Who are you?

By Keith Giles

But if you say, “I’m a Christian,” they will tremble. Is it possible to bear this name when every spiritual power is afraid of it? (The Gospel of Philip vs. 49)

This verse contrasts the various identities one could possibly have in First Century Palestine, with the label of “Christian.” The term, which literally means “Little Christ” or “Christ-like”, meant more at that time than what it has come to mean to us today.

To us, the term is instantly equated with a power structure (especially in America) that seeks to dominate the culture by acquiring enough political power and influence to force its views on everyone else. That is not what it meant in the original context. To the author of this Gospel, the term “Christian” or “Little Christ” meant someone whose life intentionally mirrored the life of Jesus; one who embodied the teachings from the Sermon on the Mount, where loving your neighbor as yourself, caring for the poor, the widows and the outcasts was of first concern, and the command to show love to your worst enemies wasn’t taken as hyperbole.

Philip’s Gospel refers to a sense of fear that accompanies the response from those who hear that someone is “Christ-like”, but it’s not the same sort of fear that one might experience today as a self-identified Christian.

The fear Philip speaks of here is not fueled by anyone’s reaction to someone who insults their identity, or demonizes their sexual orientation, or to those who seek to exert power over those who disagree with their theology. Far from it.

Instead, the fear alluded to in this verse is the reaction those in power have to anyone who dares to live their lives from a place of radical love and inclusion. It’s the same sort of fear that led to the arrest, torture, and crucifixion of Jesus. The very same kind of fear that tried to silence voices like Socrates, Gandhi, John Lennon, and Martin Luther King.

Radical love is a threat to power structures. Shared Divinity is a threat to organized religion. Shared Humanity is a threat to political authority and nationalism. Whenever someone truly embodies the values of love, inclusion and Oneness, they become a threat to the powers that be.

So, when the Gospel of Philip asks, “Is it possible to bear this name when every spiritual power is afraid of it?”, we have to understand what is being said and why the question should give us pause. Because if we are committed to this message of radical Oneness, we may also face the same fear and violence that Jesus and others after him have had to face. Those who do not waver from this path are often hated, accused, attacked and, sometimes, even put to death, by those who feel threatened by the idea that everyone is equally worthy of love, compassion, and dignity.

This is where we need to count the cost, as Jesus said. Are we prepared to be hated for preaching love? Are we willing to suffer violence when we stand for peace? Are we ready to be branded a heretic for suggesting that Christ is in everyone and that there is – and never way – any separation between us and God, or one another?

No one bats an eye if you claim to follow this religion or that. But if you start actually living out the ethic of radical inclusion, you may suddenly discover that there are many who prefer to live in the lie of separation, and they are quite willing to do whatever it takes to silence you if you dare to remove the veil that covers their eyes.

The path of peace is not always peaceful. The life of love is often met with hate. The eyes of Oneness are often cut out by those who prefer the darkness of separation.

Let the reader understand.