There is a strange irony in religious life. Often we feel more disturbed by those who are close to us than by those who are entirely different. A Christian may find it easier to admire a Buddhist monk or to respect a Muslim scholar than to sit comfortably with a Christian from another denomination. Many Protestants even feel more comfortable appreciating Catholic liturgy or Orthodox spirituality than listening to the voice of another Protestant tradition that seems only a step away. The nearer the difference, the greater the unease.
One pastor from the evangelical world once argued that the divide between evangelical and mainline Protestants is so vast that they must be considered not as two streams of the same faith but as two separate religions altogether. In his view, the disagreement is not like a family quarrel but like the difference between Christianity and Buddhism, or between Christianity and Islam. By his reasoning, conversations between evangelicals and mainliners are not intrafaith dialogues at all, but interreligious negotiations.
This way of framing the conflict carries a certain blunt clarity. It recognizes the frustration that evangelicals feel toward liberal theology, and the suspicion that mainline Christians often feel toward fundamentalism. Yet it also risks dissolving Christianity into fragments. If every difference within the family is recast as belonging to another religion, then the family itself no longer exists. The irony is that Protestantism itself is not two denominations but thousands, scattered across history and geography. The categories of “mainline” and “evangelical” are better understood as two poles or axes around which countless denominations orient themselves in varying degrees.
Two Ways of Seeing the Bible
At the heart of the divide lies the Bible. For evangelicals, the Bible is the direct and perfect Word of God. It is not simply inspired, but literally authoritative in every verse. The world was created in seven days, not as a metaphor but as a fact. The miracles are not symbolic but historical. The authority of Scripture is treated as the bedrock of the faith.
Mainline Protestantism, shaped by the Enlightenment and by modern biblical scholarship, approaches the Bible differently. For them the text is still inspired, but it carries the marks of human hands and cultural contexts. Hermeneutics becomes central, since one must interpret what the human authors meant within their time, and how the divine message might still speak through them. Genesis may be read as myth, filled with truth but not confined to literal history.
Between these poles exists a wide spectrum. Some evangelicals allow for symbolic readings of creation but still insist on the literal resurrection of Christ. Some mainliners speak of myth and poetry but still affirm that God speaks through Scripture in a living way. Yet the more extreme voices often dominate. Evangelicals see mainliners as inconsistent, picking and choosing what to take literally. Mainliners see evangelicals as refusing to use the reason God gave them. The tension between these views continues to shape the religious landscape. And within Protestantism, which is by nature divided into countless streams, these two ways of seeing serve as markers that shape the orientation of nearly all the others.
The Danger of Separation
The evangelical pastor who suggested calling these groups “different religions” expressed a frustration many feel. If one group insists that Scripture is entirely divine and another insists that it is riddled with human error, are they still practicing the same faith? If one group insists that miracles are literal while another calls them symbolic, are they not talking past each other? The temptation is to resolve this by simply drawing a line and declaring a separation.
Yet this temptation is dangerous. Christianity has always been marked by internal struggles. From the earliest centuries, believers argued about the nature of Christ, the meaning of grace, the authority of tradition, and the place of reason. These disputes were not pleasant, but they were part of the life of the Church. To call every conflict a division of religions is to forget that Christianity has never been neat or easy.
If evangelicals and mainliners are treated as wholly separate religions, then the core of Christianity is abandoned. The essence of faith is not that disagreements vanish, but that they are endured within a shared confession of Christ. The moment we declare that we are no longer part of the same household, the testimony of the faith is diminished. What remains is not a stronger clarity but a fractured witness.
Reason as a Gift, Spirit as a Gift
It is helpful to remember that both sides are guarding something valuable. Reason is a gift from God. Without reason, believers fall into superstition, manipulation, and violence. The Reformation itself was in part a recovery of reason against abuses of authority. To interpret Scripture with the tools of history and scholarship is not a betrayal of God, but an acknowledgment that God gave us minds to think.
Spirit is also a gift from God. Without spirit, faith collapses into dry philosophy. Christianity becomes only another moral system or cultural artifact. Evangelicals insist that the Bible must be read with the eyes of faith, not only the eyes of scholarship. The living Word must speak beyond the page, not only within it.
One might say that reason and spirit are like two eyes. If one is closed, the vision becomes flat. If both are open, depth appears. Evangelicals tend to focus on the eye of spirit, mainliners on the eye of reason. Both are valid, but each on its own distorts reality. To see clearly requires both.
The Extremes of Blind Faith and Empty Faith
When faith ignores reason, it risks becoming blind. A literalism that refuses to acknowledge historical context or human authorship may seem strong, but in truth it is brittle. It hides its fragility under loud certainties. A believer who insists that faith requires never doubting may not be demonstrating strength, but fleeing from honesty. This is not trust but self-deception.
When faith abandons spirit, it risks becoming empty. A liberal theology that treats the resurrection only as metaphor or Christ only as a moral teacher may still offer wisdom, but it no longer offers salvation. Christianity reduced to admiration for Jesus as a human figure ceases to be Christianity. It becomes philosophy clothed in biblical language.
Both extremes are forms of self-deception. One pretends that faith eliminates doubt, the other pretends that doubt eliminates faith. Both end by refusing the struggle that is at the heart of Christian existence.
Why Creeds Still Matter
This is why the ancient creeds of the Church remain important, especially the Apostles’ Creed and the Nicene Creed. They were not written as philosophical exercises, but as boundaries of identity. They do not explain everything, but they mark what cannot be surrendered.
The Trinity, the Sonship of Christ, and the Resurrection are not optional. To deny them is to step outside the circle of Christian faith. There is room for interpretation, but not for abandonment. A theologian like Kenzo Tagawa may have had profound knowledge of Scripture, but if he believed Christ only as a human revolutionary and not as divine Son, then he himself could not claim the name of Christian.
These creeds protect against both extremes. They prevent fundamentalists from idolizing every verse while forgetting the larger confession, and they prevent liberals from dissolving faith into vague admiration. They remind us that there is a core that cannot be compromised.
The Existential Struggle of Every Christian
The tension between reason and spirit is not only a debate between denominations. It is a struggle within every believer. Each Christian carries within them both the doubting Thomas and the confessing disciple. Each faces moments where reason questions faith and where faith challenges reason.
To live as a Christian is not to escape this struggle but to endure it. A faith that never doubts is fragile. A faith that never trusts is empty. The path of discipleship requires both honesty and surrender. The questions that evangelicals and mainliners throw at each other are questions that each Christian must face within their own heart.
This is why the attempt to separate them into different religions misses the point. The real battle is not only external but internal. Every Christian must wrestle with the Bible as both divine and human, with Christ as both historical and eternal, with faith as both reasoned and spiritual.
The Creed as Lived Experience
At the deepest level, the Creed is not simply a text to recite but a reality to live. To say “I believe in the resurrection of the body” is not only to affirm a doctrine, but to live with hope in the face of death. To confess “Jesus Christ, Son of God” is not only to agree intellectually, but to follow Christ in daily life.
When faith is lived, the struggle between reason and spirit finds its resolution not in argument but in experience. One does not overcome self-deception by winning debates, but by walking with Christ. Prayer, worship, and love of neighbor embody the Creed in ways that no theology can fully capture.
This does not make reason unnecessary, nor does it reduce faith to emotion. Rather, it shows that the true ground of Christian identity lies in living confession, not in theoretical agreement. The Creed is strongest when it is sung, prayed, and acted, not when it is dissected alone.
A Way Forward
If Christianity is to survive with integrity, it cannot be reduced to either pure rationalism or pure literalism. It must keep both eyes open, both reason and spirit. Evangelicals must resist the temptation of blind faith. Mainliners must resist the temptation of empty faith. Together they must hold the struggle, even when it is uncomfortable.
The Church’s witness to the world does not depend on unanimity of interpretation, but on fidelity to Christ within the struggle. The honest wrestling between evangelicals and mainliners is itself a sign of vitality. What would be truly destructive is the abandonment of the family, the declaration that we are no longer one faith.
The strength of Christianity has never been the absence of doubt, but the presence of hope. It is not certainty that saves, but fidelity lived through uncertainty. To live with both reason and spirit, to confess the Creed in word and deed, to walk in honesty and in trust, this is the path forward.
Living Within the Tension
The evangelical pastor was right in one sense. The divide between evangelicals and mainliners is vast, perhaps greater than any of us are willing to admit. Yet to call them separate religions is to misunderstand what faith really is. Christianity has always been a faith of tension, of paradox, of struggle between human reason and divine revelation.
To live as a Christian is not to escape this tension, but to embrace it. Blind faith is not faith, and empty faith is not Christianity. The true life of faith is lived in the space where reason and spirit meet, where the Creed is not only spoken but embodied.
If we abandon this struggle, we deceive ourselves. If we endure it, we discover the mystery of faith. The unease between evangelicals and mainliners is not the end of Christianity, but a sign that the struggle is still alive. And as long as that struggle remains, so does the possibility of living faith.
Image by Aritha
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