Opponents of Christian nationalism

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For decades, Americans United for Separation of Church and State called its adversaries “religious extremists.” Today, the group has a more specific target: fighting Christian nationalism.

The decision to sharpen the language was made by Rachel Laser, the group’s president for the last six years. A Jew and the first religious minority to lead Americans United since its founding in 1947, Laser wanted the group to be more clear-eyed about what she sees as a growing threat to religious pluralism in the United States: the belief that American laws should favor Christian values over those of other religions.

But it was not an easy decision for her to make. “On some deep level, I worry about alienating Christians, as many Jews do,” Laser wrote last year in the group’s magazine. “When you are part of a mere 2% of the population, it can feel perilous to risk fostering adversity with 65% of the population.”

That anxiety about the optics of her leadership surfaced even before she took the job. During her interview, Laser recounted to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, she asked the board outright: “Why aren’t you hiring Christian clergy?”

Americans United had always been led by pastors, but Barry Lynn, who served as the organization’s previous leader, from 1992 to 2018, said he welcomes a departure. If there were any concerns about having a Jew lead a fight against Christian nationalism, Laser has proven it’s possible to do so, he said.

Antidote to Chrisitan nationalism
“I’ve thought about that a lot, but I just don’t think it’s a burden or a problem because she works very collaboratively with board members who are themselves Christians and she works in coalitions,” Lynn said. “She understands the depths of the danger that Christian nationalism presents to both Christianity and to religious minorities.”

Laser, 55, is married to intellectual property lawyer Mark Davies. They have three children and the family belongs to Adas Israel, a Conservative congregation in Washington, DC. She began her journey in Chicago, where she grew up with Jewish activist parents who didn’t prioritize religious life. But when she followed a friend to Sunday school, she encountered Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolf, a progressive Reform Jewish leader who was deeply involved in civil rights and other social justice causes.

“I was a very curious kid, and he encouraged me to ask questions,” Laser said, fighting back tears as she recalled Wolf, who passed away in 2008. “The more questions I asked, the more he appreciated me. That’s why I value being Jewish.”

Laser (her name is pronounced LAZZ-er) carried those values into a career focused on public service. After earning a law degree, she held senior roles in organizations advocating for reproductive rights, LGBTQ equality, and interfaith dialogue, including as the deputy director of the Religious Action Center, the advocacy arm of Reform Judaism.

“She’s a knowledgeable Jew who cares deeply about Jewish concerns,” said Rabbi David Saperstein, who led the Religious Action Center during Laser’s time there. “She fit very comfortably into the Reform movement’s view that social justice was a central part of what it means to be a Jew.”

He said he hired her because she was already a proven bridge builder, and it was important for the organization to work across political and ideological lines in Washington. It’s a skill that would be critical when Americans United tapped her in 2018, tasking her with adapting the group for a polarized era.

She took the helm during the second year of Donald Trump’s first presidency, as debates over religion in public life were intensifying. Laser commissioned research to gauge public attitudes and test Americans United’s messaging.

The results were mixed. “Religious extremism” resonated with most audiences, but “Christian nationalism” was less familiar — and even sounded positive to some people. “We didn’t want people to think we were insulting Christianity or patriotism,” Laser said, so she decided against emphasizing the term.

Then came the January 6, 2021, assault on the US Capitol.

Laser saw the insurrection as a wake-up call. In the rioters’ biblical rhetoric and religious rituals, she recognized Christian nationalism as a potent and underappreciated threat. She soon hired Andrew Seidel, a prominent critic of Christian nationalism. On his first day as the new vice president of strategic communications at Americans United, Seidel testified before Congress about the role of Christian nationalism in the Capitol insurrection.

Americans United began using the term regularly, aiming to educate the public while highlighting church-state separation as a critical countermeasure.

“The antidote to Christian nationalism is church-state separation,” Laser said in an interview. “It’s the kryptonite that prevents Christian nationalists from codifying their views into our laws.”

Under Laser’s leadership, Americans United has taken high-profile legal actions, such as suing Oklahoma over its proposed religious charter school and representing a Tennessee Jewish couple rejected by an adoption agency due to their faith. The group also helped raise awareness earlier this year about Project 2025, a detailed conservative proposal for Trump’s second term from the Heritage Foundation.

Donors have responded to these efforts.

But Laser’s tenure hasn’t been without controversy. The organization’s employee union and some former board members have accused her of fostering a toxic work environment and prioritizing publicity over policy and legal work. After commissioning an outside investigation of the organization’s work culture, the board said Laser has its full support.

Laser’s efforts to counter Christian nationalism reflect broader tensions in American society. While religious affiliation is declining, Trump’s political alliance with the Christian right has energized a vocal minority.

“I love you, Christians,” he said on the campaign trail. “In four years, you don’t have to vote again, we’ll have it fixed so good you’re not going to have to vote.” And the vast majority of them did vote for him.

Since the election, Trump has put together for his next administration a slate of deputies that reflects his strong political alliance with the Christian right, from his nominee for White House budget director Russell Vought to his preferred candidate for defense secretary, Pete Hesgeth.

But while giving Republicans a resounding victory, American voters also rejected many of the specific policies promoted by conservative Christians. In seven states, including four won by Trump, voters approved measures to protect abortion rights. All three state proposals to allow public funding to flow to private and religious schools were defeated. Laser calls these outcomes a rejection of Christian nationalism and a continued endorsement of the principle of church-state separation.

In saying that a solid majority of Americans agree with her worldview, Laser relies on surveys like those from the Public Religion Research Institute. “We find that by a margin of about two to one, most Americans reject Christian nationalism,” said PRRI’s president, Robert Jones.

He said he’s confident in the results because the statements the surveys test against are ”fairly unambiguous.”

“They’re things like, ‘US law should be based on the Bible,’ ‘To be truly American, you must be Christian’ and ‘Christians should take dominion over all areas of American society,’” he said.

As the term “Christian nationalism” has come into play in recent years, Jones’ group has been studying how people respond not only to the underlying attitudes, but also to the term itself.

“We are finding people who qualify as Christian nationalists based on our criteria have a positive view of the term, and people who are rejecting that worldview have a negative view of the term,” Jones said. “So it’s not just a term used by one side to smear the other.”

The phenomena can be seen in the strong sales of a 2022 book called “The Case for Christian Nationalism,” by conservative political theorist Stephen Wolfe, and in prominent politicians, like US Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene and Sen. Josh Hawley, who have embraced the moniker.

But even as one term has become more common, the question of what language to use is far from settled. Advocates on either side of the debate over the place of religion in public life make various choices for strategic or other reasons.

Sorting through the rhetoric has required substantial attention from Ruth Braunstein, a professor of sociology at the University of Connecticut. That’s because earlier this year, she was awarded a grant from the Henry Luce Foundation to map out the individuals and groups fighting Christian nationalism.

Many of the 100 groups added to the list so far don’t use the term Christian nationalism.

“Some, for example, talk about defending or promoting pluralistic democracy,” Braunstein said. “Others talk about creating a more inclusive vision of American identity.”

A growing bunch, including Americans United, do. And for Braunstein, it was easy to figure out how Laser’s group fit into her project.

“They have a high profile, historical gravitas and respect, and the resources to be able to provide support to other organizations,” she said. “So I think of them as an important node in this broad network.”

A few weeks ago, Laser went on CNN to be briefly interviewed about her opposition to plans in Oklahoma and Texas to bring Christianity into the classroom. She didn’t mention anything about her identity. She simply delivered Americans United talking points: Parents, not politicians, should decide when and if children are exposed to religion; state mandates sully rather than enhance religion; mixing church and state goes against the country’s founding ideals.

But one viewer who contacted CNN to complain about Laser’s statements discovered through Google, or correctly assumed, that Laser is a Jew. He made her identity the center of a lengthy tirade, which he ended with a broad threat.

“When Jews go into the public square to attack Christianity, then we have a problem,” the angry viewer wrote. “Stop abusing the people that treat you kindly because, eventually, the patience will run out.”

Asked if this kind of threat gives her anxiety about the place of Jews in the United States, she said, “Firstly, I’m Jewish. There’s always anxiety. So, fair question.”

But then she went on to emphasize that she’s never felt alone in her activism. She’s always surrounded by Christian allies.

As soon as she took the helm, for example, she set up a faith advisory for Americans United and pack packed it with pastors (as well as other faith leaders). When her group files lawsuits against policies it opposes, it always includes Christian plaintiffs.

“It’s more important to make it clear that Christians are leaders in this cause,” she said. “In any case, however, I don’t plan to go anywhere. This country has given so much to Jews and I feel gratitude for that. I want to ensure that my kids and my kids’ kids can enjoy and be proud of the same America.”

Amanda Tyler didn’t need President Donald Trump to tell her that Christian nationalism was on the rise. She had seen it reshape churches, rewrite textbooks and realign politics.

But when Trump took the podium last month for his second inaugural address, claiming divine intervention in the assassination attempt — “I was saved by God to make America great again” — she saw something even more unsettling.

The standing ovation.

It wasn’t just applause for a president. It was a moment of ecclesiastical fervor, a collective confirmation that America had not just an elected leader, but an anointed one.

Tyler, a lifelong Baptist and executive director of the Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty, was unsettled but unsurprised. She is leading a growing movement within Christianity that is resisting Christian nationalism — not from the outside, but from inside the church itself. “We’re disgusted to see our faith being used to justify discriminatory policies of all kinds,” Tyler said in an hourlong phone conversation.

A fight from within
Christian nationalism — the idea that America was founded as a Christian nation and should be governed accordingly — has always been woven into the country’s DNA. But in recent years, it has moved from the margins to the mainstream, carried by Trump’s presidency and a base that sees his political survival as divinely ordained.

For decades, opposition to Christian nationalism came mostly from secular organizations, civil rights groups and religious minorities. Now, Christians themselves are leading the charge.

Across denominations — Baptists, Methodists, Presbyterians, and even conservative evangelicals — a coalition of faith leaders is pushing back against a movement they believe is not just a political threat, but a theological one. They argue that Christian nationalism doesn’t just corrupt democracy; it corrupts Christianity.

Tyler’s campaign, Christians Against Christian Nationalism, has drawn over 40,000 signatories, many from churches that once considered themselves apolitical. Her position, she believes, carries unique weight. “Our Jewish and Muslim colleagues tell us, ‘You can speak with more authority on how Christian nationalism is not reflective of Christianity.’”

For Tyler, 47, the fight is also personal. She is married to a Jewish man, and together they are raising their son in an interfaith household. “I feel a different sense of vulnerability for them than I do for myself,” she said.

That vulnerability has been heightened by the growing push to codify Christian nationalist ideas into law. She has seen firsthand how Christian privilege manifests in ways that marginalize others. “It’s a form of othering,” she said, pointing to the fact that public schools close for Christian holidays but not for Jewish or Muslim ones.

Texas as a test case
Last fall, Tyler joined Jewish community leaders to challenge the Texas State Board of Education’s decision to infuse Bible lessons into subjects as varied as math and poetry with their Bluebonnet curriculum. The board approved Bluebonnet by a single vote.

Mark Chancey, a professor of religious studies at Southern Methodist University, has seen these battles escalate. “If the public school can play religious favorites,” he said, “then my tradition might benefit this week and be demonized next week.”

Chancey, a United Methodist who also works with Christians Against Christian Nationalism, added: “Christians differ theologically among themselves. The schools might not teach the Bible stories the way that parents would like.”

From the pulpit to the White House
The movement is no longer just shaping school curriculums — it is influencing federal priorities.

A 2023 poll found that 52% of Americans who attend religious services weekly either identify as Christian nationalists or sympathize with the movement; a separate survey the year before showed 45% think the U.S. should be a Christian nation. Now, with Trump’s return to power, those numbers aren’t just statistics; they are a governing blueprint.

The ideological framework for much of this agenda is detailed in Project 2025, a conservative guidebook that overlaps significantly with Christian nationalist priorities. It calls for aggressive immigration crackdowns, the rollback of LGBTQ+ rights, and bans on abortion and pornography. These policies are designed to enshrine biblical principles and a particular moral order into law.

Several high-profile lawmakers have openly embraced Christian nationalism. Reps. Lauren Boebert and Marjorie Taylor Greene wear the label proudly. House Speaker Mike Johnson promotes many of its tenets. Pete Hegseth, Trump’s new Secretary of Defense, sports tattoos inspired by the Christian Crusades (the medieval wars against Muslims).

esus as ‘political mascot’
The belief that America was divinely chosen has deep roots. Political leaders in the early 1800s mythologized the Founding Fathers as quasi-prophetic figures, with George Washington often recast as a Moses-like prophet. During the Cold War, as the United States sought to distinguish itself from the “godless” Soviet Union, Congress added “under God” to the Pledge of Allegiance and declared “In God We Trust” the national motto.

But this moment feels different for Tyler. She believes Christian nationalism now poses an existential threat to American democracy itself. She argues that it undermines pluralism and twists religion into a tool of power. “It’s a gross distortion of the teachings of Jesus,” she said. “Jesus was all about love — loving our neighbors, loving everyone without regard to difference. Christian nationalism takes Jesus and turns him into a political mascot.”

Despite being the dominant religious group in the country — 68% of Americans who identify with a religion are Christian, as have been all 45 U.S. presidents — Christian nationalists insist they are under attack as an embattled minority.

“It isn’t logically consistent,” Tyler said, exasperated. “One can’t both be a majority faith in the country and also be a persecuted minority.”

A test for religious freedom
Now, that belief in persecution is shaping federal policy. This month, Trump announced a new federal task force to “eradicate anti-Christian bias,” led by Attorney General Pam Bondi. Critics say the initiative is more about advancing Christian nationalism than protecting religious freedom.

“If Trump really cared about religious liberty,” said Rachel Laser of Americans United for Separation of Church and State, “he’d be addressing antisemitism in his inner circle, anti-Muslim bigotry, and hate crimes against religious minorities.”

Tyler, meanwhile, sees the political contradictions. “I’m concerned about how this task force could be weaponized to enforce a particular religious viewpoint by the government,” she said. She finds it hypocritical that this initiative is happening at the same time the administration is dismantling diversity, equity and inclusion offices under the guise of eliminating bias.

A test of church and state separation
For many, opposing Christian nationalism is not just a political stance — it is a theological necessity. Tyler knows that many American Christians see no contradiction between their faith and politics. That’s why she tries to meet them with empathy.

It’s important to resist and reject Christian nationalism as an ideology,” she said, “without demonizing individuals who hold to some of its principles.”

She sees her new book, How to End Christian Nationalism, as both an extension of her faith and a call to action. The founders, she argues, got it right. “The best arrangement, the arrangement that they chose, was to disestablish religion,” she said. “To be sure that the government would not take sides when it comes to picking between religions, or even picking religion over no religion.”

Well I'm a satanist, so of course I oppose Christian nationalism, but everyone should oppose of that, even Christians because this nation is not suppose to discriminate on the basis of religion.