What does it actually mean to be (open and) affirming?
In the context of church, “affirming” refers to a clear and public stance of full inclusion and support for LGBTQ+ individuals in all aspects of church life. While “open” often means that LGBTQ+ people are welcome to attend and participate, “affirming” goes further—celebrating LGBTQ+ identities as God-given and fully valid. Affirming churches allow LGBTQ+ individuals to lead, serve, marry, and be ordained without restriction, and they reject the belief that being LGBTQ+ is sinful or something to be changed.
This stance often involves interpreting what many consider traditional readings of Scripture through the lens of Jesus’ love, justice, and radical inclusion. It emphasizes the dignity and sacred worth of all people and sees gender and sexual diversity as part of God’s good creation. However, not all churches that say they are “welcoming” are affirming—some stop short of full inclusion. That’s why the word “affirming” matters: it signals a commitment not just to hospitality, but to belonging without condition.
I also think it’s important to point out that some churches are “affirming” to a point… and that point is typically marriage. For the purposes of this post, we’re not discussing the concept of marriage. (I’ll dive into that topic in the next post, so please don’t come at me with the ‘God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve’. We’re saving that discussion for next week.)
Now that we’ve established the difference between the terms open and affirming, it’s worth asking: How did the church come to believe that LGBTQ+ identity was incompatible with faith in the first place? Much of that belief is rooted in how certain passages of Scripture have been interpreted—and, in some cases, mistranslated.
And my ask is simple: Be patient with me as I try to unpack this—because it’s layered and deeply shaped by years of personal wrestling, learning, and unlearning.
I know the “But what about…?” questions are coming. I’ve asked many of them myself. And they matter. But I invite you to hold off—for just a moment. Let’s start by listening. Let’s start by holding space for complexity without rushing to debate or defend. Sometimes the most faithful response isn’t having all the answers, but being willing to sit with the tension long enough to truly hear the heart behind the words.
One of the most pivotal shifts came in 1946, when the word “homosexual” was first introduced into the English Bible in the Revised Standard Version. Before that, terms used in the original Greek—like arsenokoitai and malakoi—were translated with meanings more closely tied to exploitative or abusive sexual behavior, not consensual same-sex relationships as we understand them today. For centuries, the church did not read the Bible as condemning LGBTQ+ people broadly; rather, it focused on issues of power, lust, and injustice.
Understanding this change in language matters—because when a single word is introduced into sacred text with modern assumptions behind it, it can alter not only theology, but people’s lives. So let’s look more closely at how we got here—and why revisiting these translations is not about “changing the Bible,” but about a contextually honest reading of it.
The BIG question here is WHY was the word “homosexual” added in 1946?
This shift didn’t happen in a vacuum. It occurred during a time when homosexuality was being newly defined—and pathologized—in Western culture. In the mid-20th century, being gay was still classified as a mental disorder and criminalized in many places. The cultural lens through which translators approached Scripture was already clouded with fear, misunderstanding, and moral panic. As a result, when they encountered ancient Greek words whose meanings were debated or unclear, they made interpretive choices that aligned with the prejudices of their time—not necessarily the intent of the text.
The danger of this is profound.
When theology is shaped more by cultural bias than by contextual integrity, it ceases to be liberating and becomes weaponized. The inclusion of the word “homosexual” in modern Bibles gave religious language to a rising cultural stigma, reinforcing systems of exclusion and justifying harm under the guise of holiness. For decades, that mistranslation has been used to shame, silence, and push LGBTQ+ people out of churches—and, in many cases, out of their families and communities as well.
I also think it’s important to underscore this fact:
The man who oversaw the translation team for the Revised Standard Version (RSV), Dr. Luther Weigle, eventually acknowledged the mistake of introducing the word “homosexual” into the Bible in 1946. After correspondence with concerned scholars, the committee reviewed the historical and linguistic evidence.
By 1971, 25 years later, the translation team quietly corrected the error in the updated edition of the RSV, replacing “homosexuals” with a more accurate phrase: “sexual perverts”- an admission that the original translation had imposed a modern concept onto ancient texts.
But by that time, the damage had largely been done.
The 1946 RSV version had already influenced many subsequent English translations, including the NIV, ESV, NASB, and others, which adopted and solidified the term “homosexual” in verses like 1 Corinthians 6:9 and 1 Timothy 1:10. This single word, inaccurately inserted and later quietly revised, became a theological cornerstone for exclusion—used by churches, denominations, and institutions as a doctrinal basis for condemning LGBTQ+ people.
Yet there has always been another thread within Christian history: one that prioritizes justice, compassion, and faithful interpretation. Scholars, theologians, and pastors have done the careful, sacred work of returning to the original texts, reclaiming their meaning, and asking the deeper questions. Because when we approach Scripture, not to defend our assumptions but to seek truth, we find a Gospel that calls us to inclusion, restoration, and dignity for all.
This isn’t about rewriting the Bible—it’s about unlearning what was never actually there. And it’s about taking seriously the responsibility we have when we read, teach, and preach sacred text, knowing that the way we interpret Scripture shapes not only beliefs, but lives.
So, what does the Bible actually say?
The original words—arsenokoitai and malakoi, for example—don’t neatly translate to “homosexuals,” and in fact, their meanings were debated even in the early church.
The handful of verses often cited—like those in Leviticus, Romans, or 1 Corinthians—are addressing specific cultural practices: exploitative sexual behavior, temple prostitution, and systems of power and dominance that had little to do with mutual, committed love between equals. What’s clear is that these passages were never intended to be blanket statements about LGBTQ+ identity or relationships.
(I also think this is a great time to point out the obvious: Many of the exploitive sexual abuses addressed in Scripture—such as coercion, infidelity, objectification, and the misuse of sex for power—have occurred within heterosexual contexts throughout history and still do today. The Bible consistently condemns sexual behavior that dehumanizes, manipulates, or harms others—regardless of the genders involved.)
When we step back and look at the broader narrative of Scripture—its heartbeat is not exclusion, but liberation. Jesus himself never mentions homosexuality, but he consistently lifts up those pushed to the margins and confronts the religious gatekeepers who weaponize Scripture for control. So no, the Bible doesn’t “clearly” condemn queer people, as so many have argued. What it does clearly condemn is violence, exploitation, hypocrisy, and the misuse of religion to burden others.
The purpose of this post was to give some historical reference points to how the word “homosexual” was added to the Bible… centuries later. But, that’s only one part of the conversation. Next week I’ll dig a little deeper. Specifically, does the presence of Adam and Eve in the garden really mean God excluded everyone else from the story that followed?
This week, I’m visiting an “open and affirming” church in Chattanooga. And to be honest, I’ve gone back and forth for weeks about how to share this experience—not because I’m unsure of my thoughts, but because I understand how layered and deeply personal this topic is for so many. Talking about LGBTQ+ inclusion in the church isn’t just a theological discussion; it’s a conversation that cuts straight to people’s sense of belonging, identity, and worth.
It’s also one of the most divisive topics in the modern church. Lines have been drawn, congregations have split, and entire denominations have redefined themselves around it. But I believe that if we’re going to talk about the church being a place of love, grace, and welcome, we can’t ignore the people who have often felt the most excluded.
So this week’s post is simply an invitation—to listen, to sit with my story, and maybe even to reflect on your own, especially if you were raised in a conservative Christian church. Over the past seven years, my theology has shifted—not because I was looking for a loophole, not to accommodate culture, and not because one of my children identifies as a member of the LGBTQ+ community. They don’t. (It’s honestly surprising how often that question comes up whenever I share about the evolution of my beliefs.)
The truth is, my theology changed because I started asking deeper questions. I began listening—really listening—to the lived experiences of others. I paid attention to the fruit in their lives, to their love for Jesus, and to the way they embodied grace, even when the church withheld it. My faith didn’t unravel—it expanded. And in that expansion, I’ve discovered a deeper, more compassionate, more Christlike understanding of both God and humanity.
What I’ve come to realize is that theology isn’t static—it grows and it deepens when we let it be shaped by love and lived experience… and, yes, a deeper understanding of scripture. My journey hasn’t always been neat or easy, and I still have questions. So many questions. But one thing I’m certain of: real love doesn’t require someone to change who they are in order to belong. It welcomes them as they are and walks with them from there.
So if you’re curious, skeptical, or somewhere in between, I hope you’ll stick around—not for a debate to win, but for honest conversation to better understand one another, hold space for nuance, and make room for the kind of faith that wrestles, listens, and grows.
Rather than rambling, I want to share a few key moments—specific, personal experiences—that challenged me to pause and reevaluate what I had been taught about the LGBTQ+ community. These stories aren’t abstract or hypothetical; they’re deeply personal, and they’ve significantly shaped how I follow Jesus.
And I want to be clear about this: I absolutely believe in the conviction of the Holy Spirit. But I also believe the Spirit—while never contradicting the nature of God—can lead sincere, faithful people to different understandings, different convictions, and different journeys. That’s not a sign of compromise. Sometimes, it’s a sign of humility and growth and, from my experience, it has been an indicator of purpose and calling.
About seven years ago, I was introduced to a transgender man who spoke openly and passionately about his deep faith in Jesus and his experience with gender dysmorphia. I remember feeling deeply conflicted. Up until that point, everything I had been taught—both directly and indirectly—had convinced me that someone’s gender identity and a sincere relationship with Christ couldn’t coexist. That moment shook something in me. It didn’t just make me uncomfortable—it forced me to confront the fact that I hadn’t been thinking critically or asking meaningful questions. I had been blindly following a narrative handed down by voices who, in most cases, were less informed than I was—and who showed little interest in truly listening, learning, or understanding. That conversation marked the beginning of a long, uncomfortable, but necessary unraveling.
After this conversation, I sat down with a friend in Maine, who’s also a doctor, to see if there were medical explanations for what this transgender man shared with me. And while I don’t have the time to outline that entire conversation, here are a few points that caused me to start asking more questions. Please note, I have linked citations:
Brain structure and function: Some studies using MRI scans have found that certain brain regions in transgender individuals more closely resemble the structure or function of the gender they identify with, rather than their assigned sex at birth. This is particularly observed in areas involved in body perception and self-identity.
Hormonal influences in utero: During fetal development, sex hormones (like testosterone and estrogen) play a major role in shaping the brain. If there’s an atypical exposure or sensitivity to these hormones during critical periods of brain development, it may result in a brain-gender mismatch—where the brain develops traits more typical of the opposite sex.
Timing matters: The development of the genitalia and the brain occurs at different stages in fetal growth. It’s possible for these to diverge if hormone exposure isn’t typical during those critical windows, potentially leading to a mismatch between biological sex and experienced gender.
When we lived on the road, our family visited a different church almost every Sunday. One of those churches was Austin New Church, in Austin, Texas. (If you’re interested in reading about that particular visit, you can scroll WAY DOWN on this blog! But, I think it’s important to note that I initially didn’t want to go and I ACTIVELY looked for every reason to call them heretical. Confirmation bias is very real.) In yet another irony, Sydney and Brayden wrote a song with the worship leader of ANC, who has actually become a dear friend. And he connected us with the pastor who took me and my husband out to breakfast one morning, where we had a long conversation about the church’s outreach to the immigrant community at the border in Texas. Listening to Jason (the pastor) talk about their work, it was undeniable that they were truly being the hands and feet of Jesus to the people the Lord calls us to uplift. And, honestly, I was having a hard time reconciling what I was seeing and hearing with what I had been taught for so many years.
At the tail end of our breakfast, Jason made what was probably meant as a flippant comment, saying that people from Dallas Theological Seminary, where I received my Masters, and leaders at Dallas Bible Church, constantly called him a heretic because of his views on homosexuality and gay marriage. (Also, important to note, our family was spending the night with leaders at Dallas Bible Church that night!) When I told him my connection to both institutions, I literally saw the blood drain from his face as his mouth dropped open. He then asked why I would even want to sit down and talk with him.
Soon after this experience, we were notified by several friends back home that a young man who was a part of my discipleship group was on the front page of the Portland Press Herald, our local newspaper—wearing all black, holding a Bible, and yelling at participants of a PRIDE parade… telling them to repent or they were going to hell.
I was physically ill. It was a visceral reaction.
And even with my conservative theological views, I never would have condoned that kind of behavior. I had taught him about the love of Jesus, about compassion, about grace—but I was not the only voice in his life. For whatever reason, he had come to believe that standing on a street corner and shouting condemnation was righteous. And he’s not alone.
It shook me to my core. Because if someone I had poured into could so completely miss the heart of Christ, I had to ask—what had I missed? What had I modeled? What had I allowed to go unquestioned?
That moment wasn’t just about him—it was a mirror held up to my own faith journey. And I didn’t like what I saw.
Here’s one of the biggest lessons I learned during that season: It’s easy to label someone a heretic when you live in a bubble, intentionally creating distance, and only listening to certain voices. It’s a lot harder when they’re a person, sitting across from you, sharing stories about pain and rejection and a GENUINE faith that has been tested in fire and testifies to Jesus.
And the mental gymnastics you go through when you SEE the spiritual fruit of someone’s faith, but can’t fathom the possibility of them being “real” Christians because of their “sexual ethics”… it shakes you. It forces you to confront the uncomfortable truth that maybe your theology was built more on fear and tradition than on the actual life and teachings of Jesus. (And, yes, I will get to what the Bible says, and doesn’t say about homosexuality.) It challenges the categories you were handed—categories that can’t account for the grace, humility, and integrity you see in someone you were taught to dismiss, or outright hate.
Jesus didn’t shy away from messy conversations or complicated people. And if I truly believe in the transformative power of grace, then maybe the most Christlike thing I can do isn’t debating theology—but listening, learning, and staying at the table.
I stayed at the table for the entirety of our cross country adventure. I’m still at the table now… asking hard questions.
Before I dive into this week’s post, I need to provide some context and acknowledge a few of my personal blind spots and grievances. I’m under no illusion that anyone is eagerly awaiting my thoughts on this church—or any church, for that matter. But I’m deeply invested in this project because I genuinely want to move beyond my blind spots, challenge my assumptions, and engage in honest, meaningful conversations about faith, community, and the role of the church in our lives.
I also believe that Christian Nationalism is one of the biggest obstacles to genuine faith and meaningful community that we’re collectively facing at this moment. It often conflates religious identity with political ideology, distorting the core teachings of Christianity and creating division instead of unity. By prioritizing power and cultural dominance over humility and service, it undermines the church’s ability to reflect Christ’s love and engage with the broader world in a way that fosters understanding, compassion, and justice.
Having said this, for those reading this post, I hope you can see the care and intentionality behind my words. Calvary Chapel is doing some meaningful work in our community, and I want to acknowledge that. However, there are also some aspects that merit a closer look—areas where I believe there’s room for growth, or conversations, that need to happen. My goal is not to criticize for the sake of it, but to engage thoughtfully and honestly with both the strengths and challenges I’ve observed.
Before visiting on Sunday, my only associations with Calvary Chapel were two experiences separated by about four years. The first was in 2020 when they invited Charlie Kirk to speak at their weekend services about one month before the presidential election. I took a screenshot from their website (pictured below), and I think it speaks for itself. Having someone like this speak during a church service raises several concerns, primarily related to the separation of church and state, tax laws, and the potential impact on the congregation’s unity and focus.
The second was more recent, during a workshop where I met a few people working with a nonprofit that was previously under the organization. However, due to a loss of financial support tied to the church’s political stances, the nonprofit has placed some distance between themselves and the church.
THE GOOD: However, I want to start off by highlighting some of the positive efforts coming from Calvary Chapel. For many evangelical churches, the pro-life ethos begins and ends with the ballot box, or legislative initiatives. But, Calvary Chapel is actively encouraging and equipping its congregation to engage with the pressing needs of fostering and adoption in our community. This emphasis reflects an important extension of the pro-life ethos—caring for vulnerable children and families in tangible, life-changing ways.
The church has also organized efforts to serve the homeless community in Chattanooga, including providing meals, clothing, and other essentials. These initiatives often involve members of the congregation volunteering their time and resources to meet immediate needs. They have also been involved in disaster relief efforts, both locally and regionally, mobilizing volunteers and supplies to assist communities affected by natural disasters. Calvary also hosts programs aimed at mentoring and supporting at-risk youth, often providing opportunities for education, personal development, and spiritual growth.
So, given how much good work is coming from Calvary, why is there so much hostility aimed at this church?
I think it can be boiled down to two things: Patriarchy and Politics. And I’m not trying to be flippant. These are complex, deeply rooted issues that shape how many evangelical churches are perceived, and I can’t unpack these topics in one blog post. However, I can provide a brief overview based on conversations I’ve had with both those who attend and those who do not.
Patriarchy: The nuances of this topic are immense, encompassing theological, cultural, and personal dimensions. Yet for many within evangelical churches, it can feel as though there’s little room for meaningful dialogue. The concept is often presented as a settled issue—rooted in tradition and scriptural interpretation—leaving little space to question, critique, or explore alternative perspectives. This lack of conversation can lead to frustration or disengagement for those who want to wrestle with the complexities, particularly in a modern context where questions of equality, leadership, and gender roles are increasingly relevant. For many, “patriarchy” symbolizes centuries of systemic inequality where women and marginalized groups were excluded from power, opportunities, and decision-making. It is often associated with oppression and unjust societal norms that have subordinated women in various spheres of life—family, work, religion, and government. This issue is SO MUCH more than women not having the ability to hold pastoral positions, or a wife submitting to her husband.
Politics: For many, a church’s alignment with specific political figures or ideologies blurs the line between faith and partisanship. When a church aligns itself with a particular political ideology, it can inadvertently misrepresent the faith to outsiders, making it seem that being a Christian is synonymous with belonging to a specific political party. When a faith community is seen as prioritizing political agendas over spiritual ones, it can alienate those who hold different views or who are seeking a space free from political divisiveness. Political discussions often involve complex, nuanced issues that don’t always align neatly with a single theological perspective. Simplifying, or polarizing, these issues can lead to a lack of critical thinking and thoughtful engagement.
Churches are called to focus on higher, eternal principles that transcend political ideologies. When politics takes center stage, it can detract from the church’s role in promoting love, justice, and reconciliation, reducing its impact to a partisan tool rather than a spiritual refuge.
So, what was my experience at Calvary Chapel Chattanooga?
Specifically focused on the sermon, because concerts with flashy lights and big video screens distract me…. the sermon was, overall, pretty solid. It should be noted that it was presented by “Pastor Kenny” and not their lead pastor. (I’m going to nerd out for the remainder of this paragraph and the next, so if preaching styles aren’t your thing, skip these paragraphs.) Going in, I was curious if Calvary would lean into expository teaching, drawing out the meaning of a specific passage by explaining its context, breaking down individual verses or phrases, and connecting them to the broader biblical narrative. And for the most part, he did. But he also used textual preaching, focusing on a single verse or small passage but does not systematically work through an entire section or book. There was definitely some cherry-picking going on, which can definitely happen when you use NT verses to underscore OT passages, creating theological and interpretive challenges.
The New Testament often references the Old Testament, fulfilling prophecies or expanding on earlier principles. However, these connections require careful handling to respect the original OT context. Misapplying NT insights can impose meanings on OT passages that were not intended by their original authors. Without considering historical, cultural, and literary contexts, the preacher risks creating theological inconsistencies. The strength of scripture lies in its complexity and interwoven narrative. While NT verses can illuminate OT themes, careful exegesis ensures that connections enrich understanding rather than detract from the integrity of either testament. (Okay… I’m done geeking out.)
THE BAD: The name of the sermon series, Under God, One Nation, is a mirror of our country’s Pledge of Allegiance. It might be a pithy play on words, or it could symbolize a bigger agenda. I won’t pretend to know their intentions, but it was definitely a red flag for me. And while I will not give a complete breakdown of the sermon, I do want to note one thing I found a little unsettling. The sermon was based on 1 Samuel 13:16-14:23 (focused primarily on Jonathan and Saul), but the pastor took time to interject how wives are responsible for supporting and encouraging their husbands. He actually noted that he was moving off topic to specifically talk to wives, which is always a red flag to me. (See my notation above about the patriarchy.)
He said the following: “What this armor bearer just said to Jonathan speaks your husband’s love language when he’s looking around and saying, ‘Is there anybody that believes, wants to believe God with me?’ He goes on to tell wives that they should know that their husbands aren’t pigs, or egotists, and that God has hardwired them to believe that where there is support there is respect. And that wives need to recognize the reality that God has a design and a plan for our husbands, that when we challenge our husbands we are not “freeing them up to be everything God has called him to be.” (Please, feel free to listen to this excerpt from the November 17th sermon, beginning around the 38 minute mark.)
The summation of this weirdly placed side sermon: if we “release” our husbands to be everything that God calls them to be, we will have husbands that will love us as Christ loves the church. This is a theological minefield. First, and foremost, the love that Christ demonstrates for the church is unconditional, sacrificial, and initiated by Christ, not contingent on the church’s actions. This love is rooted in grace and reflects Christ’s sacrificial nature, not the church’s merit or behavior. Imposing a condition like “release” undermines the unconditional nature of Christlike love.
Additionally, the idea of “releasing” implies that wives hold significant control over whether their husbands fulfill God’s calling. This perspective can shift responsibility away from husbands’ personal accountability to God for their growth, character, and obedience. Biblically, every believer, male or female, is individually accountable to God (2 Corinthians 5:10). But, most importantly, teaching this principle could unintentionally perpetuate unhealthy dynamics in marriage where wives feel pressured to defer, or comply, unconditionally, even in situations that may be harmful, or unwise. It risks enabling manipulation by framing spiritual growth as contingent on the actions of one spouse rather than both pursuing God together.
ALL THE QUESTIONS THAT I HAVE: So, why did I bring up Christian Nationalism at the beginning of the post? A few weeks ago, Calvary Chapel Chattanooga uploaded a video on their social media platforms from their lead pastor. This same video was played the Sunday before the 2024 presidential election. In this video, he stated,”I do feel that for a church like ours, an election message may have in many ways been sort of redundant.” This was followed up with a reference of James 4:17: Remember, it is sin to know what you ought to do and then not do it.
This is important and I’m going to circle back to it.
While I can critique the use of cherry-picking scripture to serve his own agenda, or manipulate his congregation, the truly egregious offense was his admonishment of anyone who would choose to sit this Presidential election out, or choose to write in a candidate that accurately reflects their own beliefs. He then went on to say, “I’m convinced that the Christian in the West is going to be judged for how he or she voted.”
At the very least, declaring that Christians will be judged for how they vote fosters division within the body of Christ. It creates an “us vs. them” mentality that prioritizes political allegiance over unity in faith. Criticizing those who sit out an election or vote for a write-in candidate as sinful overlooks legitimate reasons for such actions. Christians may abstain from voting as a form of protest or choose a candidate who aligns more closely with their moral convictions, even if that candidate has no chance of winning. Reducing these nuanced decisions to “error” or “sin” marginalizes thoughtful, prayerful political engagement.
But, it was his “quick side note” that was most problematic for me: “…to those of you who now by grace have recognized your error in the past, you’ve got to repent. You must repent of the part you played and what it is that has come upon us. I feel that many Christians have blood on their hands and will answer for it one day… I don’t have to tell you, Church, which way to vote. I’m confident that you will and that you’ll vote the right way.”
Statements like “you’ve got to repent” and “Christians have blood on their hands” weaponize guilt to enforce political conformity. This rhetoric implies that voting for a particular candidate is not only a civic duty, but also a spiritual one, with eternal consequences. It places undue pressure on congregants and could alienate those whose consciences lead them to different political conclusions.
The pastor closed out his address with this acknowledgement: If you’re unclear at this point as to which of these two candidates to choose, then perhaps I have absolutely failed you as your pastor… and then tells people that they know what to do and if they don’t do it then it’s a sin. (Circling back to James 4:17 reference.)
This is disconcerting for several reasons, particularly in how it blends theology, personal responsibility, and political coercion. Using James 4:17 in this context risks distorting its meaning to pressure congregants into a specific political action, equating non-compliance with sin. This interpretation could manipulate congregants’ spiritual sensitivity and misrepresent scripture’s intent. (This verse addresses personal moral conviction and accountability before God.)
The pastor’s comments, especially “I don’t have to tell you which way to vote…you’ll vote the right way,” heavily imply a partisan preference. Coupled with his statement that he feels he has failed as a pastor if congregants are unclear on the “right” candidate, this crosses into the territory of political endorsement, which churches are advised to avoid under IRS 501(c)(3) regulations. This can blur the line between spiritual guidance and political advocacy, risking the integrity of the church’s mission. (Calvary Chapel Chattanooga has drawn this criticism several times in the past.)
So, where does that leave us?
In seminary, I remember debating another student about the influence of eschatology, a branch of theology that deals with the study of “last things” or end-times events, when it comes to our world view and how our eschatology dictates our motivations and actions. He fervently disagreed with me, but I think this is a clear example of the power eschatology holds. Christian Nationalists generally align with an eschatology that supports their vision of societal transformation under Christian dominance. At the risk of nerding out again, here are a few potential frames of reference:
Postmillennialism often encourages believers to engage in politics, law, and education to establish God’s kingdom on Earth before Christ’s second coming. This fits the Christian Nationalist agenda of intertwining religious and governmental power. (The world will gradually improve as Christian principles permeate society.)
Dominion Theology overlaps with eschatological beliefs and is influential in some Christian Nationalist circles. It emphasizes direct engagement with societal systems to bring them under Christian control, often merging with postmillennial thought. Christians are called to “take dominion” over society, based on Genesis 1:28 (“fill the earth and subdue it”). As a result, political and cultural institutions should reflect biblical laws and governance.
Critics argue that the blending of eschatology with nationalism often distorts Christian theology, focusing more on political power than on Christ’s teachings about humility, love, and grace.
I agree.
If you’ve read this far… I’m impressed. I’m also exhausted. This past week has taken me back to my seminary days and, honestly, I’ve loved it. Before Be The Change Youth Initiative took us on this life-changing, crazy adventure, my goal was to teach theology at a collegiate level. Since then, the Lord has placed new desires on my heart, but, regardless, sound theology is important… now more than ever. And the only advice I can give is to be mindful of who you sit under. Church leadership wields significant influence, and a pastor’s worldview, especially in a Christian Nationalist context, can shape not only your theology, but also how you engage with others and society as a whole.
Being part of a church means aligning yourself with its doctrine and practices to some extent. If a pastor’s teachings frequently merge faith with political ideology, or create an “us vs. them” mentality, it distracts from the gospel’s central message of grace, love, and humility. Take time to evaluate whether the teaching aligns with the whole of Scripture, challenging you to reflect Christ in your daily life, and equipping you to engage in the world with compassion and integrity.
I’ll end with this. I know a lot of people who call Calvary Chapel Chattanooga their home. I love them dearly. They are genuine, kind-hearted individuals striving to live out their faith and serve others. I’ve seen their passion for their community, their willingness to help those in need, and their desire to follow Jesus sincerely.
Would I choose to attend a church like Calvary? The short answer is NO. Their lead pastor is objectively partisan and this is problematic, to say the least. And I don’t feel called to navigate those waters. (I do feel this is a calling and I know people who are firmly planted in churches that border on Christian Nationalism for this reason.) My fear is that we are moving into an era where we’re no longer choosing our churches based on denominational beliefs or proximity to community… or even for the more superficial things like worship preferences (that’s a jab at myself). My fear is that our tribal political stances have infiltrated sects of the institutional church to the point where unity SEEMS futile.
But, I pray it isn’t. And I’m trying my best to lean into this tension.
Searching for Jesus in A̶m̶e̶r̶i̶c̶a̶ Chattanooga 