‘Christian nationalism is fascism’ a frightful truth
You could argue — and I think compellingly so — that former Talking Heads bassist Tina Weymouth hit the lyrics jackpot when she wrote, “I’m in heaven/ with the maven of funk mutation,” in her song “Genius of Love.” Let’s face it, as song lines go, this is of maximal wonder. And the whole song is a tribute to rhythm. But that is not why I cite it here.
I cite it here because I just saw a National Public Radio piece that said, “Christian nationalism now has a foothold in American politics ... more than half of Republicans believe the country should be a strictly Christian nation, either adhering to the ideals of Christian nationalism (21 percent) or sympathizing with those views (33 percent).”
Regular readers will know that I’m ordained Lutheran clergy, having served for 30 years as a parish pastor and, of course, I didn’t love it the whole time because does anybody love their job every single second of the day? But my work in a progressive denomination that seeks interfaith connection, restorative justice for oppressed populations and the tricky warp and weft of community building has always meant a lot to me — a whole lot. Like, my life.
What this furthermore means, though, is that when I ponder Weymouth’s brilliant lyric after reading the NPR piece, I hear in my brain, “And I am vexed with misappropriation.” No, it doesn’t scan well (but in her song, Tina could have made it work). But the point is Christian nationalism is so toxic that this Christian pastor is saying to you in this family newspaper, “Turn back, Dorothy.” Or to quote Dante Alighieri quoting a fictional Virgil in his “Inferno,” “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
And if that was unclear, let me be more blunt: Christian nationalism is fascism.
You may be thinking, “Pshaw! 33 percent is chump change. Those extremists are just nice Bible-thumpers who mean no harm.”
But, honestly, you’d be wrong. And quite so.
Without citing the fact that a minority came to power in the Third Reich — because we all think “it can’t happen here” — the so-called “Christian” right is organized, powerful and crafty. And the craftiness is in the messaging. It’s easy to make Jesus your frontman, particularly if you cherry-pick his words — which, let’s not forget, were not noted like a court stenographer so, no, we can’t really say with accuracy or alacrity what he did or didn’t actually say.
Progressive Christians, by which I describe myself, seem to think his words were about love and indiscriminate hospitality. But other Christians see him as the guy who doesn’t want guys to kiss guys (or girls to kiss girls), read the banned books or beat swords into plowshares. (Seriously?) And after overturning Roe v. Wade, does women’s driving come next?
Happily (and selfishly), I’m at the end of my career in the church — and I also have not a clue about what comes next. But I’m also more of the Reform/ Reconstructionist/progressive Christian/Unitarian Universalist ilk anyway. I want that tradition to live and to thrive and I want that with every bone and marrow bit of me.
Am I optimistic? Not a bit. We live in ugly times.
But by the same token, have I abandoned all hope — even as I feel I have no more effort (and that my effort was never all that useful in the first place) to offer?
No, I am hopeful, still. I may be a fool, but I am hopeful. Because love is stronger than the grave. There will be others bringing that radical message of radical love. And that’s just about the best thing there is. Cue Cat Stevens’ “Peace Train.” And, OK, I’m not even joking.