The Audacity of a Christian America

There’s a quiet arrogance that’s crept into American Christianity — the idea that we’re the standard-bearers of God’s favor, the chosen nation sent to enlighten the rest of the world. You can hear it in our politics, our missions, even in some of our worship songs that sound more like national anthems than prayers. It’s the assumption that we’ve cornered the market on truth — that if world revival is going to happen, it will start in the U.S. and ripple outward.

But maybe that’s not how God works. Maybe He’s not nearly as impressed with America as we think He is.

There are countries where Christians live out the gospel with a humility and endurance that put our self-assured faith to shame. In places where the Church has no political power, believers feed the hungry, care for orphans, and love their enemies because that’s all they can do. No tax breaks. No worship bands. No stadium revivals. Just faith that actually costs the Believer something.

Meanwhile, many American Christians treat comfort as a birthright — equating prosperity with blessing, power with divine approval. We’re quick to call ourselves “a city on a hill,” but often forget that Jesus described that city as one marked by meekness, mercy, and hunger for righteousness — not dominance or cultural control. The Sermon on the Mount doesn’t read like a campaign platform.

There’s audacity in believing God needs us to defend Him. The One who made galaxies isn’t waiting on a super PAC to keep prayer in schools. The Kingdom doesn’t advance through legislation or boycotts — it spreads quietly, in hearts that choose compassion over convenience.

You don’t have to travel far to see the fruits of the Spirit more clearly alive elsewhere. In South Korea, you’ll find prayer movements that have shaped generations without the celebrity pastors and book deals. In Kenya, congregations walk miles to worship together, sharing what little they have with joy. In Latin America, churches weave together faith and justice in ways that transform communities from the ground up. These believers don’t have the luxury of separating the gospel from daily life — it’s all one thread of survival, hope, and obedience.

If Jesus said you’ll know a tree by its fruit, then we as Americans might need to check ours. Are our fruits gentleness, patience, and love — or pride, outrage, and self-preservation?

This isn’t about shame. It’s about honesty. The gospel didn’t originate in America, and it doesn’t depend on us to endure. God’s Spirit moves where it will — often outside our borders, beyond our institutions, and in ways that confound our sense of control.

Maybe the most faithful thing American Christians can do now is to listen more than we preach, to learn from believers who practice grace under pressure, and to let go of the myth that we are God’s gift to the world. Because if we really believed the gospel, we’d remember: God’s gift was never us. It was Him.