Heave an egg out a Pullman window,” social critic H. L. Mencken famously said in 1925, “and you may hit a fundamentalist anywhere within the United States.” I often take into consideration Mencken’s line after I read the coverage of evangelical Christianity at left-leaning web sites corresponding to Salon, Rolling Stone, Mother Jones, and MSNBC—drop an egg out of a Boeing 737 at 30,000 feet above red America, and you may hit a “Christian nationalist.”
Discussion of Christian nationalism has exploded within the last three years. The phenomenon has been blamed for the Trump presidency, the January sixth revolt, the overturning of Roe v. Wade, and the potential of one other win for former president Donald Trump on Election Day. The latest offering on this vein is God & Country, a documentary film that arrives in theaters this month.
Directed by Dan Partland and produced by Rob Reiner, God & Country astutely includes interviews with high-profile Christian intellectuals, activists, and authors including Jemar Tisby, David French, Kristin Kobes Du Mez, Phil Vischer, Skye Jethani, Doug Pagitt, Rob Schenck, and CT editor-in-chief Russell Moore. Yes, the choice communicates, even these people think Christian nationalism is dangerous.
In one sense, God & Country is an excellent piece of documentary filmmaking. It succeeds in warning against political extremism within the name of Christ and makes a big and vital contribution to our understanding of American religion and politics within the Trump era.
Many scenes are hard to forget: There are Seven Mountain dominionists in a packed arena reciting the “Watchman’s Decree,” a prayer to “take back and permanently control positions of influence and leadership” in business, entertainment, media, government, family, education, and religion. There are Christian flags and “Jesus Saves” signs on the Capitol as rioters smash windows and assault police. And there’s Christian Coalition politico Ralph Reed bragging about how his lobbying group would help turn North Carolina red using an invasive collection of voter data.
But though the core message of the film is true—this type of extremism is antithetical to the gospel of Jesus Christ—God & Country suffers from a consistent failure to define its terms and distinguish its subjects. In the top, the movie raises more questions than it answers and shall be limited in its persuasiveness to viewers who don’t already share its concerns.
Here’s one such query: Is there a difference between American evangelicalism and Christian nationalism? If asked, I’m sure all of the evangelicals who speak within the film would answer with a powerful yes, and I believe the opposite interviewees in addition to Partland and Reiner would too. But the excellence is blurry in God & Country.
For example, a couple of minutes into the movie there are, by my count, 22 historical images that flash across the screen because the mid-Twentieth-century Pentecostal and prosperity gospel preacher Jack Coe’s rendition of the gospel song “Job’s God Is True” plays within the background. A number of of those images show Christians near an American flag, but most of them portray bizarre believers raising their hands in worship, bowing their heads in prayer, or listening to a sermon. What makes them Christian nationalists? How do they pose a threat to democracy?
Likewise, images of evangelist (and CT cofounder) Billy Graham appear within the film. Is the argument that he was a Christian nationalist, because the larger context and historical arc of the movie suggests? Or, in one other scene, we see churchgoers singing the favored hymn “Faith of Our Fathers,” which celebrates Catholic martyrs in Reformation-era England. Does singing this song make one a Christian nationalist?
Also unanswered is whether or not evangelicals who wish to bring our faith to bear on public life are necessarily Christian nationalists. Again, I actually have little doubt that the film’s makers and participants would answer within the negative. But there are multiple places in God & Country—footage of Jerry Falwell Sr. preaching against abortion and George H. W. Bush proclaiming he’s pro-life and against partial-birth abortion, to call just two—where the storytelling conflates politically energetic evangelicalism with Christian nationalism.
I’m guessing other experts drew this distinction of their interviews, but only Moore’s definitive statement distinguishing defenders of the standard family and the unborn from Christian nationalists survived Partland’s cutting room.
Likewise, what’s the difference between Christian nationalism and symbols of American civil religion? God & Country leaves viewers with the impression that the slogan “In God We Trust” on our currency or “under God” within the Pledge of Allegiance are one way or the other connected to what happened on January sixth. It’s true that the differences between such vestiges of civil religion and the dominionism undergirding actual Christian nationalism usually are not easily parsed. But Partland and Reiner seem tired of attempting to make a nuanced distinction.
That sort of loose history and language are regrettable and can limit God & Country’s reach. This is a movie for individuals who read those articles in Salon and Rolling Stone. For those already inclined to imagine that conservative evangelicals are plotting to create a theocracy within the United States, God & Country will confirm their fears about politically energetic born-again Christians and possibly motivate them to vote in November. It will give the left side of the culture war loads of additional ammunition and maybe some latest insight into—but little sympathy for—the motivations of Trumpist evangelicals.
It probably won’t shift those motivations, though. Christians who supported the revolt on the Capitol or attend MAGA rallies, in the event that they watch God & Country in any respect, are unlikely to come back away with modified hearts and minds. If you liked French before seeing the movie, you would possibly like him much more if you’re leaving the theater. But if you happen to think he’s selling out to secularists, God & Country will only confirm that feeling of betrayal.
Some interviewees in God & Country call for a distinct sort of “Christian nationalism,” one which cares for the sick, welcomes the stranger, and tends to the hungry. “If we do that right,” says Poor People’s Campaign co-chair William Barber in the ultimate scene, “what a rustic we shall be!” I hope this message will get through to some evangelicals. Yet as a veteran of the battle against the sort of extremism depicted within the film, I’m not optimistic that it’ll, given the tone of the remainder of the movie.
We need a deeper and more complex conversation about evangelicals and politics. For all its cinematic brilliance, God & Country just preaches to the choir.
John Fea is distinguished professor of history at Messiah University and executive editor of Current.
