This Is Christian Nationalism: Breaking Down Rededicate 250

Brad Onishi: Yesterday, there was a live nine-hour prayer fest on the National Mall. It was supposed to be a rededication of the country to God. It was called Rededicate 250. I want to talk about that today. I want to go over the statements from the elected officials who were there, and I want to break down why this was such a monumental, fallacious, ridiculous event that shows the Christian nationalist power grab that this regime is taking in the United States.

All right, y'all. Yesterday on the National Mall, we had Pete Hegseth, Marco Rubio, JD Vance, Mike Johnson, and a whole host of others talking about rededicating the United States to God as we run up to the 250th anniversary of this country's founding. I want to do a short episode today, but I want to break down the statements of a number of folks who were there. I want to start with Robert Jeffress, who is one of the pastors—

Robert Jeffress [Clip]: Leaders who loved our country. Donald Trump loved our God,

Brad: —who's one of the pastors who supported Donald Trump from the beginning, starting ten years ago, and he made this statement at the event yesterday.

Robert Jeffress [Clip]: These leaders who loved our country and loved our God would be called Christian nationalists today, and it is a title they would have gladly embraced. By the way, if being a Christian nationalist means loving Jesus Christ and loving America, count me in.

Brad: All right, so number of things. First, let's just get it straight. There were a bunch of Orthodox Christians who were part of the founding fathers, who were at the Constitutional Convention. There were a bunch of folks who were somewhere in between an Orthodox Christian and something else—folks who believed in providence, believed in perhaps a creator God, but were not believers in the Trinity, who did not believe in the idea that Jesus and the Holy Spirit and God the Father were all one and all separate, three persons in one Trinity—folks who just eschewed core biblical doctrine, or core theological doctrine from Christian history.

But the more important part for me about this statement is that he says, well, if loving God and loving your country is Christian nationalism, sign me up. And that's just not what it is. Christian nationalism is—and I've said this a million times, I'm going to say it again—Christian nationalism is not about you loving God and loving your country. It's about you thinking you can get more of your country because you love your God. That's Christian nationalism.

Nobody, Robert Jeffress, cares that you love God and your country. That's great, that's your constitutional right. It's something that I believe everyone should have the right to do. You want to worship your deity, you want to love your country. Sounds amazing. The problem comes here. If you believe that your religious identity gives you more privilege, more status, more than everyone else, then you are inherently anti-democratic. You are somebody who does not believe in democracy.

And to me, alongside religious freedom, the sacred value of this country is we the people. We had a Constitutional Convention in 1787 where there was a chance for clergy to be invited into the convention, for there to be prayer over the convention, and as Warren Throckmorton points out in his book—and I'll be interviewing him in the next couple of weeks—that did not happen. What happened was we got a document that says we the people are the authority in this country. And so we the people are the ones who this country is dedicated to. We are the power in this place.

And so if you believe that the power of this place belongs somewhere else, then you are trampling the sacred value of the United States. So, no, Robert Jeffress, Christian nationalism is not you loving God and loving your country. It's you thinking you get more of this country than everyone else because you love your God. And that's what we stand against—Christians, non-Christians, people of faith, people of no faith. That is what those of us who oppose Christian nationalism are against.

All right, let's go to—let's go to Mike Johnson. Here we go.

Mike Johnson [Clip]: Our heavenly Father, we thank you, thank you so much for this great day that you have given us here. And we remember that your mighty hand has been upon our nation since the very beginning—since Christopher Columbus set sail in the new world, since the settlers at Jamestown planted the cross at Cape Henry, and since the pilgrims at Plymouth made a covenant to give you the glory. In all that time you guided us at every pivotal moment.

Brad: All right, there's just a bunch of stuff to break down here. Number one, the first thing he mentions is Columbus. And as Robert P. Jones has pointed out in his great book, and there are so many other resources on this, Columbus led the way to what's called the Doctrine of Discovery. And what that was was the church giving the Spanish explorers and others basically the right to occupy and own, colonize, and to have any land that was not already populated by Christian people. It was a doctrine that said only Christians have legitimate claim to the land. So when he calls on Columbus, he's calling on a Christianity that looked at Native Americans and anyone else who they encountered as people who were not fully human, or not human enough to count as those who were here in the Americas, on this continent.

I know that for Johnson, calling upon Columbus is supposed to provide a kind of authority to a historical narrative that this is a Christian nation. When I hear it, I hear somebody recalling a doctrine that said, yeah, that continent is empty. Oh, you mean there are people there? Oh, yeah, they don't count—they're not Christian, they're not civilized, they're not real people. So go ahead and take it, and if they die in the process, that's fine. If they convert, that's another thing, but you know, that's just where we're going to leave it.

He then mentions Plymouth, and I just think Plymouth is one of those examples that people kind of gloss over. Because Plymouth—the Massachusetts Bay Colony, we have Boston, we have everything that happens up there—there is this covenant, right, to be a city on a hill and to devote themselves to God. But here's the thing about Plymouth. Here's the thing about the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Here's the thing about Boston in 1630: that was a ruthless theocracy. Period.

And one of the men that they expelled from that theocracy for not agreeing that the church should have every say in government was Roger Williams. Roger Williams was a minister. He was supposed to lead, or be part of the leadership in the church at the Massachusetts Bay Colony, supposed to be somebody who was looked to as a spiritual mentor. But he had one dissent, and his dissent was, look, I'm not sure the church should be in charge of law and policy and government. In fact, he said that he could not lead the church in Plymouth and the Massachusetts Bay Colony because it wasn't Christian enough. It wasn't Christian enough for this guy who had just gotten off the boat from England and who was a minister. So they said, "You've got to go, you're expelled. See you later, Roger Williams," and he wandered in the Massachusetts wilderness, found his way to what we now call Providence and Rhode Island.

Roger Williams—and this is not me saying he's an absolute hero, this is not a perfect story—but he instills an idea of freedom of conscience: that whatever your conscience says about religion is what you should choose, and the government should not be the active enforcer of religion. In fact, any religion that needs enforcement by government is not a real religion.

So Johnson calls on, first of all, Christopher Columbus, which leads right to the Doctrine of Discovery and a colonizing, imperial, brutal Christianity that says some people are not human enough to actually be considered occupants of that land, that continent. He then calls on Plymouth, which is a raging theocracy. And the man who's kicked out of that colony, Roger Williams, is actually one of the seminal figures, one of the first figures to inaugurate the idea in this country of freedom of conscience, freedom of religion. So when we fast forward 120, 130 years later to the Constitutional Convention, what we get is a constitution that only mentions religion in the context of there being a freedom from religion, and the government not establishing a religion. That's where it mentions it. That's it.

So, for Mike Johnson—sorry, man, I know you were trying really hard there to prove this is a Christian country—but for me, those examples aren't great.

All right, let's go to Pete Hegseth. You all ready? Let's do it.

Pete Hegseth [Clip]: "Cracked the army from White Marsh to Valley Forge by the blood of their feet." Those were the words of General George Washington, writing to a fellow patriot. The year was 1777. In the snows of southeastern Pennsylvania, some 18 miles from Philadelphia, our soldiers marched without shoes. We had almost 3,000 men who were unfit for duty because they were barefoot. There was also a shortage of warm clothes and simple blankets. Other than eating a bland mix of flour and water that they called fire cake, General Washington's camp was also on the verge of famine. Even the horses were starving to death. The soldiers tried to build huts to sleep in, but many were developing dysentery and pneumonia, and so they didn't get very far. As the days grew colder, men began to desert. Some 2,000 died at night. Washington retreated to a little stone house. There, by candlelight, he huddled with a couple of military aides. Earlier, the enemy had triumphed in the Battle of Brandywine, and the future of the battle for American independence appeared grim. Washington wrote to Congress. He said the army might starve, dissolve, or disperse, and asked for their help, but there was little Congress could offer. General Washington and his unit in Valley Forge were, in essence, the only semblance of a working American government, and they seemed on the verge of collapse. Even General Washington's local pastor in Philadelphia had lost faith. In a letter to Washington, he wrote: "Your harbors are blocked, your cities fall one after another, battle after battle is lost." The pastor begged George Washington to surrender, negotiate with the enemy, he advised. "If you quit and ask for forgiveness from the king, your character will rise in the estimation of the virtuous and noble. It will appear with luster in the annals of history." Stop the bloodshed, the pastor implored. But George Washington did not lose faith. We know the painting of him at Valley Forge—one hangs in my office—kneeling in the deep snow, his hat and sword nearby. Washington bows his head. Amid all the bleak nights, the loss and despair, the lack of proper support, George Washington performed a profound act. He prayed.

Brad: And on this—except he didn't. That's the problem. Except he didn't, Pete. Here is renowned historian, American religious historian Tom Tweed, writing about this at the Yale University Press website:

"Did Washington kneel in prayer at Valley Forge? The short answer: probably not, as most historians suggest. But the long answer might be more interesting and more helpful for engaging friends or neighbors who disagree. Parson Weems, Washington's early biographer, concocted that story—as well as the yarn about George and the Cherry Tree—to establish the moral character and personal piety of the first president and thereby advance a particular view of national belonging and church-state relations. There is some truth in the claim, and in the images. Washington did pray, though perhaps not the way Weems described, and he did attend church services, though not on Communion Sunday. Washington was not a conventional Christian, but he also wasn't a church-hating atheist."

I love what Tom Tweed wrote there, because it brings up something that America 250, the rededication of America 250 yesterday, did not want nothing to do with—and that is complexity and nuance. The story they want to tell is the story that Pete Hegseth tells every time about Valley Forge and Washington kneeling in prayer. If you listen to Hegseth—unfortunately, I listen to way too much of him—he loves this. And historians agree almost unanimously, those who are not Christian nationalist hacks like David Barton, agree there's a very good chance Washington did not pray in this way, did not pray at all like Hegseth is claiming.

But they need that to tell you a story that says, well, look, since the founding, there has always been a mix of prayer and policy. There's always been religion in our government. And I think what Tweed is pointing out is something they want nothing to do with, which is that American religious history has always been more complex than they want to admit. Were there Christians part of our founding fathers, the Constitutional Convention? Of course. What kind of Christians? Well, as Matthew Taylor pointed out on Substack yesterday, probably not the kind of Christians that Pete Hegseth imagines—not the modern evangelical kind, not the modern fundamentalist kind—those who were somewhere in between an atheist and an Orthodox Christian, between a modern-day evangelical and something else.

Hegseth calls on a fallacious past in order to motivate a dangerous future. He wants a future in which, unless you identify as the kind of Christian in this mythical story about George Washington—and the kind of Christian that he, Pete Hegseth, is—then you're not a real American, and you're not a real citizen.

This takes me back to what I said about Robert Jeffress and the Constitutional Convention. This country was never dedicated to God. Now, that's not me hating Christianity, that's not me hating religion, it's not me being anti-anything. It's saying that it was not dedicated to God so that people could have freedom of religion. It was not dedicated to God because freedom of conscience was supposed to prevail. And most of all, it was not dedicated to God because the authority in this country is we the people. Period. That is what was decided.

But Hegseth wants to tell you stories that mix that, that change that. And they reduce our history to a straight line, and in doing so they edge out so many of us who are not Christian, who are not white, who are not a lot of things—immigrants, women who want autonomy over their bodies, women who want to vote, people who want equal representation and rights.

All right, let's go to the last one for today. You ready? This is Marco Rubio. All right, Marco, what do you got for us? Let's check it out.

Marco Rubio [Clip]: On this day, two and a half centuries ago, our forefathers gathered for the second time in as many years for a national day of fasting and prayer. The resolution of the Continental Congress called on the 13 colonies to humble themselves in preparation for the coming war. The founders were not naive men. They had no guarantees of victory. They knew that what they were trying to do had never been done before in human history. But with the dark storm clouds of war looming on the horizon, they did what Christians have always done across place and time for 2,000 years—they turned their eyes to heaven and placed their fate in the hands of God. This is who we are. It is who we have always been. America is still a young nation measured against the record of history, and from the beginning we have carried the belief that our country represents something new in the world. But the soul of our nation has always been rooted in an ancient faith.

Brad: I agree with him—there is this sense that we are doing something new in the world. This country, and the American experiment, have always been unfulfilled, imperfect. And in many ways the founders envisioned freedom and suffrage only for white Protestant men. There it is. We've had to face long histories of anti-Catholic, anti-Jewish, anti-Muslim, and on and on sentiment in this country. We've had to face the fact that African people were enslaved, women couldn't vote. I could go through it all. We can go through all the imperfections, recognize all of them.

The new thing they were trying, though, is not the one that Marco Rubio is talking about. They were fighting to break away from a government they deemed to be tyrannical. The new thing that they did was something I've been talking about all day. They put the authority in the hands of the people—we the people—in a document called the Constitution that only mentions religion in a context of making sure the government does not establish one. That was what was new. That's what was revolutionary. That is, as Andrew Seidel says, the most revolutionary part of the Constitution: it might have been the first founding secular document in world history.

Did people pray in the Revolutionary War? Of course. Were there congressional leaders who were people of faith that wanted folks to pray? Yes. Great. I'm not up here saying that didn't happen, or there were no Christians who were calling on the divine as they waded through really hard, dangerous, difficult times in the Revolutionary War—and after that, to figure out how to form this country. There's no denying any of that. But people praying doesn't mean that the country was dedicated to God. People praying doesn't mean that this country was, quote unquote, a Christian nation. There are Christians who speak up in public vociferously, influentially. That's great. Fine. Doesn't mean this country was dedicated to God as a Christian nation. There's no record of that. If you read Warren's book, if you read other books, there's no sense in which there was ever a covenant made in the Constitutional Convention—or afterward—to God.

And I'll close with this today. I promised I'd be short. When Rubio says the soul of our nation calls on an ancient faith, he's doing what every speaker at this event did, and that is trying to say this country has always been a Christian country, so if you don't align with our version—the government's version of Christianity—you're not inside American history, and you're not part of our present, and you certainly won't be part of our future. You don't have a place here as a real American. At best, you'll be a second-class citizen, because this has always been the heart of who we are, and it's all going to be the heart of who we will be. And if you dissent from that, well, you might find yourself under the microscope of the Anti-Christian Bias Task Force, or NSPM-7, the document that labels certain people domestic terrorists for being, yes, anti-Christian.

What they're doing is basically saying that we, the government, are going to decide what Christianity is, and then if you're not Christian, then you're not American. You all remember this, I'm sure—you've seen the Facebook posts, and the Instagram, and the TikToks, and you've listened to the show. A month ago, Donald Trump criticized the Pope, and then all of his minions, from JD Vance to backbench congresspeople, said, "Hey, Pope, stick to morality in the church. Let us do the government." And at the time, here's what I said: the government is telling the Pope to stay in his lane, but the government is not going to stay in its lane. The Christian nationalist regime is not going to say, well, you do church on morality, we'll do government. No, you know what they say? We will do policy, law, and government, and we will also do morality and theology. And in fact, we will be the arbiter and judge of what is the good kind of religion and theology. And if you disagree with us—as the Pope, as a Muslim in Buffalo, as a Hindu in Atlanta, as a humanist in Austin, as a Jew in New York City, as a witch in Portland—if you disagree with us, well, then you're not really American. We are the arbiter of the good religion, the government. We don't have any limits to our lane. We take up every lane.

That's the danger of Christian nationalism. Not just for people who have no faith or a different faith, but for Christians—because you give the government the license to decide what is the right type of Christianity, and then it says to you, unless you measure up to what we say, you're outside the bounds. And if you think they won't say that to you, they've already said it to the Pope, the leader of the biggest religious institution in the world.

That's the danger of Christian nationalism. There are many more, that's one of them. There's more to say here. I wanted to just jump in and talk about what happened yesterday. I was on MSNBC last night talking about it—I can post that clip as well. Overall, I thought it was an absolute shame of an event, and one that only reinforced the idea that this government wants to impose itself on you, your family, your love, your bedroom, your medical care. And it wants to do that in the name of religion, and it will continue doing so. And the only recourse we have, and the hope we have, is us—we the people.

We'll be back on Wednesday. It's in the Code, Friday the weekly roundup. We've got a lot cooking over here, y'all. Thanks for joining me live. If you're in the chat, appreciate y'all. And if you're not and you're catching this after the fact, drop us a line, leave us a comment, hit subscribe, all that good stuff. We'll catch you next time. Bye.