Prayer Rally? Ick.

I’ve been a little busy lately and honestly haven’t paid much attention to the news.

It’s been lovely.

So I didn’t realize until today that there was a major religious rally happening as part of America’s 250th anniversary celebration.

My immediate reaction?

Ugh.
Blech.
Gross.

I know. I’m a pastor. I’m supposed to love religious rallies, right?

But here’s the thing: I absolutely believe faith belongs in public life.

Our faith should shape how we love our neighbors, how we work for justice in our communities, and how we engage the world around us. Faith should influence our values. Our priorities. Even our vote.

But what I see happening in moments like this isn’t really about faith shaping public life.

It feels like another step in a growing movement to fuse Christianity with political power.

And that is dangerous.

There’s a difference between letting your faith inform your politics and turning Christianity into a political identity.

There’s a difference between following Jesus and wrapping Jesus in a flag.
(Spoiler alert: Jesus was not American. He didn’t even speak English.)

There’s a difference between choosing candidates you believe are faithful and believing that supporting certain politicians somehow equals faithfulness itself.

And far too much of modern American Christianity has become obsessed with political dominance instead of spiritual transformation.

That’s not Christianity.

That’s Christian nationalism.

And that is heresy.

Because Christian nationalism takes the teachings of Jesus and twists them into a tool for power, control, and dominance instead of love, humility, service, and compassion.

It turns the Gospel into a campaign slogan.
It replaces discipleship with tribalism.
It confuses the kingdom of God with the success of a political movement.

Like I said: heresy.

Jesus never made a play for political power.

In fact, Jesus consistently resisted it.

And while empires and religious leaders obsessed over influence, status, and control, Jesus kept moving toward the people everyone else pushed aside.

The woman at the well.
The blind beggar by the road.
The leper desperate for healing.
The woman caught in adultery.
The poor.
The prisoners.
The prostitutes.
The tax collectors and the “unclean.”
The foreigners.
The immigrants.
The outsiders.

Again and again, Jesus crossed boundaries to love people others rejected.

Meanwhile, some Christians today seem far more interested in proximity to power than proximity to the hurting.

We cannot claim to follow Jesus while prioritizing political dominance over loving our neighbors and serving the least of these.

We just can’t.

The early Christians got this.

They lived under the power of the Roman Empire, and yet they refused to give ultimate allegiance to Caesar. Their declaration was simple, dangerous, and radical:

Jesus is Lord.

Not Caesar.
Not the Empire.
Not a political party.
Jesus.

I think we desperately need that reminder right now.

Because no politician will ever transform our hearts.

No political party will ever usher in the kingdom of God.

And no nation — even one that puts “under God” in its pledge — will ever be our salvation.

That belongs to God alone.

So what do we do instead?

We practice faith, hope, and love.

We build communities marked by compassion instead of fear.
We defend the dignity of people of all faiths and even no faith at all.
We care more about loving our neighbors than winning culture wars.
We remember that the church’s calling is not to dominate the world, but to serve it.

And we keep following Jesus — the brown-skinned Jewish rabbi who spent far more time at tables with outsiders than in halls of power.