On Sept. 25, 2025, President Donald Trump issued an executive order dedicated to countering domestic terrorism and political violence. The decree came in the wake of a series of high-profile and politically motivated attacks. The order cited the assassinations of right-wing political activist Charlie Kirk and health care CEO Brian Thompson, as well as attempts against Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh and the president himself. The day before the executive order, Sept. 24, an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) facility in Dallas was attacked, the latest in a separate series of targeted violence against ICE and Customs and Border Protection (CBP) holdings.
What was the cause of this spike in violence? The White House blamed the anti-fascism movement. According to the administration, this antifa enterprise is a militarist, anarchist group targeting “foundational American principles” and united by shared values: anti-Americanism, anti-capitalism, and anti-Christianity.
This is not the first time I have seen the government position itself as defender of the faith. The 2019 American Legion v. American Humanist Association Supreme Court case was a watershed moment for me. There, the Supreme Court considered whether a 40-foot-tall Latin cross, a symbol of Christianity, on public land and maintained by taxpayer funds, violated the First Amendment’s no establishment of religion clause. In its ruling, the court held that the cross was not a distinctly Christian symbol but had evolved into a generalized “symbol of sacrifice in the war.” Therefore, the cross had a secular purpose and could remain standing.
Church-state conflicts have fascinated me for as long as I can remember; having grown up in Texas, my home state, I am no stranger to religious controversies. That interest eventually led me to Vanderbilt Divinity School, where I am in my final year of theological studies, concentrating in Black religion and culture. I am fond of saying, “divinity school is a very hard place to be inauthentic” because the work centers on you. “What is your faith journey?” “Which of the creation stories in Genesis do you prefer and why?” “What is Christianity’s role in civic life?” My classmates and I wrestle with all these questions and more as we dialogue, think, and write well into the night. That last question of faith in public life, in particular, has been one I’ve reflected on since I entered these divinity school doors.
One of the best pieces of advice I’ve received during this part of my education came from a hallway conversation with a professor. A couple of months into the program, I mentioned to him that I was feeling a little lost in the way that people here discussed religion. The vocabulary, theories, and thinkers were mostly unfamiliar to me. But he explained that divinity school does not approach religion as a political tool, something I was very familiar with. Rather, divinity school is about learning to appreciate the struggle that went into creating a tradition, so that we might appreciate our own current struggles with that same tradition. That piece of wisdom has helped throughout my educational journey and empowered me to take up issues around me, including the role of the public square.
Standing in the way of healthy expressions of faith in public life is Christian Nationalism. Christian Nationalism is not Christianity. Instead, it is an ideology fusing the American and Christian identities. Christian Nationalism relies on a distorted collection of myths, traditions, values, and narratives to legitimize its views rooted in nativism, white supremacy, and authoritarianism. Said differently, Christian Nationalism seeks not only to privilege white native-born Christians, but sacralize them and their traditions. This is how Christian Nationalism becomes white Christian Nationalism.
Christian Nationalism is not Christianity. Some of my theological training helped me name this explicitly. One theologian I draw on to make this point is Paul Tillich, a German American Christian philosopher. Tillich taught at the University of Frankfurt during the rise of Nazism. After Adolf Hitler came to power, Tillich was one of the first tenured professors to be dismissed from his position because of his opposition to the Nazis. Tillich escaped to the United States and pioneered the idea of religion as the “ultimate concern.” Meaning whatever one holds as fundamental and primary, one will build a religion around it.
For Christ-followers, the ultimate concern is Jesus, or God as revealed through Jesus. But for adherents of Christian Nationalism, their ultimate concern is power. Power over historically marginalized communities. Not just physical power, but defining power. If you can call one group “holy,” you can demonize another. What demonization in the public square looks like is authoritarian tactics demanding adherence to appropriated symbols and traditions, fear and distrust of religious minorities, condoning police violence toward Black Americans, anti-immigrant views, fear of refugees, and so much more.
As my divinity school career draws to a close, we are tasked with a senior project. This final assignment is a critical reflection of a problem in ministry that needs deeper consideration. I could think of no more pressing issue than the threat of Christian Nationalism. How might Christians respond to this era of Christian Nationalism?
Guiding my response is one of the most common biblical verses about the relationship between Christianity and government. The narrative finds Jesus in debate with members of the Jewish priestly class about whether it was lawful to pay taxes to the Roman emperor. During this time, paying taxes was a hot-button political issue. If Jesus answered yes, it is lawful, he risked violating his faith and losing his populist support. If Jesus answered no, it is not lawful, then he would effectively be calling for rebellion against the Roman Empire.
Rather than abide by the binary choices of this trick question, the biblical narrative says Jesus asked for a coin. He is handed a denarius, a Roman coin bearing the image of the emperor. After pointing this out, Jesus says, “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s” (Mark 12:13-17). The words “Render unto Caesar” are guidance that lives far beyond the time of Jesus. For many today, this phrase is guiding wisdom on how Christians navigate allegiance to religion and government.
How might Jesus’ guiding wisdom speak to us, considering the challenges presented by Christian Nationalism?
What I propose is turning the phrase and the coin on its head. For Christians seeking to stand against Christian Nationalism, I believe we must “Withhold from Caesar the things that are not Caesar’s.” What that looks like is saying the cross is a distinctive symbol of Christianity, not a generic secular symbol. What that looks like is not allowing Christianity to be used to legitimize extremist views or to attack political opponents. What that looks like is reaffirming our constitutional commitment to church-state separation that has served us so well.
This year, the United States of America recognizes its semiquincentennial. Celebrations and festivities are planned throughout the nation to honor — and no doubt mythologize — the founding era and how far we’ve come over the past two-and-a-half centuries. The culmination is Saturday, July 4th, when we honor the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. But what will be said the next day, Sunday, July 5th? I hope that whatever is said names the moment our nation is in, a moment in which white Christian Nationalism poses a grave threat to American democracy. I also hope whatever is said acknowledges Christian Nationalism’s consequences for immigrants and racial and religious minorities.
It is an audacious hope. A hope that Christian Nationalism is banished once and for all.
July 5, 2026, will be a new chapter for the American Church as well. How will the Church respond? If the Church acknowledges the threat of Christian Nationalism and withholds from Caesar the things that are not Caesar’s, it will gift to future generations a democracy and faith better than that of our present day.
Jaziah Masters is a third-year student at Vanderbilt Divinity School. A native of Dallas, Masters also serves as a research fellow for the Baptist Joint Committee (BJC) Center for Faith, Justice and Reconciliation. (This article represents the personal views of the author and does not necessarily represent the views of Americans United.)