I
used to think that religion, on the whole, was a force for good. How
does one find fault with folk who believe they should “Do unto
others as you would have them do unto you”? You can’t. But, do
Christians put their words into action? In the past, I would have
said, yes. Today, I am not so sure.
I have three close
relatives who are working very hard to turn me against the organized,
Christian religion. I see Donald Trump as the devil incarnate. When I
started seeing pro Trump evangelicals popping up on my Facebook feed,
I contacted the source, a relative. He took offence, telling me that
Trump was not as bad as many believe. I haven’t heard from him
since.
The other two, I believe,
see Trump as a King David kinda guy, deeply flawed but being
used by God to
accomplish godly ends. Me?
I don’t see Trump as a tool of God but as a spiritual danger.
Christ himself warned,
“False messiahs and
false prophets will appear and perform great signs and wonders to
deceive . . .”
These thoughts rekindled
thoughts I had as a child in the early ‘50s. I wondered how
Christians could join the Crusades or to take part in the Spanish
inquisition? I decided to revisit this question and others and find
an answer.
The First Crusade was a
Church creation. Announced at the Council of Clermont in 1095, Pope
Urban II appealed to European Christians to go to war with the
infidels and reclaim Jerusalem. And who were the infidels? They were
"the other": Muslims, Jews, pagans and heretical
Christians.
Between 1095 and 1272 there
were at least nine major crusades. As many as 3 million people,
soldiers and civilians, died in these holy wars. Not all died by the
sword. Many succumbed to disease and starvation. It was ugly.
The above does not include
the 1212 Children's Crusade which was not sanctioned by the Church.
From 5,000 to 30,000--the exact number is unknown--children,
adolescents and poor peasants marched off to war under the protection
of Jesus Christ. They never reached the Holy Land. Many were sold
into slavery. Others died of hunger and disease. Very few returned
home. So much for the protection of God.
Wholesale Christian
sanctioned violence reappeared in 1478 with the start of the Spanish
Inquisition. The Spanish Crown was the power behind the Spanish
Inquisition but the Church, true to form, gave its support. The
Vatican had been running smaller, more focused, inquisitions for
years.
A Dominican friar, Bernard
Gui, wrote the book on how to conduct a proper inquisition. Gui was
not as vicious nor as brutal as his reputation would have us believe.
He only had about 40 people burned at the stake. Sadly, other
inquisitors were not as strict at adhering to the guidelines.
The Inquisition lasted
centuries, not wrapping up until 1834. Three and a half centuries of
hatred hidden under a patina of Christian piety. Jews and Muslims who
converted to Christianity, often under duress, were early targets.
Later, Protestants were victims.
A preferred methods of
extracting the "truth" was "water torture."
Waterboarding, similar to water torture, was used by the CIA and
military interrogators at American run detention centers such as
Guantanamo, Abu Ghraib, and black sites. As they say, what is old is
new again.
I was learning that openly
evil conduct by Christians is not an aberration but a feature of
Christianity and of religion in general. Believers rarely acknowledge
the hate within but it is feature never-the-less of many, if not
most, religions
In writing this blog post,
I learned there is a common connection between holding religious
views and supporting some damn ugly policies. For instance, a Pew
Research Center survey, completed about three months into President
Donald Trump’s second term, found that among his evangelical
followers,
72%
approved of the way Trump is currently handling his job as
president.
69%
rated the ethics of top Trump administration officials as excellent
or good.
57% said they trust
what Trump says more than what previous presidents said.
For folk like me, these are
jaw-dropping numbers, but not to others. Today, my relatives are
finding it difficult to drop their support for Trump. I see them as
wearing blinders. They think I am the one wearing the blinders.
Maybe, to a certain extent, we all are wearing blinders.
I find it interesting that
all these relatives are deep into extreme religious views. I'd call
them evangelicals even though they might protest. Evangelicals
frighten me and their God creeps me out. This is the God of "Its
my way or the highway" beliefs. I asked AI for its take on this.
It said:
"That’s
a really insightful observation! It’s true that some strands of
evangelical theology can definitely give off that "my way or the
highway" vibe. This is especially evident in the way certain
evangelical groups or leaders present the exclusivity of salvation
through Jesus Christ. For many evangelicals, salvation is only found
through faith in Jesus, and the stakes are often presented as
incredibly high—either you accept Christ and follow the path to
salvation, or you face eternal separation from God (commonly referred
to as hell)."
Looking deeper into this, I
discovered there are psychological and sociological factors at
play here. These forces reinforce a rigid worldview and encourage
resistance to accepting the beliefs of others.
Cognitive
Closure: Many
extreme evangelicals want certainty and clarity, especially about
complex social issues. This is why they turn to religious doctrines
and authoritarian rhetoric. The clear, black-and-white nature of
these beliefs simplifies complicated matters.
Moral
Absolutism: The
belief in moral absolutes (e.g., abortion is wrong under any
circumstances, marriage is only between a man and a woman) is a
defining feature of religious extremism. Inflexibility and
intolerance soon follow, making
it easier to justify extreme actions—like enacting restrictive
laws—framed as being in service of a higher moral law.
Authoritarianism:
Many people who exhibit evangelical beliefs also exhibit
authoritarian tendencies, favouring strong leaders who promise to
restore order and protect traditional values.
Group Dynamics:
Religious extremists often draw very strict lines between those who
share their faith and those who do not. They view those who do not
conform to their religious or political views as dangerous or
immoral. This encourages extremism when the group feels threatened.
This bring us to my next
childhood question: "How did Christian Germany embrace Nazism
and commit the most unchristian acts?" I found some of the
answer in "Facing History and Ourselves" and the post
"Protestant Churches and the Nazi State."
Some
German Christians called themselves “storm troopers of Jesus
Christ.” The Nazi leadership urged Protestants to unite into a
national church under the centralized leadership of Ludwig Müller, a
well-known pastor and Nazi Party member. Many German Protestants
embraced these changes. By supporting the German Christian movement
and Müller, they could continue to practice their faith while
showing support for Hitler. In a national vote by Protestants taken
in July 1933, the German Christians were supported by two-thirds of
voters, and Müller won the national election to lead them.
Christ is not
an antidote for political poison but instead a strong belief in
Christ can be a marker for those most at risk. Being among the
strongest, most vocal of the faithful appears to confer no
protection.
Letters
written by German soldiers reveal many invoked God and Christian
beliefs. For example, in Soldaten: On Fighting, Killing and Dying"
(by Sönke Neitzel and Harald Welzer), interviews and writings from
German POWs reveal many soldiers saw themselves as good Christians.
They reconciled their faith with committing brutal, vicious actions
by falling back on the concepts of duty, nationalism, and even divine
destiny.
And what is divine destiny,
you ask. Divine destiny
is the concept that a
person, group, or even a nation can have a preordained purpose or
fate set by God. Believers think God has a specific plan for them, or
humanity. People follow God's will to fulfill that destiny.
Sermons given by German
clergy frequently praised the government, and church announcements
expressed not just support but “joyous cooperation” with the Nazi
Party. It seems religious piety among German Protestants was a strong
predictor of support for the Nazi Party.
Scholarly
Sources To Consult:
"The Holy
Reich: Nazi Conceptions of Christianity, 1919–1945" by
Richard Steigmann-Gall – explores how both elites and ordinary
Nazis integrated Christian ideas.
"Between God
and Hitler: German Protestantism and the Nazi State" by
Matthew D. Hockenos – covers Christian responses to the Nazi
regime.
"Letters from
the Wehrmacht" (various collections) – contains firsthand
expressions of faith, duty, and nationalism.
Turning our attention to the
United States, we quickly find ourselves immersed in a complex story
of protestant religious extremism going back decades. During the time
of the slave trade and later during the era of segregation, Christian
beliefs were invoked to justify and defend both the slave trade and
segregation.
But,
you don't have to go back decades to find movements supported by
protestant religious extremism. Think of the Christian nationalism
movement so popular today. This is the belief that the United States
is fundamentally a Christian country and that the laws and political
policies should reflect Christian values.
Christian
nationalists believe in moral absolutism—there is a divinely
ordained moral code that must govern our Christian society. This
leads to intolerance. For example, opponents of abortion,
right-to-life groups, are not expressing a religious or personal view
but a fundamental belief, a core belief that must be enforced at all
political levels, municipal, state and national.
Donald
Trump courted the evangelical vote: In the United States, Donald
Trump used promises to protect Christian values, such as addressing
the moral problem of abortion. He said he would protect the country
from liberal or progressives and woke social policies.
Trump's
authoritarian tendencies, such as his contempt for the press, his
disregard for the separation of powers, and his push for Christian
nationalist policies, point to a troubling trend to merge religious
extremism with political extremism. It has happened in the past and
it never ends well.
Political
and religious extremists share some goals. They both want to restore
what they see as lost greatness and both want to end diversity,
equity and inclusion (DEI) policies. After President Donald Trump
gave his victory speech, dozens of his loyal supporters filled the
lobby at the Palm Beach Convention Center to sing "How Great
Thou Art."
On
the campaign trail, Trump encouraged the mixing of religion and
politics. He proclaimed that he would “protect Christians in our
schools and in our military and our government” and in “our
public square.”
If
you are religious but not evangelical, you may think you are getting
off scot-free. Absolutely not. According to the AP, 6 in 10 white
Catholics voted for Donald Trump as did 6 in 10 Mormons. Trump's
support rises to 8 in 10 when one polls white evangelical Christian
voters. This is an absolutely staggering margin of support.
In
Canada, evangelicals have shown strong support for Pierre Poilievre
over Mark Carney. A
2024 Angus Reid poll indicated that 73% of evangelical Christians
planned to vote for Poilievre's Conservative Party, compared to just
5% for Justin Trudeau's Liberals. During the 2025 federal election,
Poilievre visited multiple churches in Liberal-held ridings.
In
contrast, Mark Carney, despite being a former central banker with a
reputation for steady leadership, did not have a significant
evangelical base. His
campaign focused more on economic stability and national unity,
particularly in response to U.S. President Donald Trump's trade
threats, rather than on religious or social conservative issues.
Carney won
but just barely.
Mark
Carney and his wife, Diana Fox Carney, have been prominent figures in
the global environmental movement, leveraging their expertise and
platforms to advocate for sustainable policies and practices. Mark
and Diana Carney are greens and believe it is possible to be both
green and financially successful.
On
the other hand, Pierre Poilievre is not green and proud of it. If
elected, he promised to bring back plastic bags and drinking straws.
He argued for recycling rather than banning. In truth, many plastic
bags and straws are not recyclable due to contamination, size and
material type (usually polypropylene). Both take centuries to degrade
during which time they shed and breakdown into the microplastics now
found in the human body.
Why
do evangelicals choose Poilievre over Carney? I found more reasons
than I care to list. I would bore you. Let’s
examine only two controversial subjects: the carbon tax and the
banning of plastic bags and straws.
-- The
carbon tax is an act
of government intervention associated
with progressive
Liberal Party policy
and anti-capitalist
climate activism penalizing
targeted industries.
-- Even
if the carbon tax is rebated, people perceive only the upfront cost,
not the long-term climate or economic offsets. They go with their
common sense which is
more accurately called common nonsense.
-- Approximately
80% of Canadians got more back in rebates than they paid out in
carbon tax costs. Conservative
politicians (like Poilievre) framed
the carbon tax as a "tax on everything", heightening misconceptions
that it disproportionately harms working-class families.
-- Climate
policy is sometimes seen as part of a "secular" or
globalist agenda, conflicting with their world view.
-- The
ban on plastic straws and bags is seen
as another example of government
overreach. Bringing
back plastic straws
and bags is a common
sense move to restore
personal choice.
-- Environmental
bans are associated with urban elites, bureaucracy, and "woke"
values.
Poilievre's
messaging around freedom, anti-tax, and individual responsibility
aligns strongly with evangelical political values. For many
evangelicals it is the economy first and the environment second.
I am getting a
glimpse into why Trump and Poilievre do so well with evangelicals and
other religious folk. It is not reassuring.
