Giving Up Christian Nationalism for Lent | The King Who Rides a Donkey

A Palm Sunday reflection for those who've had it with golden calves draped in red, white, and blue

It’s Palm Sunday again, and once more, the church is going to hand kids some palm branches, sing a few upbeat hymns, and act like this whole parade thing was a celebration. But what kind of king enters a city on a donkey?

We need to talk about the donkey.

Palm Sunday reminds us just how weird our faith is. The church has always been weird. And when it forgets that, it gets dangerous. It’s the day Jesus marches into Jerusalem. Some might say it resembles a parade but it is not the kind of parade Christian nationalists would appreciate. No flags. No eagles. No soldiers in formation. Just a borrowed burro, a few coats on the ground, and some people shouting:

“Hosanna!

Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!

Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!

Hosanna in the highest heaven!”[i]

The ancient equivalent of, “Save us now!”

At the same time, from the other side of the city, Pontius Pilate was riding into Jerusalem too—on a warhorse, surrounded by troops, making very clear who was in charge and what kind of peace Rome intended to keep.

So let’s be honest: Palm Sunday is not a sweet story. It’s a theological face-off. A choice between two kingdoms.

Christian nationalism prefers Pilate’s parade. It wants a king with polish and power—someone who looks good on campaign posters and promises to “take the country back for God.”

But Jesus doesn’t ride warhorses. He rides donkeys.

He doesn't campaign—he invites.

He doesn’t pass legislation—he washes feet.

And, He doesn’t conquer cities—he weeps over them.

Will Willimon often remarks that Jesus is not running for office. He doesn’t need your help managing the empire. He already reigns—from a cross, not a throne.

Remember, Jesus's entry into Jerusalem on a donkey wasn’t some ancient PR stunt. It was a direct challenge to every institution, religious and political, propped up by military might and cultural dominance.

The truth is, Christian nationalism doesn’t trust the donkey, grace, or a kingdom that doesn’t win elections or secure funding. It wants to slap Jesus on a tank and call it gospel. It wants Jesus to make the empire great again.

But the church’s job has never been to secure power. It’s to follow the One who emptied himself. Who chose service over control. Who, a few days after His entry into Jerusalem, told Peter to put his sword away because this kingdom doesn’t come through force—it comes through faithfulness.

And that’s where Palm Sunday stings.

Because if we’re honest, we’ve grown pretty cozy with the other parade.

Look, Lent is the season of giving things up—not just coffee and Instagram but our illusions. One of the most dangerous illusions we’ve bought into is that the kingdom of God needs a flag, a border, and a budget line.

Christian nationalism is what happens when we stop following Jesus and start trying to use him.

But the gospel isn’t about reclaiming some mythical past where Christianity was “in charge.” It’s about remembering that Jesus was never interested in being in charge the way we define it. He came not to be served, but to serve. Not to rule from a palace, but to die on a cross.

When we look outside the borders of the United States, we are reminded that the church has never been bound to the empires of this world. In the ancient world, Christianity took root in places like Asia Minor, where believers had no political influence, societal privilege, or cultural dominance. Yet, in the midst of challenge and marginalization, the church grew. The apostle Paul wrote his letters to these early believers—often in small, scattered communities like Ephesus, Smyrna, and Antioch—communities with no claim to power. They did not win the world through political influence or military might. They won the world by serving, loving, and proclaiming a kingdom that transcended the world's power structures.

These early Christians, living in the Roman Empire, were not attempting to gain the empire’s approval or to use its structures for their own good. Instead, they lived out a faithful discipleship marked by the teachings of Jesus. They loved their neighbors, cared for the poor, and shared the gospel without regard to whether they had political or social privilege. Their lives were shaped not by the power of the state but by the kingdom of God.

Those early believers weren’t clamoring for Rome to recognize their faith. They were busy following Jesus. Loving their neighbors. Living the kingdom. And it worked. They changed the world, not through power, but through presence. Through a different kind of parade.

What Kind of King Do You Want?

Let’s consider more interesting questions for Palm Sunday:
Do we want the donkey, or are we still holding out for the warhorse?

Do we want the cross or just a shinier sword?

Regardless of our answers, Jesus is still riding that donkey. He is still offering peace that confuses the powerful and asking us to lay down our illusions and pick up our crosses.

That’s the invitation.

This is the King we follow.
This is the kingdom we proclaim.
So let’s give up Christian nationalism, wave our palms with honesty, and follow the donkey—yes, the donkey—all the way to the cross.

Because that’s where the real victory was won. And there’s no military parade that can match it.

A Prayer for the Journey

Lord Jesus, You chose the donkey over the warhorse, Peace over violence, Grace over power. Teach us to do the same.

Strip us of the illusion that your kingdom needs our control. Remind us that faithfulness is enough. Give us courage to follow you—not just to the gates of Jerusalem, but all the way to the cross.

May our lives reflect your mercy, our words echo your love, and our witness reject every parade that isn’t yours. Amen.

[i] Mark 11:9b-10