Three Paths Through the Wilderness: Reflections on Responses to Cultural Crises

 

An old man's thoughts on the choices facing the faithful.

Introduction

"You are the salt of the earth... You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket" (Matthew 5:13-15).

In my lifetime, I've witnessed sincere Christians explore distinct paths through cultural hostility or indifference. Each claims fidelity to Christ's call to be salt and light, yet these paths seem to diverge, sometimes sharply.

So, I find myself returning to three images Jesus gave us—salt, light, and a city on a hill—as I watch His people wrestle with how to live in an increasingly secular, chaotic age. Salt must mingle with what it preserves, yet it can lose its savour. Light must shine in the dark, yet it can be hidden under a bushel, or burn so fiercely that it blinds. A city on a hill cannot hide; it is set inescapably before the watching world, for glory or for shame.

Together, these metaphors sketch the paradox of Christian presence in the world.

The Three Paths

The Way of Authority

Some Christians, surveying the cultural crisis in the West, conclude that being a "city on a hill" means seizing the high ground—literally and figuratively. They hear in Jesus's words a summons to visible, institutional Christianity, determining society's laws and customs.

Modern Forms:

• Evangelical Dominionism: "Christians should exercise dominion over all spheres—politics, education, media, law. The city must govern the valley."
• Catholic Integralism: "Civil authority should be influenced by and subordinated to spiritual authority. The city on the hill must be explicitly Catholic in its ordering."

This approach takes seriously the "cannot be hidden" of Jesus's teaching. Why build a city and be powerless? If Christians have the truth about human flourishing, shouldn't that truth determine the shape of public policy?

I understand this hunger. When I witness children adrift in confusion, families fractured, and truth itself trampled underfoot, something deep within me yearns for a city mighty enough to shelter and shepherd. Surely visibility calls for authority?

But I have seen how the hunger for institutional power corrodes witness. When the city towers as fortress rather than sanctuary, it is visible indeed—but for the wrong reasons. Can a kingdom of love be built by the arm of force?

The Way of Preservation

Other Christians hear "city on a hill" and conclude that visibility need not mean power. Rather, it means building luminous communities whose quiet holiness cannot be ignored. It means building beautiful, authentic Christian communities that serve as beacons of hope in a darkening world.

Modern Forms:

• A Smaller Church: A purified, humble Church—a visible but small city whose light shines more clearly when stripped of worldly ambition—that sustains its dwellers and draws people through its radiance.

Here, visibility flows not from scale or might, but from beauty, distinctiveness, and holiness. A constellation of lamps in a forgotten village may pierce the darkness more surely than the diffused glow of a sprawling metropolis.

Yet wisdom shimmers in this path. Monasteries that draw pilgrims from the earth's corners, parishes celebrated for liturgy and mercy, homes that burn bright with welcome—these incarnate the way of preservation. Their walls are not ramparts, but hearthstones that cannot be hidden.

Yet I wonder: did Jesus envision His city as primarily a dwelling for the convinced? Can a lamp fulfil its purpose if it shines only for those already gathered in its glow? Can such a city offer refuge to those still wandering in the valley below?

The Way of Engagement

A third way envisions the "city on a hill" as sanctuary and summons. Its gates stand forever open; its lamps burn through the long watches for every wandering soul.

Such a city attracts because it offers radical hospitality, recognising neighbours—even secular ones—as fellow image-bearers seeking truth. It works for the common good without making politics its idol. It opens doors, sets tables, and calls the lost home.

This missionary response gathers all three metaphors: it preserves like salt, illumines like light, and stands as a visible city that threatens no one—it invites all.

This way whispers closest to the Gospel's heart: intricate, humble, unadorned by worldly glory. It promises not conquest, but companionship; not dominion, but communion.

Yet even here, shadows gather. Can distinctiveness survive with gates flung wide? A city that embraces all must guard against becoming tasteless—luminous perhaps, but bland, its salt dissolved in the flood of endless accommodation.

Living the Tension

What I've Learned

Through the years, I've come to see that each path captures something essential about Christian discipleship, and each casts its own shadow. The question isn't which path is perfect, but how to learn from all three while avoiding their pitfalls.

The Christians who stir my soul weave together threads from every path:

• The conviction of those who seek authority—tempered by humility, not domination.
• The authenticity of those who preserve—tempered by openness, not withdrawal.
• The charity of those who engage—tempered by fidelity, not compromise.

They know that to be salt and light requires both courage and tenderness, both clarity and compassion—iron wrapped in velvet, truth spoken in love.

Closing Reflection

Jesus called his followers to be salt and light in the world. He never promised His followers this would be simple or safe. Salt that preserves risks losing its flavour; light that shines risks being snuffed or scorned. But hidden salt and shuttered lamps, an "invisible Christianity," serve no one. We are called to offer hope to a world desperate for truth and mercy.

The path forward may not lie in choosing one way but in learning to walk all three: standing firm when truth lies trampled, building beauty when the world grows gray, reaching out when neighbors wander lost. Perhaps in this season, the Body of Christ needs many pilgrims on many paths, their diverse gifts woven into one luminous witness.

Theological Postscript: The Paths Ahead

For those interested in understanding the theological foundations beneath these reflections, the Church's recent teaching provides helpful guidance on when different approaches might be appropriate.

The Conciliar Foundation

The Second Vatican Council recognised that Christians must discern how to live Jesus' call to be salt, light, and city contextually. In Gaudium et Spes, the Council describes the Church as "existing in the world" yet summoned to "carry forward the work of Christ," bringing the Gospel's "healing and elevating impact on human dignity" to society.

Crucially, the Council called for discernment. The Church must "read the signs of the times and interpret them in the light of the Gospel," applying principles of subsidiarity and enculturation. This means the Church should "foster and take to herself, insofar as they are good, the ability, resources, and customs of each people."

This pastoral vision supports all three paths we've explored. The choice between them is a matter of prudential judgment, not doctrine. The Council affirms that the Church's influence flows not from "external dominion exercised by merely human means," but through faith and charity that adapts to local needs and possibilities [1].

Papal Perspectives on Engagement

Recent popes have emphasised different aspects of this discernment process, reflecting, in their teaching, the three paths.

John Paul II stressed that Christian authority must serve human dignity rather than seek power for its own sake. In Centesimus Annus, he warned against strategies that pursue influence as an end in itself [2]. His guidance to American bishops emphasised "the Church's mission in the social order must respect human dignity and religious freedom" [3]. This provides support for the Way of Authority only when exercised through Gospel ethics rather than seeking worldly power.

Benedict XVI offered prophetic caution about institutional influence, anticipating a Church that might become "smaller" in cultural influence but more spiritually authentic in witness [4]. In Deus Caritas Est, he insisted that "the Church's deepest nature is expressed in her three-fold responsibility of proclaiming the word of God, celebrating the sacraments, and exercising the ministry of charity" [5]. His warning against purely institutional approaches that lose spiritual focus reflects the wisdom of the Way of Preservation when cultural engagement risks persecution or corrupting Christian testimony.

Pope Francis in Evangelii Gaudium, emphasised that the Church must be missionary, joyful, and relational, critiquing both aggressive secularism and a Church that overly identifies with political power [6]. In Fratelli Tutti, he writes that the Christian apostolic work is about dialogue: "approaching, speaking, listening, looking at, coming to know and understand one another, and to find common ground" [7].

These papal teachings converge on a key insight: the need for prudential assessment of local circumstances, adopting different aspects of Christian presence while maintaining unity on fundamental Gospel principles.

Discernment in Practice

Pilgrims must carry different tools for shifting terrain. Sometimes we need the shepherd's staff of authority to guide others to safety. Sometimes we need the steady flame of witness to hold back encroaching darkness. Sometimes we need the open hand of hospitality to welcome the stranger home.

Rather than prescribing one path, the Church's wisdom lies in helping local communities discern which approach—or creative combinations of each—best serves their missionary calling. The Church's emphasis on synodality provides a concrete framework for this discernment, allowing communities to prayerfully consider their response while maintaining communion with the universal Church.

In post-Christian Western societies with strong democratic traditions, the Way of Engagement may offer the most fruitful approach. In cultures where Christian institutions retain significant influence, the Way of Authority might be more appropriate. In societies experiencing rapid secularisation or active hostility toward faith, the Way of Preservation may be the wisest choice for sustaining Gospel witness across generations.

Wisdom for the Journey

The Preacher reminds us that "to everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven" (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

What remains constant is the call to authentic presence: maintaining Christian distinctiveness while supporting the human community; proclaiming truth while embodying love; and being visible witnesses to hope that comes from Christ alone. The specific expression may vary, but this fundamental calling endures across all times, places, and seasons.

Some seasons call for the clarity from those in authority, not to dominate, but to serve the common good. Other seasons demand the patient work of preservation, building communities of beauty and virtue that can weather storms and draw seekers by their light. Still other seasons require the open-hearted engagement of those who cross boundaries to find common ground with neighbours.

In our complex world, the universal Church's role is not to prescribe identical responses everywhere for all times but to provide principles for genuine discernment in local communities that choose their path in service to the Gospel's transforming power.

What I've learned in my years of watching is this: the most compelling Christians embody elements from all three ways. They understand that there is a time for the conviction of those who seek authority, but without the will to dominate. A time for the authenticity of those who preserve, but without complete withdrawal. A time for the charity of those who engage, but without losing their distinctiveness.

Pilgrims must prepare for every terrain on the journey toward the City of God. The landscape shifts with the seasons, but our destination remains fixed—the Eternal City, where all our labors find their rest, where earthly cities fade before something infinitely greater.

"I do not ask that you take them out of the world but that you keep them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world. Consecrate them in the truth. Your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, so I sent them into the world." (John 17: 15-18)

Footnotes

1. Second Vatican Council, Gaudium et Spes (Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World), (1965), 22. 
2. John Paul II, Centesimus Annus (The Hundredth Year), (1991), 24. 
3. John Paul II, Fides et Ratio (On the Relationship between Faith and Reason), (1998), 1. 
4. Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi (On Christian Hope), (2007), 22–25 
5. Benedict XVI, Caritas in Veritate (Charity in Truth), (2009), 1. 
6. Francis, Evangelii Gaudium (The Joy of the Gospel), (2013), 47. 
7. Francis Fratelli Tutti