Historical figures are being targeted in America. And without much regard for history.
Statues of Abraham Lincoln are in the crosshairs. Images of Christopher Columbus, Ulysses S. Grant, and even Matthias Baldwin have been vandalized, presumably due to their association with racism. Baldwin, by the way, was an abolitionist who once suffered a boycott on his railroad business because he advocated for the education of black children. So, there’s that.
And then there are the Founders. On Sunday night, June 14, protesters in Oregon pulled down the statue of Thomas Jefferson, and five days later a statue of George Washington was leveled in Portland. Then on June 21 protesters defaced a Maryland statue of Washington, painting the words “destroy racists” on the pedestal. In addition, Hofstra University moved a statue of Thomas Jefferson from the front of its student center.
A respectful conversation about our history and the images that portray it would be healthy. But we should be greatly concerned about indiscriminate efforts to scrub historical images from the public eye, especially those that represent our national heritage, such as those of the Founders.
Why does that matter? Because recalling the past, and teaching it to new generations, is critically important, even if the past is imperfect or painful.
Christians especially should advocate a balanced view of history—not just historical events, but history itself, the need for it, and the need to preserve it and teach it—because the Bible is overwhelmingly realistic about history and insistent that we learn from it. The Apostle Paul said, “For whatever was written in the past was written for our instruction, so that we may have hope through endurance and through the encouragement from the Scriptures” (Rom. 15:4). History has irreplaceable value, whether it makes us comfortable or not.
Here are two biblical reasons why history matters:
- History reminds us of our identity.
The Bible itself is dependent on history. From beginning to end, our grasp of God’s nature and character are provided in historical context, with people and events that are designed to deepen our understanding of humanity’s worst and God’s response, of humanity’s best and God’s purpose, and of humanity’s hunger and God’s provision.
And the only way to understand where we are going and how to get there is to know where we have been. That’s why Christians need the Old Testament and the “whole counsel of God” (Acts 20:27). Without it, we don’t fully understand who we are in Christ, or God’s salvation in history (Luke 24:27).
Scholars call it a “metanarrative.” It is that larger, sweeping story that makes our small story make sense. It’s the realization that we are part of a grand narrative, something bigger than us. Our metanarrative, our historical context, gives meaning to our particular part in history. Without it, we drift, without context or identity, unable to steer in the present or navigate toward the future.
For Christians, the biblical story, and our part in it, transcends our national history. But for all Americans, the metanarrative gives us our national heritage. That common memory, with all of its victories and imperfections, is what makes us Americans.
- History reminds us that we can grow, change, and improve.
In the march through biblical history, as we watch people interact with God, biblical characters are shown at their worst. Sin, depravity, immorality, and pride are rampant among the sinners in scripture. And none of this is sanitized just because it might make the reader feel uncomfortable. No, it’s there. Raw and real. Because the only way to understand the grace and majesty of God is to grasp the sheer foolishness and depravity of people.
When we see God’s grace portrayed in the flow of history, we learn that we can be forgiven, and how to forgive others (Eph. 4:32). We learn that God is consistent and reliable, forgiving and trustworthy, as He has been throughout history (Ps. 136:1-26).
History exposes humanity’s worst mistakes. Not so we can purge them from view, but so we can confront them, and not repeat them.
We cannot impose on the people of the past the same perspective on history that we have today or impugn them for not having the same values and making the same judgements. We do not have to condone their actions to learn from them. They lived in their context, and we live in ours.
The Bible affirms this. Characters in the Bible, from Moses to Peter and everyone in between, grow and mature through their historical, real life interaction with God. God preserves this without blushing. It’s how we learn. I don’t need to deny Christ to know that denying Christ is a sin, but each glimpse of Peter’s denial reminds me of the heartbreak of that sin—and that God’s forgiveness can bring me back from any sin (Luke 22:54-62, John 21:15-19).
History provides “encouragement” and “endurance” Paul said. The Bible shows us that flawed people made it, survived and even thrived, because they saw the glaring truth of who they really were, turned to the God who loved them despite who they really were, and then forged ahead and did better. And with each such story, we hear the whisper of God’s voice–they changed, and you can, too.
History is not about fictionalizing what we wanted to happen, about sanitizing or editing it to make us feel better. It’s about staring at what really happened, learning from it, and doing better.
That’s why the metanarrative of biblical history includes the personal narratives of people who come to faith in Christ. Every testimony declares, “that was then, this is now. That’s who I was, but this is who I am” (1 Tim. 1:12-17). Suddenly, we remember our identity and we have a new purpose (Eph. 2:10).
Were the Founders perfect? Of course not. And they mirrored the views and values of their times. But that’s what makes their achievements even more remarkable. They did not permit their own imperfections, or those of their generation, to stifle their vision or stop them from crafting a new nation, unlike any before it, based on freedom and personal responsibility. And when we view their lives in the context of their times, that is, their own narratives, then we can learn from them, and we can move forward to even greater things if we do not jettison the rich history of our national narrative.
Leaving the statues in place never implies that the Founders did not have dark corners in their lives, or that we agree with everything they did. But it acknowledges that we have inherited the history they have bequeathed to us, that we are all together Americans, and that like every generation before us, we can write a bright and better future than the last one. It reminds us that our history doesn’t have to be perfect to be great, and that our past imperfections are no measure of who we can become.
In other words, it’s what we do next that matters.
For ask the previous generation, and pay attention to what their ancestors discovered, since we were born only yesterday and know nothing. Our days on earth are but a shadow. Will they not teach you and tell you and speak from their understanding? (Job 8:8-10)