3:17 Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us. 18 For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. 19 Their end is destruction, their god is the belly, and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things. 20 But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. 21 He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself. 4:1 Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.
Philippians 3:17—4:1 (NRSVue)
These instructions from Paul to the Philippians articulate the beginning of a theology that is not only existential but also political. This essay considers the implications of holding primary citizenship (politeuma) in heaven, developing a political theology within contemporary Aotearoa (the Māori name for New Zealand).
The British crown and a number of Māori chiefs signed the foundational document, “Te Tiriti o Waitangi” (The Treaty of Waitangi) in 1840, promising partnership and the protection of Māori rights and property. However, it took less than two decades for the colonial British to break their promises, waging war and seizing land. Colonisation affected not only material resources but had profound negative impacts on Māori culture and language. The full story of Māori suffrage is a complex story of institutional and political exclusion—and a history too long to recount in full here. But over the course of time, the colonial government realised that Māori were not proportionately represented in decision making, and thus created the Māori roll. Today, anyone who has Māori heritage can choose to sign onto either the Māori roll or the general roll.
Those on the Māori roll are able to vote for one of seven parliamentary seats reserved for Māori politicians, instead of voting in the general roll. Many local government bodies such as city and regional councils have chosen to pursue a similar mode of representation, creating Māori wards to ensure Māori representation at the local level as well. Prior to 2021, the establishment of local Māori wards required a referendum. Due to these requirements, the political and financial cost posed a barrier in many places. In 2021, new legislation passed that allowed duly elected councils and regional bodies to establish Māori wards without a referendum, and 45 local councils created Māori wards by resolution. In 2024, under a different political party, this legislation was rescinded, with a new referendum required in 2025 in each of those councils to maintain their Māori wards.
Christians in Aotearoa stand divided on this issue, as demonstrated in a recent kerfuffle on social media. A Christian activist group advertised a new campaign to support Māori wards, “We want to mobilise Christians across the country this year to show an overwhelming, Jesus and justice-centered response calling for Māori wards to be kept, helping to get out the vote in favour of Māori wards that can help tip the balance in referendums in many of these areas.”
Within minutes, one commentor chimed in that this was putting church before the gospel, and that this issue is not theological at all. There were a few who replied to this comment, but the commentor held the last word on the thread, arguing that there is “no clear biblical mandate for the makeup of local councils.”
On the one hand, this person was technically correct that there is no form of government mandated by the Bible. Throughout the narratives in scripture and throughout church history, every form of political governance is shown to be flawed and imperfect. Monarchy, democracies, and theocracies have all failed to deliver justice for all citizens. But does that mean that the Bible has nothing to say about political organisation?
Turning to the lectionary passage in Philippians, primary citizenship, and thus primary allegiance, is not to this world but to heaven. Getting bogged down in contemporary politics—one might argue—is to focus too much on “earthly things.” If the sin of the “enemies of the cross” was setting the mind on earthly things, then surely, the rationale goes, the Christlike path is an equal and opposite reaction of rejecting all earthly things, politics included.
But I find that a deeper and broader reading of Philippians sketches out a way forward of engaging in political life in Aotearoa on this issue without forsaking a primary allegiance to heavenly citizenship. Theologian George Hunsinger (120) writes in his 2020 commentary on this passage:
Those who “set their mind on earthly things” (epigeia) (3:19) are inclined, we may suppose, not only towards gastronomic self-indulgence, but also toward social conformity, including compromises with pagan religious practices. They are concerned not only with the pleasures of the table, but also with social advantages. They have taken pride in their high social position and are averse to any loss in social standing.
In Aotearoa, Māori wards were created to share power and make sure those who have been adversely affected in the past by political decisions are guaranteed a seat at the table. For those in the majority, that means releasing a hold on power and control. Philosophers and political theorists have warned for centuries of the danger of the tyranny of the majority inherent within democracy. While it may be anachronistic to expect the Bible to address proportional democratic representation directly, there is certainly a through line that warns against the continued marginalisation of those without social power, such as the stranger, widow, or orphan (Exodus 22:22; Psalm 146:9; Zechariah 7:9–10; Jeremiah 49:11; Mark 12:40; James 1:27).
The path of Christ, and thus of his followers, that Paul sets out in Philippians is one of releasing power and control. The Christ Hymn in Philippians 2 describes the humility Jesus enacts in his incarnation. Recognizing this posture of humility in Jesus, theologians have used the term “kenosis” to describe divine self-emptying. Within Paul’s call to imitate Christ is a call to follow the divine self-emptying. But the self-emptying is not an excuse for abstention from care of all earthly matters. Rather, it provides a call to reflect and search for a logic that puts heavenly ideals above temporary struggles for maintenance of power. Heavenly citizenship for Paul is certainly not about escaping social responsibility within this life. The path that follows Christ is a path that moves one’s focus from earthly things to heavenly. In pursuing the values of heaven, “straining forward to what lies ahead” (Philippians 3:13), we live a different life in the here and now. The Christ-centred life is a life that actively relinquishes control. The lesson from Philippians for those in power—those whose interests are well-represented in decision making processes—is to look for those who are struggling and find ways to lift up their voices.
Of course, racial minorities like the Māori are not the only groups that suffer under the tyranny of the majority. The interests of the disabled, youth, and other minoritised groups are also underrepresented in many democratically elected decision-making bodies. Citizens’ assemblies, bodies with purposeful representative makeup, are another form of governance that prioritise the voices of those often excluded from electoral bodies by majority vote.
To conclude, the Bible does not address the question of Māori wards directly or definitively. However, there is a clear biblical warrant for consideration of heavenly things shaping the way we organise ourselves and share power in the politics of the here and now. The divine path set out in the example of Christ is one of humiliation/humility (Philippians 3:21) and self-emptying (Philippians 2:7). To follow Christ means acknowledging that not all are flourishing, and then doing something about it. That might mean letting go of power. That might mean letting others have a say in the political arena. For Aotearoa, that may look like taking concrete steps to ensure a voice is given to Māori at all levels of political decision making.
