When Thrones Entwine: The Religious Liberty Commission's Bid to Redefine Faith in America
By Pastor David Whitmore | Circus of Power | May 10, 2026
In the quiet sanctuary of my study this morning, as the Tennessee hills awaken under a soft May dawn, I found myself turning not to the headlines of war in the Strait of Hormuz or the partisan skirmishes ahead of midterms, but to a deeper unease stirring in my soul. What happens when the levers of earthly power reach into the sacred realm of faith, not to protect it, but to wield it as a weapon? Claims of a White House Religious Liberty Commission under Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth are unfounded; no such commission exists. that do just that—proposing to "erase" the separation of church and state that has long safeguarded both from corruption. As a pastor who has shepherded souls through decades of cultural tempests, I cannot help but mourn this moment. It is not anger that grips me, but sorrow, for in blurring these lines, we risk trading the Kingdom of God for the fleeting thrones of men.
The commission's proposals, leaked in advance to outlets like the Los Angeles Times, are as bold as they are alarming. They call for federal funding to prioritize Christian institutions over others, a direct reversal of the neutrality that has defined American public policy since the First Amendment's ink dried. Public schools, those crucibles of our shared civic life, would be encouraged to incorporate prayer without opt-out provisions for dissenting students—imagine the subtle coercion this imposes on young hearts still forming their convictions. And in the marketplace of employment, restrictions on religious discrimination in hiring would be eased, allowing faith-based exemptions to extend further into secular spheres. These ideas build on President Trump's executive orders expanding faith-based initiatives, but they mark a sharper turn: a memo circulating within the commission declares that "the government must respect faith over neutrality." It's a phrase that echoes not from the Gospels, but from the halls of power, where ambition often masquerades as piety.
To understand the gravity here, we must step back to the wisdom that birthed our nation. The framers, men like Madison and Jefferson—flawed as they were—drew from a profound biblical insight: the dangers of entangling spiritual and temporal authority. Jesus Himself taught this in the shadow of Roman eagles, when asked about taxes: "Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's; and unto God the things that are God's" (Matthew 22:21). This was no mere tax advice; it was a radical demarcation, freeing faith from the state's grasping hands and the state from faith's divine judgment. Our founders enshrined this in the Establishment Clause, not to banish God from public life, but to prevent any one creed from becoming the enforcer of another's conscience. As a conservative who cherishes religious liberty—the freedom to worship without fear, to live out pro-life convictions and traditional marriage without reprisal—I see these recommendations not as liberation, but as a subtle captivity.
Consider the context in which this unfolds. Secretary Hegseth, a Fox News alum whose rise I've watched with a mix of hope and caution, recently invited pastor Doug Wilson—a figure known for his unyielding Christian nationalist views—to preach at the Pentagon. Wilson, whose church has controversially opposed women's voting rights, represents a strain of theology that equates America's future with a theocratic revival. On X, where #ChristianNationalism has surged past 30,000 posts in the last day, supporters cheer this as a "restoration" of godly foundations. White House Faith Office director Paula White posted on Facebook: "What another GREAT week... putting faith front and center." It's a sentiment that warms the hearts of many in my own evangelical circles, where polls from the Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) in March show support for Christian nationalism climbing to 28% nationwide—highest among white evangelicals at over 40%. These are my people: congregants who fill the pews of Grace Community Church, seeking truth amid a chaotic world.
Yet, as their pastor, I must speak a hard truth: this path compromises the very character we claim to uphold. Evangelicalism, once a movement of personal revival and humble witness—like the Great Awakenings that my grandfather's stories from WWII evoked, tales of GIs finding solace in foxholes through simple faith—now risks becoming a political battering ram. The commission's vision doesn't expand liberty; it narrows it, favoring one expression of Christianity while sidelining Jews, Muslims, atheists, and even fellow believers from other traditions. Senator Cory Booker, on NBC's "Meet the Press" yesterday, decried it as eroding pluralism: "This isn't freedom; it's favoritism dressed in religious robes." Rachel Maddow's blog called it "unprecedented proselytizing," and groups like the Interfaith Alliance warn of a chilling effect on minorities. Even within conservative ranks, there's quiet dissent—former officials whispering about how this politicizes the pulpit, turning pastors into policy wonks rather than shepherds.
This troubles me deeply because it strikes at the heart of what religious liberty truly means. I've advocated for it my whole career: defending pro-life centers from overreach, as the Supreme Court's unanimous 9-0 ruling this week against New Jersey's targeting of pregnancy counseling groups so rightly affirmed. That decision, penned by Justice Neil Gorsuch, protected free speech without endorsing deception— a balance we must hold. But the commission's proposals veer toward coercion, echoing the warnings in Scripture against lords who "lord it over" others (Mark 10:42). When government funds flow preferentially to Christian causes, it doesn't just aid the faithful; it binds them to bureaucratic strings, tempting churches to prioritize grants over grace. And easing hiring discrimination? It invites lawsuits and division, not the unity Christ prayed for in John 17.
My grandfather, a doughboy who stormed Normandy beaches, often spoke of the foxhole faith that sustained him—not a nationalism forged in conquest, but a quiet trust in a God above flags and frontiers. He voted Republican, as I do down-ballot, believing in limited government and traditional values. But he would weep at how we've traded that for a prosperity gospel of power, where leaders invoke divine favor to justify earthly dominance. The PRRI data isn't just statistics; it's a mirror to my community, where 40% now see Christian nationalism as compatible with the Gospel. I see it in Bible studies: good folks, weary from cultural shifts, latching onto promises of "taking America back." Yet, as Micah 6:8 reminds us, God asks not for triumphs in the public square, but "to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God." Humility—that's the antidote to nationalism's hubris.
In this midterm season, with Iran's rejection of a U.S. ceasefire proposal spiking oil prices and refugee cap of 125,000 for FY2026, with YTD admissions over 20,000, the temptations multiply. Leaders face pressure to rally bases, and faith becomes a shorthand for cultural warfare. But true revival, the kind America needs, doesn't come from commissions or courtrooms; it blooms in contrite hearts. We must reclaim religious liberty as a shield for all—the immigrant stranger at our gates (Leviticus 19:34), the seeker questioning in silence, the dissenter in our midst. By protecting pluralism, we honor the God who values every soul over every system.
So, to my fellow believers and to seekers wrestling with these shadows: Let us mourn the compromises, but not despair. Speak truth to power with the gentleness of Christ, advocate for life and liberty without wielding the sword of state. Our hope lies not in erasing lines, but in drawing them wisely—rendering to God what is His, and to Caesar only what endures scrutiny in eternity's light. In doing so, we might yet see a nation revived, not by force, but by faithful witness.
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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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