The evangelical church in the United States of America is on fire.
This isn’t the fire we prayed for, sang about, and worked towards in youth groups. This isn’t being sold out for Jesus, being all in on faith. This isn’t being on fire for God. No, this is a dumpster fire, a Gahanna, a hellfire of brimstone and sulfur.
There is a stench upon us, and it is the smell of death. The evangelical church has sold itself to the powers and principalities of the world. The evangelical church has given itself over to the flesh. The evangelical church is in sin and remains unrepentant. By selling itself to the systems of the world, the evangelical church has gained political and social power that it revels in and abuses.
And they are taking the name “Christian” down with them.
Eighty-two percent of white, evangelical Christian voters voted for authoritarianism, oppression, marginalization, and planned bigotry in the 2024 election. How am I supposed to identify as a Christian when the vast majority of people using that label are taking a stand for things that I believe with my whole heart are diametrically opposed to the gospel and new creation? People claiming the name of Jesus as their Lord and savior are willfully choosing the systems of suppression and sin that Jesus came to liberate us from.
There is no point in claiming Christ as your savior if you are dead set on seeking salvation through the means of the world.
Tell me, how am I supposed to call myself Christian when the word itself has become synonymous with hatred and hurt? How am I supposed to sit in the pews next to people who–this isn’t about political views; this is about morality, ethics, and Christian virtue—willfully, in full knowledge voted for people that idolize systems of power that caused the Holocaust? How do I call them my spiritual family?
How can I still be a Christian when the majority of Christians have morphed the religion into nothing more than a whore of the state who somehow thinks she can gain power and prestige and control over her master?
I don’t know how to be Christian anymore. The political climate has bled into our pulpits and pews in a way I haven’t seen in my forty-four years in the church. Christians are actively seeking to seize control of society and inflict their (twisted) vision of moralism and belief on everyone. This isn’t the great experiment of America. This is totalitarianism in a clerical collar. It’s in the face of this force that dubs itself Christian that I am being forced to fight for my identity as a follower of Jesus.
Some people are going to say that I’m being dramatic, that I’m just being divisive, that I’m the one letting political ideology influence my faith. But here’s the truth: Jesus said you will know a tree by its fruits, and the fruits of Christianity these days are toxic.
The majority of people I talk to have some sort of story of church hurt, whether it is simply leaving a religious authoritarian structure or being actively run off for who they are. The church has done great harms brandishing the name of Christianity. The term Christian is triggering to some people, making them feel unsafe because of how Christians have treated them. In the name of Christianity, people have wielded oppression, marginalization, and bigotry under the guise of some sort of demented thing they call love.
Christians have hurt people, and people remember that.
So, those of us who have not drank the poisonous Kool-Aid of Christian Nationalism have had to constantly explain that we’re not like them. Yes, I am a Christian. No, I am not like the ones that hurt you. That was hard enough to earn the trust of the majority of people who equate Christianity with harm. But now, now I don’t know that I even want to be called a Christian, to be associated in any way shape or form with the Christianity that votes for political ideologies and plans that take away rights form queer people, that seek to oppress women and people of color, that devises ways to control information so only selective learning takes place. I don’t know how to call these people, claiming to follow Christ, brother and sister in faith because or faiths look so different.
I don’t think I can identify as a Christian anymore.
This is so difficult for me to say because the term Christian is such a deep part of my identity. I’ve been a Christian since I can remember. I was born into the church, grew up in the pews, and found my identity in the pulpit. Everything about me rests on the idea that I am a Christian.
That has been stolen from me.
To be clear, none of my beliefs have changed, but how I identify in the world has to be altered. As much as I want to wrest the term “Christian” back from Christian Nationalists, I fear there has been too much damage done. What started out as a term mocking the followers of Jesus has now become a term that is equated with an abuse of power.
The core remains, I just don’t have the words to express easily what that core is. There’s no short hand to let people know that I am committed to living a life that seeks to emulate Jesus in love as expressed in kenosis and self-donation.
Maybe I should start calling myself the baptized. I was put under the waters of death with Jesus and raised into new life with him as well. I am new creation, and I am seeking to build that new creation as I wait for the fullness of the new creation to be revealed. I believe in God—Father/creator/Mother/sustainer, Son, and Holy Ghost—and align myself with the teachings of the apostles. I am one of the baptized.
My baptism happened in a cold creek filled with winter runoff in the mountains of Utah. It was a typical evangelical baptism, spontaneous, Trinitarian, and celebrated. I was about 8 when I went under.
Since that time, I’ve journeyed far and wide in and out of the church. I have carried that baptism with me. I was baptized once for the forgiveness of sins, and I hold to the one faith passed down from the apostles. There is nothing else to it.
Except for all the meaning packed into it. I find that meaning most aptly expressed in the Episcopal Church’s baptismal covenant.
That covenant asks the following questions:
Will you continue in the apostles teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?
Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving you neighbor as yourself?
Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
Each question is answered, “I will, with God’s help.”
With God’s help, this is what being one of the baptized means to me. This is that core piece of my identity I once labeled “Christian.” I may or may not be able to identify as a Christian anymore, but I can say, “I will with God’s help” to a baptismal covenant that I have entered into when I was confirmed into the Episcopal church. This covenant gives language to my core identity, that piece of me that stands in resistance to Christian Nationalism and the Whore of Babylon.
I am one of the baptized.
As one of the baptized, I am called to seek to serve Christ in all people. This means that even if I can’t call them family in faith, I still seek to serve Christ in Christian Nationalists. I still make room for them at the table, hoping for and looking forward to their repentance at the feast of the lamb. I will continue to seek to practice kenosis and self-donation, praying that by my example Christian Nationalists might be convicted and led to that repentance. Even though I may not be in church with them, I will love the Christian nationalists that have stolen so much, hurt so many, and chosen violence and power over the way of the cross.
Because I love Christian Nationalists, I will call them to repentance.
In this way I will live out (in part) what it means to no longer be Christian but to remain one of the baptized with God’s help.
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