Jonathan Haws This post builds on the letter to my missionaries that I posted entitled “Are We Really at War? Rethinking Gospel Metaphors, Sin, and Spiritual Growth.” My wife read that piece and promptly messaged our bishop, telling him that I needed to speak. He messaged me that same night…
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how often scripture—and by extension the way we talk about the gospel—uses the language of war.
We are told we are in a battle.
That we are fighting Satan and his followers.
That we must be vigilant, armored, steadfast, and prepared.
General Conference talks reference this. Authors have written about it. It’s clearly a metaphor that resonates deeply in many Christian traditions, including our own. Listen to the lyrics of the hymns we sing:
“Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war…”
“Who’s on the Lord’s side, who? Now is the time to show!”
“Up, awake, ye defenders of Zion! The foe’s at the door of your homes!”
“Behold, a royal army, with banners, swords, and shields…”
“We are all enlisted ‘til the conflict is o’er…”
For a while, I just took this at face value: yes, we are at war.
But the more I sit with it, the more a question will not let go of me:
Are we truly at war?
Is war the lens through which Jesus wants us to understand what it means to follow Him? And how does a war-first gospel-view affect our worldview, both individually and as a people?
The Power—and Danger—of a War Mindset
Scripture often speaks in the language of opposition. We are told to “put on the whole armor of God.” We are warned about adversaries. We hear about battles—both spiritual and physical. Many General Conference talks use this framing, and for good reason.
There is something real we are pushing against. There is opposition. There is a force—external and internal—that constantly tries to keep us from becoming who we are capable of becoming. In that sense, saying we are “at war with Satan” captures something important. Elder Holland said, “[t]his is a life-and-death contest we are in” with “eternal significance and everlasting consequence.”
But here’s the tension I’ve been feeling.
Wars require enemies.
Enemies require sides.
Sides require an “us” and a “them.”
Humans are tribal by nature. Once we belong to one group, it becomes easy—almost automatic—to see those outside the group as wrong, dangerous, or lesser. We see this everywhere: in politics, in international conflict, in social issues, and yes, even in religion.
One of the most painful things I’ve heard from friends and family over the years is this:
They choose to step away—not because they reject God—but because they could not reconcile what was taught about worthiness, boundaries, and belonging with their belief in a deeply loving God.
To them, God does not divide Their children into worthy and unworthy, acceptable and unacceptable. They love fully, constantly, and without condition.
When discipleship is framed as enlisting in an army, even if the war is truly against Satan and not against other people, it can sometimes, unintentionally, shape the way we see one another.
Not because our scriptures are meant to divide us — I don’t believe they are — but because we are human. And humans are shaped by language.
The metaphors and language we use don’t just describe reality. They form the lenses through which we see it.
If we’re not careful, those lenses can quietly lead us to believe that:
- Some people are on God’s side.
- Some people are not.
- Our job is to figure out who belongs where…
- and to assume that if someone sees things differently, they must be standing somewhere outside the circle.
One of my favorite meditation teachers wrote this (referencing her 4-year old’s tantrums, so interesting how well it fits here):
I find when there is no witness or wall to push against, the beast falls away. When there is no one to dance with or rather, in this case, against, we come back into the nature of our heart pretty quickly. – Sarah Blondin
History shows us where “us vs. them” thinking eventually leads. Even when it starts with good intentions, it almost always ends in pain, exclusion, and unnecessary suffering. When our minds are always primed for war, we tend to start creating enemies, even when none were meant to exist.
And I don’t believe that is the world God is trying to build.
And that is definitely not how Jesus moved through the world.
Jesus Refused to Draw Lines
Jesus lived in a time of occupation, violence, rebellion, and deep tribal division. If anyone had reason to adopt a war-first worldview, it was Him.
And yet—again and again—He resisted it.
Instead of drawing lines, He crossed them.
- He ate with sinners.
- He spoke with Samaritans.
- He touched the unclean.
- He forgave enemies.
- He healed on the Sabbath.
- He refused to reduce people to categories.
When given the chance to condemn, He invited growth.
When given the chance to retaliate, He chose love.
When given the chance to seize power, He knelt and washed feet.
If we want to know what it means to be a follower of Jesus Christ, we have to pay attention to the direction He consistently nudged people.
In fact, He said something almost unthinkable in a world built on retaliation:
“Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”
President Oaks has called this “one of Christ’s best-known commandments—most revolutionary and most difficult to follow.” And yet, he reminded us, it is “a most fundamental part of His invitation for all to follow Him.”
That does not sound like mobilizing an army.
It sounds like transforming a heart.
What If the Struggle Is Within?
This is where Eugene England’s essay “Why the Church Is as True as the Gospel” has been especially helpful to me. One of his core ideas is that all expressions of the gospel are interpreted—shaped by culture, language, time, and human limitation. That doesn’t mean the gospel itself is flawed; it means our descriptions of it are always partial—as Paul said, “through a glass, darkly”.
Some metaphors are incredibly powerful—but no metaphor can carry the whole truth.
So I’ve started asking myself not “Is the war metaphor true?” but rather “What truth does it reveal, and what truth might it hide?”
Here’s where I’ve landed—at least for now.
I don’t believe we are at war with other people.
And I don’t believe we are even at war with the world.
I believe the deepest struggle is within.
There is a real tension inside each of us—between our divine nature and our mortality, between who we are right now and who we are capable of becoming. That tension can feel relentless. It can feel exhausting. And yes, sometimes it can feel like a battle.
But it’s not a battle against others. It’s a lifelong process of learning how to align ourselves with God.
Sin as Alignment, Not Condemnation
This framing has changed how I think about sin.
The Hebrew word most often translated as “sin” is chet (or chata’ah), which literally means “to miss the mark.” I love that definition because it doesn’t imply rebellion so much as misalignment. When we sin, we aren’t necessarily declaring war on God—we’re simply aiming imperfectly.
And here’s the part I find deeply hopeful: when you miss the mark, you actually gain information. You learn where your aim was off. Over time, missed shots teach you how to adjust.
Repeated sin, unfortunately, can lead to frustration. It can convince people they are broken, unworthy, or fundamentally failing. But through this lens, sin isn’t proof that you are bad—it’s evidence that you are still learning. Still practicing. Still in the process of becoming.
That feels less like a battlefield and more like a training ground.
The Fortress Church – and Its Limits
In that sense, I do think wartime analogies help. We all need places to retreat, regroup, heal, and remember who we are – something like a fortress. The Church can be that kind of place. Scripture can be that kind of place. Family can be that kind of place. But fortresses are meant to restore us—not isolate us forever.
If we stay in a permanent war mindset, we risk mistaking fellow travelers for enemies. We risk confusing disagreement with danger. We risk forgetting that Christ consistently moved toward people, not away from them—even when they were different, broken, or wrong.
Again, if anyone had reason to adopt a war-first worldview, it was our Savior. And yet, His metaphors were often about seeds, growth, learning, healing, and return. His harshest words weren’t reserved for sinners—but for those who believed their certainty placed them above others.
Zion: A Gathering, Not a Sorting
This feels especially relevant as we study Enoch and Zion.
Zion is often described as “the pure in heart.” But I don’t believe Zion was ever meant to be a gated community for the spiritually elite.
Zion is a gathering place.
A place where people with very different backgrounds, experiences, and ideals work toward a common goal:
- To care for one another
- To lift the vulnerable
- To reduce suffering
- To become more like Christ together
Zion is not built by excluding those who struggle.
It is built by loving them through it.
So what does that actually look like in real life?
I don’t think it looks dramatic.
In my mind, it looks like building real friendships based on our shared humanity rather than our shared church attendance, political loyalties, or social identities.
It looks like listening long enough to understand someone’s story before deciding what we think about their conclusions.
It looks like refusing to reduce anyone to tidy labels — faithful or falling away, liberal or conservative, orthodox or nuanced — and instead choosing to see a child of God — complex, unfinished, loved.
It looks like asking “How can I understand you better?”, instead of “Are you on my side?”
That kind of work rarely feels heroic.
It doesn’t come with banners or battle cries.
But it does feel much closer to how Zion is actually built.
Coming Back to the Music
I want to conclude more or less where I started—with hymns.
It’s fascinating to me that in the Church’s new collection, Hymns for Home and Church, not a single new hymn uses the language of war.
Instead, the themes are:
- Belonging
- Healing
- Covenant
- Grace
- Hope
- Christ Himself
This doesn’t mean the old hymns were wrong.
It may mean that the Lord is gently nudging us to mature in how we understand discipleship.
From marching…
to walking.
From battling…
to becoming.
From defending lines…
to building Zion.
And if we listen carefully, we can hear that same invitation echoed in the words of our current prophets and apostles.
Elder Stevenson recently invited us to follow what he called a “One-Week Peacemaker Plan,” asking us to consider whether our comments, posts, and replies online publish peace—or whether they harbor hate.
Elder Anderson recently built bridges by quoting a Reverend from Salt Lake City who said, “As Jesus taught, we don’t eradicate evil with more evil. We love generously and live mercifully.”
Elder Gong recently reminded us that “Covenant belonging in Jesus Christ comforts, connects, consecrates.”
And President Oaks taught:
“We need to love and do good to all. We need to avoid contention and be peacemakers in all our communications. This does not mean to compromise our principles and priorities but to cease harshly attacking others for theirs. … That is the example He set for us as He invited us to follow Him.”
None of that sounds like a battle cry.
It sounds like an invitation to maturity.
To mercy.
To peacemaking.
To Christ.
What It Means to Follow Jesus Christ
So if I were to reframe things now, I might say this:
We are not so much at war as we are in a lifelong struggle to choose alignment over impulse, growth over stagnation, humility and faith over certainty, and love over fear.
That struggle is real. It matters. And it deserves our full attention.
But it does not require us to see the world and our neighbor as an enemy.
As you go about your daily lives—interacting with people with radically different lives, beliefs, and worldviews—I hope you remember:
- To aim well, adjust often, and keep growing;
- To move away from seeing people as enemies;
- To see sin not as a verdict, but as feedback;
- To allow yourself grace—and allow others the same freedom;
- To refuse the instinct to divide the world into “us” and “them”;
- To never confuse missing the mark with being unworthy of the journey.
Jesus Christ is not leading an army.
He is leading a people toward healing.
And if we truly follow Him, our lives should reflect that same movement.
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
