Australia is one of many nations that allows its citizens to maintain dual citizenships. This is perhaps unsurprising, as the 2021 census found that nearly half of our population has at least one parent who was born overseas.

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However, when it comes to representing the country as a member of Parliament, section 44 of the Australian Constitution disqualifies any person who ‘is a subject or a citizen [...] of a foreign power’. The logic of this is fairly intuitive: those entrusted with the power of governing Australians must have no split allegiance – not even a hint of fealty to another country.

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The New Testament speaks of Christians as citizens of a new country, by right of our new birth. That country is not one bounded by mountains or seas or neighbouring powers, but is in heaven (Philippians 3:20). We’re ‘fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God' (Ephesians 2:19).

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But the picture Scripture paints is not one of dual citizenship; rather it talks of our new citizenship superseding the old. Christians are called ‘exiles’ and ‘strangers’, even while they inhabit the same cities and houses they always have. This undergirded the ethos of the earliest disciples.

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The 2nd century Letter to Diognetus says of the earliest Christians that they ‘follow the customs of whatever city they happen to be living in’ with regards to dress, food, and so on, yet they live there ‘as though they were only passing through’.

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This dichotomy is often summarised by the phrase ‘in the world, but not of the world’, borrowing from the Lord’s words in John 17:14–15. But what does this framework look like in practice?

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We can gain one insight from the recent TV series Shōgun, set in 17th century Japan. This was a time when extensive trade with Portuguese Catholics had resulted in some Japanese conversions to Roman Catholicism. In the second episode, Servants of Two Masters, the warlord Yoshii Toronaga asks his vassal, Lady Mariko, ‘Would your loyalty to God conflict with your service to me?’ Mariko replies, ‘If I were just a Christian, yes. But, I have more than one heart.’

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In modern psychology, we might call this compartmentalisation: different domains of our life are kept isolated so as to avoid the discomfort of internal conflict. Such explicitly divided loyalty is easy enough for godly Christians to condemn. None of us would – I hope! – dare to tell Christ that he may be Lord of our weekends, but our weekdays are devoted to our boss. Yet there are more insidious ways in which we are tempted to split our allegiances.

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Take the book, Liberalism as a Way of Life, by University of Sydney philosopher Alexandre Lefebvre. Here, Lefebvre sets out to make a positive case for liberalism as the basis for a fulfilling and generous mode of living, ‘no less noble [...] or beatific’ than the religious foundations it replaces. In making his argument, Lefebvre identifies liberalism as ‘the water we swim in’ – surrounding and shaping us in a myriad different ways, most of them imperceptible simply because they are all we’ve ever known.

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This is an important insight for Christians: we’re products of our culture whether we realise it or not. Yet, although liberalism has historical roots in Judeo-Christian faith, the culture of contemporary liberalism in Australia is often hostile to God and his people. In so many domains of our lives, we Australian Christians act more Australian than Christian. Passively tacking ‘Christian’ as an identity marker on top of our cultural formation will not be sufficient.

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A more active rooting out of what conflicts with God’s character is needed. After all, the apostle Paul cautions us: ‘Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.’ (Romans 12:2)

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While we remain in this life, we’re subject to the laws and customs of our earthly governments. ‘Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, Jesus commands his followers, ‘and to God the things that are God’s.’ (Mark 12:17) But there’s no split loyalty here: everything belongs to God, and the only authority that Caesar (or the Australian prime minister) has is that which has been granted to him by the Creator of the universe.

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As ‘ambassadors of Christ’ (2 Corinthians 5:20), we must be proactive in our efforts to ‘section 44’ ourselves. While we may remain fond of – and work for the good of – our earthly nation, we must allow no splitting of our loyalties. When conflicts come between the customs of Australia and the commands of Christ, we ought to stand with Peter and John as they declared to the Sanhedrin, ‘We must obey God rather than men.’ (Acts 5:29)

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Do I hear an ‘Amen’ to that?