Bybelskool

Why should we ABHOR the religious Spirit?

Jan Oosthuizen

14 Apr 2025 • 17 min read

In today’s rapidly changing world, ideologies clash and societal norms are constantly redefined. As Douglas Murray observes in his book “The Madness of Crowds,” We find ourselves in an ideological post-Christian, post-modern VACUUM, where traditional values and beliefs are being challenged and undermined. (Marriage, Family, Gender, Sexual Expression, Group Identity, Abortion, Penal Punishment, Economic redistribution of wealth) [1]

The current Western Culture War, shaped by humanism, secularism, materialism, modernism and suspicion of institutional authority, has redefined spirituality as an individualistic, de-institutionalized quest often stripped of theological depth or reference to divine absolutes. As a result, the church’s traditional role as a moral and theological compass has been deeply eroded. Peter Kreeft warns that one of the greatest threats to the church is not outright unbelief, but a form of spirituality detached from God—a man-made religiosity that replaces divine truth with personal preference.

“The problem is not too little religion, but too much religion without God. People want spirituality without the cross, God without Christ, religion without revelation.”[2]

This Culture war in which we are involved has existential significance for the Church. As Peter Kreeft aptly argues in another book about the possible threat this war has on Western Culture: “For this war is for souls, not just bodies. That’s what culture is: culture is cultus, cultivation, the cultivation of souls, the farming of souls in the soil of society and its transformations of the material world, which is what we call civilization. Civilization is the body of culture; culture is the soul of civilization.”[3]

Meanwhile, a growing political polarisation further complicates the picture. On one side, a populist backlash against liberal secularism fuels reactionary conservatism, as seen in figures like Donald Trump in the U.S. or Javier Milei in Argentina. Yet, these ideological swings—while indicative of cultural unrest—offer little in terms of practical frameworks for ecclesial renewal or sustainable spiritual communities. Indeed, one would undoubtedly observe that devoted Christians are found across the entire political spectrum—some wholly aligned with the American liberal left, others deeply embedded within the conservative Republican right. This ideological diversity within the Church raises important questions about the interplay between faith and political identity. Can a faith centred on the teachings of Jesus Christ be fully reconciled with any single political ideology?

A striking example of this tension surfaced during President Donald Trump’s inauguration. During her address, Mariann Edgar Budde, a female clergy member perceived by many as holding progressive or left-leaning views, faced widespread backlash after offering a pointed moral critique.[4] The following uproar, particularly from conservative Christian circles, revealed deep political divisions and the extent to which partisan loyalties can sometimes eclipse theological discernment.

Such incidents prompt a deeper inquiry: To what extent has the Church, in its various expressions, become captive to political agendas rather than the gospel of Christ? Is the Church shaping political conscience, or is it being shaped by it? This dynamic further underscores the need for a renewed Christological lens—one that critiques both left and right and calls the Church back to its higher allegiance: the radical, non-partisan way of Jesus.

The political-ideological landscape can also be measured against moral absolutes listed by Jonathan Haidt: Care/harm, Fairness/cheating, Loyalty/betrayal, Authority/subversion, Sanctity/degradation, and Liberty/oppression. These foundational moral intuitions are the compass by which societies shape law, culture, and governance. Historically, civilisations that upheld a balanced expression of these moral foundations tended to maintain cohesion, social trust, and long-term influence. When a society emphasises only one or two of these foundations to the exclusion of others, it often leads to moral imbalance, social fragmentation, or authoritarianism. In contrast, cultures that integrated care with fairness, loyalty with liberty, and sanctity with responsible authority created resilient systems capable of weathering moral, political, and economic storms. Thus, Haidt’s framework illuminates the roots of political division and offers insight into the moral architecture of sustainable civilisations. [5]

What cultural ideal, if any, possesses the enduring strength to sustain civilisation—one that rises high enough to inspire, reaches far enough to include, and lives long enough to endure? In a time when societies are increasingly fragmented and moral consensus appears elusive, could there be a unifying vision of the summum bonum—the highest good—that offers more than transient values or ideological constructs?

As Bishop Robert Barron has suggested, the summum bonum is not merely an abstract philosophical category but a concrete moral and spiritual horizon that gives coherence to individual lives and communal existence[6]. Might Western cultures lose their internal cohesion and moral direction without a shared understanding of the highest good? What happens when societies are built around competing goods, or worse, no shared ' common good'?

A thriving culture must orient itself around a transcendent source of meaning that informs its institutions, justice systems, education, and vision of the human person. Is it possible that this cultural ideal must be more than utilitarian efficiency, political power, or economic growth? If culture is often defined as a “way of life lived in common,” then what way of life leads to survival and flourishing?

In light of this background, the person of Jesus Christ, who embodies perfect love, justice, humility, and truth, is the most credible unifying ideal. His life and teachings form a durable foundation upon which a civilizational vision is built—one capable of enduring the pressures of pluralism, progress, and global uncertainty.

The origin of the concept - religion

The term religion, as it is often used in contemporary discourse, derives from the Latin religare, meaning “to bind.” This etymological root suggests a system of beliefs and practices that bind the adherent to the divine. However, within the biblical corpus, especially in the Hebrew Scriptures, the concept of "religion" as a formalised, institutional practice is largely absent. Instead, the Hebrew mindset framed life as halakhah—a “walking” or “path,” from the verb halak, meaning “to walk” (cf. Micah 6:8, Psalm 1:1-3). In this framework, faith is embodied not in static doctrines but in a way of life marked by covenantal obedience and relational fidelity.

In the New Testament, the Greek term translated as “religion” (thrēskeia) appears sparingly. James 1:26–27 offers one of the most precise definitions: “Pure religion (thrēskeia) and undefiled before God and the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world” (AV). Here, religion is defined not by ritual or creed but by active compassion and moral integrity—a pattern of life reflecting the character of God.

Thus, biblically speaking, “religion” in its purest form is not about external conformity but an inward transformation that expresses itself outwardly in service, mercy, and justice. This aligns with the Hebrew understanding of avodah, a word encompassing both work and worship, suggesting an integrated lifestyle of ministry under God’s authority.

Two types of Religion or Ministry

Paul articulates a striking dichotomy between two forms of ministry in 2 Corinthians 3:7–9: the “ministry of death, written and engraved in stones,” contrasted with the “ministry of the Spirit,” which he describes as the ministry of righteousness. The former is associated with the Mosaic covenant—glorious yet fading—while the latter is characterised by increasing glory and life. These two ministries reveal a theological shift from the external administration of law to the internal transformation by the Spirit (Wright, 2013).

The “ministry of condemnation” is a religion of works, guilt, and performance. It externalises holiness, weaponises morality, and often results in spiritual pride or despair. Conversely, the “ministry of righteousness” embodies the gracious initiative of God in Christ, who fulfils the law and empowers believers to live in the newness of the Spirit (Romans 8:1–4). Here, righteousness is not achieved but received—a gift that produces life and freedom.

The “religion of works” yields several detrimental consequences:

Guilt without transformation: The law convicts but cannot heal (Romans 7:7–24).
Pride and comparison: Righteousness becomes a competitive metric (Luke 18:11).
Condemnation culture: Others are judged based on visible performance rather than inward heart posture (Matthew 23:27).
Burnout and striving: Faith becomes exhausting as adherents seek approval through deeds (Galatians 3:3).
Exclusion of the 'outsider': Those who do not conform are rejected or vilified, creating religious elitism (Acts 15:1–11).

In contrast, the religion that Christ embodied was marked by invitation, grace, healing, and empowerment. His message, often scandalous to the religious elite, welcomed tax collectors, prostitutes, and Gentiles—not as they ought to be, but as they were (Luke 5:31–32; Matthew 9:13).

The story of Cain and Abel (Genesis 4:1–8) presents an archetypal comparison between two forms of religious offering. Abel offers from a place of intimacy and discernment—“the firstlings of his flock”—while Cain provides the fruit of the ground, perhaps out of obligation or assumption. The text suggests that Abel’s sacrifice was respected because of the heart behind it (cf. Hebrews 11:4). Cain, in contrast, becomes emblematic of a religion that demands recognition and, when it is not received, turns to violence.

This narrative anticipates the trajectory of much human religion: when divine acceptance is perceived to be earned, rejection fosters resentment and violence. In Cain, we see the genesis of a religion of force, justification by effort, and, eventually, the elimination of the rival—a pattern tragically repeated throughout history.

Paul’s allegory in Galatians 4:21–31 further develops this theme. He contrasts Hagar and Sarah, representing two covenants. The son of the slave woman (Ishmael) corresponds to Mount Sinai and the law (fleshly self-determination). In contrast, the free woman's son (Isaac) represents the promise and grace (by faith receiving His righteousness). Paul warns that the law-bound system persecutes the child of the Spirit—a reality he saw playing out in the Judaizers’ opposition to Gentile freedom in Christ.

This passage illuminates the inner war between performance-based religion and Spirit-empowered life. The legalistic spirit, even when fervently religious, inevitably turns violent—excluding, persecuting, or suppressing the free expression of God’s Spirit in others.

Rob Bell captures this contrast metaphorically in The Jesus Way, distinguishing between “the way of the hammer” and “the way of the fragrance.”[7] The hammer imposes; it breaks, coerces, and demands submission. It represents religion as control. The fragrance, however, entices through beauty, love, and life—it cannot be forced but only inhaled willingly (Bell, 2009).

Judas, the ultimate archetype of someone caught by the Religious Spirit

Judas Iscariot’s betrayal of Jesus is one of the most shocking and sorrowful moments in the gospel narrative. Yet to reduce his act to mere greed (Matt. 26:14–16) or demonic possession (Luke 22:3) fails to do justice to the complexity of human motivation and historical context. When considered through a first-century Jewish lens—especially that of Judaizing and Pharisaical sects—it becomes possible to understand how Judas may have justified his actions, however tragically wrong they were.

1. Messianic Misunderstanding: Judas’s Political Theology

Many Jews of Judas’s day were steeped in Second Temple Messianic expectations—yearning not for a suffering servant but for a Davidic warrior-king who would overthrow Rome and restore Jewish autonomy (cf. Isa. 11; Ps. 2; Zech. 9:9–10). Judas, like many others, likely assumed that the Messiah would be a national liberator, not a crucified carpenter from Nazareth.

Jesus’s repeated prediction of His own death (Matt. 16:21–23) would have seemed utterly dissonant to such hopes. When Jesus rebukes Peter for resisting this path, He equates Peter’s objection with satanic influence—showing how seductive the false Messiah narrative was, even among the Twelve.

Judas may have read the Hebrew Scriptures selectively, interpreting messianic prophecies through a nationalistic lens (cf. Dan. 7:13–14 without Isa. 53). Like many of the Pharisees, he may have believed in a Messiah who would fulfill the Law, restore temple purity, and subjugate the Gentiles, not one who would die for His enemies.

2. Religious Zeal and Pharisaical Legalism

Judas's possible alignment with Judaizing tendencies—seen in the early church as the push to return Gentile converts to Mosaic Law (cf. Acts 15; Gal. 2)—could help explain his disillusionment. If he expected a Messiah who would intensify adherence to Torah, restore temple supremacy, and judge sinners (especially Rome and unfaithful Israel), then Jesus’s ministry would have seemed increasingly unacceptable.

Jesus dined with tax collectors, forgave prostitutes, challenged Sabbath norms, and called the poor in spirit blessed. To a zealot for righteousness in the mold of the Pharisaical school of Shammai (stricter than Hillel), Jesus’s grace-centered approach could look like moral compromise or even blasphemy.

In John 12:3–6, Judas critiques Mary’s extravagant worship, objecting that the money could have been given to the poor. While John adds that Judas was a thief, the objection itself resonates with a religious legalist’s logic—exalting pragmatic “righteousness” over relational intimacy with Christ.

3. Provoking a Political Messiah?

A compelling theory among scholars (cf. N.T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God) is that Judas was not merely betraying Jesus for money, but provoking Him into action. Judas may have thought that by delivering Jesus into enemy hands, he could force His hand—compelling Him to reveal Himself as Messiah in power and call down angelic armies (cf. Matt. 26:53).

This perspective paints Judas not as purely evil, but tragically zealous. Like Peter striking Malchus with a sword (John 18:10), Judas might have wanted a Messiah of fire, not forgiveness—a King, not a crucified Lamb.

The Zealot ideology, which believed in armed resistance against Rome as a form of covenantal faithfulness, could have influenced Judas’s expectations. The Messiah must act, Judas may have thought—even if He must be cornered to do so.

4. The Pharisaical Precedent: Zeal Without Knowledge

Paul speaks from personal experience when he writes in Romans 10:2–3: “For I bear them record that they have a zeal for God, but not according to knowledge… seeking to establish their own righteousness, they did not submit to God’s righteousness.”

Judas may well have been caught in this same trap. His “zeal for God” may have justified in his own mind the betrayal of a false prophet or, worse, a deluded messianic pretender. If Jesus wasn’t going to fulfill the expected messianic script, then maybe Judas thought the Law justified his removal. “Better that one man die for the people,” said Caiaphas (John 11:50)—a logic not far from Judas's possible rationale.

5. Tragic Conscience and Aftermath

What Judas did not foresee—despite Jesus’s repeated warnings—was the crucifixion. When it became clear that Jesus would not escape or retaliate, Judas was overwhelmed with remorse (Matt. 27:3–5). His suicide signals not just guilt but profound theological collapse. The system he trusted—whether legalistic, nationalistic, or pragmatic—had failed him.

Yet unlike Peter, who also betrayed Jesus and found grace, Judas never turned to Jesus for forgiveness. His final act reveals a man trapped by law, pride, and self-reliance. His death becomes a tragic parable: when religion without grace meets failure, only despair remains.

Traits of False Religious People (Pharisees) According to Jesus

Hypocrisy – They say one thing and do another (Matt. 23:3). They burden others with heavy rules but don’t lift a finger themselves.
Love of Appearance – They do everything to be seen by others (Matt. 23:5). Long prayers, religious garments, public seats—all for show.
Pride and Status-Seeking – They crave titles, honor, and the best seats in the synagogue (Matt. 23:6–7).
Neglect of Justice, Mercy, and Faithfulness – They obsess over small tithes but ignore the weightier matters of the Law (Matt. 23:23).
Legalism without Love – They focus on outward rules while neglecting inward transformation (Matt. 23:25–28).
Blind Spiritual Leadership – Jesus calls them "blind guides" (Matt. 23:16). They mislead others while thinking they see clearly.
Religious Elitism and Exclusion – They shut the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces (Matt. 23:13), neither entering nor allowing others in.
Self-Justification and Historical Revisionism – They claim they wouldn’t have killed the prophets, yet are about to crucify Christ (Matt. 23:29–31).
Obsession with Minor Rules – They “strain out a gnat but swallow a camel” (Matt. 23:24)—majoring on minors while missing the heart of God.
Inward Corruption – Though they appear righteous outwardly, inside they are full of greed, self-indulgence, and wickedness (Matt. 23:25–28).
Burdening the People – They add rules without compassion, crushing people under religious expectations (Luke 11:46).
False Evangelism – They make converts twice as much "sons of hell" as themselves (Matt. 23:15), converting people into the same legalistic bondage.

“Beware the Yeast of the Pharisees and Herod”: A Warning for Every Generation

Jesus cautioned His disciples, “Take heed, beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod” (Mark 8:15, AV). This wasn’t about bread—it was about belief systems. Yeast is unseen, subtle, and once mixed in, affects the whole dough. Jesus was saying: watch what spirit is influencing you, because it doesn't shout—it seeps.

1. The Yeast of the Pharisees – Religious Hypocrisy and Legalism

The Pharisaical spirit is religion without relationship. It's rule-based righteousness that looks holy but lacks heart. Jesus rebukes them for:

Outward appearances without inward change (Matt. 23:27)
Adding burdens instead of lifting them (Luke 11:46)
Using Scripture to justify control, pride, and exclusion (Matt. 23:13)

This yeast creeps in when we:

Start measuring holiness by external markers
Focus on performance over presence
Become gatekeepers rather than grace-bearers

The Pharisaic yeast is religion without Spirit, law without love, truth without mercy.

2. The Yeast of Herod – Political Power and Worldly Compromise

Herod represents a different kind of yeast—the spirit of political opportunism, compromise, manipulation, and self-preservation. He was half-Jew, fully Romanized—a man who tried to please Caesar and the religious leaders, yet murdered John the Baptist and mocked Jesus.

This spirit is alive wherever:

Faith is co-opted by politics
Power becomes the goal instead of servanthood
Convenience overrides conviction
Popularity is pursued over prophetic truth

The Herodian yeast is worldliness in religious robes, a hunger for influence rather than intimacy with God.

The Religious Spirit: The Justification of Murder in the Name of God

From Genesis to today, one recurring pattern in human history is this: the religious spirit provides the most convincing justification for killing your brother—in the name of righteousness.

1. Cain and Abel – The Archetype of Religious Violence

Cain is the prototype. He offers a sacrifice, but his heart is far from God. When God honors Abel's offering—not because of the item, but the posture—Cain is offended. Not with God, but with his brother. Instead of repenting, he eliminates the one who exposed his lack of intimacy with God.

“And why did he murder him? Because his own deeds were evil and his brother’s were righteous.” – 1 John 3:12

The religious spirit always seeks to eliminate what exposes it. It hates purity, sincerity, and grace because these things cannot be controlled or earned.

2. The Pharisees – Murderers of the Messiah

The Pharisees didn't crucify Jesus because He broke the law—they crucified Him because He fulfilled it in a way they couldn’t control. Jesus exposed their heartless religion, their performative holiness, and their political entanglements. So they plotted murder—not as criminals, but as defenders of "truth."

“It is better that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.” – John 11:50

Religious logic. Political expedience. Sacrificing the innocent for the preservation of a system.

3. Hamas and Modern Jihadism – Justifying Terror through Victimhood and Eschatology

Groups like Hamas, designated as a terrorist organization by many nations, and other jihadist movements, couch their violence in religious and eschatological language. They often portray themselves as victims of oppression to justify horrific acts of terrorism—suicide bombings, hostage-taking, and civilian massacres.

This is not mere politics—it’s theology twisted into an apocalyptic justification for murder, where killing civilians becomes an act of divine obedience. This spirit does not come from Abraham—it comes from Cain.

4. Christian Inquisition and Crusades – Murder in the Name of the Cross

During the Inquisition and Crusades, those bearing the name of Christ used violence to preserve doctrinal and political power. Torture, execution, forced conversions—all under the banner of “defending the faith.”

“They will think they are doing God a service by killing you.” – John 16:2

Jesus foresaw it. This is not true Christianity, but a distortion of it—a Christ-less cross wielded as a sword instead of carried as a burden.

5. Nazi Genocide and Ethnic Cleansing – The Racial Religion of Supremacy

The Nazi regime baptized their ideology in racial mythology and pseudo-Christian nationalism. Jews, Slavs, Roma, and others were deemed "subhuman"—obstacles to the purity of the Aryan vision. The same religious spirit that moved Cain whispered to Hitler: “This group is evil. Destroy them, and you purify the world.”

This spirit returned in Rwanda when the Hutu extremists massacred nearly a million Tutsis—again, using propaganda laced with moral justification and dehumanization. A righteous cause… turned into rivers of blood.

💀 The Pattern: When Religion Becomes a Justification for Hate

All of these examples share common elements:

A perceived righteousness or divine approval
A narrative of victimhood or threat
A dehumanization/deindividualising/demonising of the “other”
A call to purge, purify, or protect
A refusal to look inward or repent

The True Christological Response

Jesus flipped this entire narrative. Rather than kill His enemies, He died for them. Rather than justify violence, He forgave from the cross. The true Spirit of God brings life, not death; mercy, not revenge; conviction, not condemnation. Instead of saying: "I am NOT my brother's Keeper" to "I take the sins of the World on my shoulders"

“You do not know what spirit you are of. For the Son of Man did not come to destroy men’s lives but to save them.” – Luke 9:55–56

Any “religion” that justifies hate, violence, exclusion, or superiority is not of God. It is the spirit of antichrist cloaked in the language of righteousness.

The Juxtaposed Beautiful attraction of the early Church

What made the early Christians so attractive—especially to a Roman world obsessed with power, prestige, and pagan pomp? They had no temples adorned with marble, no political clout, no seats in the Senate. They didn’t offer wealth, celebrity, or military protection. And yet… they grew. Not by status, but by substance. Not by strategy, but by shared life. The vibrancy of the early Christian movement stands in stark contrast to the fragile institutionalism of many modern churches. Without buildings, budgets, or branding, they built something far more enduring: a community marked by Christ-centred love. As Luke records in Acts 2:42–47, they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, to fellowship, the breaking of bread, and prayer. They shared all things in common—not through force, but through faith. Meals were sacred. Needs were met. Joy was visible. This wasn’t a campaign—it was a communion. And it’s no surprise, then, that eventually even emperors took notice. Not because Christians mirrored Roman culture, but because they quietly transformed it from within.

Though its origins were among the socially marginal, the early church soon attracted individuals from various strata, including the intellectual and aristocratic classes (Stark, 1996). As Rodney Stark’s sociological analysis shows, the Christian movement grew exponentially—from a few hundred adherents around 40 CE to over six million by 300 CE[8]—without coercive state power or material or hedonistic incentives. Instead, it thrived on ethical and relational capital: a moral vision that offered purpose, identity, and community in a fragmented world.

This Christological framework significantly morphed the Roman Empire, as explained by Tom Holland:

Rome didn’t fall so much as it metamorphosed — through Christianity.
The moral revolution brought by Christ’s crucifixion undermined the very core of Roman identity: power, domination, slavery, and glory through violence.
The Christian conscience ultimately replaced the Roman sword.

Even the “barbarians” became part of this Christian story. The cross outlived the eagle. “The empire that had crucified Christ became the vessel through which His kingdom spread.”

This inwardly driven Christological basis energised a truly admired and attractive moral vision rooted in Jesus's teachings. It produced an economic ecology sustained not by hierarchical structures or institutional endowments but by the lived ethics of everyday believers. Healing, hospitality, and humility are the currency of this new heavenly Kingdom.

[1] Murray, D. (2019). The madness of crowds: Gender, race and identity. London: Bloomsbury Continuum.

[2] Kreeft, P (2008) Jesus-Shock. Ignatius Press.

[3] Kreeft, Peter. (2021, March 18). How to Destroy Western Civilization and Other Ideas from the Cultural Abyss.

[4] Palmer, J. (n.d.). Did we miss what Mariann Budde was trying to do? Substack. Retrieved April 7, 2025, from https://jimpalmerauthor.substack.com/p/did-we-miss-what-mariann-budde-was

[5] — Jonathan Haidt, The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Politics and Religion (2012), Chapter 6.

[6] Robert Barron, Catholicism: A Journey to the Heart of the Faith (New York: Image, 2011), especially his treatment of the moral and spiritual life as ordered toward the "highest good."

[7] Bell, R. (2009). The Jesus Way. HarperOne.

[8] Stark, R. (1996). The rise of Christianity: How the obscure, marginal Jesus movement became the dominant religious force in the Western world in a few centuries. HarperOne.