Citizens of where, exactly?

It’s been a heavy news week. In Victoria, a so-called “sovereign citizen” murdered two police officers—a dreadful act with an ideology that feels like it’s been imported from the more combustible corners of America’s internet, but which is disturbingly homegrown. Meanwhile, in Canberra and across all the state capitals, we’re bracing for a “March for Australia” this Sunday, billed as a patriotic gathering but reportedly shaping up to be a far-right rally with the usual cocktail of grievance, nationalism, and suspiciously large flags.

There’s a thread running through both stories: a simmering anger about identity, belonging, and authority. Who gets to tell me what to do? Who am I really loyal to? Sovereign citizens claim they’re not bound by government laws; marchers on Sunday will wave flags proclaiming they’re the “true” Australians. Both stories hum with the anxiety of people desperate to define themselves and their place in the world, and suspicious of anyone else trying to do it for them.

It’s a bit too easy to scoff at conspiracists or cringe as we realise that the impulse that made the White Australia policies of the last century have not been as vanquished as we thought. But the truth is, all of us are trying to settle the same questions: Who am I? Whose rule am I living by? Where do I belong? These are deeply spiritual questions, and the gospel has something profound to say about them.

When Paul wrote to the Philippians, he said something that would have been startling to his Roman readers:

“Our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Saviour from there, the Lord Jesus Christ.” (Phil. 3:20)

To a Roman citizen, that was radical. Roman Citizenship was a golden ticket; it shaped your entire identity. Paul, a Roman citizen himself, was saying: even that’s not ultimate. Christians belong first and foremost to Jesus. Our primary passport is stamped with the cross, not the Southern Cross.

That changes how we think about power and authority, too. Sovereign citizens reject governmental authority entirely. Christians don’t—we respect government as God’s good gift (Romans 13:1-7) but we also remember that no government is ultimate. Christ is king, and every other authority is temporary. And that’s good news: you don’t have to pin your hopes or your identity to Canberra, Washington, Beijing—or even your own defiant independence.

The gospel sets us free from the exhausting scramble to carve out our own sovereignty. You are already profoundly known, deeply loved, and permanently “at home” in Christ. And that makes us, ironically, the best kind of citizens: people who can live at peace, love our neighbours, honour leaders, and stand against evil—because our citizenship isn’t fragile. It’s secure.

So, as some segment of Australia marches and shouts and fumes this weekend, maybe Christians can quietly model something better: a calm confidence in the King who doesn’t need defending, and a deep love for the neighbours who don’t yet know that their true citizenship could be in heaven too.

grace and peace 

Steve

Elections and princes

Well, it’s election eve! The corflutes are sagging, P&CS everywhere are parboiling democracy sausages, and if you listen carefully, you can almost hear the collective sigh of a city that’s been campaign-adjacent for too long.

Canberra, of course, does elections like no other place in Australia. Caretaker mode for our city’s 70,000 APS workers looks like spending a few weeks penning an elaborate Choose Your Own Adventure novel (Will the teals force a minority government, and so we need to toughen up the NACC legislation? Turn to page 64. Will the Coalition take Bennelong, Gilmore, Lingiari, Lyons and Paterson, and so now we’re going Nuclear? Turn to page 34.)

For many of us the outcome is not just a game—it’s your boss, your project, your inbox next week. And for many in our church community, there’s a real and good sense of investment in what happens next.

But as the ballots are prepped and the pencils sharpened, it’s worth pausing for a curious little line from Psalm 146:

“Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save.”

Now, let’s be honest: I don’t think we’re in any real danger of idolising our modern “princes.” No one’s penning love poems to this year’s crop of candidates. There’s a distinct lack of soaring rhetoric or spine-tingling vision. If anything, it feels like most of us are going to the polls with all the emotional energy of someone renewing their driver’s licence.

But that’s exactly why this verse is still worth hearing.
The temptation to put our trust in princes doesn’t always look like uncritical hero-worship. Sometimes it’s just the low-key belief that if the right people win, then everything will be okay—and if the wrong ones do, then all hope is lost.

Which is where the gospel gently but firmly unhooks our hearts. We follow a risen King who wasn’t voted in and won’t be voted out. He’s not up for re-election. His throne isn’t under threat. And because of that, we’re free, not to disengage, but to engage without anxiety.

We can vote thoughtfully, serve diligently, advocate justly—and then sleep soundly. We can be politically active without being spiritually panicked. We can care, without clutching.
This is especially important in a place like Canberra, where the gears of government touch so many of our daily lives. Your work might be shaped by the outcome. You might feel elated or frustrated on Sunday morning. That’s all part of what it means to live in the world God made.

But whatever happens, our church remains a community gathered not by policy but by grace. We are a people who belong not to a party but to a kingdom. And that kingdom is unshakeable, even when the swing seats swing and the votes are counted.

So vote. Pray. Care. And then come on Sunday with all your post-election emotions in tow—hopeful, tired, maybe even grumpy. Jesus will still be Lord. And we’ll still be his people united in him.

grace and peace,

Steve

Francis and what follows

Catholics around the world have been mourning the death of Pope Francis and are watching the lead-up to the conclave that will elect his successor. Moments like this bring about a global consciousness of Catholicism (I’ll bet Amazon Prime were pleased they secured the rights to the movie Conclave!)

You might not think of it like this, but Canberra has, in the past, been a pretty Catholic town. Because of their church’s emphasis on service, many Catholics entered the APS and so we’ve had a catholic population above the national average. Even today, more than 1:5 Canberrans identified with the Catholic church in the most recent census and, no doubt, there are plenty of people who have grown up with Catholicism being the air they breathed, even as they no longer identify with the church.

All of this means there are going to be opportunities as we find ourselves talking about what’s going on in the world with our friends and colleagues to talk about the things raised by this global cultural moment, and from there to talk about the gospel. Let me suggest a few ways to have fruitful conversations (you might have more, and I’d love to hear them):  

1. Because our media landscape finds it difficult to categorise people on anything other than a political scale at the moment, lots of people have observed Francis’s passion for justice, the poor, and interfaith dialogue and assumed, therefore, that he’s woke or something. He’s a contrast to some gruffer, less empathic, equally legalistic strands of Christianity coming out of the US.

The gospel, of course, transcends our left-right distinctions. It is a whole other plane of existence. Paul writes to Titus:

For the grace of God has appeared that offers salvation to all people. It teaches us to say ‘No’ to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age, while we wait for the blessed hope – the appearing of the glory of our great God and Saviour, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all wickedness and to purify for himself a people that are his very own, eager to do what is good.

The same gospel that offers you salvation teaches us to live self-controlled and upright lives (i.e conservative virtues) as well as to be redeemed and eager to do good (elsewhere equated with care for the poor) (i.e. progressive virtues). What this means is that, connected to Jesus, we hold our political preferences lighter than we hold our allegiance to Jesus.
 
2. I've already had a conversation in the last two days where someone has asked me the difference between Catholics and Protestants. The question was coming from a place of genuine curiosity, and so it's helpful to have that resource at hand to explain the difference. I really like this tiny little book called Freedom Movement (here’s a link to the full PDF), it’s a coffee-table book-sized explainer, which explains the difference and why it matters in a way that’s also joyful and hopeful.  

3. We can expect the process of selecting a successor to be fairly quick once the meeting starts. Part of the reason the process doesn't take so long anymore is because of a papal election that started way back in 1268 and didn’t finish until 1271. There was so much arguing, and the process was so gruelling that the cardinals were eventually locked in a room, their rations were reduced to bread and water, and the roof was removed, lest the Holy Spirit find it difficult to communicate to them through it!

I'm praying over the next few weeks that the catholic roof will be removed once more, and that they will wrestle with the beauty and freedom and freeness of the gospel and turn in faith to him.
 

grace and peace,

Steve