On Condemning Christian Nationalism and Resisting Settler-Colonial Privilege: A Sermon for the 250th Anniversary of the USA
- highlandspcwy
- Jul 14
- 7 min read
Did you know that of the 56 signers of the Declaration of Independence, 12 were Presbyterian?
This past week, our General Assembly (GA) was asked to consider an overture concerning this history. It proposed that the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) formally recognize the distinctive role Presbyterians and the wider Reformed tradition played in the founding of our nation. The overture pointed out that Reformed Christians—Presbyterians and Congregationalists—were the largest religious group among the signers of the Declaration of Independence and the largest religious body in the thirteen colonies.
The intentions behind this overture were sincere, and seemingly good. The authors are clearly concerned about the current state of our country—a concern I know many of us share—and hoped that such a commemoration might help reclaim Reformed Christian principles like democratic governance, checks and balances on power, and the conviction that every person is made in the image of God.
The purpose of the overture was not to stir up Christian nationalism, but to encourage what the authors call “honest patriotism.”
And yet, this past week, in the days leading up to the 250th Anniversary of the signing of that Declaration, the General Assembly of Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) declined to commemorate Presbyterians’ role in the American Revolution.
The committee’s concern was not with the teaching of Presbyterian history. Rather the concern was with how this overture framed that history.
One of the advisory committees for race and gender equity noted that if passed, the overture “risked sanctifying a narrative that binds the Church’s witness to a national origin story…an origin story that is rooted in conquest, exclusion, and the erasure of Indigenous peoples, particularly women and gender expansive persons.”
The committee urged that such a commemoration risked conflating the story of the emancipation of white, land-owning men—settlers to this land—with the larger story of God's liberation, a story that has always been for all people, not merely for those who already possessed power.
For the largest Presbyterian denomination in the country to decline such a celebration felt like a momentous to me. It is always tempting to tell a story where we are the good guys at the center of the story.
By declining to commemorate the 250th anniversary in this way, the General Assembly is not discouraging church members from being grateful for their Presbyterian/Reformed heritage and its contributions to American civil society.
Rather the General Assembly was reaffirming the important separation of church and state, and reiterating that the Church's first allegiance is to the reign of God—not to any nation, political movement, or founding story.
To celebrate our role in the founding of this nation would risk elevating nationalism over the church’s gospel witness. And at this moment, it was the conviction of the General Assembly that the church needs to be living into our interconnected global identity, and to live with humility as Reformed Christians.
For, the Church is continuously called to remember that we are one small part of the global body of Christ. For the Bible did not say that God loved one nation, but that God so loved the world. And at a time like this, we should remember that our deepest allegiance is not to any nation, but to God.
This became especially apparent in the experiences and stories of the international Partner Advisory Delegates to the General Assembly.
These delegates came to GA as representatives from Reformed churches from around the world—from Canada, to Thailand, the Czech Republic, Bangladesh, and Egypt. Each took part in committee work and the advisory votes at plenary.
But not everyone made it to Milwaukee. Our Partner Advisory Delegates from the Presbyterian churches of Venezuela and Cuba—who had faithfully participated in our online committee work for more than a week—were unable to join us in Milwaukee. Because of current U.S. immigration policies, they were denied entry into the country.
Their absence was a painful reminder that hospitality is never merely a private virtue. It is a public one. Communities and nations can practice hospitality—or fail to.
That brings us to today's story from Genesis.
Our Genesis passage marks the beginning of a new chapter.
The story shifts from Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar to the next generation.
In many ways, it is a story about the children of immigrants—about finding home among the people we meet along the way.
After all, the ancestors of Israel were wanderers. They crossed borders, left familiar places, and built lives in new lands. Their stories remind us that the human impulse to migrate, seek a better future, and make home in unfamiliar places is one of humanity's oldest traditions.
By Genesis 24, Abraham had finally settled in Canaan, but he still felt a deep connection to Nahor, the place where he had grown up. Wanting Isaac to remain connected to that part of his family's story, Abraham sent his servant—possibly an enslaved man—back to Nahor to find a wife for his son.
Upon his arrival, he meets a young woman who had just drawn water from a well. Her name we will learn is Rebekah.
The servant determines that if this young woman shares her water with him, she is the one for Isaac. This is not some ancient superstition or an arbitrary test.
Throughout Scripture, hospitality is one of the clearest signs of righteousness. Again and again, God's people are commanded to welcome the stranger, care for the traveler, feed the hungry, and make room for the outsider. Time and again, the Bible judges individuals—and entire societies—by how they treat those with the least power.
Rebekah's willingness to share water with a weary stranger, and even with his thirsty camels, reveals her character. Before anyone knows her lineage or her beauty or her future, Scripture first tells us that she is hospitable.
Today, we no longer decide whether someone would make a good spouse by watching for them to offer water to camels. But the story still asks us an important question: How do we treat the stranger? And not just individually, but as a society?
It reminds me of the churches and volunteers who leave water in the desert along the U.S.–Mexico border so that desperate migrants do not die of thirst. It is a small scale, but organized act of mercy, in an otherwise desperate situation.
Offering a drink to someone who is thirsty—especially to someone who is poor and marginalized— is among the oldest expressions of biblical righteousness.
In today’s gospel message we see another image of what this righteousness looks like—this time expressed through food.
Herod and Jesus embody two radically different ways of embodying leadership.
In the verse immediately preceding today’s readings, King Herod is becoming increasingly erratic and consumed by fear. Threatened by the growing movement around Jesus, he imprisons and ultimately executes Jesus' cousin and fellow minister, John the Baptist.
His kingdom is sustained by violence, scarcity, and the desperate need to protect his own power.
Upon hearing the news of John’s death, Jesus immediately demonstrates just how different the reign of God is to Herod’s kingdom—through the feeding of the 5,000.
Through this miracle of , Jesus proclaims that God’s rein is marked by abundant generosity. It is marked by peaceful resistance to evil—spiritual evil, but also material evil, like entrenched poverty and societal neglect. It is marked by the relinquishing of power over others in order to build power together.
Here, Herod represents the world’s present evil, while Jesus points to the present and coming realm of God. Evil is here—all around us. And we are called to resist it, by embodying a different way. The way of the prince of peace. The one who takes compassion on the sick and hungry, healing and feeling them.
This past week, the Presbyterian Church declined to commemorate our role in the American Revolution, but we did speak to the present evils in our world. This week, the Presbyterian Church passed not just one, but two policies condemning white Christian nationalism.
The first and most important declares white Christian nationalism a theological error—and directed church leaders to expand our public opposition to the movement through ecumenical partnerships and public witness.
What struck me most, however, was that just one week earlier the Presbyterian Church in America, a conservative offshoot of the historic Presbyterian Church, also voted to condemn Christian nationalism.
It is rare for our two denominations to agree on much of anything. My hope is that this uncommon moment of agreement marks the beginning of a broader reckoning within American religious and civic life.
For the Bible teaches, again and again, that righteousness is measured not by how fiercely we love and stand by our tribe, but by how fiercely we love and stand by the neighbor and stranger.
This past week, I was reminded that Herod’s kingdom is still here with us.
It is a kingdom that hoards—that believes there is never enough.
It is a kingdom that excludes and fears equality and fairness.
But I was also struck by perhaps the hardest truth of the Gospel:
The truth that the struggle between Herod's kingdom and God's reign does not run between political parties, denominations, or nations.
It is not a struggle only “out there.”
It is a struggle that takes place within every human heart, and every human community.
For if Herod's kingdom is built on fear, scarcity, exclusion, and the protection of our own comfort, then none of us are immune to its pull.
We all carry the seeds of both kingdoms within us.
We can cling to comfort when the Gospel calls us toward costly hospitality.
We can remain silent when violence is carried out in our name.
We can recognize injustice in the abstract— like racism and colonialism— while resisting the hard work of examining our own lives, our own assumptions, and our own participation in systems that wound our neighbors.
But we have already been given the tools to resist Herod's kingdom, within ourselves, and within society.
It begins with telling the truth. The truth about who we are. The truth about how we got here.
For as a pastor friend wrote this week:
"What makes the church different from a civic organization, is radical honesty. That radical honesty that urges us to acknowledge our own captivity to sin and harm—and who have received God’s grace precisely as people who cannot save themselves. "
It is this radical honesty which leads to our ultimate liberation in Christ.
For as today’s words of assurance proclaim—
God’s gift is love that liberates, hope that inspires,
grace that transforms.
Each of us alone and all of us together
are forgiven and set free.
May it be so—Amen.
Sermon originally preached by Rev. Delaney on 7.5.26.