Article
Creed
Nationalism
Politics
6 min read

Love is not an executive order: what Christian Nationalism gets wrong

Fear has never been a motivator of wise, just, and righteous action.

Barnabas Aspray is Assistant Professor of Systematic Theology at St Mary’s Seminary and University.

A protester wearing a Union Jack flag and hat and holding a cross, points while a man looks on.
Far right protesters, Portsmouth.
Tim Sheerman-Chase, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

The term “Christian nationalism” means different things to different people. John Stackhouse defines nationalism as “love of one’s nation, identification with it, and special concern for its well-being” and sees nothing wrong with it from a Christian point of view. But this is not the normal way the term is used today. Rather, it means an ideology that seeks political power in order to merge Christian identity with national identity. In other words, it means Christians seeking to impose Christian values on all citizens of a nation by the force of law. 

That’s not as bad as it may sound at first glance. Everyone thinks some values should be imposed for society to function – for example, human rights, private property, democracy. In one sense, there’s nothing unusual about Christians wanting their values to become law. Everyone – Muslim, Secular, pluralist – wants the law to reflect their values. How could anyone have values and not want their nation’s laws and policies to reflect them? 

But for Christians, there’s a catch. “Christian values” include not forcing people to live Christian lifestyles who do not identify as Christian. Christian values are founded on the teaching and example of Jesus, and he was never coercive. He aimed at people’s hearts, seeking willing rather than coerced obedience. His goal was that people should follow him and live by his teachings because they wanted to more than anything else in the world, not because they would be imprisoned or disadvantaged if they don’t. The gospel is an invitation to the most rewarding and fulfilling life imaginable, not an executive order to be obeyed out of fear. 

Jesus explicitly taught that Christian politics should be different to anything else the world has ever seen: 

“The rulers of the nations lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant.”  

With these words (recorded in the gospel of Matthew), Jesus set a political agenda for his followers radically different to that of every other movement, religion, institution, or nation. Where others have always used power to dominate, control, and coerce obedience, Christians are to use power to serve those under them and to pursue their flourishing. With his own life Jesus showed what this looks like. The Jews expected the messiah to be a great military leader who would rally an army under his banner, shake off the Roman oppression, establish Israel as a nation, and rule it with absolute power and authority. Instead, rather than commit any violence, he submitted to death at the hands of the Roman oppressors. 

Jesus did not mean that his followers should not seek power and influence in the world, or that they should lie down and let themselves be trampled on like a doormat. The “Christian difference” is not to be non-political, withdrawn from all engagement in worldly affairs as if God did not care what happens in the world. No: the Christian difference is twofold: (1) never to seize or maintain power through violence, coercion, lies, manipulation, or any means that supposedly justifies the ends, and (2) to use power (when we are freely and willingly given it) in service to everyone regardless of their belief or lifestyle, especially the powerless. 

A truly “Christian” nation would never try to coerce Christian behaviour from anyone. 

Christians have not always done politics this way. In the centuries since Jesus walked the earth, they have often succumbed to the temptation to do politics like the rest of the world: grasping at authority and holding onto it by any means necessary, using it to benefit ourselves and our agenda in ways that harm and oppress others. The treatment of Jews in the late medieval period is a sobering example. Jews were forced to live in ghettos and wear conical hats. They were forbidden to hold public office, to build synagogues higher than any church, or to walk in the street on Sundays. Eventually they were forcibly expelled from several European states in order to leave no impediment to the fashioning of a truly “Christian nation,” i.e., a nation with only Christians living in it. 

Today, many Christians in Western nations are engaging in efforts to fight back against world views they believe are encroaching on them – secularism, Islam, and liberalism. They want to reassert Christianity as the dominant cultural force. It seems to me that these efforts are largely motivated by fear, brought about by the decline of Christian influence. There is a strong urge to self-preservation when one feels oneself increasingly marginalized. They feel that if they don’t regain power, then all the values and lifestyle that held dear will be swept away. They must protect themselves and seek to preserve Christian values by whatever means available. They must take back control, using financial, political, and cultural capital to regain governance and re-establish Christian laws in ‘our land’. 

Yet fear has never been a motivator of wise, just, and righteous action. Fear draws our attention away from the poor and needy towards our own plight. Fear makes us strike back with a self-protective instinct. When we are afraid, we feel justified in putting our own needs and priorities first. Violent behaviour is labelled “self-defence,” cutting aid budgets is labelled prudence, and refusing admission to refugees who have lost everything and are fleeing persecution is seen as the only sane course of action in a world of finite resources. Fear drives us to seek our own advantage, something Jesus never did. Perhaps Jesus knew that fear can be the greatest force to prevent us from living a Christlike life of service. Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that “do not be afraid” is the most frequent command in the Bible. 

For Christians, like me, there are better motivators for political action: things like wisdom, justice, and peace. (Dare I say love? Or is that too controversial?) But the best motivation of all is the desire to follow Jesus’ teachings and example not only once we have obtained power, but in how we seek it and how we hold onto it. 

There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with the idea of a “Christian” nation, if that means a nation that acts towards people – both citizens and non-citizens – the way Jesus did (and supposing the nation was not constituted by violence in the first place – but that is another story). A truly “Christian” nation would never try to coerce Christian behaviour from anyone. It would respect people’s freedom to live and believe what they chose, and would give equal opportunities, equal benefits, and equal rights to Christians, Muslims, atheists, and Jews alike. It would use its power to serve all people, especially the most vulnerable and least able to look after themselves. It would welcome and protect any foreigner who fled there to save their life or freedom, having lost everything at home.  

Such a nation would not be characterised by fear of losing its power. It would not seek to preserve its influence by blocking non-Christians from citizenship or positions of government. If the tide turned against it, it would humbly relinquish power rather than do anything coercive to hold on to it, just as Jesus humbly went to the cross rather than use violence against his oppressors. 

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Article
Belief
Community
Creed
Football
Sport
7 min read

Liverpool's title win shows us that we’re built for community

Answering the question of who do we belong to.
Amid celebrating football fans, one stands on top of a kiosk with outstretched arms.
Liverpool fans celebrate outside their stadium.
Jonathan Rowlands.

“A Liverbird upon my chest 

We are men of Shankly’s best 

A team that plays the Liverpool way 

And wins the Championship in May” 

This is the song that has thundered around Anfield this season. A prophecy willed into existence amidst the departure of Jürgen Klopp, Liverpool’s Shankly for the twenty-first century. Surely not? 

But then.  

Arsenal drop points and Manchester City drop points and Liverpool don’t drop points. Again and again and again, until Liverpool needs just one more point to make the song a reality. The next game? Spurs at Anfield. At Anfield. As fate would have it, my wife and I had front-row tickets, thanks to my father- and mother-in-law booking a fortunately timed (for us, anyway) holiday and not being able to use their season ticket. (Thanks, Jeff and Janet). 

As we got to the stadium the place thrummed with anticipation. Liverpool is a city that loves to sing, and to dance, and to cuddle; a city built for joy and for love. And here is Liverpool in all its splendour, drenched in glorious, league-winning sunshine, as people sing and dance and cuddle. Most people here won’t have a ticket; Anfield only holds 60,000. People are here just to be here, to be present; around for when it happens. 

The game kicks off and the noise is deafening. Liverpool only needs to avoid defeat in the next ninety minutes and the league is theirs. Spurs, inconsistent all season, surely haven’t got the mettle to get anything from the game. Have they? 

But then.  

Spurs score. An unmarked header from a corner. As simple as it gets. Former Liverpool player Dom Solanke, no less. It was never going to be easy. 2025 marks the twentieth anniversary of the Miracle of Istanbul; if any club knows how to make a game of football difficult for themselves, it’s Liverpool. The ground turns from jubilant to tense. 

But then.  

Salah passes to Szoboszlai who passes to Diaz who scores. Three short passes and Spurs are carved open and all our wildest dreams have come true. 

But then.  

Flag’s up. Offside. No goal. Doesn’t count. Was it Szoboszlai or Diaz offside? Was it close? Doesn’t matter. The ground turns from jubilant to tense. 

But then.  

VAR – which I’ve always said was really good, actually, I promise – overturns the flag. Goal. Liverpool are level. The ground erupts. But there’s still work to do. While a draw would see Liverpool over the line, there’s a lot of football left to go before the ninety minutes is up  

And so Liverpool press and press and press and press. They hound Spurs, hassle them, harass them. Ryan Gravenberch has the ball on the edge of their box and is almost certainly fouled. The ref – who, to his credit, did his utmost to try and ensure a game of football didn’t break out because we wouldn’t possibly want that – decides otherwise. Nothing to see here. Play on.  

But then. 

Alexis Mac Allister picks up the loose ball, takes a touch, and thumps it – properly wallops it – right into the top corner. Anfield shakes and I’m being hugged by someone from somewhere unseen. Now is the time when it happens, when we win the thing we’ve waited so long to win. Being a football fan doesn’t get better than this. 

But then.  

It does. Liverpool have a corner. The ball comes in, Cody Gakpo collects, wriggles, turns, shoots, scores. No coming back for Spurs now. Bedlam. Pandemonium. Carnage. He runs to the corner nearest us, top off, a message on his vest underneath. Daylight.  

“What does his shirt say?” my wife asks. I strain, trying to see, but I can barely remember my own name at this point so I can hardly be expected to read now, can I? 

But then. 

There he is, just meters from us, walking back with his top still off, the message clear: 

I belong to Jesus 

There are two more goals in the second half and the game finishes 5-1 and Liverpool are champions. But honestly, it was all over bar the singing at half-time. And there was a lot of singing still to do. Each player worthy of their own song, the club’s past eulogised over in verse and chorus. And Liverpool’s past means they are no stranger to success. This league title means they are now indisputably, by any metric going, England’s most successful football club. (Hiya, Sir Alex, if you’re reading this). 

But the Premier League has remained oddly elusive: this is only the second time the club has won the competition since it formed in 1992 (although they had won eighteen top-flight titles prior to this; there was, I’m told, still football before the early 90s). And the last league win came at the start of lockdown.  

What’s the point of winning if I can’t be there to hug you and you and you and you?

Look: I celebrated that Covid League title; of course I did. But it felt odd, and the oddness has only increased as normality has gradually returned to life since the pandemic. My wife has a picture of me opening a bottle of champagne in our otherwise empty living room. The players life the trophy in an otherwise empty stadium. With hindsight, there’s an unavoidably melancholy tinge to the whole thing. You spend your life imagining what it’ll be like to win the Big Shiny Thing and then it happens when it’s illegal to leave your house (or something; lockdown is just a big blur to me at this point). 

But then.  

2025 rolls around and we get to do it again. Together. Even the ones who don’t have tickets are there. Everyone is there. Together. And all the while I can’t stop thinking about Cody Gakpo with his top off. I Belong to Jesus.  

Gakpo’s a weird footballer, truth be told. He’s unbelievably technically gifted, rapid, and yet somehow enormous, too. He’s scored hugely significant goals for Liverpool. And yet, he’s unlikely to be anyone’s favourite player. He lacks the unflappable brilliance of Rolls-Royce Centre Back Virgil Van Dijk, the sheer inevitability and perfection of Mo Salah, or even the outright gets-you-on-your-feet electricity of Luis Diaz. He's unlikely to be named Player of the Year or to have a statue outside Anfield when he retires. But there he is: 60,000 feral scousers wrapped around his finger, the eyes of the footballing world on him. And what’s his message to them? I belong to Jesus

I don’t know much about economics, but I’m told often that things are only worth what people are willing to pay for them. This is certainly true of footballers, anyway: one player might be worth significantly more to one club over another. But, in Christ, His infinitely valuable perfect Son, God declares that you and I are of infinite value. The One who’s judgement is perfect and faultless has decided you are worth the incalculable cost of His perfect and faultless Son. And so you are. It’s just a matter of simple economics.  

I forget this so often, that I am Jesus’ gift to Himself. I find it so hard to imagine myself as a gift. But there I am. I belong to Jesus. I didn’t know what to expect when we turned up to Anfield, but it certainly wasn’t a reminder of the worth Christ has placed on my very existence. But there I am. I belong to Jesus. And so does Cody Gakpo.  

The reason the Covid title feels so melancholy is that we couldn’t celebrate together. What’s the point of winning if I can’t be there to hug you and you and you and you? Liverpool’s League win, the euphoria that came with being able to share that win together with other people, gives us some slight sliver of a glimpse into the value Jesus Himself places in sharing His life with us. I reckon Cody Gakpo knows this, too. Because he knows he belongs to Jesus. He knows that he is the prize Jesus has won for himself. He is Jesus’ Premier League winning win at Anfield. Jesus wants to spend eternity with Cody Gakpo more than 60,000 feral scousers want to win the League. He wants to spend eternity with me and with you and with that person you find deeply annoying.  

It’s really easy for this all to sound saccharine and trite. “Ooh I went to a football match and it was like a big party in heaven, isn’t that nice?” But there is some truth to the glibness here. Football is better together because humans are made for togetherness. And this is seen no clearer than in Jesus’ desire to win togetherness with us, through his faithful and obedient life of sacrifice. 

As Cody Gakpo would say: I belong to Jesus. Or, as the Kop sang on repeat: Liverpool! Hallelujah, Hallelujah! 

Celebrate our 2nd birthday!

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,000 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

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