The Theology of the Cross: A Path to Resist Christian Nationalism

We are living at a time when the world is increasingly being shaped by division, fear, and the seductive allure of power cloaked in religious language. Martin Luther’s theology offers a clarion call to us who seek to embody the way of the crucified Christ. Central to his reforming vision, the Theology of the Cross stands as a corrective to the cultic distortions of Christian nationalism whose ideology has traded the cross of Christ for the sword of empire, and the humility of the Gospel for the arrogant idolatry of power.

In confronting the rise of nationalist ideologies in the United States, Luther’s insights pose challenging questions: What does it mean to follow Christ crucified in a time of political crisis? What does the cross teach us about resisting the temptation to baptize worldly power in the name of God?

Luther had a simple yet revolutionary conviction: God is revealed most fully not in glory, power, or triumph, but in the suffering and death of Jesus Christ. In the 1518 Heidelberg Disputation, Luther contrasts the “theology of glory”––human attempts to grasp God through power, success and human wisdom––with the “theology of the cross,” which recognizes that God chooses to be revealed in weakness, suffering, and the foolishness of the cross (Heidelberg Disputation, 20).

What does this mean for Christians today? It means that any attempt to align our faith with worldly power, national glory, or cultural supremacy is a betrayal to the cross. Christian nationalism insists on fusing faith with political identity, and this is an embodiment of the theology of glory that Luther rejected. Instead of seeking God in the brokenness of the cross, it seeks God in the triumphalism of flags, borders, colonization, and weapons.

By contrast, the cross inspires us to a radically different way of being. In Christ crucified, we come face-to-face with a God who enters into our human suffering, who identifies with the oppressed and marginalized, and who overturns the powers of the world through their self-giving love. This is the God who, as Paul reminds us, has chosen “what is foolish in the world to shame the wise” and “what is weak in the world to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1.27). To follow the way of this God is to renounce the golden idol of nationalism and instead embrace the costly, countercultural way of the Gospel.

When placed under the microscope, Christian nationalism reveals its idolatry. It places national allegiance above allegiance to Christ, conflating the kingdom of God with the interests of a singular political or cultural order. Throughout scripture this idolatry is condemned. In the Old Testament, the prophets rail against those who trust in military might or national pride rather than God (Isaiah 31.1; Jeremiah 9.23-24). In the New Testament, Jesus teaches that no one can serve two masters (Matthew 6.24) and reminds Pilate that his kingdom “is not from this world” (John 18.36).

Our Lutheran Confessions echo this warning against idolatry. The Augsburg Confession declares that the true unity of the Church is found not in political structures or cultural conformity, but in the “preaching of the Gospel and the administration of the sacraments” (Article VII). When Christian nationalism seeks to define faith by ethnicity, political ideology, or national allegiance, it undermines this Gospel-centered unity and replaces it with a false gospel of exclusion, division, and dominance.

How, then, can Luther's theology guide us in resistance and addressing the fractures of our society? Here are three insights from the Theology of the Cross that can shape our response:

1.     Embrace the Cross, Not the Sword

The cross calls us to renounce violence, domination, and the pursuit of power. As Christian nationalism often justifies militarism and authoritarianism, we are called to instead follow the way of Christ, who “emptied himself, taking the form of a servant” (Philippians 2.7). This calls us to stand with the vulnerable, advocate for peace, and reject and theology that seeks to wield power over others.

2.     Stand with the Oppressed

Luther’s conviction that God is revealed in suffering leads us to see Christ in those who are marginalized, oppressed, and excluded. Whether it is immigrants or refugees, communities of color, or LGBTQ+ individuals, the cross calls us to solidarity with those whom society seems “least.” As Jesus declares, “Truly, I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these … you did it to me” (Matthew 25.40).

3.     Speak Truth to Power

The Theology of the Cross compels us to tell the truth about sin––our own, and the world’s. Christian nationalism thrives on lies: the lie that some people are more valuable than others, the lie that faith can be co-opted for political gain, the lie that power is to be worshiped rather than challenged. As Lutherans, we are called to proclaim the truth of the Gospel, which exposes these lies and announces the radical inclusivity of God’s kingdom.

Luther’s theology is a reminder that the power of the cross is never hidden though often appearing weak and foolish in the eyes of the world. In the face of overwhelming forces of nationalism and hatred we find ourselves, it is easy to feel powerless. But the cross teaches us that God works precisely through what is weak and despised.

Friends, this is the theology of hope. It is a theology that assures us God is ever-present in our struggles for justice, that Christ walks with us in our resistance, and that the resurrection awaits us on the other side of the cross. Yes, the way of the cross is never easy, but it is the way of life, liberation, and love.

As Lutherans, this is what we have inherited: a theological tradition that calls us to resistance, to standing with the oppressed, and to proclaim the Gospel of Christ crucified. No longer can we stand at a distance and observe. Our inheritance insists that we take up the cross and follow Jesus, to reject the false promises of Christian nationalism, and bear witness to the God who is made known in vulnerability and love.

“Here I stand; I can do no other.”

The Rev. Eric Randolph