A blue neon cross against a black background.
Stock Photo Illustration (Credit: Luke Thornton/ Unsplash/ https://tinyurl.com/ydbk3n28)

Twenty years ago, I heard Greg Boyd’s sermon series “The Cross and the Sword,” one of the most compelling I have ever heard. The series later became the basis for his book “The Myth of a Christian Nation.

Boyd challenged me to think deeply about the relationship between Christianity and politics, confronting the dangers of aligning the kingdom of God with any earthly nation. His message, rooted in the teachings of Jesus, offered a necessary critique of the ways Christians have often conflated faith with nationalism, power and cultural identity.

Unfortunately, it was prescient and is apt for our current political moment when folks are again arguing in favor of Christian nationalism, as in a recent essay by Russ Vought in Newsweek. 

Vought reminded me of Boyd’s questions regarding where Christians find their ultimate allegiance. Vought suggests that “Christian nationalism,” when properly understood, is a benign and even useful framework for preserving a nation’s heritage while engaging responsibly in the public square.

However, Boyd’s insights illuminate a fundamental problem with this perspective. It assumes that the values of the kingdom of God can be harmonized with the political ideologies and power structures of earthly nations, an accord neither commanded nor hinted at in the New Testament.

Boyd’s central argument is that the kingdoms of God and the world operate on entirely different principles. The kingdom of God is characterized by self-sacrificial love, humility and a refusal to coerce others, even for ostensibly good purposes.

In contrast, the kingdom of the world—whether organized under nationalism, globalism or any other ideology—relies on power, coercion, and, often, violence to achieve its aims.

This fundamental divergence cannot be glossed over by appealing to the Bible’s stories of Israel or the rhetoric of America’s founders. Vought cannot seem to grasp this fundamental disconnect. 

Vought’s essay argues that America is a “Christian nation” with a shared religious heritage that has shaped its moral and political identity. While it’s true that Christianity has influenced American history, Boyd cautions against equating historical influence with divine endorsement.

The belief that America has a special status as a “Christian nation” risks idolatry by placing national identity on par with—or even above—our identity in Christ.

Boyd’s critique of Christian nationalism isn’t rooted in a liberal or secular agenda, as Vought’s essay suggests of critics like Perry and Whitehead, but in the gospel itself. Jesus consistently refused to align his mission with the political aspirations of his time, whether from the Zealots, Pharisees, or even his own disciples.

When tempted by Satan to claim all the kingdoms of the world, Jesus rejected the offer—not because those kingdoms lacked potential for good, but because they operated on terms that violated the very nature of God’s kingdom.

Vought’s essay defends nationalism as a means of maintaining order and protecting a nation’s interests. But Boyd’s work challenges us to ask: At what cost?

Prioritizing the needs of one’s nation over others is a fundamentally worldly value, not a kingdom value. Jesus taught us to love our neighbors as ourselves, and his parable of the Good Samaritan shattered the boundaries of tribal loyalty. Not to mention that God’s kingdom is constituted of people from all tribes, tongues, and nations.

When we prioritize “America First,” do we not risk turning our backs on this radical ethic of love and service to all, especially the least among us, not to mention our Christian siblings who happen to call another earthly nation home?

Boyd also warns against the seductive belief that political power can bring about the kind of transformation that only God can achieve. Whether through laws, military strength or cultural dominance, the reliance on worldly power inevitably corrupts.

The cross, not the sword, symbolizes the Christian faith. God redeems the world through self-giving love, not coercive force. This is the example disciples are to follow. 

Vought’s essay rightly observes that discussions about Christian nationalism often involve caricatures. But the heart of the critique is not about whether a border wall is inherently xenophobic or whether America’s founders were influenced by Christian principles. It’s about the danger of confusing the kingdom of God with the kingdoms of this world.

Boyd’s work challenges Christians to rise above these debates and seek the “height” that Whittaker Chambers longed for—not by claiming cultural dominance, but by embodying the radical, countercultural love of Jesus.

After all, Jesus tells us that if we want to be lifted up, we must humble ourselves. Christians reach the highest heights by seeking the lowest depths, trusting God to grant us resurrection and ascension. This perspective allows us to critique injustice, whether in America or abroad, without aligning ourselves too closely with any political ideology or national identity.

The psalm Vought referenced (Psalm 2), “Why do the nations rage,” reminds us of the futility of human schemes against God’s purposes. But its corrective is not a call for nations to claim divine favor; it’s a reminder that all nations, including our own, are subject to God’s judgment.

Our primary citizenship is not American or any other earthly identity. It is in the kingdom of heaven.

Boyd is right to highlight the question mark in the title of his first sermon in the series, “Taking Back America for God?” as a reminder that the Christian duty is not to build up any nation-state but rather to be faithful in taking up our crosses to follow Jesus to Golgotha for the sake of the world. 

Twenty years ago, Boyd challenged me to question how my faith shaped my political engagement. Today, they remain a clarion call for Christians to disentangle their faith from nationalism.

The cross, not the sword, is our hope, identity and mission.