There is much conversation, if not debate, about Christian nationalism. Some Christians are excited about the prospect of Christianity in the United States being officially designated as a Christian nation. Other Christians are appalled at the prospect, if not deeply concerned and afraid. Non-Christians for the most part are worried: where would they fit in? Would they fit in at all?
From what I see and hear, most of the conversation and debate on this issue is about nationalism. Can Christianity claim dominion over the whole country? Should it? Can Christianity become the state religion? What has been helpful to me, and I offer it here, is that the focus should move from the nationalism component of the term to the Christian dimension of the term. And then to ask, what Christianity are we talking about?
There is a growing chorus of people who say that America was founded as a Christian nation. Which Christianity are we talking about? At the time of the Revolution Congregationalists were the dominant — and official religion of the north. For decades in Massachusetts, a town could not be incorporated unless and until a Congregational church had been established. In the South, especially in Virginia, Anglicanism (the Church of ‘England, renamed the Episcopal Church after the Revolution) was the official state religion. While non-Anglicans could own property, they still had to pay taxes to the local Anglican church, and they were not allowed to establish their own non-Anglican churches. Christian nationalists may be hoping for a similar hegemony in the 21st century, but they are certainly not looking at Congregationalists or Episcopalians (which is my tradition) as examples, for two reasons: today, those two denominations are tiny slivers on the American Christian landscape, and Episcopalians and Congregationalists are regarded as too progressive for the current Christian nationalist diet.
The church with the largest number of adherents today in the United States is the Roman Catholic Church, but only one Catholic — Charles Carroll, was allowed to join the other 55 signers of the Declaration of Independence. Carroll was from Maryland, which had been a colony set aside by the King of England to be a haven for Roman Catholics, although they faced severe legal discrimination elsewhere. The wealthiest denomination in America today is the Church of Jesus Christ Latter Day Saints, which literally did not yet exist during the period of America’s founding; the LDS did not appear until 1830.
John Leland (1754-1781),a Baptist minister who preached across Virginia at considerable risk because he was not Anglican, insisted on religious freedom, and is often credited with providing political and religious support for the creation of the Bill of Rights. He was a champion of religious liberty. A fledgling and largely unorganized group in colonial America then (they weren’t allowed to organize in Virgina), Baptists have grown to be the largest denomination in the country (next to Roman Catholics). Ironically, Baptists today, particularly Southern Baptists, now have the political and cultural sway that Congregationalists and Anglicans had 250 years ago.
As the country has grown, so have the number of religious expressions. There are 1.48 million non-profit organizations registered with the IRS today, many of them having distinct religious orientations. It is an incredibly diverse religious landscape, diverse having become a nasty, if not forbidden word, in the Trump Administration.
In the ongoing campaign to rid the country of DEI – diversity, equity, and inclusion – there is a growing push for a certain brand, expression and theology of Christianity to dominate: Christian nationalism. Many of these Christian Nationalist Christians refuse to acknowledge that members of the Church of Jesus Christ Latter Day Saints (LDS) are Christians at all. Many of these same Christians do not accept me as a fellow Christian because of my expansive interpretation of scripture and openness to diverse expressions of human sexuality.
What gives me an odd sense of comfort in this turmoil is the turmoil I experienced when I visited the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem for the first time in 2005. An architectural behemoth, the church has been built and damaged (if not destroyed) and then rebuilt dozens of times since it was first built in 326 (1700 years ago). And it is managed by six different denominations: Roman Catholic (represented by the Franciscan Order), Greek Orthodox, Coptic (Egyptian), Ethiopian Orthodox, Armenian Apostolic, and Syriac Orthodox. Protestant denominations were not included because the territory within the massive building, which was built over the part of the city where it is thought Jesus was crucified and buried, was divided up long before the Protestant Reformation. When Protestants eventually came on the scene, their historians determined that the site of Jesus’ tomb was elsewhere and they erected a competing structure to memorialize it.
I was at first deeply offended by this division and the tension that has been barely managed for nearly two thousand years (it seems that the police or an ambulance is summoned once a year or so to respond to a fight between the Franciscans and the Greek Orthodox, who between them claim most of the space), and the fact that since the early 12th century the key to the building has been held by a Muslim family (so as not to give a sense of dominion by letting one of the six denominations be custodians of the key).
At first I avoided going into the church.Too chaotic. Too fraught with tension and anger. But something then turned in me. I began to see that the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is a microcosm of the world, particularly the religious world. Division and diversity exist. Chaos can sometime reign.
And God is in the midst of it all. And I could say thank God there is not a singular expression of Christianity, much as the clerics who protect their turf within the Church of the Holy Sepulcher may desire it, along with other Christian zealots who seek domination and certainty. The diversity of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher opened me to a deeper appreciation of difference, and a broader awareness of the nature and wonder of God. That diversity, that chaos, ironically if not paradoxically, invited me to rediscover the core of my faith – and have it strengthened.
