Holy Week
& the tragic irony of Christian nationalism
It’s Holy Week, the most sacred week in the Christian liturgical calendar. What began on Palm Sunday will progress through Maundy Thursday and Good Friday until it culminates this coming Sunday with trumpets and celebration on Easter. This week is traditionally a heavy, contemplative time for Christians, and one in which the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross at Calvary is remembered with reverence and awe.
In case you haven’t picked up on this, I am a Christian and have been for as long as I can remember. I was baptized as an infant, made my public profession of faith at eleven, and married a pastor (something I swore I would never, ever do—but that’s a story for another day). I love Jesus. I really, truly do, and my faith informs the way I live and move in the world.
But it’s been hard to claim my faith in the last several years. Not because I’m ashamed of Christ; because I’m ashamed of what people purport to do in his name. There are dozens (hundreds?) of ways that Christians tarnish the good news of Jesus, from blatant and unrepentant hypocrisy to an intransigent posture of judgement, but the one that makes this Holy Week feel especially fraught to me is the plague of Christian nationalism.
If that sounds like a dramatic proclamation, I get it. As wars rage in Gaza and Ukraine, Haiti devolves into chaos, the world stands on the brink of unprecedented famine, and on and on and on, it seems a bit reductionistic to get hung up on a movement that appears rather fringe and easily disregarded. But perhaps my inability to look away is derived from my proximity to the problem. Beyond thoughts and prayers (sincere and, I believe, transformative), my impact on any of the global disasters unfolding is a mere snowflake in a blizzard. However, Christian nationalism is a family problem. These are my brothers and sisters, the people who I grew up with and continue to mingle with in my various communities of influence. If anyone has even the slimmest chance of changing the hearts and minds of people who have been radicalized to believe in the myth of a Christian nation, it’s me. But not just me—it’s all of us who claim to understand the sacrifice that we will commemorate in just a few days. Maybe, it’s the perfect time to speak up. Or maybe I should have done so long ago.
I’ve had several conversations with friends over the last couple of weeks that at some point touched on the issue of Christian nationalism. The responses ranged from confusion (“I honestly don’t even know what that is”) to ambivalence (“Maybe a Christian nation is better than the alternative: a completely nihilistic society”). And my reaction was the same across the board—shock. On one hand, I’m stunned that some of my fellow believers are unaware of what’s happening literally under our noses and in our pews. And on the other hand, I’m astonished that there’s even a whiff of ambiguity about how Christian nationalism utterly corrupts the gospel story.
Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not shaming anyone. I recognize how good intentions can warp over time and the best laid plans can go awry. I think that what may have begun as an earnest desire to spread the gospel has been infiltrated and appropriated by people who do not truly comprehend the gospel message—and it has turned something potentially beautiful into an utterly destructive movement that perverts the way of Jesus.
So, for my friends who don’t know, Christian nationalism is the belief that the United States (and, actually, any country—this movement is alive and well across the globe) should be a nation governed by Christian rules, values, and principles. At first blush, not a terrible idea considering that many Christian values are good and just, and perpetuate the sort of society where we would all like to live (a place governed by love and justice). But upon deeper reflection, the movement that is Christian nationalism has become a wholly theological-political ideology “that envisions a pure American body that is heterosexual, white, native-born, that speaks English as a first language, and that is thoroughly patriarchal” (Bradley Onishi). It champions issues like closed borders, gun rights, rolling back civil liberties, and dismantling anti-discrimination laws.
At it’s “best,” Christian nationalism is a sincere desire to bring the Kingdom of God to earth by living by biblical principles (an idea that strikes fear into the hearts of our Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, atheist, agnostic, etc. neighbors), but at it’s worst it’s infected by conspiracy theories, bloated by an ever-growing desire for power, and rife with violence. Charlie Kirk (arguably one of America’s most popular Christian nationalists and the founder and executive director of Turning Point USA—and a professed Jesus-loving, evangelical Christian) doesn’t just believe in the death penalty, he believes in public executions. “Death penalties should be public, should be quick, it should be televised. I think at a certain age, its an initiation... What age should you start to see public executions?” (Charlie Kirk, ThoughtCrime Podcast)
Dear God.
If you love Jesus, my dear friend, you know this. But if you do not know Jesus, let me plainly say: This is not of Jesus. There is absolutely nothing Christ-like, holy, or good about the degradation and dehumanization of any image-bearer of God. Period. It’s sickening and evil and wrong.
I am not a political pundit. I’m not even a journalist. I’m a novelist, philanthropist, mother of five, and aspiring gardener. I am also a Christian, and while I cannot speak with authority on the political implications of the Christian nationalist movement, I can share my thoughts as someone who has loved the Lord for more than 46 years.
I believe that Holy Week provides the perfect backdrop to spark some very necessary conversations in our communities and beyond.
To my non-Christian friends,
I love and respect you. I am not afraid of you. I will never try to force my faith on you or shame you for your deeply held beliefs. I do not consider you less-than or an object of pity or a project. I believe you deserve the same religious freedoms I enjoy. And I’m sorry for the hurt you have endured in the name of God. You can stop reading here if you choose. The rest is family business.
To my brothers and sisters in Christ,
Consider the person and example of Jesus. At any time during his ministry he could have claimed an earthly crown and established a “Christian Nation.” From the time Jesus was tempted in the desert (Luke 4:1-13) until he hung on the cross (Mark 15:29-31), his disciples and the Jewish people fully expected him to save them from suffering under the Roman Empire and enact a historical reign (John 12:12-16). They wanted him to be KING. Not of their hearts, but of their earthly nation. How small-minded and confused they were. And how ironic that some mimic this unholy movement toward nationalistic dominion as Christians today.
Jesus didn’t just tell his disciples (repeatedly) that his kingdom was not of this world (John 18:28-40), he proved it to them by sacrificing himself on the cross for the complete forgiveness of all our sins (John 19). And then, when he rose three days later (Mark 16:1-8), he told them (and all who believe) to go and do likewise (Matthew 28:16-20). To become living sacrifices (Romans 12:1-8), willing to lay our lives down in service of a God so recklessly in love with his creation and his people that he uses us as his ambassadors (II Corinthians 5:20). And how will the world know us? Not by our political power and influence. Not by our ability to establish a Christian nation. But by our love. By the fruit that we bear of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:13-25).
The Kingdom of God breaks in and begins to transform our world not when we grasp for political power, destroy our enemies, or try to impose our will and our religion on others. Jesus is much more subtle and invitational than that. He doesn’t force himself on anyone, but opens wide his arms and his kingdom to all who seek. His method of evangelism is counterintuitive and countercultural. It often defies understanding. In fact, God is downright scandalous in his assertion that his power is made perfect in our weakness (II Corinthians 12:9), that out of death comes new life (Romans 6:3-5), that the first will be last and the last will be first (Matthew 20:16), and that all (of every nation, creed, tribe, and tongue) are one (Galatians 3:27-29).
The Kingdom of God breaks in when we remember the lesson we were taught on the cross: there is a miraculous third way. The way of Jesus. We don’t have to exist between binaries (Christian nationalism or nihilism) in any area of our lives because the paradoxical nature of the Good News will always make a way. We don’t have to fight and claw and scream and take because the Kingdom of God has already been freely given to us.
The very concept of a Christian nation is an affront to the work of salvation that is already finished. The whole earth is the Lord’s and everything in it (Psalm 24:1). Therefore:
We do not wage war, we promote peace.
We do not take up arms, we lay our weapons down.
We do not grasp for power, we willingly become the least of these.
We reject false binaries and the idea that God’s way doesn’t work in the “real world” and the belief that God’s will can only be done if America is a Christian nation. We understand that God so loved the world (the whole earth, not just the United States of America) that he gave his one and only son for every tribe, tongue, and nation. We are ONE BODY. And if you need proof of the incomprehensible nature of the work of God in the world, consider the fact that while Christianity continues to decline at a rapid pace in the United States (I would argue due in large part to the degradation of our loving witness as more and more Christians become radicalized) it is exploding under persecution in China (a country and people every much as beloved by God as the USA). Perhaps a Christian nation is less an invitation into the transformative work of God in our lives and more a terrifying picture of how love of power, money, and influence corrupts.
My friends, we cannot be silent. Silence is complicity and this infestation is spreading from the haven of our homes and communities. I am a Christian and I unequivocally reject Christian nationalism. I commit to having hard conversations with people I care about. I promise I’ll keep trying. I can’t change the world, but maybe I can change the mind of one person. May God multiply our efforts, and may his grace and peace reign in our hearts, homes, and beyond.
With so much love on this Holy Week, Nicole
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Very well said. I’ve been thinking about this for some time and preparing for some difficult conversations. Thank you for writing this piece.
Christianity has thrived through two millennia as wonderful and beautiful as a power of serving others, not a power to be served by others.