Christ Without a Flag

Following Jesus in an Age of Christian Nationalism

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A Kingdom Without Borders

Christian nationalism is the great confusion of our age. It fuses the cross and the flag, the gospel and the state, and the kingdom of God and the kingdoms of this world.^[1] Christian nationalism takes the beauty of the faith and dresses it in the armor of empire. It baptizes political platforms as if they were gospels, blesses borders as if they were sacraments, and treats the nation as the chosen people while forgetting the wild, borderless kingdom that Jesus demonstrated and proclaimed.^[2]

Here's my definition of Christian nationalism:

Christian nationalism is a political and religious ideology that seeks to fuse a specific version of Christianity with the identity, history, laws, and culture of a nation, often promoting the idea that the state should privilege that faith and its adherents above others. Christian nationalism blends a narrow cultural identity with a selective form of Christianity, employing religious imagery and language to justify the pursuit of authority, influence, and dominance in civic life.

More concisely,

Christian nationalism weds a narrow cultural identity to a selective Christianity and a specific brand of politics, using faith and its symbols to claim power, shape laws, control institutions, and privilege one group above others.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus invites us into a reality that subverts every empire: a community of the poor in spirit, the merciful, the peacemakers, and the persecuted for righteousness’ sake. Jesus's vision was for God's kingdom, not the success, exceptionalism, or dominance of earthly nations, empires, political rulers, borders, flags, or walls. Jesus flew no flag.^[3]

Christian nationalism opposes Christ. Here’s why:

Christian nationalism opposes the gospel, kingdom, and way of Jesus Christ. The gospel of Jesus centers on self-giving love, humility, justice, and welcome for all, while Christian nationalism seeks power, control, and privilege for one group at the expense of others.

Christ’s kingdom isn’t defended by weapons but by wounds.

Christ’s kingdom isn’t extended by might and power but by . . .

praying before dawn,

caring for the stranger at the door,

sharing bread with the hungry,

seeing the image of God in every face,

setting chairs for enemies to sit and eat,

breaking snares, so people are freed,

repairing what’s been shattered,

acting to confront injustice,

and creating places of refuge for the weary.

Jesus’s kingdom isn’t upheld by borders but by bread,

not by marching but by mercy,

not by conquest but by compassion,

not by fear but by feast,

not by siege but by song,

not by might but by meekness,

not by power but by peace,

not by hate but by hospitality,

not by force but by forgiveness,

and not by exclusion but by embrace.

Christ’s kingdom isn’t revealed by battalions but by benedictions,

not by rifles but by ripples of grace,

not by sanctions but by sanctuaries,

not by drones but by doxologies,

not by slogans but by service,

not by decrees but by deeds of love,

not by crowns but by cross-bearing,

not by boots but by blessings,

not by fearmongering but by faithfulness,

and not by domination but by divine self-giving.

At the foot of the cross, there are no flags. There are only wounds.

To follow Christ is to live with an allegiance that relativizes every other loyalty. Jesus Christ is our Lord, and no other ruler or master can command our full allegiance. Every time an earthly ruler does something that contradicts the ethics and way of our Lord Jesus Christ, we must choose to follow Jesus regardless of the cost. Christian spirituality isn’t apolitical, but it’s never partisan in the ways the world demands. Discipleship to Jesus is rooted in a kingdom that refuses to be co-opted by nationalist fervor.

The Cross as a Rebuke to Power

The crucifixion is the definitive rebuke to the myth that God’s purposes advance through coercive power.^[4] Jesus was executed by a collaboration between religion and empire, a conspiracy between priests and politicians. They saw him as a threat because his kingdom would not bow to their control.

Christian nationalism in any form, whether draped in red, white, and blue or bearing other colors, makes the same mistake as those who crucified Christ: it assumes that God’s will can be realized through dominance, force, and political supremacy. It forgets that the cross isn’t a symbol of victory by violence but of love poured out in suffering service.

The Christian mystical tradition reminds us that the path of Christ isn't one of upward mobility, but rather a downward descent. The one who could command legions of angels chose instead to be stripped, humiliated, and crucified. This wasn’t weakness. It was the deepest expression of divine strength. Jesus revealed a God to us who is vulnerable, compassionate, and concerned for all humanity, while willing to confront empires, institutions, ideologies, and rulers with courage, ferocity, and unflinching loyalty to God and the kingdom of heaven. In doing so, Jesus set an example for us to follow. Following the way of Jesus, Christians reject allegiance to the world’s rulers and nations and, instead, obey, serve, and give our full allegiance and loyalty to Christ alone, regardless of the cost. This makes Christians dangerous to personalities, institutions, and systems that demand allegiance and absolute power.

The resurrection that followed didn’t vindicate the sword but the scars. It wasn’t a triumph of political revolution but of life breaking through death, of a reign built on forgiveness rather than fear. Any movement that weds faith to national power misreads the story and mistakes the source of true authority.

To follow the crucified and risen Christ is to renounce every idol that demands allegiance at the expense of love. It means choosing service over status, welcome over walls, and truth over propaganda. The kingdom of God comes not through legislated piety but through lives laid down in costly, cruciform love.

The crucified Christ isn’t the mascot of empire. Christ is the outsider, the stranger, the one rejected by both religion and state.

The Temptation of the Nations

From the wilderness to Golgotha, Jesus was tempted with the kingdoms of the world. “All these I will give you,” the adversary whispered, “if you will bow down.” It was the promise of instant influence without the cross, of glory without the wounds. Jesus refused.

Christian nationalism is the old temptation in new clothes, the promise that if we align closely enough with political power, we can secure the world for God.^[5] However, this path always leads to compromise and idolatry.

The contemplative life teaches us to recognize false consolations. It strips away illusions until all that is left is God. It invites us to resist the seduction of control and to live in the strange freedom of those whose citizenship is in heaven. Our hope isn’t in seizing power but in embodying Christ’s love, even when it costs us.

Nations and their political systems and personalities would like us to believe that morals, righteousness, and justice can be legislated into existence. Legal and political instrument have their place. However, holiness and love aren’t the fruit of statecraft or legislation but of hearts transformed by grace, aligned to Christ, and empowered by the Holy Spirit. No political program can manufacture this.

When disciples of Jesus relinquish their call to follow Christ and, instead, wed themselves to political dominance, we risk trading our prophetic voice for a seat at the table of the Caesar, the Prime Minister, or the President. Yet, the gospel of Jesus Christ calls us not to rule from thrones, tanks, jets, or parliaments, but to wash feet in the places where power rarely stoops to serve.

Nationalism’s Shrinking God

Nationalism, including its Christianized form, shrinks God to the size of a single nation’s borders and values. It treats God as a tribal deity, bound to one people, one history, one culture. It elevates the nation as the ultimate good, often at the expense of the vulnerable, the stranger, and the enemy.

But the God revealed in Christ is never parochial. This God loves Samaritans and Syrians, tax collectors and zealots, Romans and Judeans, citizens and undocumented immigrants, refugees and residents, prisoners and guards, the powerful and the powerless, the decadent dining in palaces and those experiencing poverty begging at their gates, the healthy and the sick, the devout and the doubting, the insider and the outcast, the neighbor next door and the stranger across the sea, those who welcome and those who resist, those who bless and those who curse, and those at the center of culture and those marginalized.

The early church was a borderless movement, scandalous in its refusal to divide Jew from Gentile, enslaved person from free, and male from female. These early disciples of Jesus called him Kyrios (“Lord”), knowing full well that Caesar claimed the same title. To confess Christ as Lord is to dethrone every nationalist claim to ultimate loyalty.

The True Gospel of Jesus Christ vs the False “Gospel” of Christian Nationalism

Christian spirituality doesn’t merely critique nationalism. It laments the harm it causes. It grieves when faith is used to justify exclusion, when Scripture is weaponized against the stranger, when the symbols of faith are used to justify oppressing people and committing abuses, and when the cross is displayed alongside instruments of violence.

We must lament the way Christian nationalism distorts the gospel, turning it into a cultural badge rather than a summons to discipleship. We must name the injustice it perpetuates: racism, xenophobia, militarism, and economic exploitation cloaked in religious rhetoric.

The gospel of Jesus Christ isn’t the same as the “gospel” of Christian nationalism. The gospel of Jesus Christ is the good news that the Creator has entered human history in the person of Jesus to reconcile all creation through his life, death, and resurrection. It proclaims that God’s reign is breaking in, marked by forgiveness, liberation, justice, healing, and the restoration of all things. In this kingdom, the last are first, enemies are loved, the poor are blessed, and peace is made through self-giving love. It’s a kingdom not of this world’s systems, where power is redefined through the cross and life emerges from the empty tomb. This gospel calls all to repentance, faith, and discipleship in the way of Christ, embodying the values of God’s reign here and now.

In contrast, the “gospel” of Christian nationalism is a political vision that fuses national identity with a particular expression of Christian faith. It claims that the security, moral health, and future of the nation depend on preserving its “Christian” character through political dominance, cultural control, and alignment of church with state. It tends to define faith in terms of protecting borders, preserving cultural traditions, securing influence, and wielding power to legislate morality. In this vision, loyalty to the nation is often intertwined with loyalty to God, and political victories are seen as spiritual triumphs.

Comparing and Contrasting Christ’s True Gospel and Christian Nationalism’s False “Gospel”

We must never trade the true gospel of Jesus Christ for the false “gospel” of Christian nationalism. The gospel of Jesus Christ calls us to die to self, take up the cross, and follow a king whose reign isn’t of this world. The “gospel” of Christian nationalism calls people to defend and advance their nation as though it were the kingdom of God, often replacing the cruciform path with the pursuit of earthly power.

The gospel isn’t the property of any nation. It’s the scandalous good news that the last will be first, the humble will be lifted, and the meek will inherit the earth.

Hospitality as Resistance

The cruciform way resists nationalism by practicing hospitality. In a culture of suspicion toward outsiders, the follower of Jesus opens the door. In a system that privileges the native-born, the Christian embraces the foreigner. In an environment where those different from us are treated as enemies, we recognize them as fellow human beings, treat them with dignity and care, and embrace them as friends.

Jesus himself was a displaced person, fleeing as a child with his family to Egypt to escape a ruler’s violence. He told parables that cast despised foreigners as heroes and taught that welcoming the stranger is the same as welcoming him.

Hospitality isn’t a soft virtue; it’s a prophetic act.^[6]

Welcoming people into our lives, homes, families, churches, cities, towns, and nations isn’t easy, and it isn’t the way human beings are naturally wired. We tend to exclude, demonize, and scapegoat those who are different from us. Yet, Christian hospitality declares that our identity isn’t in our passport but in our baptism, not in our blood but in our shared humanity. Hospitality subverts the fear-driven narratives of nationalism by embodying the kingdom’s expansive inclusion, welcome, and love.

Worship Without Idols

Nationalism demands liturgies: pledges, anthems, symbols, and rituals that form the heart’s loyalties. Christian nationalism co-opts the church’s worship, blending patriotic ceremony with praise until the distinction between God and country blurs. Such nationalism is an idol demanding blood, allegiance, and worship, and to give it these things is to commit idolatry (to worship a false god).

True worship resists this fusion. It gathers believers around bread and wine, not banners and slogans. It centers on the story of a crucified and risen Lord, not the myths of national greatness.

When we worship the Lamb, we’re reminded that every tribe, tongue, and nation will stand together before the throne. No single nation will dominate that gathering. The vision is polyvocal, multicultural, and united not by language or law but by the love of Christ.

Nonviolence and the Way of the Cross

Christian nationalism often justifies violence, whether in foreign wars, domestic policing, control of institutions, or suppression of dissent, as necessary for preserving the nation’s way of life. But the gospel calls us to a different logic.

The cross is the ultimate act of nonviolence: absorbing violence without returning it, overcoming evil with good. To follow Jesus is to reject the myth that peace can be secured through the sword. Where Christian nationalism justifies violence, control, and homogenization as a means to peace and order, Jesus calls us to honor and celebrate peacemaking, compassion, diversity, and human freedom and dignity.

Peacemaking doesn’t mean passivity. Active peacemaking involves speaking up courageously, stepping out into risky situations, confronting injustice without dehumanizing the oppressor, and resisting evil without mirroring it. Peacemaking means seeing the image of God in those nationalism calls “enemy” and seeking their good.

The Church as an Alternative Polis

The church isn’t the chaplain of the state. It’s an alternative community, a polis shaped by the beatitudes, nourished by the sacraments, and ordered by the law of love.^[7]

When the church aligns itself with nationalist politics, it loses its prophetic voice. It becomes an echo of the state rather than a sign of the kingdom. However, when it exists as a distinct community, characterized by generosity, reconciliation, and justice, it offers the world a glimpse of a better way.

Christian spirituality invites us to see the church not as a voting bloc but as a pilgrim people. We’re strangers and exiles on the earth, seeking a city whose architect and builder is God. Our task is to live now as if that city were already here.

Cruciform Allegiance

The crucifixion is the ultimate test of allegiance. Will we follow the one who is lifted up in glory or the one lifted up on a cross? Will we serve the power that kills in order to win, or the power that dies in order to love?

Christian nationalism can’t make sense of a Messiah who refuses to conquer Rome, who rides into Jerusalem on a donkey, who washes feet, who spends time with the broken and lowly, who pours out his blood for the sake of strangers and enemies, and who tells his followers to put away their swords. But this is the scandal and the wisdom of the cross: the belief that love is stronger than death, that vulnerability is greater than control, that embrace triumphs over exclusion, and that humility is more powerful than empire.

The kingdom of God doesn’t come wrapped in a flag. It comes wrapped in a towel, washing the feet of the world.

The Mystical Vision Beyond Borders

Christian mystics have always known that our true homeland is God. They speak of union with the Divine as the ultimate belonging, a reality that makes every earthly identity secondary.

In this vision, borders become temporary lines in the sand, and national distinctions fade in the light of eternal love. The soul learns to see the other not as foreign but as kin, not as a threat but as a gift. Christian creeds, prayers, contemplation, worship, liturgies, and Scripture lift our eyes above borders, flags, walls, politics, partisanship, and nations.

Christian nationalism thrives on fear of the other. Christian spirituality thrives on communion with the other, and on the union of hearts made possible by the astonishing sacrifice and love of God, revealed in Jesus Christ. Christian discipleship invites us to step into the vast, borderless expanse of God’s kingdom, where the only passport is faith, hope, and love.

A Call to Repentance

The way of Jesus always begins with repentance. For those entangled in Christian nationalism, this means confessing the ways we’ve confused God with country, faith with ideology, discipleship with flag, and mission with political conquest.

It means turning from fear to trust, from control to surrender, and from exclusion to embrace. It means laying down the sword, the banner, and the myth of exceptionalism to take up the cross.

Repentance isn’t shame. It’s liberation. It frees us to live as citizens of the kingdom, no longer bound by the demands of nationalism but empowered by the Spirit to love without limits.

Living the Kingdom Now

The alternative to Christian nationalism isn’t political withdrawal but kingdom engagement. It’s living here and now as ambassadors of a realm that has no borders and knows no end.

This means advocating for policies that reflect kingdom values: justice for people experiencing poverty, protection for the vulnerable, welcome for the stranger, care for creation, and peacemaking in a violent world. It means resisting any ideology, left or right, that compromises the gospel for the sake of power.

Above all, it means living in such a way that people see in us the character of Christ: humility, compassion, courage, and truth.

Christ Above All

Christian nationalism fails because it asks too little of us and calls us to a wrong set of priorities and allegiances. It trades the expansive vision of God’s kingdom for the narrow confines of national interest.

Christian nationalism invites us to love our own but not our enemies, to seek security but not the cross, to pursue greatness but not goodness. It teaches us to bless those who look like us while ignoring the stranger at the gate, to protect our comforts while neglecting the vulnerable, to raise flags higher than we bend knees, to confuse political triumph with spiritual faithfulness, and to value the preservation of power over the practice of mercy. It tempts us to trade the upside-down kingdom for a kingdom of our own making, one where battle cries replace the Beatitudes, and the way of Jesus is overshadowed by the will to dominate. It calls us to win at any cost but not to lose our lives for Christ’s sake, to conquer through might but not to overcome through love, to proclaim our nation’s glory but not the glory of the cross, and to draw boundaries where Jesus tore down dividing walls.

Discipleship and allegiance to Jesus Christ call us to a higher and deeper level than Christian nationalism.

Christian nationalism clings to borders; Christ’s kingdom breaks them down.

Christian nationalism guards its own; Christ’s kingdom welcomes the stranger.

Christian nationalism seeks power; Christ’s kingdom pours it out.

Christian nationalism rallies under a flag; Christ’s kingdom gathers at a table.

Christian nationalism promises safety; Christ’s kingdom calls us into sacrifice.

Christian nationalism builds walls; Christ’s kingdom washes feet.

Christian nationalism prizes dominance; Christ’s kingdom delights in mercy.

Christian nationalism exalts a nation; Christ’s kingdom exalts the cross.

The One we follow was crucified outside the city gates, rejected by the powers of both state and temple, yet risen to break the grip of death. This King reigns over every nation yet calls us friends, summoning us to a loyalty that transcends all earthly allegiances and a love that encompasses the whole world. Our task is clear: to live as citizens of heaven, ambassadors of reconciliation, bearers of a kingdom that cannot be shaken. And when the flags are folded and the nations pass away, God’s glory, Christ’s love, the Spirit’s presence, and the kingdom of heaven will remain.

Only one kingdom lasts forever, and it’s not built by human hands.

References

Cavanaugh, William T., Migrations of the Holy: God, State, and the Political Meaning of the Church (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011).

Claiborne, Shane and Chris Haw, Jesus for President: Politics for Ordinary Radicals (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008).

Gorski, Philip and Samuel L. Perry, The Flag and the Cross: White Christian Nationalism and the Threat to American Democracy (New York: Oxford University Press, 2022).

Hauerwas, Stanley, Resident Aliens: Life in the Christian Colony (Nashville: Abingdon, 1989).

McKnight, Scot, Kingdom Conspiracy: Returning to the Radical Mission of the Local Church (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2014).

Miller, Paul D., The Religion of American Greatness: What’s Wrong with Christian Nationalism (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2022).

Whitehead, Andrew L. and Samuel L. Perry, Taking America Back for God: Christian Nationalism in the United States (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020).

Wright, N. T., How God Became King: The Forgotten Story of the Gospels (New York: HarperOne, 2012).

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Footnotes

^[1] Whitehead and Perry, Taking America Back for God.

^[2] Gorski & Perry, The Flag and the Cross; Cavanaugh, Migrations of the Holy.

^[3] Wright, How God Became King.

^[4] Hauerwas, Resident Aliens; Miller, The Religion of American Greatness.

^[5] McKnight, Kingdom Conspiracy.

^[6] Claiborne and Haw, Jesus for President.

^[7] Hauerwas, Resident Aliens.

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