Few hymns divide opinion like “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” For some it’s a stirring favourite from childhood. For others, the drums, banners and battle language sit uneasily with the gentle Jesus who told Peter to put away his sword. Both reactions deserve a hearing, and the hymn rewards a closer look.

Sabine Baring-Gould, an Anglican clergyman, wrote the words in 1865 for a Whit Monday procession of schoolchildren in a Yorkshire village. They needed something lively to sing as they walked between churches, and he wrote it quickly. Arthur Sullivan’s tune, which most of us know, came later. It began as a children’s walking song, not a call to arms. The soldier imagery isn’t Baring-Gould’s invention. Paul uses it repeatedly, urging Timothy to endure hardship “as a good soldier of Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 2:3) and telling the Ephesians to put on the full armour of God (Ephesians 6:10-18). The hymn also echoes Jesus’ promise that the gates of hell will not prevail against his church (Matthew 16:18), and it points to a Christ who goes before his people rather than behind them.

Paul takes this imagery from the Roman army, the very empire that crucified Jesus. He then transforms it. The belt is truth, the breastplate is righteousness, the shoes are readiness to share the gospel of peace, and the sword is the word of God. It’s an odd arsenal, and deliberately so.

So what is the “war”?

Scripture is clear about this: “our struggle is not against flesh and blood” (Ephesians 6:12). In scripture the enemy is never a person, a nation or a rival denomination. The conflict is against:

• Sin and temptation, including our own!
• Injustice and oppression, the ways the world is broken and people are harmed.
• Despair, falsehood and death, which Christ has already defeated at the cross.
• Spiritual forces of darkness, whatever opposes God’s loving rule.

Paul clearly writes that the weapons are not “of the world” (2 Corinthians 10:3-5). Christians fight by loving enemies, telling the truth, praying, serving the poor and refusing to repay evil with evil. Romans 12:21 puts the whole strategy in a sentence: overcome evil with good.

The hymn’s best moments reflect this. It insists the church is one body, not a collection of factions, and that its leader is Christ, not a general, a party or a government. However a hymn this vivid can be misused, and history shows it has been. The most serious danger is confusing the church with a nation or empire. Martial hymns have been sung to bless armies and conquests, and both the Crusades and colonial expansion invoked Christian “warfare.” Jesus said plainly, “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36), and when a nation’s flag and the cross merge, the gospel can sometimes become the casualty.

Closely related is the temptation to turn people into enemies, for if the fight is not against flesh and blood, then neighbours, people of other faiths, political opponents and even fellow Christians we disagree with are not the foe. They are people for whom Christ died, yet spiritual-warfare language can quietly slide into demonising whoever we find difficult.

We also need to guard against triumphalism. Marching confidently can sound like arrogance, but the Christian story is one of victory through a cross, not conquest through strength. Our posture should be humility rather than swagger, and Peter urges us to defend our hope “with gentleness and respect” (1 Peter 3:15).

Another danger is forgetting the war within. The first battleground is our own hearts, and a church that sings about fighting evil while ignoring its own failures, including abuse, pride and division, has misread the enemy. We should perhaps be mindful of those who hear the hymn differently. For veterans, refugees and survivors of violence, military imagery can wound rather than inspire, and loving others sometimes means choosing our songs thoughtfully.

Can we still sing it?

I’ll leave that decision up to you! Sung as a children’s procession hymn about a joyful, united people following Christ, with courage, kindness and hope, it’s a good one. Sung as a tribal war-cry, it isn’t what the Bible teaches. Some churches keep it, some adapt it, and some retire it. A thoughtful congregation might explain the imagery before singing, or pair it with a hymn like “Make me a channel of your peace.”

The test is simple. The hymn is faithful when it sends us out to love, serve and tell the truth, and unfaithful when it makes us feel superior to anyone. The real war is already won, and the cross is the proof; what remains is for the church to live as people who believe it, armed with nothing sharper than love.

The views expressed in this blog belong to the author alone and do not represent the views or position of a particular church, Diocese of Truro or the Church of England.