Category: Christian politics

Christian Nationalism’s Churchless Christianity

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What most critics of Christian nationalism, do not understand is that ChristNats believe in the spirituality of the church. Listen to George Sayour’s interview with Timon Cline and hear the younger interlocutor say that no ChristNat wants the church to become involved in law or public policy. Cline says it as if it’s a no-brainer. The church should, according to this view, stay in its lane, conduct the work of gospel ministry, and leave politics to the politicians.

This aspect of Christian nationalism makes it exceptional in the history of American Protestantism. Prior to our contemporary period, if Christians wanted a righteous or holy society, they threw all the resources at their disposal at the problem. The Social Gospel, for instance, drew upon the Protestant denominations themselves, gained support from ecumenical bodies like the Evangelical Alliance and the Federal Council of Churches, and relied upon Christian government officials to do the i’s and cross the t’s of Progressive policy.

Social Gospelers had no trouble conceiving of the church the way Ryan Burge apparently does in his recent book, The Vanishing Church. In a review at First Things, Brad East sees in Burge a nostalgia for the mainline Protestantism that threw the spirituality of the church to the curb.

“According to Burge, “the American church can (and should) be one of the primary drivers of depolarization in the United States.” Indeed, “the fate and future of American democracy may be at stake.”

This is pure, uncut civil religion. In Burge’s hands, the Church is not a biblical or theological entity; it is a voluntary association that exists to improve society, care for the disadvantaged, and forge bonds across differences. It is a spiritual NGO. It leavens democratic life with prayer and song and moral uplift. It offers a place for people to seek edification, whatever doubts may fester in their hearts.

In the words of Freddie deBoer, this is not worship of God. It is “worship of the God-shaped hole.” It lauds faith because it is “prosocial” and “builds capital.” DeBoer, to his credit as an atheist, calls it what it is: “Idolatry.”

The Church does not exist to grease the wheels of democracy. Paul did not found churches in Corinth and Ephesus to build up the civic health of the Roman Empire. The faithfulness of the Coptic Church is not measured by Egypt’s ranking in the social progress index. The Church is the body of Christ, called forth by the gospel into fellowship with the living God and sent by his Spirit to witness in the world to the good news of salvation. If, in the fulfillment of this mission, the measurable effects are hailed by social and political scientists, that is a happy by-product. If they are not, believers shouldn’t lose any sleep. With apologies to E. M. Forster: If I had to choose between betraying my democracy and betraying my church, I hope I should have the guts to betray my democracy.

There is a name for Burge’s preferred cocktail of religion and civics, Church and state. It’s Christendom. Burge’s book is one long lament for the passing of mainline Christendom in America. You might even say it is both a paean and a dirge for a certain style of Christian nationalism—liberal Christian nationalism. Make the mainline great again!

East has a point. This is Christian nationalism 1.0, the form it took among mainline Protestants. But don’t let the occasional remark by ChristNats that the mainline is “based” fool you. They do not want churches to do what the mainline Protestants used to do.

What East criticizes is not Christian nationalism of the 2020s variety. The bulk of ChristNats do not want either the PCA or the OPC (or any NAPARC communion) to perform the sort of political advocacy that mainline Protestants did one hundred years ago. They simply want Christian government to promote and advance Christianity in American society (they don’t talk much about the rest of the world).

This is as remarkable as it is exception if only because it means you do not need the church to have a Christian nation. All you need is a Christian prince (Wolfe) or Christian laws (Baird). Government, not the church, will make a nation Christian.

Churchless Christianity used to be the product of the world of evangelical parachurch networks. Go to a local Bible study led by Christian neighbors, or go to summer Bible camp, or download the songs of your favorite Christian pop song performer, and be sure to have a quiet time, preferably early in the morning, and you have a full Christian diet for the energetic life of holiness. The church is simply background noise. It only meets on Sunday and only has a handful of people speak. The real work of the real church, the grassroots one, is the daily pursuit of piety that the ordinary faithful conduct 24/6.

But now comes another version of churchless Christianity – namely, Christian nationalism. The making of a Christian society is going to come, supposedly, without the work of the one institution that God ordained, in the words of the Confession of Faith, to minister the “oracles, and ordinances of God, for the gathering and perfecting of the saints, in this life, to the end of the world.”

Of course, ChristNats will likely deny that they do not need the church to construct a Christian nation. But so far, they have not explained what kind of authority the Christian prince’s church will have over his conduct and profession. Nor have they commented on the effects of an increasingly Christian nation upon that nation’s churches: will some communions be government approved as superior places for Christian citizens? Will churches that Christian citizens avoid be able to register complaints with the Christian government? Will Christian governments support the construction of new church buildings? Will that Christian government institute an open application process or will it “pick winner” denominations or congregations? Will the Christian government even produce a confession of faith that explains the terms of its Christian profession?

You get the point. A Christianity without institutions (don’t the ChristNats read Aaron Renn?) is almost impossible. Even the most popular Christian musical entertainers need recording studios and distributors (Youtube is an institution, you know). How a Christian nation exists and keeps the church merely a spiritual institution is anyone’s guess.

What Could ChristNats Learn from Ulster Unionists?

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The parallels between Ulster and American Protestants striving to protect their cultural and political heritage is striking. Some of the similarities may be lost because Ulster Protestants use the language of “unionism” instead of “nationalism.” For parts of their history, Ulster Protestants have linked their religious convictions, quite plausibly, to British Protestantism instead of Irish Catholicism. Still, both groups, Ulster Protestants before the Good Friday Agreement of 1998, and American Christian nationalists (ChristNats) since roughly 2022 profess to view their societies’ governments through the lens of Protestantism (for some, “aggressive” Protestantism). Both have also viewed themselves as part of a beleaguered minority that represents the historic faith of its society (as opposed to Roman Catholics in Ireland or secular liberals in the United States).

One important difference is that Ulster Protestants have used the levers of government far more effectively than ChristNats. What is also true is that ChristNats write more books than Ulster Protestants.

Neil Southern’s 2007 article on Protestant alienation in Northern Ireland could, with a few tweaks, describe ChristNats in America:

Concomitant with the changes which have occurred at the level of politics, Protestants have had to contend with changes at the level of their cultural identity. Cultural alienation is treated as a separate analytical construct to that of politics and focuses on the emotional properties of Protestantism, whether in the form of the British identity of the Protestant and its symbolic displays in Northern Ireland, or the more regionally specific expression of Protestant culture in the form of the Loyal Orders.

. . . Protestants trace the increased presence of Irishness in Northern Ireland back to the Good Friday Agreement (and beyond). The Agreement states that, where there is a desire for the teaching and learning of the Irish language, the British government will ‘take resolute action to promote the language’ and ‘encourage the use of the language’. Yet many Protestants are alienated by the Irish language because they feel that it is not so much a cultural expression as a political tool. Protestants consider the issue of the Irish language to be used by Sinn Fein to emphasise the separateness of Irish culture within Northern Ireland as part of an overall political justification for their quest for Irish unity.

A pertinent example of Protestant cultural alienation followed in the wake of the decision of Queen’s University Belfast to dispense with the national anthem at graduation ceremonies. Many Protestants were of the opinion that the university was willingly discarding symbols of its Britishness in order to placate students from a nationalist background.

Obviously, ChristNats don’t regard the British national anthem as a marker of Protestant identity. Nor do Ulster Protestants seem to care much about blasphemy laws. They did want to align with a Christian prince – well a princess (QEII) – the way ChristNats pine for a Christian government. But Charles III’s emergence as the defender of multiple faiths may render Ulster Protestants more willing to support a Christian government in the USA. Maybe Ulster could become the fifty-first state?

But when compared side by side, Ulster Protestantism and American Christian nationalism look remarkably national (and cultural) rather than Christian. Instead of producing a common set of policies for a Protestant society anywhere, Irish and American Protestants calculate their “Christian” government according to patterns of Irish and US history respectively.

Maybe the one man who could have bridged the differences between Ulster and American Protestants was Ian Paiseley, the former First Minister of Northern Ireland. After all, Paisley worked with both Carl McIntire and Bob Jones to form a kind of trans-Atlantic Religious Right.

But I dare say no ChristNat could affirm what Paisley did in 1985 when he spoke on behalf of a Protestant Ulster. The Free Presbyterian pastor did not have American Protestants in mind when defending the Christian nationalism of Northern Ireland. he opposed political reforms in Northern Ireland that resulted in a shared Protestant and Roman Catholic government:

God has a people in this province. There are more born-again people in Ulster to the square mile than in anywhere else in the world. This little province has had the peculiar preservation of divine Providence. You only have to read the history of Ulster to see that time after time when it seemed humanly impossible to extricate Ulster from seeming disaster, that God intervened. Why? God has a purpose for this province, and this plant of Protestantism sown here in the north-eastern part of this island. The enemy has tried to root it out, but it still grows today, and I believe, like a grain of a mustard seed, its future is going to be mightier yet. God Who made her mighty will make her mightier yet in His Divine will.

9/11 Revealed Christian Nationalism before Stephen Wolfe’s “Case”

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Reactions to the terrorist attack then and now (25 years later) have been hard to miss or experience. One conferee this past weekend in Baltimore who gathered to honor H. L. Mencken’s cynical wit (and more), could hardly bottle up tears after stopping at the Flight 93 National Memorial on the way to Charm City.

Tallying Christian responses has also put the recent discussions of Christian nationalism in perspective. As it turns out, Protestants who have a high view of politics and nations (who are also invariabley pietist) rushed to find Christian meaning in 9/11. Confessionalists, in contrast, were reluctant to use Christian doctrine to make sense of the United States’ loss and suffering.

(Sure, this could come across as a case of confessionalists taking a victory lap at the expense of pietists. It might also be instructive about the way a high view of the church deescalates the importance of nations.)

John Fea surveyed evangelical responses to 9/11 from twenty-five years ago in a piece for Christianity Today. The opposition of Religious Right leaders like Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson to immorality and secularism was clearly a forerunner to recent calls from ChristNats for laws against blashpemy and Sabbath breaking.

It took only two days for Jerry Falwell, founder of the Moral Majority and Liberty University’s chancellor, to publicize his interpretation of the attacks. On Thursday morning, he appeared on televangelist Pat Robertson’s 700 Club and blamed the attacks on all his culture war enemies.

“I really believe,” he said, “that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America—I point the finger in their face and say, ‘You helped this happen.’”

. . . A few days later, as the nation watched George Bush’s National Day of Prayer and Remembrance at the National Cathedral, Falwell spoke to cable news trying to walk back his comments. He told CNN, in the outlet’s paraphrase, that “only the hijackers and terrorists were responsible for the deadly attacks”—but even then he could not stop talking about his enemies.

Falwell again accused the ACLU of having “secularize[d] America” and “removed our nation from its relationship with Christ on which it was founded,” thereby causing God to “lift the veil of protection which has allowed no one to attack America on our soil since 1812.” (The editors of Christianity Today later quipped that Falwell spoke “as if America enjoyed a spotless record of righteousness until the 1960s.”)

. . . Many evangelicals, whatever they thought of Falwell’s specific targets, seemed to share his underlying assumption: God was sending the United States a message through September 11. This was the old rhetoric of the Puritan jeremiad, sermons that called Massachusetts Bay to repentance in the wake of a society-wide tragedy. Puritans believed God used Indian raids, earthquakes, and losses of charters to punish the colonies’ inhabitants. Now, in these attacks, some evangelicals were sure God was again punishing his new chosen people.

Radio psychologist James Dobson pointed to America’s “pride and arrogance,” the “killing [of] 40 million unborn babies,” and the “mainstreaming of pornography.” He told his readers to “accept the truth that this nation will suffer in many ways for departing from the principles of righteousness.”

At the Nicotine Theological Journal, the editors adopted a different stance. One article, “God Damn Mr. Laden,” questioned the ubiquity of the phrase, “God bless America”:

The phrase, “God damn,” is one that devout Christians are not supposed to utter. Depending on how it’s said, it violates the Third Commandment which, as the Heidelberg Catechism puts it, forbids blaspheming and misusing the name of God “by cursing, perjury, or unnecessary oaths.” “God damn” would appear to fall into the category of cursing. That may explain why the only time I’ve heard a minister of the gospel say these words, and with noted effect, was when describing Jesus Christ on the cross, who bearing the sins of his people, was at that moment a “God-damned sinner.” The rest of those in the congregation that Sunday morning shifted nervously.

The recent terrorist attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, combined with the response of many Americans with a show of flags and the singing of “God Bless America,” have raised questions about Third Commandment and taking the Lord’s name in vain. Why is it wrong to say “God damn” but okay to say “God bless”? Surely the latter phrase isn’t a form of cursing by the lights of Heidelberg’s authors. But does “God bless” qualify, as Q&A 99 goes on to say, as the use of God’s holy name “with reverence and awe.” When it is as common as hand-painted messages on the rear windows of cars mixed with America’s civil religion of national messianism, the phrase “God bless” could legitimately be counted as a kind of cuss word. And yet few Christians seem to be aware that the Third Commandment requires the careful invoking of God’s name. In fact, because the idea that God has a special affection for the United States runs so deep in the American Protestant soul, responding to the terrorist attack with the phrase, “God bless,” is as natural as the Irish Catholic uttering “glory be” in reaction to a marvelous or unusual occurrence.

Another piece, “Faulty Towers,” noticed that invocations of Augustinianism were less coherent than what biblical theology gleans from the story of the Tower of Babel:

In reading some Internet “pastoral letters,” one common irony emerges. Pastors are frequently invoking the name of Augustine, and yet Augustine is being cited on behalf of some very un-Augustinian sentiments about American destiny and its role in the unfolding of the kingdom. Consider two messages from PCA pastors. “America is not the new Israel,” writes Larry Ball (on PCAnews.com), but “America has been special to God.” Now God is judging us, because “we have ejected the Christian God from our schools by denying prayer and refusing to teach his law.” Chief among American culprits was the immoral and heretical former administration (which seems to cast some doubt on God’s timing). America is a “cesspool of immorality and lawlessness . . . America has lost her peace because America has lost her righteousness.” It should not surprise us that God has used ungodly people to judge us, because that is the way he chose to judge Israel. America is not Israel, but she’s pretty darn close.

Slightyly more nuanced are the pastoral reflections from Tim Keller, a PCA pastor who ministers in Manhattan. He commends the mayor and governor for their public vision of the “resurrection” of New York City. “I personally believe that this is the right way for NYC to deal with its grief. It must reflect the gospel dynamic of death-into-resurrection at a civic level. Through this New York could become less a place of individualistic achievement and more of a community. Through this Americans could become on the one hand humbler and more sensitive to the injustice and pain in the world and yet more committed to and (rightly) proud of our nation than ever before. In summary, we could become stronger through this weakness, not just in spite of it. That is the basic gospel dynamic.”

This is as profoundly anti-Augustinian as you can get. To whatever extent New York City recovers, it is not in any sense being resurrected or redeemed. It remains the city of man, and therefore, at best, an instrument of God’s restraining grace. It does not reflect any reestablished role of America’s special purpose, nor is its recovery marking the breakthrough either of the gospel or the kingdom.

Is it too much to suggest that the better biblical metaphor to recall is the Tower of Babel in Genesis 11? In a consistently Augustinian understanding, the fall of the Tower of Babel was both judgment and blessing upon the city of man. In Meredith Kline’s words, it was a blessing in the sense that God was frustrating the “apostate ideology infecting the city of man,” frustrating their dialogue and “so ungluing the bonds of their ecumenical union.”

To close by saying that 9/11 stands above theological posturing may seem like a kind way to avoid using the tragedy to score religious points. In fact, the point of drawing on theology to interpret events in the life of a nation is to indicate that no success or failure of a political body is independent of theological interpretation. In which case, the choice of theological material for assessing dramatic events in the life of a nation is telling.

The Twists and Turns of Doing the Reading (Part Two)

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Part one is here.

In the seventh chapter of The Case for Christian Nationalism, Stephen Wolfe tries really hard to sound like David VanDrunen. That is, he traffics strongly – two lanes worth – in the two-kingdom distinction between Christ’s rule as creator and redeemer. 2kers employ that distinction to elaborate how Christ’s rule over the state is different from his rule over the church even if both governments derive their power from the same Lord.

This distinction between creation and redemption, between civil authority and church power, also often explains 2kers’ willingness to affirm the legitimacy of civil authorities who are not professing Christians. Because pagans and Christians both use natural law to govern society, requiring civil magistrates to be Christian shows hesitation about the integrity of the creational and redemptive spheres, not to mention having doubts about Christ’s capacity to rule the civil sphere through the magistrates he providentially appoints.

These distinctions and worries inform Wolfe’s discussion of “The Christian Prince.” He sounds the most 2k when he quotes Calvin and Rutherford approvingly. Calvin distinguishes between one government which pertains to eternal life (spiritual) and the other which “pertains only to civil institutions and the external regulations of manners.” [301] Rutherford echoes Calvin when he contrasts civil and spiritual power. The civil authority is “coactive by the Sword, the other free, voluntary by the Word.” [303] Wolfe carries this distinction forward when he insists that “no ecclesiastical institution wields civil-like power over itself or over its members.” Churches are subject to civil authorities in such matters as building codes and emergency orders. But the church’s divine ministry – preaching, the sacraments, church discipline – “are outside the civil jurisdiction.”

Those distinctions between earthly and eternal matters, between repairing potholes and baptizing babies, are ones that Wolfe tries to explain and affirm. He acknowledges that discussions of church and state cannot escape 2k’s host of contrasts – “civil/spiritual, natural/gracious, earthly/heavenly, power/grace, or outward/inward.” He does not include sacred/secular but it is another in the 2k toolkit, however much Kuyperians have demeaned the distinction with the bumper-sticker phrase, “every square inch.” (Don’t the Dutch use the metric system?)

But Wolfe ties himself in knots when he tries to find ways for the Christian Prince to order civil affairs so that his subjects will – trigger warning – gain eternal life. For instance, he writes, “Christ’s mediatorial reign does extend to all things in a way, in that all things ought to be ordered to the spiritual kingdom.” He adds that the civil kingdom, “by its nature, is obligated to order the people to the things of eternal life” and those things are only found in “Christ’s spiritual kingdom.” For this reason, Christ’s “spiritual reign extends to the civil kingdom.” “Christ as spiritual Head of his church has instituted what the civil kingdom ought to order itself to.” [306]

At that point, Wolfe takes away the 2k that he had previously offered by way of Calvin and Rutherford. Instead of keeping the distinctions between creation and redemption intact, Wolfe collapses them.

Maybe the best example comes a page later after trying to give the civil kingdom spiritual significance. He does so by distinguishing Christians as church members versus Christians as the people of God:

Since the spiritual kingdom does not possess civil power, the civil kingdom cannot arise out of the spiritual kingdom. Nor does the civil kingdom arise out of the visible church (strictly speaking), for the visible church is the externalized spiritual kingdom. Civil power is indeed divine in origin but still natural to man as man. It is an instrument of human institutions. It originates in God, the creator, and is devolved through human consent.

So far, so 2k.

Hence, a Christian people can erect a civil kingdom, though not as the visible church but as the people of God. It is worth citing Franciscus Junius again: ‘For to the extent that we may be Christians, we do not cease being humans, but we are Christian human beings.’ A civil kingdom, instituted by a group of the people of God, is fundamentally human, follows natural principles, and possesses the same kind of civil power as all civil kingdoms. Yet, as I’ve repeatedly stressed, the fact that it is fundamentally human does not (like the family) preclude it from being Christian.

That last series of sentences reveals the main problem. Wolfe can acknowledge the legitimacy of “all civil kingdoms,” Christian or not, because their origins are creational or natural. But simply leaving civil authority on the relatively stable basis of the created order is not sufficient for Wolfe who wants – you may have heard – a Christian civil government (or nation). For that reason, he equivocates — just because the government formed by Christians is fundamentally human and natural does not mean it cannot be Christian.

This is a problem as the heart of Wolfe’s proposal. The civil government’s true purpose really is what is unusual if not controversial about Wolfe’s argument. He grants to the Christian prince a Christian mission:

The Christian prince is a civil ruler (as divinely ordained in nature) who possess and uses powers (both civil and interpersonal) to order his people to commodious temporal life and to eternal life in Christ.

That is Wolfe’s own definition. He adds, “if the prince must order his people to eternal life (by natural duty), and eternal life is attained only in Christ, the prince ought to order his people to eternal life in Christ.” Wolfe explains that the prince does this by laws, custom, personal example – not through word and sacrament.

This is a view of the prince that has no basis in the New Testament. Paul and Peter understood that the pagan emperors were divinely appointed to administer the laws of nature, but they would have been gobsmacked to think the Roman governors, Jewish kings, or Rome’s emperors were called to direct people to eternal life.

Wolfe invokes Calvin’s preface to the Institutes where he appeals to Francis I, King of France, to ensure that God’s glory and truth be preserved on earth. What Wolfe does not do is cite exchanges between Calvin and Geneva’s city government. When Calvin went beyond what the Christian councilors wanted on powers of excommunication, the Christian magistrates of Geneva told Calvin to take a hike.

The question Wolfe needs to answer is how he comes up with the idea that civil government’s purpose is to direct people to eternal life. Is it because he needs all things in life to be explicitly devout and reassuring? It is because he has lost confidence in the church as the means of carrying out the plan of salvation? Is it simply a function of the status envy that haunts members of NAPARC churches when they realize how small and marginal their denominations are?

Whatever the reason, the Christian prince that Wolfe defines and advocates would have been inconceivable to Jesus and the apostles for accomplishing the Great Commission.

The Twists and Turns of Doing the Reading (Part One)

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Christian nationalists (hereafter ChristNats) tell us that the modern church has lost its way, not on the gospel or worship (though I wish they’d pay attention to the songs Protestants sing). Contemporary Presbyterians, ChristNats tell us, have lost the teaching of the Reformed churches on politics. Dating the instance of this loss can be tricky.

Did it happen with the American Founding, which many scholars associate with Lockean liberalism? Even if the American instance of political liberalism was a break with Christendom, ChristNats insist that the Founders were aggressively Protestant. That means that for most of the nineteenth century America still had a Christian government even though Covenanters were dissatisfied and wanted an amendment to the U.S. Constitution to make it truly Christian.

Sometimes ChristNats say positive things about Progressives, mainline Protestants, and the Social Gospel because those Americans were still trying for a Christian government.

This chronology leads many ChristNats to locate the origins of American Presbyterians’ loss of political moxie in the period after World War II, the so-called POSTWAR consensus (“postwar” capitalized because the United States has been involved in many wars resulting in many “POSTWAR!!!” eras).

Whatever the timing, ChristNats insist that contemporary Presbyterians “do the reading” of older Protestant theologians on politics and government. Such immersion in the sources will awaken people in the churches to a truly Christian understanding of government and ideally lead to a healthier society. Substituting Christian politics for POSTWAR liberalism will restore order, decency, and stability at least to the United States if not to all countries where Protestantism was the dominant faith.

This way of framing of Christian Nationalism – as the product of having done did the reading – could well confuse readers of Stephen Wolfe who was the first out of the blocks with a case for a recovery of Christian politics. His 2022 book, The Case for Christian Nationalism ignited discussions that prompted the PCA to commission a report on Christian nationalism. In the run-up to the 2026 General Assembly, Wolfe along with Zachary Garris and Sean McGowan wrote Report on Reformed Christian Politics in which the authors provided greater precision and historical examples in support of Wolfe’s 2022 book. Both of these publications promise instruction about a proper understanding of government based on Protestant sources older than the corruptions introduced by twentieth-century Presbyterians cooking, like frogs in the kettle, of American liberalism.

What is striking about this recent explanation of traditional Protestant politics is how difficult it is to understand. If someone wanted a guide to an unfamiliar subject, the teacher might use a primer or basic guide that walked a student through the elementary categories before subsequent lessons handling conceptually challenging material.

This relatively simple approach is exactly what readers find in the Westminster Confession chapter twenty-three on the civil magistrate, whether the 1646 original or the 1788 revision. The four paragraphs outline the foundational truths of Reformed politics as follows:

  1. 23.1 – God ordains civil government and gives it the means of enforcing law.
  2. 23.2 – Christians may lawfully serve as civil magistrates.
  3. 23.3 – Civil magistrates may not conduct religious activities but should protect the church or churches.
  4. 23.4 – Christians are obligated to pray for and submit to civil magistrates even if officials do not profess Christianity.

Each of the confession’s paragraphs say more, but the basic outline is straightforward. It explains where the authority of civil government comes from (God), reassures that Christians may actually bear the sword if called to serve in government, distinguishes the godly origins of the magistrate from the church’s spiritual responsibilities, and calls for Christians to be good subjects. In other words, God grants the sword, Christians may wield the sword, the sword is not redemptive, and believers are obligated to submit to the sword.

Some political theorists may quibble with the outline. But it is clear. And it represents the way seventeenth-century English and Scottish Protestants distilled their thoughts about government when speaking to fellow Christians in the pews and in Parliament. It is, in other words, a decent introduction for those who have not done the reading.

Compare this outline then to what Stephen Wolfe produced in the 2026 Report on Christian Politics. Keep in mind that in the book’s first chapter, Wolfe tries to clarify his argument from the 2022 Case for Christian Nationalism. As the introduction to Report explains, this “chapter, in part, is a philosophical argument for our main proposition: that civil government must promote true religion. The author grounds this claim in nature and follows the proper principia of practical philosophy (viz., nature and reason) while also demonstrating how revealed theology further specifies political conclusions, making possible a distinctly Christian politics that promotes the Christian religion.”

That is quite a wind up.

Here is the pitch, or the subheadings of the first chapter, “Reformed Political Theory”:

I. Distinguishing Theology, Ethics, Politics

II. The Definition of Politics

III. The Fundamental Principles of Civil Order and Common and Natural
A. Commonness
B. Nature and Grace
C. Natural Religion as Necessary to Commonwealths
D. The Magistrate’s Cognizance of True Religion
E. Civil Powers over Pastors
F. The Magistrate as Mediator
G. Civil Law

IV. Natural Affection
A. Affection, Duty, Action
B. Does Grace Relativize Nature?
C. Brothers and Sisters in Christ
D. How Grace Does Not Relativize Nature

V. Civil Power is Granted to Rulers Solely by the Consent of the People
A. Consent
B. Nations are Real
C. Nationalism

VI. Civil Politics as a Prudential Art
A. Religious Toleration
B. Christian America

That, as the kids used to say, is a mouthful.

Wolfe’s outline is also several steps removed from the basic categories of seventeenth-century Protestants. That could sound like a gotcha – see! SEE??!! – Wolfe is not a confessional Protestant. Since he is not an officer of a Reformed communion, we have no reason to expect him to hold to the Westminster Standards or Three Forms of Unity.

But what we might reasonably expect is for a recovery of Protestant politics to start with Reformed Politics 101, not with a seminar in political philosophy with flourishes of theological reflections on nature and grace, creation and redemption.

Perhaps the Westminster Divines were thinking all of Wolfe’s thoughts before him when they came up with the basic categories on the civil magistrate to be subscribed by church officers. Perhaps they would agree with Wolfe on “Commonness” or the “Magistrate’s Cognizance of True Religion” before then boiling down ideas about civil government for a confession of faith.

But chances are that Wolfe may be guilty of imbibing too much of the POSTWAR!!! consensus that he laments. If so, the cause of such error stems from spending too much time in graduate school and learning the ways that political theorists, steeped in the ways of American higher education downstream from the POSTWAR!!! consensus.

Wolfe was not wrong to go to graduate school. He is certainly not wrong to bring his training to bear on debates about Christian government and social decay. But his proposals are hardly thinking political thoughts after Althusius and Rutherford. The Case for Christian Nationalism and the Report on Christian Politics have a lot of twenty-first-century fingerprints on them. If Wolfe and other ChristNats want to recover the sources, then why not try to figure out why the Westminster Divines ordered their thoughts about the civil magistrate the way that they did?

Machen Day 2026: Just Say No to Christian Government Schools

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Christian nationalists do not seem to consider that Christian magistrates or the laws that they write and enforce could ever have unintended consequences. If the advocates of Christian government ever read about the PREWAR consensus, the period that runs from 1870 to 1940, not only might they encounter Machen, the Presbyterian controversy, Progressivism, and liberal Presbyterianism, they might also have second thoughts when pining for a Christian government and laws that support Christian norms.

One example of Christian government encouraging religion for the public good is prayer and Bible reading in public schools. For some Protestants, these practices look wholesome and straightforward: a little dip into the Bible and a prayer at the beginning of the school day; what could possibly go wrong?

Machen supplied an answer:

I think I am just about as strongly opposed to the reading of the Bible in state-controlled schools as any atheist could be.

For one thing, the reading of the Bible is very difficult to separate from propaganda about the Bible. I remember, for example, a book of selections from the Bible for school reading, which was placed in my hands some time ago. Whether it is used now I do not know, but it is typical of what will inevitably occur if the Bible is read in public schools. Under the guise of being a book of selections for Bible-reading, it really presupposed the current naturalistic view of the Old Testament Scriptures.

But even where such errors are avoided, even where the Bible itself is read, and not in one of the mistranslations but in the Authorized Version, the Bible still may be so read as to obscure and even contradict its true message. When, for example, the great and glorious promises of the Bible to the redeemed children of God are read as though they belonged of right to man as man, have we not an attack upon the very heart and core of the Bible’s teaching? What could be more terrible, for example, from the Christian point of view, than the reading of the Lord’s Prayer to non-Christian children, as though they could use it without becoming Christians, as though persons who have never been purchased by the blood of Christ could possibly say to God, ‘Our Father, which art in Heaven’? The truth is that a garbled Bible may be a falsified Bible; and when any hope is held out to lost humanity from the so-called ethical portions of the Bible apart from its great redemptive core, then the Bible is represented as saying the direct opposite of what it really says. (On the Necessity of the Christian School)

Somehow Christian nationalists would have us believe that even of public school superintendants might garble the Bible, the Speaker of the House or the Secretary of State will not?

To borrow a line from Harry Emerson Fosdick, “what incredible folly.”

Why You Don’t Need the Westminster Confession (or Calvin or Winthrop) to do Protestant Politics?

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One of the tendencies in the critics of Kevin DeYoung’s defense of John Witherspoon and the American revision of the Westminster Confession (not mentioned here) is a need to base contemporary political reflection and action – even – on past Protestant models. The critics of DeYoung did this by reference to the meaning of the Westminster Confession. Others at American Reformer have also argued for a recovery of early modern Protestant politics. The advantage of this argument is that it paints Witherspoon, American Presbyterians, and always 2k advocates in the corner of departing from Reformed orthodoxy.

But what if you don’t need pre-Lockean understandings of politics and the good society to have a Protestant voice in liberal political structures? What if today’s Protestants who want to advocate for Christian norms looked to Presbyterians who both accepted the terms of liberal democracy and free markets and advocated Protestant-friendly positions on matters of political debate? What if you could be a kind of Christian nationalist without needing to read all of the pre- or early-modern Protestant theologians on the divine mandate for the Christian magistrate and a godly commonwealth?

That is what happened in the 19th century in England, Scotland, Ireland, Canada, and the United States. Presbyterianism began in 16th century England and Scotland as a force of opposition to rule by bishops and continued as a form of checks upon elites in both government and the church, Presbyterians saw overcoming injustices of the past with improvements that led to a fairer future. Such a disposition almost always places Presbyterians on the side of freedom and limited government whether in the form of freedom of conscience or ecclesiastical autonomy from meddling magistrates. This cast of mind nurtured in Presbyterians at least sympathy if not outright support for political and economic reforms that reduced the authority and wealth of the few and expanded society’s benefits as broadly as possible. Such an outlook, as in the case of the United States, could lend support for small government and reliance on voluntary associations for improving social conditions. But even where the state’s footprint in managing the forces of modernization was larger than the American form of government, Presbyterians generally supported those “good” governments whose rule extended the blessings of modern society as widely as possible.

For this reason, increase in suffrage, more extensive representation in government, free trade and better distribution of goods for more affordable prices, higher rates of literacy and advanced learning, and greater suppression of vices, not to mention the separation of church and state were all policies on Presbyterians’ horizon on the phase of their particular nation’s evolution.

Among the proponents of these views were Charles Hodge in the United States, William McKerrow in England, Thomas Chalmers in Scotland, Henry Cooke in Ireland, George Monro Grant in Canada, and James McCosh – can you believe it – in Scotland, Ireland, and the United States. These Presbyterians may have been on different places on the page of Reformed theology and Presbyterian worship, but their outlook on government and society stemmed from their understanding of Presbyterianism in its modern, liberal, political version. Advocates of the spirituality of the church or its 2k nomenclature may take issue with these Presbyterians, but they show you don’t need to turn the clock back before 1789 to have Presbyterian politics.

It goes without saying that the constellation of political and economic positions adopted by these Presbyterians was a long way from the godly commonwealth of the Scottish Reformation or England’s Second Reformation. But after the Glorious Revolution (1689), Presbyterians learned by experience and reflection that the same political arrangements that lightened the church’s burden from an overreaching magistrate were also among the tools by which modern nations could fashion a generically Christian society.

Christian Church (not Christian Nation) even in the Psalms?

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After listening to Chris Gordon and Brad Isbell talk about Christian nationalism and two-kingdoms theology (where it did sound like Chris said “R two Gay” instead of “R two K”), I was surprised to read Martin Luther this morning on Psalm 87. That Psalm reads:

1 On the holy mount stands the city he founded;
2     the Lord loves the gates of Zion
    more than all the dwelling places of Jacob.
3 Glorious things of you are spoken,
    O city of God. Selah

4 Among those who know me I mention Rahab and Babylon;
    behold, Philistia and Tyre, with Cush —
    “This one was born there,” they say.
5 And of Zion it shall be said,
    “This one and that one were born in her”;
    for the Most High himself will establish her.
6 The Lord records as he registers the peoples,
    “This one was born there.” Selah

7 Singers and dancers alike say,
    “All my springs are in you.”

Here is how the two-kingdom Luther introduced the Psalm:

The 87th psalm is a prophecy of the Holy Christian Church, that it shall be a city as wide as the earth is, and in it shall be born Ethiopians, Egyptians, Babylonians, Philistines, residents of Tyre, and people of other lands and tongues. This shall all happen through the Gospel, which shall preach marvelous things of God, namely the knowledge of God, how one may come to God, be freed from sin, and be saved from death, through Christ. And the worship of God in this city shall also be singing and dancing, that is, they will proclaim, praise, and thank God’s grace with joy. In that city, no Moses shall plague and torment us with his Law.

Here is a sixteenth-century two-kingdom advocate, not someone from the 1990s reacting to theonomy, reading the city of God in the Old Testament and identifying it not with empire, kingdom, or nation but with the church. Of course, Luther needed a Christian magistrate (a Roman Catholic one, to boot). Without one he would have been executed. But his thoughts were on matters other than a Christian politics when looking for the kingdom of God.

What may be especially upsetting to those who subscribe recent versions of Christian nationalism is Luther’s throwing down a welcome mat at the door of the church to all tribes and ethnicities. It sure must seem odd to think of the Christian church as multi-ethnic and multi-racial when some insist that ethnic homogeneity is necessary for a Christian nation.

The jab at Moses’ law could, however, confirm the anti-nominan reputation of two-kingdom proponents. No one’s perfect.

After All These Years It’s Still Theonomy vs. 2K

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From David VanDrunen’s review of Brad Littlejohn’s Called to Freedom: Retrieving Christian Liberty in an Age of License.

On a general level, Littlejohn at times seems to jump from the observation that without certain virtues, people won’t use their outward freedoms well the conclusion that civil officials may therefore legitimately restrict these freedoms. But although the observation is valid, the conclusion doesn’t necessarily follow. On what basis do civil officials have authority, for example, to restrict market transactions or prohibit non-Christian religions for the “common good” when no force or fraud is involved?

Perhaps instructive is Littlejohn’s understanding of civil authorities as “fathers of their people” who ought to “exercise paternal care” for them. There is some similarity between fathers and civil magistrates, but there are also so many differences that it seems dangerous to invoke this analogy as grounds for specific government regulations. For one thing, fathers have extensive authority over even minute details of their children’s lives. On that analogy, civil officials could regulate almost anything. Perhaps even worse, the analogy presumes that citizens are children. This seems to work at cross-purposes to Littlejohn’s oft-stated ideal that citizens be morally mature and self-governing.

We see another reason for Littlejohn’s openness to extensive government authority in his support for the “classical Protestant theory of religious liberty.” He explains this theory as follows: In Romans 13 and 1 Peter 2, God calls civil authorities to punish evil and praise the good (although not, contra Littlejohn, to “reward” or “promote” the good). The natural moral law defines what is evil and good. The Ten Commandments summarize the natural moral law. This means, in Littlejohn’s telling, that civil officials have authority to enforce the “full scope” of the Ten Commandments.

But there’s a problem with this reasoning. The fact that civil officials punish evil and praise the good doesn’t entail giving them jurisdiction over all that is evil and good. What’s more, the natural moral law—what we know about right and wrong from the testimony of nature—doesn’t provide nearly enough guidance for civil authorities on which religion to promote or restrain. The testimony of nature itself doesn’t reveal truths about the Trinity, atonement for sin, the church, and other core matters.

At best, Littlejohn’s belief that civil magistrates may restrain non-Christian worship and proselytizing needs more extensive argument. Could Scripture provide it? One might appeal to the precedent of Old Testament kings under the Mosaic theocracy, which is exactly what many pre-modern Christian theologians did. But since contemporary political communities are not God’s holy people, in redemptive covenant with God, such appeals are highly problematic. Littlejohn briefly glances at these issues but doesn’t really discuss them.

At one point, Littlejohn states that Christians can disregard ungodly rulers when they issue clear commands to transgress Scripture. Yet in other cases, he argues, we can cheerfully tolerate them. Are there really no other instances when Christians might justly disregard such rulers? When rulers act contrary to the laws of their own community, for example, shouldn’t citizens commit to following the law instead?

Littlejohn himself, when discussing political freedom as liberty under law, appeals to the classical notion that law should be consensual. In other words, it ought to emerge from “time-tested customs and communal practices, unwritten laws that written laws should respect.” This is indeed a noble idea. But if we take it seriously, it requires the people to have a great deal of independence to forge their own ways of life, which entails corresponding limitations on civil authority. It would have been interesting to see Littlejohn develop this theme and reflect more on its implications.

Even if Littlejohn’s conception of the extent of civil authority needs further defense, his larger perspective on Christian liberty is solid, insightful, and sometimes eloquent. Called to Freedom usefully clarifies the issues at stake, even if it doesn’t settle all of them. It should stimulate, but not end, important discussions on what it means to be free.

Gemini AI is More Reliable than Chat GPT: Here’s Why

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Looks like the folks at Google have a better read on two-kingdoms theology and Christian nationalism than those at Microsoft. When you ask Chat GPT “which is a greater threat to American society Christian nationalism or two kingdom theology? here’s what you get.

ChatGPT

Determining which is a greater threat to American society, Christian nationalism or two kingdom theology, is a nuanced question as it involves various perspectives and considerations.

  1. Christian Nationalism: This ideology intertwines Christianity with patriotism, often asserting that the United States is a “Christian nation” and advocating for policies and laws based on Christian principles. Critics argue that it can lead to exclusionary practices, discrimination against minority religions, and a blurring of the lines between church and state, potentially undermining religious freedom and social cohesion.
  2. Two Kingdom Theology: This theological perspective emphasizes a separation between the kingdom of God (spiritual matters) and the earthly kingdom (secular matters). Proponents argue that it helps maintain religious integrity while engaging in societal affairs. However, critics suggest that it may lead to disengagement from social issues and a lack of accountability for addressing societal injustices.

The assessment of which is a greater threat depends on various factors such as how these ideologies are interpreted and practiced, their influence on policies and actions, and their impact on social harmony and justice. Christian nationalism, with its potential for exclusionary practices and erosion of secular principles, may be viewed by some as posing a more immediate threat to pluralistic societies like the United States. However, two kingdom theology’s potential for disengagement from societal issues could also be seen as a challenge, particularly in addressing pressing social injustices.

Ultimately, both ideologies have their risks and potential impacts, and the assessment of their relative threat to American society may vary depending on one’s perspective and values. It’s essential to engage in critical dialogue and evaluation of these ideologies’ implications to foster a more inclusive and just society.

At Gemini this is the answer your receive:

Two Kingdom Theology is generally not considered a threat to American society. In fact, it’s a concept used by some Christians to navigate the relationship between their faith and civil authority.

Christian nationalism, on the other hand, can be seen as a threat because it blends Christian identity with American national identity. This can lead to policies that favor one religion over others, or a belief that America is inherently superior to other nations.

Here’s a breakdown of why Christian nationalism is considered more concerning:

  • Exclusionary: It can lead to discrimination against those who don’t adhere to a specific Christian belief system.
  • Erosion of Democracy: It can lead to a push for policies that reflect a specific religious view, rather than the will of the people.
  • National Chauvinism: It can breed a sense of American superiority that can be harmful to international relations.

Two Kingdom Theology, while it might be debated in its theological applications, focuses on maintaining separate spheres of influence for the Church and the State. This can promote a peaceful coexistence between religion and government.

It’s important to note that these are generalizations. There are variations within both Christian nationalism and Two Kingdom Theology.