When Faith Becomes a Weapon: The Perils of Christian Nationalism in Our Foreign Policy
By Pastor David Whitmore | Circus of Power | April 17, 2026
In the quiet of my study this morning, as I sipped coffee and scanned the headlines, a familiar verse from Micah 6:8 rose unbidden: "What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." It's a verse I've preached on countless Sundays, a timeless anchor amid the storms of life. But today, as reports flood in about Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth framing the escalating Iran crisis as a "spiritual battle" during a Pentagon worship service, I wonder: How often do we, in our zeal for power, mistake the sword of the Spirit for the sword of the state? In an era when biblical language is invoked to justify blockades and brinkmanship, we must ask if our leaders—and we, their followers—are walking humbly, or stumbling into the hubris that Scripture so solemnly warns against.
The scene at the Pentagon on April 15 was striking, if unsettling. Secretary Hegseth, a Fox News veteran turned architect of our Middle East strategy, led a gathering of military personnel in prayer. Drawing from Ephesians 6, he called on the "armor of God" to stand against what he termed "Iranian evil." This wasn't a private chapel service; it was a public invocation tying national security to divine warfare, echoing a "crusade" mindset that a recent Guardian investigation has linked to Hegseth's broader theology. As the U.S. naval blockade tightens around Iranian oil ships—turning back vessels and threatening boardings amid a fragile 10-day ceasefire between Israel and Lebanon—these words carry weight. President Trump himself has touted progress toward a "deal" with Iran, warning of military action if it falters, while markets reel from a 5% oil price spike and consumer sentiment hits lows not seen since the 2008 crisis.
I don't question Hegseth's personal faith; the man has spoken movingly of his conversion and the role Scripture plays in his life. Nor do I dismiss the real threats posed by Iranian proxies like Hezbollah, whose drones have even targeted the Israeli embassy in London. But when faith leaders in government recast geopolitical conflicts as holy wars, we tread dangerous ground. The Apostle Paul wrote Ephesians to encourage persecuted believers in Ephesus, not to blueprint imperial conquests. To wield it now, amid Trump's emergency declarations and a House vote yesterday rejecting curbs on his war powers (213-214, with seven Democrats crossing over), risks blending the cross with the flag in ways that distort both. As Proverbs 16:18 cautions, "Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall." Humility, not triumphalism, is the biblical posture for those who wield authority.
This moment crystallizes the growing specter of Christian nationalism, a movement that's surged in visibility during this second Trump term. A PRRI survey released last month reveals that 30% of white evangelicals now sympathize with its tenets, including the idea that America is a "Christian nation" destined for divine favor through political might. Among full adherents, 66% oppose birthright citizenship, viewing immigrants not as neighbors but as threats to a imagined godly order. On X, the hashtag #ChristianNationalism has exploded to over 80,000 posts in the wake of Hegseth's service, with supporters like the secretary himself posting on Instagram: "Bringing God back to leadership—rare under recent administrations." Critics, from Rep. Jared Huffman (D-CA) to interfaith groups, warn of theocratic drift, with Huffman introducing bills to safeguard church-state separation. Even fellow evangelicals like Albert Mohler have urged caution, noting on his podcast how such rhetoric alienates the very pluralism our faith once thrived under.
As a pastor in rural Tennessee, where many of my 3,000 congregants wave American flags alongside their Bibles, this troubles me deeply. I've seen the allure firsthand: the promise of cultural revival through policy wins, the comfort of seeing enemies labeled as demonic. My grandfather, who stormed Normandy in World War II, taught me that true patriotism serves justice, not idolatry. He fought not for a "Christian America" but for the liberation of the oppressed, echoing Jesus' words in Matthew 25 about caring for "the least of these." Yet Christian nationalism often inverts this, prioritizing power over the vulnerable. Consider the irony unfolding today: While Hegseth prays for victory over Iran, the House has just passed a bipartisan bill extending Temporary Protected Status to 100,000 Haitians fleeing gang violence—219-210, with some Republicans like Rep. Maria Elvira Salazar joining Democrats in a rare show of mercy. This aligns with Leviticus 19:34's command to "love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt." But Trump's deportation flights to Congo, targeting over 30 migrants, clash against it, fueled by rhetoric that paints refugees as invaders rather than the strangers Scripture bids us welcome.
Truth-telling, another biblical cornerstone, fares no better in this milieu. Hegseth's "spiritual battle" framing glosses over the complexities: Pakistan's reported shipment of 20 Chinese jets to Iran, the EU's mediation pleas, even debunked claims of "total victory" in earlier U.S. strikes. Polls show 58% of Americans oppose deeper involvement (Pew, April 16), yet the narrative presses on, unmoored from Micah's justice. And justice itself is strained. A new DOJ inspector general report, released yesterday, exposes how the prior administration weaponized the FACE Act against pro-life activists—pursuing sentences three times longer for non-violent blockades than for violent attacks on clinics. Over 20 cases of selective prosecution, including FBI raids on the elderly, cry out for equal scales, as Proverbs 11:1 demands. Pro-life faith, rooted in Psalm 139's reverence for life in the womb, deserves defense without bias. But when nationalism co-opts such causes, it risks vengeance over mercy, eroding the religious liberty we all cherish.
What grieves me most is how this politicization hollows out the Gospel. Evangelicalism, once a beacon of personal transformation and global missions, now too often mirrors the prosperity gospel's equation of success with God's blessing—or worse, the Christian nationalism that sees America's might as heaven's mandate. Hegseth's rhetoric, tied to Trump's midterm tour pivoting from war to domestic wins, appeals to a base hungry for validation. On X, #IranWar trends with 200,000 posts, blending "peace through strength" cheers from Trump allies like @realDonaldTrump ("Deal getting closer—America First!") with anti-war laments from voices like @AOC decrying "imperialism." Sen. Bernie Sanders called the trajectory "Vietnam on steroids," a hyperbolic but poignant reminder of past hubris. Globally, Christians face real persecution—from Iranian house churches to Lebanese refugees—but framing U.S. policy as their crusade endangers them further, alienating allies and inviting retaliation.
Yet amid this sorrow, there is hope—not in electoral triumphs or military might, but in revival of the heart. Jesus blessed the peacemakers in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:9), not the conquerors. Romans 12:18 urges, "If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone." Imagine if our leaders, Hegseth included, led with such humility: diplomatic overtures to Iran rooted in truth, immigration policies balancing security with compassion, pro-life advocacy pursued through persuasion rather than power plays. For believers, this starts in our pews—teaching our children that faith isn't a tribal banner but a lamp to our feet (Psalm 119:105). To seekers outside the fold, it means modeling decency, not division.
America needs this revival more than policy wins. As the Iran ceasefire holds tenuously and deportations proceed, let us pray for leaders who embody character over conquest. In doing so, we honor the eternal principles that outlast any administration: truth that sets free, justice that rights wrongs, humility that bows before God, and care for the vulnerable that mirrors Christ's own heart. May we choose that path, before pride leads us astray.
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Pastor David Whitmore leads Grace Community Church in Tennessee and writes on faith, character, and the moral dimensions of public life.
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