As a progressive black sheep who has drifted politically from my lily-white Republican family, I have ample opportunity to witness the damage that the MAGA movement has been doing to people I once considered reasonable-if-conservative. Most of it sadly predictable: People who denounced Bill Clinton's gross-but-consensual affair now make excuses for Donald Trump's sexual assaults. There's the willing participation in conspiracy theories they know full well are nonsense. And, of course, when utterly unable to make any sense of their own political "beliefs," the fallback of dumb "let's go Brandon"-type jokes.
Trump and the MAGA movement have cemented the GOP as an ethno-nationalist party.
What has genuinely surprised me, however, is the way a bunch of folks who were previously not very religious have become all about Jesus. Maybe not enough to go to church, mind you, but enough to start littering their social media posts and other communications with Bible verses and the sentimental religious imagery. Not too long ago, many of these folks used to mock the showy piety of the fundamentalist neighbors. I fully blame the MAGA movement, of course.
Polling data shows my experience is not unique. Despite the obviously fake Christianity of Trump, this has been an era where most Republicans have abandoned their secular impulses. Instead, being a performative Christian has become an increasingly mandatory part of having a Republican identity. Even for those who never actually go to church.
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In 2010, the Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) polled Republicans about their views on conservative Christianity and the Tea Party movement, which we now can see was a precursor to MAGA. Back then, only 31% of Republican or Republican-leaning voters identified with conservative Christianity. Fast-forward 13 years and the landscape has dramatically shifted. PRRI polling shows that a majority of Republican voters don't just align themselves with conservative Christianity, but with Christian nationalism. Fifty-four percent of Republicans mostly or completely agree with sentiments such as "Being Christian is an important part of being truly American" and "God has called Christians to exercise dominion over all areas of American society."
These numbers likely are not the result of millions of Americans suddenly finding Jesus, but about the way that Trump and the MAGA movement have cemented the GOP as an ethno-nationalist party, instead of merely a conservative party. Which is to say, now that they're a tribe they need ways to define their tribal identity. Religion offers one aspect of that identity. (Whiteness, too, though most will rarely, if ever, so say out loud.) This is why polls show over 40% of self-described "evangelicals" don't even go to church. "Christian" has morphed from a faith tradition to a marker of ethnic/political identity.
How did so many people go from being mildly indifferent to religion to centering Christianity in their self-conception as an American? It certainly wasn't by accident. This is the result of decades of work by Christian fundamentalists to generate propaganda and disinformation, all to prop up the myth that the U.S. was founded to be a Christian nation. Then Trump came along with his authoritarian "us vs. them" messaging, creating a need for Republicans to define exactly what they mean by "us." Christian nationalists were ready to fill that "us" with their own notions that Christianity is a mandatory part of the American identity.
The central figure in this tale is David Barton, a Christian huckster who has made a name for himself on the right by passing himself off as a "historian." Barton got a bachelor's in religious education from Oral Roberts University in 1976 and has no academic training in history. His "research" is a joke, to the point where even conservative Christian academics reject his claims. For instance, Jay Richards of the Discovery Institute rejects the theory of evolution, but even he had to admit Barton's field of work is full of "embarrassing factual errors, suspiciously selective quotes, and highly misleading claims."
By waving around a Bible he doesn't read and talking up a Jesus he doesn't believe in, Trump has underscored how much "Christian" is a tribal identity marker more than a faith tradition, at least in the MAGA world.
And yet, as Tim Alberta describes in his new book, "The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory: American Evangelicals in an Age of Extremism," Barton is treated as a major historical authority in Republican circles for one reason: "He believed the separation of church and state was a myth. He believed the time had come for evangelicals to reclaim their rightful place atop the nation’s governmental and cultural institutions." Barton has been discredited over and over again by real historians, with one book even being deemed "the least credible history book in print" by the History News Network.
And yet, Barton's influence is so vast in the world of Republican thought it's immeasurable. He's heavily promoted through right-wing media and consults with major Republican leaders, including the new speaker of the House, Mike Johnson. But even people who have never heard his name have likely absorbed his ideas through the right-wing media ecosystem, which is infused with them. When Republicans repeat false talking points, like "separation of church and state is a myth" or "the Founders envisioned a Christian nation," most of that goes straight back to Barton and his fake histories.
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That this all got supercharged under Trump is a little odd, no doubt, because Trump's "Christianity" is as transparently false as Barton's historical research. Perversely, however, Trump's fake faith likely boosted the widespread embrace of an "evangelical" identity by Republican voters who previously weren't especially religious. By waving around a Bible he doesn't read and talking up a Jesus he doesn't believe in, Trump has underscored how much "Christian" is a tribal identity marker more than a faith tradition, at least in the MAGA world. That's encouraged a lot of people who don't really want to get involved in a church community to start projecting a "Christian" identity out into the world, without worrying overmuch about their lack of faith at home.
I have no doubt that most of the people who have embraced this performative piety think it's a fairly harmless, even a socially beneficial practice. Jesus talk can feel very self-righteous and benevolent, even to people who don't back up the public performance with private prayer. But the fact that Christian identity is ever more linked to a far-right, authoritarian worldview is dangerous. After all, if "real" Americans are Christians, then the question of what to do with the majority of Americans who don't subscribe to conservative Christianity invites dangerous answers. For instance, far-right influencer Nick Fuentes is out there calling for the mass execution of anyone who doesn't proclaim a Christian identity.
Tempting, of course, to dismiss him as a troll that no one takes seriously. Except, of course, he's had dinner with Trump. Oh yeah, and the Texas GOP recently refused to pass a rule barring members from associating with neo-Nazis after a major fundraiser took a meeting with Fuentes. Keeping Fuentes in the fold must be important to Republicans, if they're willing to take the "neo-Nazi" headlines rather than disassociate with him.
As I wrote about yesterday, there is simply no way to square the Christian nationalist ideology with traditional American values like equality, free speech, and freedom of religion. It is, of course, perfectly fine for people to be Christians, just as it's fine if people identify as Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Wiccan or a worshipper of Odin. But what these trends suggest is that, for Republican voters, the idea has taken root that being a "real" American requires calling yourself a Christian. But, as the Fuentes example shows, that necessarily means marginalizing non-Christians, who are now over a third of Americans.
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