standard and lived the standard. Don’t blame what we do—your failures and my failures, your sins and my sins—on the sinless One, Jesus.”

"Don't pin the failures of the followers on the Founder."

There was quiet as the thought settled in.

What Is Good?

The discussion moved on. Someone asked why people with millions of dollars needed millions of dollars. Why couldn't some of that money be taken from them and used for good?

Mike's hand went up again.

“First of all, would somebody define 'good' for me?”

Someone answered, “The most good for the most people.”

“That’s a utilitarian statement,” Mike said, “but it doesn’t have a foundation. You haven’t defined good yet. Please define 'good.' What is 'good?' What’s your standard for 'good?' By what standard?”

The answers began coming. If one person had more than he needed and another was in need, wasn't taking from the first to help the second good?

Mike tried another approach.

“Suppose I’ve got a 1.0 GPA and you’ve got a 3.0. Would you give me one of your points?”

That got their attention.

“You don’t need a 3.0. I need a 2.0 to graduate, and you only need a 2.0 to graduate. Would you go to the professor and ask him to give me one of your points?”

Then Mike pushed the analogy further.

“Better yet, in a communist system, you aren’t asked. The professor could just take your point and give it to me.”

They did not like that at all.

“But I earned my grades,” cried one.

Mike circled around. “And I earned my money.” His eyebrows lifted and there was a wry smile at the corner of his mouth.

Someone called out, “Are you a capitalist?”

“I certainly am. But I’m not a destructive capitalist. I’m not a greedy capitalist. I’m a free-market enterprise capitalist.”

“Then define capitalism.”

Mike kept it simple. “I work, I earn, and I get to decide what I do with what I earn.”

One of the students leaned into the argument.

“So I’ve got two loaves of bread and a Coca-Cola. They’re mine. I earned the money and bought them. Then I meet somebody who is really hungry and maybe hasn’t eaten since yesterday. Shouldn't I have to give him a loaf of bread and a Coke?”

“If you want to, you should give it to him,” Mike said. “I would freely give it to him as a Christian, but the government should not steal it from me and force me to give it to him. I wouldn’t take it from you and give it to him. And I don’t think you should take it from me and give it to somebody else.”

Then Mike returned to the word he had used at the beginning of the evening.

“Because I love you, I’m not going to steal from you.”

The student wasn't finished.

“Oh, I’ve got you now. Because I earned the money to buy the flour and made the bread, because I made it, it belongs to me?”

“That’s right.”

“So if I work at a car factory and I build a car, is the car mine?”

“If you signed a contract saying that your pay is a car, then yes. If you signed a contract saying that you make money, then you make money. You save your money and buy a car.”

“But I have to work for the man. I’m exploited by the man.”

Mike looked at him. “Really? Who is big enough to make you work at a car factory where you don’t want to work?”

The Problem Beneath the Problem

The discussion went on.

There were arguments about workers being exploited. There were complaints about wealthy people. One student spoke of being abused by capitalism.

Mike looked around the room.

There were smartphones. Electric lights. Air conditioning. Most of the students had arrived in automobiles. They were sitting inside a modern university building discussing the evils of capitalism.

“Can anybody here quantify the abuse of capitalism personally on any of you?” he asked. “Please tell me who in this room has been personally abused by capitalism.”

No one answered.

Mike knew he was not going to win the room that night.

In a gathering that large, surrounded by their peers, few students were likely to announce that the silver-haired "hard-headed, narrow minded Christian" had given them something to think about.

But winning the argument was not really the point.

The young essayist had written about despair. He saw injustice. He saw human suffering. He saw a world that was not as it ought to be. In that much, Mike could agree with him.

Something is terribly wrong with the world.

But the two men located the problem in very different places.

The young philosopher looked at the system and found his hope in changing it. Marx offered an explanation for oppression, and revolution offered the possibility of redemption.

Mike looked deeper. Capitalism can be corrupted because capitalists are sinners.

Communism can be corrupted because communists are sinners. Governments, corporations, universities, churches, and families are all populated by the same kind of people.

People like them.

People like Mike.

People like us.

The deepest problem with the world cannot finally be solved by redistributing money, changing governments, or replacing one economic system with another.

If the problem is ultimately the human heart, humanity needs more than a revolution.

We need a Redeemer.

And perhaps that is why one sentence in the young man's essay was more revealing than he realized:

He had traded Jesus and the Rapture for Marx and the Revolution.

The question that remained at the end of the evening was not simply whether Marx was right about capitalism.

It was whether Marx could bear the weight of being a savior.