Among the more curious books to be found in the Egg's reference library is a volume called The War Against God. It is a collection of essays by various authors, edited by Carl Carmer and published in 1943. The thesis of the book, if an anthology may be said to have a thesis, is that the Second World War, then being fought, was, among many other things, a deliberate assault on the Christian faith, conceived by Hitler and promoted by his deputies.
Nazi leaders are depicted as neo-pagans and outright haters of Christianity, who show to the faithful a display of like-mindedness so superficial that it might pass inspection only by the most willing suspension of disbelief. Hitler is personally quoted to the effect that "one is either a German or a Christian. You cannot be both," and "Nothing will prevent me from tearing up Christianity root and branch, and annihilating it in Germany." Alfred Rosenberg's dream of a National Reich Church is laid out in thirty damning theses, including this one:
The National Reich Church is immutably fixed in its one objective: to destroy that Christian belief imported into Germany in the unfortunate year 800, whose tenets conflict with both the heart and the mentality of the German.
The book is not a masterpiece. Assembled in the midst of battle, it lacks any rigor -- the tone is uneven, many sources are not cited. A review by Albert W. Palmer, president of the Chicago Theological Seminary and a noted pacifist, called it, disdainfully, an "arsenal" for the use of those who "believe[d] the war was a great religious crusade," and argued that it set aside the "economic and imperialistic nature of the ... conflict." He found in it "that lack of discrimination by which partisanship so often tends to overplay its hand," contrasting "moderate" and "noble" essays by Pearl Buck and Martin Niemoller with the "extreme and violent" articles by other authors. The criticisms are fair.
On the other hand, we do well to remember that while the war was by no means a religious crusade, it was in fact a moral one -- while there were racism and imperial ambition on all sides, one side, and only one, was plainly devoted to conquest and genocide. The starkness of this distinction is undermined by many of the steps that were needed to prosecute the war, not least an alliance with the demonic Stalin, but the distinction remains valid.
We bring this up because there does seem to be a latter-day Kirchenkampf emerging in these United States. The second Trump administration began by authorizing immigration enforcement agents to enter houses of worship in pursuit of their quarry. In the following weeks, the Episcopal bishop of Washington DC has been called upon by the president to apologize for asking him to show mercy; the network of Lutheran social ministry organizations have been accused of "money laundering" for contracting with the federal government and with USAID; and the US Conference of Catholic Bishops has been accused by the vice-president of caring more about "their bottom line" than about the needs of the poor or the right administration of justice.
It does not take a genius to see the pattern. Administration officials recognize that their interest in further marginalizing immigrants, poor people at home an abroad, and LGBTQ+ people (with a special animus toward the "T") puts them at odds with the organs of traditional Christianity, which have varying degrees of commitment to the well-being of those same communities. They have long seen conflict with the mainline as an inevitable result of the policies that they pursue.
The traditional churches are naive, but not stupid. They see this same inherent conflict. Bishop Budde's sermon was predicated on it. But that sermon, bold in context but mild in content, is an example of the old-fashioned gentility with which mainline church officials are accustomed to proceed -- she pleaded with a leader to show mercy, among the chief Christian virtues, to those over whom he wields power. It can be called a shot across the bow only if the thing shot is not a cannon ball but a badminton birdie. Bishop Eaton's response to being called a Mafia princess was equally genteel, with a touch of pedantry -- she quoted Scripture and told a familiar historical fable. She might have written it in Greek and made the same impression upon the same audience.
The evident conundrum is that mainline churches, and especially their leaders, are not prepared to engage in ideological battle with belligerent yahoos. They have been trained to speak cautiously, precisely, and respectfully, all the while remembering that they shepherd flocks among whom little internal unity is to be found. On balance, we admire this about them -- especially at the Egg, where our mouth often runs a few meters ahead of our judgment. But we are not sure that such admirable character will serve in the emerging crisis.
Meanwhile, the administration's next move has been to float the idea of a Faith Office, to defend religious liberty, oppose antisemitism and [the much, much more difficult to discern] displays of bias against Christianity and other religions. The very idea raises the sort of hair-splitting legal problems that make a certain class of lawyers salivate. While we suppose that the defense of religious liberty is a valid cause for the American government to undertake, it must be stressed that the defense of religion -- as opposed to irreligion in any of its constitutionally-protected forms -- is not. And the defense of any particular religion -- say, Christianity -- is terrifying.
The anointed head of this office is a curious figure. Paula White-Cain is a televangelist, co-founder and former pastor of Florida institutions called New Destiny Christian Center and Church Without Walls, the latter of which declared bankruptcy soon after her departure. White-Cain has long been part of Trump's circle, identified as his "spiritual advisor."
While in theory it should not affect her call to public service, the most important thing for a Christian reader to understand about White-Cain is that she is not a Christian as that term is conventionally defined. She is a proponent of the Prosperity Gospel, which teaches that God's desire is for the faithful to be rich -- not just in spirit, but in bank account and credit line. Although it developed within the broadly Christian cultural milieu, and uses the Bible and other Christian symbols, the Prosperity Gospel is in fact a different religion, using the language of one faith to tell the story of another. In this, it can compare easily with Mormonism or Gnosticism.
In effect, President Trump has followed the original playbook, and appointed a crypto-pagan to head his Reichskirche. We are amused to note that, while liberals and Constitution-lovers are troubled by the existence of the office, many of the MAGA faithful have expressed dismay over its leader. Evangelicals are often too quick, in our estimation, to accuse people with whom they disagree of "heresy." In this case, however, the term seems apt. Time will tell how they respond.
What concerns us at the Egg most, however, is the response of Christianity's more sedate traditional wing. The new War Against God has begun, and we are eager to see whether the angels will fight on the side of those who typically disdain fighting altogether.
