As a theologically conservative evangelical Christian, I believe that Jesus died to save anyone who asks and that the fact that this salvation is a free gift is incredible news. I also believe that we are commanded to share this news with people who have not already accepted this gift, and I admire the zeal of those who are fighting tooth and nail for the "I Believe" license plate because they believe that this is a way to share this good news.

But if we are serious about communicating this good news, we must ensure that the message we intend to convey is the message actually received by our intended audience. I worry that an officially issued South Carolina license plate bearing a cross and the words "I believe" does not send non-Christians the message that "I, the owner of the car bearing this plate, want you to know that I believe in the God who can save us both from our sins" as much as "We Christians are in the majority here, so non-Christians like you can either do things our way or get out."

To the people of the first century Roman Empire, the cross was a shameful symbol of execution; to Christians today, it symbolizes our freedom from our sins and our hope of eternal life. But for many non-Christians, it has come to symbolize centuries of brutality by people who cynically used Christianity as an excuse for atrocities and plunder.

As Christians, we are asked to convey God's message of salvation to those who -- like us -- are doomed without it. It's not about us, or the way the message we carry makes us feel; it is all about its Sender, and its intended recipients. We must not allow our feelings to get in the way of our ability to faithfully transmit the message in terms that the intended audience will actually understand.

As a political scientist, I have studied a number of conflicts in which people ended up committing crimes against humanity in the name of religion. With each case, I wrestle with the question of what went wrong: what possible reason would well-intentioned, sincere people have to commit such horrible crimes? More disturbing on a personal level, I often wonder (since hindsight is 20-20, especially for people outside the particular cultural and political context) if I would have done any better if I were in their position -- wearing the same cultural blinders, frightened of the same things, etc. -- or if I too would have been carried away by the spirit of a particularly sick and twisted age. As a consequence of this, I have come up with some rules of thumb to warn me when we are approaching a potential slippery slope. One of these is when people on my own side of a conflict begin to dehumanize the others; another is when any dissenting opinions are denounced as not simply erroneous but practically treasonous.

Another -- and the alarm that was tripped by Lt. Gov. Bauer's statements in Wednesday's newspaper article ("I could say that this is another example of judicial activism. ... My instincts tell me that it's even deeper than that. I think it's another attack on Christianity, and I'm not going to sit by and watch this one happen") is when a political leader warns a majority group that they are being persecuted. The combination of the power of the majority with the paranoia of a persecuted minority is a dangerous mixture, and one that has often driven good people to do bad things.

I have no doubt that such a possibility troubles Mr. Bauer as much as it does me. It is clear to me that he means no harm. I am convinced by the conventional explanation that this is merely the transparent attempt of a struggling politician to grub for votes, in the process unintentionally jeopardizing both the Church's evangelistic mandate and the state's precarious finances. But the fact that this line was crossed and the awareness that each of us, as a fallen human, is capable of horrible acts compels me to cry foul.

I strongly believe -- and fervently pray -- that this is a false alarm. But if one repeats a falsehood often enough, people start to believe it; and, if at some point the falsehood is being uttered not by an honorable civil servant but by a hateful demagogue, it will no longer be a false alarm. Looking at crimes against humanity committed by other Christians in other times and places, I am forced to admit that "there, but for the grace of God, go we."

I urge South Carolina Christians to resist the attempts of fearmongers to distract us from our more important task of communicating the Good News about God's gift of salvation to a world that desperately needs it.