A pastor once told me, “I have my views, but who am I to say they’re right for someone else?”
I asked, “Then why hold them at all?”
A personal conviction isn’t like stamp collecting—just a preference with no bearing on others. If what you believe aligns with reality, it’s more like gravity than your taste in music. It’s good for people because it’s true, not just because you happen to prefer it.
However, conviction isn’t the same as partisanship, picking a side and digging in. The church is called to be a contrast community. In a polarized world, that contrast is not only about what we believe but also about how we hold our beliefs.
The Path Between the Poles Isn’t the Mushy Middle
Instead of mirroring the culture’s partisan reflex—where every issue becomes a test of loyalty—the church stands apart through its generous spirit toward differences. Augustine recognized this dynamic tension nearly two thousand years ago: Unity in first things, liberty in second things, and love over all.
Living in this faithful tension is not weakness. It’s not a flimsy compromise or a mushy middle. The right tension of values is a strength of people who can listen and show restraint. It’s a long obedience in the same direction, full of both grace and truth. It’s an achievement if you can keep it.
The way of Jesus demands far more than political tribalism. And it offers far more life. If you’re always picking a side to make sure every point is secured, you may not be on the narrow way—you may already be in a ditch.
One Global Example
My own national denomination embodies this tension. Our unity isn’t in uniformity but in a shared commitment to theological essentials. We make space for differences on issues that, while important, do not define orthodox Christianity.
Take ordination: some churches see a biblical case for ordaining women; others do not. Yet both belong to the same national church.
This isn’t compromise or cowardice—it’s wisdom. We stay anchored in what we are for—authority of scripture, making disciples, and loving our neighbors—rather than draining our energy in endless skirmishes over issues that ebb and flow with culture.
Can a community really stay faithful given all the current cultural pressures to compromise?
G.K. Chesterton believed so. He pointed to Nehemiah, rebuilding Jerusalem’s walls with a sword in one hand and a trowel in the other. Defend, but build. That’s the tension of the narrow way: vigilance in defense must never overshadow the call to build. Know what you stand for—don’t be defined by what you oppose.
Why People Get Stuck in the Ditches
People in the ditches don’t trust tension. They define themselves by what they oppose. If every issue isn’t barricaded, they assume compromise is inevitable. Their thinking is shaped more by political categories than theological ones, relying on power rather than influence.
Why might someone with a non-anxious track record suddenly turn militant? Why do thoughtful leaders shift from winning people over to winning against them? The fight-or-flight response may be hijacking their thinking.
Scroll through social media, and you’ll see how fear snowballs. Outrage spreads because what gets celebrated gets repeated. Few stop to ask, “Is this even true?” But this isn’t conviction—it’s moral panic.
When the limbic system (“lizard brain”) is on high alert, reason takes a back seat. People in the ditches aren’t weighing issues carefully; they’re reacting. They fear compromise, fear looking weak, and cling to slippery-slope arguments a freshman English student could dismantle.
Giving in to the Culture of Division
This reactivity drives the economic engine of mass media.
Journalist Megan Basham’s book is a recent example, provoking concern from the right. She criticizes pastors like Gavin Ortlund for urging Christians to do their homework before taking a public stance on an issue like climate change. He wasn’t pushing a partisan agenda—he was promoting restraint and wisdom. For some people, if you’re not wielding a sword on every issue, you’re suspect.
Even winsomeness has come under fire. The ability to disagree without being disagreeable is now seen as a red flag—as if civility itself were a form of compromise.
On the other side, Tim Alberta’s latest book punches right, allowing too much of his personal story to drive his critique, shaping his conclusions to fit prevailing cultural narratives.
The Narrow way through division requires trust
The narrow way demands something far harder than partisanship—discernment. It takes discernment to be defined by what you stand for, not just what you oppose. Without it, fear takes the lead, shaping identity around resistance rather than conviction. But when you can name what you’re for, you can take a firm stand without eroding trust or defaulting to defensiveness.
Trust in God’s sovereignty is the bedrock of unity in essentials, making room for differences in non-essentials. Without that trust, organizations drift toward tyranny, stifling freedom of conscience and spiritual growth. Courage is required to embrace trust—especially when fear insists that difference leads to compromise. Yet this is the essence of walking the narrow way in community.
Jesus walked this path—not as a moderate avoiding conflict, nor as a militant demanding uniformity. He overturned tables in righteous anger yet commanded Peter to sheath his sword. He spoke hard truths without coercion, embodying the tension of grace and truth. To follow Him is to embrace that tension—to walk the narrow way with both conviction and compassion.
Tim Alberta is a journalist. He’s a Christian, but expressing his take on controversial events is hos job. So I think your criticism of him is not a good example of what you are talking about here.
I agree with you that– whereas Megan Basham’s book is directed at church leaders, Alberta’s book is not. But it’s an example of over-correcting that, like most journalism these days, connects only with the people already sympathetic to one’s side of things. If I had to come up with a creative, fresh church-based metaphor to explain why I used him as an example, then I might say, “he’s preaching to the choir.”