“Dad went to war last night”
On Christianity, Vance Boelter, and The Myth of Redemptive Violence
In 2016, I put on the heavy armor of an outraged internet activist and attempted to beat others into submission with clever words and statistics and Bible verses. This was an ineffective strategy but I felt justified because, in my mind, I was advocating for the underdog (this was before I realized being mad on the internet was not the same thing as driving myself down to the Tennessee Capitol and actually protesting). For several years I was in a constant state of fight-or-flight and every hill seemed like it was worth dying on. Every battle felt like life or death. I doubled down into a state of duality until I adopted the same mindset I was fighting against: us vs. them.
Then I came across a quote by Dorothy Day that set me on a years-long journey of recalibration: “I really only love God as much as I love the person I love the least.”
The path I was on did not produce the fruit of the Spirit in my life, only the fruit of a self-righteous ego. It was good to have convictions, but not at the expense of the humanity of my so-called enemies. It was around this time when I wrote this lyric from Jaded: “How do I love justice but remember you’re the only judge?”
Almost a decade later, I have unwound a lot of my binary thinking and can sincerely say I do not view anyone as an enemy, even folks I wholeheartedly disagree with. What has surprised me, though, is how much stronger a handful of convictions have become. The first of which is that God looks like Jesus. If this is not true, then for me, it is not worth being Christian. Another conviction I hold is that of nonviolence.
I didn’t realize how addicted we are to violence until I studied Anabaptism, a Christian peacemaking tradition, and read generations of Anabaptist theologians who gently but persistently called out what theologian Walter Wink named "The Myth of Redemptive Violence.” According to Wink, the myth of redemptive violence is “the story of the victory of order over chaos by means of violence.”1
We are indoctrinated to believe this myth from a young age, with cartoons showing the “bad guys” creating a problem for “good guys” until the “good guys” defeat the “bad guys” (often through violent means) to restore order by the end of every episode. This narrative dominates our storytelling in films like The Avengers or Taken or even The Lion King. We are taught to see violence as entertainment in films like John Wick or Mad Max. Even video games turn controllers in the hands of our children into weapons on a screen. We are consistently trained to be uncritical of violence and see it as necessary to create order.
As Wink wrote, “If a god is what you turn to when all else fails, violence certainly functions as a god.”
I recently read that Peter Jackson wanted to change The Lord of the Rings movie to end with Frodo actively killing Gollum by throwing him into the fires of Mount Doom because he did not think it was satisfactory enough for Gollum to fall off the ledge after biting Frodo's finger off as written by Tolkien. Interesting, isn’t it? Why does violence fulfill us?
Wink and other nonviolent scholars push back against this way of thinking and say violence is not a fulfilling solution, but a problem. One reason being, the myth of redemptive violence requires scapegoats: Who is causing chaos? They need to be eliminated to restore the group’s order. Who is disrupting the status quo? They are the “bad guys” and need to be removed; sometimes, horribly, in the name of God.
The myth of redemptive violence was used to justify the Crusades. It has justified many wars and acts of violence since. It justified Hamas’ attack against Israel on October 7th and it is now justifying the deaths of at least 55,000 people in Gaza, half of which are women and children.2 If I were a betting woman, I’d say it also justified Vance Boelter’s choice to shoot and kill a Minnesota lawmaker, her husband, and her dog—and to shoot another lawmaker and his wife this week. Last night, I watched a sermon Boelter preached in the Congo two years ago. The antagonized, binary lens he viewed America through was alarming. Part of his education was at Christ for the Nations, where the founders encourage their students to pray “one violent prayer a day.”3 How did theology like this shape his choice to put on a latex mask and shoot two lawmakers in the middle of the night? How did Boelter, an apparent missionary and preacher whose God laid down his life, justify murder? Why did he allegedly text his family after the shooting, “Dad went to war last night... I don't wanna say more because I don't want to implicate anybody”?4
“Dad went to war last night”?
It’s easy to say, “He’s a crazy outlier!” but that excuses us from the necessary work of criticizing how Christians in America view violence and defend it with theology. What if he is not an outlier, but a product of the myths we hold up? What if he was just unwell enough to do the thing many fear-mongering preachers talk about on Sundays?
I have lived the last two decades of my life in the South, in a state where more than half of households own a gun and there are likely more firearms than people. In 2023, more than 633,000 guns were sold in Tennessee.5 That being said, I’ve noticed a strong reluctance among many Christians around me to critically think about violence. Why are we so hesitant to wade into these waters? Why is this topic—so central to the gospel and so present in our culture— seen as untouchable? I say this, by the way, as someone who had two guns in her bedside table just ten years ago.
What happened to “You shall not kill”? What about Jesus’ words, “For all who take the sword will perish by the sword.”? Why do we not take these words literally? Seriously ask yourself this question: Why were these pictures taken in a Christian’s car?
Why is any American able to buy this many weapons? Why do Christians have entire arsenals in their homes? Why aren’t Christians who follow a decidedly nonviolent Jesus more critical of this reality?
There’s a verse in Romans I can’t shake lately: “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.” The pattern of this world is violent, from Ukraine to Gaza to Minnesota; from our relationships to our movies to our homes. Choosing to make peace through nonviolent resistant means is a way Christians can refuse to drink poison the world gladly accepts. The myth of redemptive violence is exactly that... a myth. But Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection teach us this: Peace that lasts comes not through violence but through redemptive, self-sacrificial love.
Sending love,
Savannah
https://www2.goshen.edu/~joannab/women/wink99.pdf
https://www.ap.org/news-highlights/spotlights/2025/more-than-55000-palestinians-have-been-killed-in-the-israel-hamas-war-gaza-health-officials-say/
Watch to the end of this video:
https://abcnews.go.com/US/minnesota-lawmakers-shooting-suspect-vance-boelter-due-court/story?id=122882740
https://www.cbsnews.com/pictures/gun-ownership-rates-by-state/
Reading your wonderful article, it strikes me that I've never heard a sermon preached on how Jesus' last miracle before his death is healing Malchus's ear after Peter cut it off. I'm fresh out of Fleming Rutledge's The Crucifixion, which helped me understand that any faithful response to the cross can never include violence. Thank you for this.
I’m horrified at learning that the shooter was not only a believer but a missionary. My God, have mercy on us… what have we done in your name