The Seduction of Power: When Faith Seeks a Throne in the Public Square

By Pastor David Whitmore | Circus of Power | April 25, 2026

I remember a Sunday evening service not long ago, when a young couple from our congregation lingered after the benediction. They were new to Grace Community Church, drawn here by the quiet hills of rural Tennessee but burdened by the clamor of national headlines. "Pastor," the husband said, his voice low with unease, "we love our country, but lately it feels like faith is being weaponized. Is the church really meant to run the government, or is that just another way to lose our soul?" His question hung in the air like the fading echo of a hymn, reminding me of the timeless tension between Caesar's realm and the kingdom of God. In a season when leaders invoke Scripture to justify policy and prophets are recast as partisans, such doubts are not just personal—they pierce the heart of our shared witness.

This week, those doubts found fresh urgency in the deliberations of the U.S. Religious Liberty Commission. In its final hearing on April 13, commissioners—many aligned with influential conservative voices—declared the longstanding doctrine of separation of church and state a "lie that should be done away with." They called for "perseverance in monitoring" faith's role in public life, framing it not as a safeguard but as an obstacle to religious expression. The fallout spilled into today's news cycles, with outlets like the National Catholic Register highlighting the push to integrate faith more boldly into governance, while The Washington Post noted recent Supreme Court victories that have already expanded religious exemptions in workplaces and schools. This isn't abstract theology; it's a direct challenge to the First Amendment's delicate balance, one that has protected believers of all stripes from state-imposed orthodoxy for over two centuries.

As a pastor who's spent decades preaching on religious liberty—the freedom to worship without coercion or compromise—my heart aches at this trajectory. The commission's rhetoric echoes a rising tide of Christian nationalism, where biblical language is fused with patriotic fervor to advocate for a nation explicitly under Christian rule. According to a 2026 PRRI report, support for declaring the U.S. a "Christian nation" has climbed to 30% among all Americans, with 40% of white evangelicals now backing the idea—up from 28% just five years ago. In Texas GOP primaries this month, candidates for Senate and attorney general races have leaned heavily into this narrative, promising to "reclaim America for Christ" amid debates over school prayer and public monuments. It's a seductive vision for those weary of secular drift, but seduction often masks a deeper peril: the erosion of the very liberty we claim to defend.

Consider the recent lawsuit filed by Liberty Counsel against Los Angeles County. A Christian county employee was denied religious accommodation to skip mandatory LGBTQ "Pride" events, with supervisors allegedly labeling his orthodox beliefs on marriage and sexuality as a "mental illness." This is a genuine grievance, one that cries out for protection under laws like the Religious Freedom Restoration Act. I've counseled families facing similar workplace tensions, where standing firm on convictions invites ridicule or reprisal. True religious liberty demands we safeguard the conscience of every believer, allowing space for dissent without fear. Yet the commission's broader agenda risks flipping this script. By dismantling separation as a foundational principle, we invite not just protection for Christians but the potential for majoritarian rule—where one faith's dominance could marginalize others, including Jews, Muslims, and even dissenting Christians who prioritize humility over hierarchy.

This push troubles me deeply because it mirrors the moral compromises I've witnessed in the Trump era, where character has too often bowed to the allure of power. I didn't leave the Republican Party; in many ways, it feels like the party—and segments of evangelicalism—left the moorings of decency and truth for the siren call of influence. Remember Jesus' words to Pilate: "My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight" (John 18:36). Our Lord didn't seek a throne in Jerusalem's halls; He subverted empire through a cross, calling us to be salt and light, not lords and legislators. The commission's stance, echoed by Trump allies in executive orders on religious liberty, inverts this. It promises victory but courts idolatry, turning the church into a political appendage rather than a prophetic voice.

Biblically, authority is a divine gift, but it's entrusted for service, not supremacy. Romans 13 urges submission to governing powers as ordained by God, yet it stops short of deifying the state—or the faith that undergirds it. When early Christians faced Roman persecution, they didn't clamor for Constantine's conversion to reshape the empire; they prayed for it while living as exiles in their own land (1 Peter 2:11-12). Separation of church and state, born from Enlightenment ideals and Baptist convictions like those of Roger Williams, echoes this wisdom. It shields faith from the corrupting hand of politics, allowing the gospel to critique rather than conform to worldly powers. Without it, we risk the very nationalism that fueled Europe's religious wars, where Protestants and Catholics spilled blood over state-sanctioned creeds.

Evangelicals, in particular, stand at a crossroads. We've cheered Supreme Court rulings like Masterpiece Cakeshop, where a baker's conscience triumphed over compelled speech—a win for liberty indeed. But as Albert Mohler, a respected Southern Baptist voice, warned in a recent briefing, this momentum carries a "troubling paradox." What begins as defense against secular overreach can morph into demands for privilege, alienating seekers and staining our witness. On X, the hashtag #ReligiousLiberty buzzes with defenses from groups like the Family Research Council, which the Southern Poverty Law Center controversially labels a "hate group" for its traditional stances on marriage and family. Yet amid the cheers, there are poignant calls to "reclaim Jesus" from nationalism's grip—a YouTube sermon garnering 9,000 views urges believers to prioritize love over legislation. Progressives, in turn, decry the movement in outlets like The Guardian, likening it to ideologies that twist faith for control. Even as I mourn this division, I see in it an opportunity for self-examination: Are we building walls or bridges?

My grandfather, who stormed Normandy's beaches in World War II, often spoke of fighting not for conquest but for a world where faith could flourish freely. He voted Republican his whole life, as I do down-ballot for those who uphold life, family, and limited government. But he warned against the temptation to equate God's favor with America's might—a folly that Christian nationalism flirts with dangerously. In our church, I've seen the cost up close: good folks torn between loyalty to leaders and fidelity to Christ, whispering doubts about policies that prioritize power over the stranger (Leviticus 19:34) or truth over expediency. The commission's declaration isn't just policy talk; it's a symptom of evangelicalism's drift, where prosperity gospels and partisan alliances have supplanted the call to repentance and revival.

Yet here's the hope that sustains me, even in sorrow: True renewal doesn't come from courtrooms or commissions but from hearts humbled before the eternal. America needs not a theocratic overhaul but a spiritual awakening, where believers reclaim the gospel's radical edge—pro-life not just in law but in lavish support for mothers and children; pro-marriage in homes before halls of power; pro-liberty for all faiths, reflecting the God who woos, not wields, authority. As Proverbs 14:34 reminds us, "Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people." Let us pray for leaders of character, vote with conscience, and live as citizens of a better kingdom. The path is challenging, fraught with compromise and cultural crosswinds, but it's the one Christ walked before us. In pursuing it, we honor the liberty that sets us free—not to dominate, but to serve.

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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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