Giving Up Christian Nationalism for Lent | The Temptation of Power
The Temptation of Power – Fasting from Control
Lent is a season of repentance, reflection, and renewal. It is a time marked with ashes on our foreheads, intentionally giving up those things that distract us from God and taking on disciplines that draw us deeper into Christ’s way of love. Some give up chocolate or caffeine. Others take on practices of prayer, fasting, or service.
But what if this Lent, we gave up something even more insidious—something that has crept into the Church and distorted the gospel? What if we gave up Christian nationalism?
Christian nationalism seeks to blend faith with national identity, to claim that God’s kingdom and earthly power are one and the same. It prioritizes nation over neighbor, political influence over humble service, and cultural dominance over Christlike love. But Jesus never called His followers to build a Christian nation—He called them to build the Kingdom of God.
If we are to take Lent seriously, then perhaps this is the season to surrender the idol of Christian nationalism. And in its place, we take on practices that lead us toward a more faithful witness.
This Lent, we can practice fasting from the desire to control. We can resist the urge to impose faith through legislation, to seek influence over others rather than serving them. Instead, we take on the humility of Christ, who “emptied himself” and took the form of a servant.[i]
Giving up Christian nationalism means choosing the cross over the throne, sacrifice over dominance, and love over control.
Christian nationalism is, at its core, a hunger for power disguised as faith. It is the belief that the United States is divinely chosen, that Christianity should hold privileged status in government and society, and that political control is necessary to preserve the faith. It whispers to us that God’s kingdom can be established by the right laws, the right leaders, and the right policies. And yet, when Jesus himself was tempted with that same promise—when Satan offered him all the kingdoms of the world—he refused.
As we begin this Lenten journey of giving up Christian nationalism, our first step is to fast from control.
In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus spends forty days in the wilderness, fasting and preparing for his public ministry. At his weakest moment, the devil comes to him and offers three temptations. First, to turn stones into bread. Second, to throw himself from the temple and prove his divine power. And third, to bow before Satan in exchange for authority over all the kingdoms of the world.
This final temptation is the heart of Christian nationalism—the desire to claim political power in the name of God. But Jesus, recognizing the devil’s deception, responds:
"Away with you, Satan! For it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”[ii]
Jesus refuses to grasp for earthly control. He knows that true authority does not come from political dominance but from humble obedience to God. He does not seek to rule nations; he comes to serve, to heal, and ultimately, to die.
To follow Jesus is to do the same.
It would be easy for mainline Protestants to believe that Christian nationalism is a problem that exists only in fundamentalist or evangelical circles. However, mainline churches have played a significant role in shaping the very ideology we now seek to resist.
For much of American history, mainline Protestantism was deeply intertwined with national identity. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, white Protestant leaders helped establish a vision of the United States as a Christian nation, shaping everything from public school curricula to government policies. The Social Gospel movement, while advocating for economic justice, often reinforced the idea that America had a divine mission to shape the world in its image. Clergy blessed military endeavors as divinely sanctioned, from Manifest Destiny to Cold War foreign policy, portraying national expansion and global influence as part of God’s plan.
Many mainline churches also lent religious legitimacy to exclusionary policies. They helped establish racial segregation as a moral norm, resisted Catholic and Jewish immigration out of fear of losing Protestant dominance, and defended laws that privileged Christianity in public life. Even today, mainline denominations struggle to fully disentangle themselves from these legacies—whether in the symbols that still hang in our sanctuaries, the civic prayers we offer at government functions, or the lingering expectation that Christianity should hold a central place in American culture.[iii]
We are not innocent bystanders to Christian nationalism. We helped build it. And that means we have a special responsibility to repent of it.
Jesus’ final response to Satan in the wilderness was a command: “Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.”[iv]
Christian nationalism asks us to worship something else—an idea of a Christianized nation, a vision of power dressed up in religious language. But this Lent, we are called to turn away from that false gospel.
Fasting from control means giving up our hunger for political dominance. It means surrendering our desire to shape the world in our own image. It means trusting that God does not need us to seize power in order to accomplish His purposes.
Lent is a season of dying so that resurrection might come. As we begin this journey, may we have the courage to let go of our grip on power—so that we might, at last, take hold of the cross.
Lord of all, I do not want to let go. I really don’t, and you know that. I want to hold on—to certainty, to influence, to the comforting belief that I am on the right side of history. I want the church to matter, for our voices to be heard, for our values to shape the world around us. I want to see the kingdom come, and I want to help bring it.
But you, O God, are not a flag to be waved or a weapon to be wielded. You are the God who refused the throne, who chose a cross over a crown. You did not seize power—you emptied yourself. And now, you ask me to do the same.
You are a God who works beyond my understanding. You take the weak and make them strong, the last and make them first, the dead and make them live. You build your kingdom not with laws and armies but with broken people who have been made whole. If you can do this, then you can loosen my grip, too. Maybe you can free me from the fear that drives my hunger for control.
Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison.
Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.
Have mercy on your church, on this divided and anxious nation, and on all of us clinging so tightly to the illusion of power. Have mercy on a world that does not know how to trust you. Break the cycle we cannot seem to break. Do what only you can do.
Amen.
[i] Philippians 2:7
[ii] Matthew 4:10
[iii] For more please read Baptizing America: How Mainline Protestants Helped Build Christian Nationalism by Brian Kaylor and Beau Underwood.
[iv] Matthew 4:10
Thank you for this powerful and true message