The Purple Crown

Book

The Purple Crown: The Politics of Martyrdom by Tripp York. Scottdale, PA: Herald, 2007.

Reviewer

Stephanie Krehbiel, independent scholar

The Purple Crown: The Politics of Martyrdom engages questions that have preoccupied Anabaptists for centuries: What is the appropriate posture of peace-loving Christians in a violent world? Should Christians be political?

As a work of historical theology, this book will appeal most to theologians and church historians. But York’s prose, if repetitive at times, is accessible (and gender inclusive). Anyone who finds the subject matter compelling can approach this study. Some will find it inspiring; others will find it most valuable as a representative piece of a particular kind of Christian dogma. At the least, it will provoke passionate conversation.

According to York, Christians must be politically active earthly citizens, but with an important caveat: their political posture is one of exile. They are here on earth to represent heaven. Thus “martyrdom is the political act because it represents the ultimate imitation of Christ, signifying a life lived in obedience to, and participation in, the triune God” (23).

Beginning with a discussion of the early Christian martyrs under Rome, York interprets martyrdom as a public performance that bears witness to the triumph of Christ through a means superior to rhetoric or argument. Indeed, martyrdom is a cosmic battle “between God’s people and God’s enemies” (29-30).

From the early Christians, the author moves to a discussion of the 16th-century Anabaptist martyrs, and finishes with a biography of martyred Salvadoran archbishop Oscar Romero that is likely to be engaging even for those who dislike York’s theology.

York deserves much credit for writing one of the more ecumenical martyrdom studies available from a Mennonite source. He focuses always on the broader Christian context and resists Anabaptist tribalism. But readers who value interfaith cooperation may find his work problematic.

The Purple Crown is peppered with references to “the people of God,” and while York acknowledges that this group is hard to define, he remains rigid in his Christian understanding of the phrase. “Only where the triune God is worshipped can there be true sociality,” he asserts (110). This claim is typical of York’s language throughout. He consistently dismisses any social or political reality outside of Christianity by labeling it “false,” an ideological tactic that adds no meat to his arguments.
The Purple Crown is hardly the first theological work to claim that Christianity is inherently political by virtue of its alleged superiority to everything else, and if York is to be faulted for excessive reliance on a “church” vs. “world” binary, it must be said that he did not invent it. Still, he does little to make it fresh.

The author includes almost no discussion of contemporary politics or how Christians might shoulder their accountability in a modern democracy. Rather, government is simply “the state,” an ill-defined monolith that kills and oppresses Christians. Christians are political because as followers of Christ they stand in opposition to the state, even unto death. This circular argument is the heart of The Purple Crown, thereby confining the book’s appeal to those who share York’s dualistic worldview.

York comes closest to undermining his own dualism in his chapter on 16th-century Europe – the strongest in the book – in which he discusses with admirable nuance how battles over semantics led Christians to kill one another.

Recognizing the difficulty of resolving these doctrinal issues, York points us instead to the martyrdoms; such performances “give us something by which we can discern which acts are good, beautiful, and true. Maybe then it is possible to distinguish the difference between a pseudo-politics located in earthly regimes and an authentic politics constituted by nothing other than the broken yet risen body of Christ” (97).

The definition of “politics” is contested territory, and my frustration with York’s theocratic version may reveal little beyond my own partisanship. Nonetheless, the labels “pseudo-politics” and “authentic politics” strike me as ironically self-defeating. Nothing is more endemic to the politics of “earthly regimes” than claims of purity and authenticity that serve to discredit some peoples while elevating others to positions of supposed greatness.

“The visible church is important not just so the elect can know each other, but because God has promised not to leave the world without a witness to God,” York continues; “This is the sort of gift that exposes false cities from the true city in an effort to bring all cities under the rule of Christ” (98).

This crusader-like language leaves us no room to approach non-Christians with any humility. Despite its nonviolent intent, I doubt York’s chauvinist theology will bring us closer to the “peace of the earthly city.”