The Fake & Fraudulent Prophets Around the President
September 4, 2026 |
Daniel Henderson
by Desimber Rose Wattleton-Njie
There is a dangerous pattern woven through history, of bodies willing to use the Bible, bodies willing to distort and weaponize faith for personal and political gain. It is the pattern of draping violence in sacred language, of baptizing war in the name of God, of placing bombs in one hand and the Bible in the other.
From the Crusades of medieval Europe to the rise of Nazi Germany, and now into modern geopolitical conflicts, Christianity has too often been manipulated to justify brutality rather than to restrain it. The tragedy is not only the violence itself, but the theological cover that allows it to persist without moral resistance.
Today, as the United States enters yet another cycle of war—this time with Iran—we are once again confronted with a haunting question: How did a faith rooted in the teachings of Jesus become a tool to rationalize death?
The misuse of Christianity in war is not new. During the Crusades (1095–1291), European Christians were called to reclaim the Holy Land under the banner of divine mandate. Pope Urban II promised spiritual rewards, including remission of sins, for those who took up the sword. The result was not holy liberation, but mass slaughter—of Muslims, Jews, and even fellow Christians.
Centuries later, in Nazi Germany, elements of Christian theology were twisted to support racial ideology. While not all Christians supported the regime, segments of the church aligned themselves with Adolf Hitler’s vision, promoting a version of Christianity stripped of its Jewish roots and infused with nationalist supremacy. The “German Christian” movement sought to present Hitler as a divinely appointed leader, a protector of a chosen people.
This pattern of elevating political leaders as instruments of God while silencing moral critique has not disappeared. It has evolved.
In the United States, a strain of Christian nationalism once shamed into the shadows has taken hold that closely mirrors these historical distortions. It is a theology that confuses political dominance with divine favor, and military aggression with righteous purpose.
Within this framework, leaders are often cast as “chosen by God,” beyond reproach. Policies are shielded from criticism by appeals to prophecy or divine will. War is not debated, it is sanctified.
This is not faith. It is ideological projection.
Rather than allowing the gospel to shape belief and action, this movement reshapes the gospel to justify its own ambitions. It creates a moral blindfold, one that “sees no evil, hears no evil, and speaks no evil” as long as power is maintained. But the teachings of Jesus offer no such exemption.
The current war with Iran reveals the devastating consequences of this theology.
On the first day alone, reports indicate that approximately 175–180 people were killed, including 110 schoolchildren—54 girls and 66 boys—when U.S. Tomahawk missiles struck a location believed, based on outdated intelligence, to be a military site but was in fact a school.
These were not combatants.
They were children.
Children who had no voice in policy, no influence over governments, no role in conflict. Children, as scripture affirms, created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27).
And yet, in the aftermath, there has been no clear accountability—only justification, deflection, and in some corners, theological rationalization. Some have even suggested that such violence plays a role in fulfilling divine prophecy, as though the death of innocent children could be part of God’s redemptive plan.
But this claim collapses under even the most basic reading of the gospel.
The life and teachings of Jesus consistently reject violence, domination, and retaliation.
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus declares:
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.” (Matthew 5:9, NRSV)
Peacemaking is not passive—it is an active, costly commitment to resist violence and pursue reconciliation.
When confronted with violence at his arrest, Jesus rebukes it directly:
“Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.” (Matthew 26:52, NRSV)
This is not situational ethics. It is a clear rejection of the cycle of violence.
Even more radically, Jesus commands:
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:44, NRSV)
This teaching dismantles any theological framework that seeks to justify hatred, domination, or annihilation of the “other.”
The Apostle Paul echoes this ethic:
“Do not repay anyone evil for evil… If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” (Romans 12:17–18, NRSV)
And again:
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:21, NRSV)
These are not abstract ideals. They are moral directives.
To claim that Jesus sanctions war—particularly wars that result in civilian casualties—is to fundamentally misunderstand his message.
Jesus did not conquer through force.
He did not establish power through violence.
He did not call down armies—he laid down his life.
The cross itself stands as a rejection of imperial violence, not an endorsement of it.
When Christianity is used to justify war, it ceases to reflect Christ and instead mirrors the very systems of domination that crucified him.
This is the contradiction at the heart of Christian nationalism: it proclaims allegiance to Jesus while embracing methods he explicitly rejected.
History warns us about the danger of assigning divine legitimacy to political leaders.
When leaders are framed as “chosen by God,” accountability erodes. Criticism becomes heresy. Loyalty becomes a form of worship.
This dynamic was present in the Crusades.
It was present in Nazi Germany.
And it is present today.
But scripture offers a different model.
In 1 Samuel 8, when Israel demands a king, God warns them that centralized power will lead to exploitation and oppression. The biblical narrative consistently challenges unchecked authority.
Even King David, considered chosen by God, is held accountable for his actions (2 Samuel 12). No leader is beyond moral scrutiny.
MoModern wars are rarely about righteousness. More often, they are about control—of land, of resources, of influence.
The current conflict with Iran raises serious questions about motive. What strategic or economic interests are at play? Who benefits from escalation? And at what cost?
Scripture repeatedly condemns those who pursue power at the expense of human life:
“Woe to those who make unjust laws… to deprive the poor of their rights.” (Isaiah 10:1–2, NIV)
And again:
“They covet fields and seize them… they defraud people of their homes.” (Micah 2:2, NIV)
These prophetic warnings speak directly to systems that prioritize gain over justice.
If Christianity is to have any moral authority in the modern world, it must disentangle itself from systems of violence and power.
It must return to its foundation:
The Bible is not a weapon to justify war.
It is a witness that calls humanity toward justice, mercy, and humility (Micah 6:8).
We can no longer afford a faith that blesses bombs while ignoring bodies.
We can no longer accept a theology that excuses the death of children as collateral damage in a divine plan.
And we can no longer remain silent while scripture is used to shield injustice from critique.
Because at the center of Christianity is not empire—but a man who chose love over violence, truth over power, and sacrifice over domination.
If we claim to follow Christ, we must do the same.
