What if America is just like all the other empires? What if America’s power and wealth aren’t a mark of divine favor, but merely a byproduct of empire-building?
And what if, by mistaking the fruits of empire for God’s blessing, Christian nationalists have gotten confused about what sorts of things God favors—confused about the features of our civilization that we should make an effort to cultivate and amplify into the future?
For example, what if it’s just a very, very bad thing that our government systematically slaughtered and dispossessed indigenous populations and desecrated their sacred places? Maybe that’s just all there is to it: no manifest destiny, nothing redeeming about it—just very bad.
And what if it’s just very, very bad that much of America’s early wealth issued from labor that was straightforwardly stolen from people who were kidnapped and sold into slavery? What if that’s just evil, full stop?
Read the Exodus account and ask yourself where you fit into the narrative.
If you're a white American evangelical, you're not among the Israelites—plainly, you're with the Egyptians.
And why think the American empire is any different from that of Egypt, or Babylon, or Rome?
If you're a white American evangelical, you're not among the Israelites—plainly, you're with the Egyptians.
And why think the American empire is any different from that of Egypt, or Babylon, or Rome?
I don’t understand what Christian nationalists are up to, theologically speaking. I just can’t imagine the early Church concerning itself with Rome’s GDP or reputation on the world stage. The greatness of the Roman Empire seems perfectly irrelevant to Christ.
Of course, as an American, I might concern myself with the American economy, national security, etc.
But my concern for such things will be tempered by my Christian faith; it certainly won’t be a product of my faith.
But my concern for such things will be tempered by my Christian faith; it certainly won’t be a product of my faith.
The notion that Christianity stands in a special relationship to America makes about as much sense as the idea that Jesus took on flesh in order to make Rome great again—which is to say, it makes no sense at all: it misunderstands what Christianity is about.
So when, as Christians, we see our nation pursue policies that threaten the well-being of orphans and immigrants in our midst, we really don’t have any business asking whether these policies are good for America. That’s not our concern.
Our concern should be for those oppressed, regardless of whether that concern is consistent with ephemeral notions of what makes America great.
Christ has no use for the cultural nostalgia of white American churchgoers: he doesn't much care for the films of John Wayne.
Christ has no use for the cultural nostalgia of white American churchgoers: he doesn't much care for the films of John Wayne.
Christ simply doesn't care whether America is great, or if it ever was or will be again.
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