Christian nationalists want a king
And if we're honest, the imperial impulse is dangerously catching
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about kings: who wants one, why, and whether some of us who think of ourselves as promoting democracy might have a stronger imperial impulse than we realize.
As a priest, I find the Bible a helpful companion in making sense of this political moment, full as it is of tales of kings, people asking for kings, and people deeply regretting monarchic capitulation.
Today’s essay delves into analysis of the imperial impulse of our current political moment (across the political spectrum) followed by a look at two biblical stories that I have found to be compelling conversation partners.
The infectious imperial impulse
Surveying the current political landscape, it is easy to cast aspersions on white Christian nationalists, among whom the imperial impulse is especially strong:
One crowd of Christians uproariously applauded as Trump promised them that if they vote for him in November, they “won’t have to vote again.”
The Supreme Court, with its Trump-installed, Christian nationalist-endorsed conservative majority, recently ruled that a former president has absolute immunity from criminal prosecution for official acts (including conspiracy to overthrow the government). With her dissent, Justice Sonia Sotomayor issued an ominous warning: “the President is now a king above the law.”
Trump himself has said he will only be a dictator on “day one.” 74 percent of Republicans have professed their willingness for Trump to be a dictator for a day.
Authoritarianism is openly and fully embraced by this group. But the idea of a strongman (or woman) who can impose your will on a feared person or group is highly infectious and seductive, and not isolated to the MAGA crowd.
In the face of what we fear (e.g. another Trump term) it is easy to double down on deifying the alternative. Placing the would-be leader on a pedestal has the inevitable impact of making scapegoats of those who would see their shortcomings and seek their integrity for the common good. If they are above reproach, then someone else must be blamed for the status quo (or any future problems).
Consider the crowd roaring in response to Vice President Kamala Harris shutting down pro-Palestinian protestors at her Detroit rally by saying, “You know what? If you want Donald Trump to win, then say that! Otherwise I’m speaking!”
Or DNC delegates attempting to block a “STOP ARMING ISRAEL” banner with their “We Love Joe” signs, while the crowd chanted “USA! USA!” to drown out cries for ceasefire.
There is an imperial commonsense at play when calls for accountability and responsible leadership are seen as a threat and are enthusiastically suppressed. The reasoning seems to be that there is no room to address the weaknesses of one’s own leader, because that would make them — and all those who have entrusted their power to them — susceptible to the other side. The illusion of invulnerability must be maintained at all costs.
A society that chooses to see its politicians through a binary lens, in which they are either totally evil and depraved OR are a celebrity/savior/superhero who can do no wrong, is already a profoundly antidemocratic one. Our culture is dangerously ripe for king-making.
Which raises the question: How to nurture a movement culture that is resistant to this imperial impulse? The two following biblical stories offer some food for thought.
Kingship, deflected and denied
There’s a much-beloved story in the Gospel according to John about Jesus feeding thousands of hungry people (5,000 men — John doesn’t tell us how many women and children). It goes like this:
A crowd follows Jesus up a mountain because they have seen him healing people.
Jesus and his disciples don’t have the money to feed all these people who have wandered into the wilderness with them. But they do have a sense of responsibility for their well-being.
They find a generous boy who has five loaves of bread and a couple of fish and is willing to share.
Jesus takes this food, gives thanks, and distributes it to the crowd. Miraculously, everyone is fed. There are even leftovers!
That’s the well-known portion of the story.
The part that isn’t often preached, and with which I have been fascinated, comes after the miracle:
“When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, ‘This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.’ When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.”
Perhaps under different circumstances, this miraculous experience might have inspired a spirit of solidarity and mutual aid amongst those most disenfranchised within Roman-controlled Palestine.
But this particular crowd — comprised of people deprived of political power, stripped of economic agency and denied authority over their own religious lives — decides to take matters into their own hands.
Their appetite for better circumstances whetted by the surprising abundance of Jesus’ provision, they assume a king-making mob mentality. Ironically, they would impose kingship on one who didn’t want it in order to regain a sense of agency over their own lives.
But Jesus will not be forced into kingship. That’s not what his ministry is about. All along, his ministry has been about nurturing and empowering people to step into their God-given agency:
“Your faith has made you well.”
“Come and see.”
“Go and tell.”
Jesus rejects kingship, sidestepping the king-making mob by taking a hike, heading off to the hills by himself.
Doing so, he keeps open the possibility that his followers might learn a new way of relating to one another that doesn’t require subjecting themselves to an earthly ruler.
In fact, he modeled this way by amplifying the agency and generosity of the young boy willing to share his lunch. Some scholars wonder if the crowd, inspired, dug into their pockets to find a bit of food they’d brought too, and then shared it with their neighbors. A miracle of mutual aid. An inbreaking of abundance where a mindset of scarcity had reigned. The kin-dom of God, on earth as in heaven.
What is clear is that rather than directing attention to himself, Jesus makes an exemplar of a child who is seeking the good of his community.
Through his actions, he says in effect, “Here is how to be a human in community: bless. break. share.”
He will fight our battles for us!
Jesus’ close call with kingship is an echo of the people of Israel asking the judge Samuel for a king more than 1000 years earlier.
Samuel does his best to warn the people of all the ways in which a king would take advantage of them. He cautions:
A king will make your children fight in his wars and labor in the fields for his food and in his home for his comfort.
Your children will sweat and bleed while the king reaps the rewards: ease, pleasure and safety.
He will take your land away to give as gifts to his friends.
Samuel sums it all up by saying: “You shall be his slaves.”
Still, the people insist, “We are determined to have a king over us, so that we also may be like other nations and that our king may govern us and go out before us and fight our battles.”1
As a reader, I want to shout: Did you not just hear the man?! He said you would be enslaved by a ruler so that he doesn’t have to do any hard work, let alone fight battles on your behalf!
But the people are inclined toward the quick fix. They’re willing to give up their agency and concentrate authority in one person, rather than working for justice, freedom and belonging as a community. They want a king who will go after their enemies for them.
Fine, says God, via Samuel. Have it your way.
Suffice it to say, having kings does not go well for them. It goes just as badly as Samuel tells them it will go. The kings, for the most part, care little for their welfare. As the people go through wars, famines and exile, their kings consolidate land, wealth and power. The people who suffer most are those you’d expect, including the poor, women, children, and immigrants.
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The divine right… not to have a king
For white Christian nationalists — who tend to idolize the Bible — the ironic lesson is that biblically, the imperial impulse is ill-advised. This should go without saying, but it bears repeating, because so many people seem to have lost the plot: Giving one’s power over to a single individual is a sure way to end up in a heap of trouble.
Those who feel forgotten and left behind may find alluring the idea that giving up power en masse will allow them to have someone in authority who would give them what they want. But it never works out like that. A system that would allow a king to come to power is built to benefit the king (and his closest, richest buddies).
Those who feel the imperial impulse most strongly are asking for both their spiritual needs (a sense of belonging and meaning) and material needs (a fair wage, adequate housing, food on the table, healthcare) to be met. The desire for a king is best assuaged with neighborly care that surprises and disarms as it humanizes. The power of the imperial impulse is interrupted by courageous collective action for communal well-being.
For those of us committed to resisting Christofascism, the biblical text reminds us of our propensity to engage in imperial thinking when under duress. In reaction to dictatorial people and systems, it is easy to fall into imperial thinking — platforming people seen as preferable and refraining from critique of them, or of the king-making system itself.
But Jesus divested from the whole king-making enterprise. We can too.
The solution to the imperial impulse is not to simply prop up someone else in place of a would-be dictator and hope that they change the king-making system. Rather, it is to embrace our divine agency to bring our gifts with generosity in service to the world. Together, we can imagine and create systems of abundant care that ensure the flourishing of those who are most vulnerable.
Together, we can feed the people. And then empower them to claim their divine agency too.
1 Samuel 8:19, NRSV