What happens when we wrap the cross in a flag and call it faith?

What happens when our love for country grows louder than our love for enemies?

This is a wake-up story. It is about good people who meant well. It is about churches that wanted to do the right thing. It is about a path that seemed holy and strong, but slowly bent us away from Jesus. It is also about grace. How the Spirit opens our eyes. How laughter can heal shame. How the Kingdom looks nothing like the empire.

Our guide is April Ajoy. She grew up inside this world. She knows the songs. She knows the slogans. She also knows the moment when you hear Jesus whisper, “My Kingdom is not of this world,” and it finally lands. In her words, most people who live this way “just think they’re being good Christians.”

Inside the story, it felt like faith

If you grew up in a church like Craig’s or April’s, politics did not feel like politics. It felt like faith. It felt like doing your duty for God. You listened to your pastor. You loved your country. You voted for the “Christian” team. No one said, “We are Christian nationalists.” People said, “We love Jesus. We love America. We want what’s right.”

That is why this is so sticky. You can be sincere. You can be kind. You can also be discipled by a party and not know it. April names it out loud: the biggest problem is not people with evil plans; it’s people who honestly think they’re walking with Jesus while they carry the empire’s sword in their other hand.

Craig admits he once called the GOP “God’s own party.” He laughs now, because he remembers repeating it like a memorized verse. It was the air they breathed.

When you are inside the story, it all makes sense. When Jesus brings you outside, you start seeing the rot. You notice how the fruit tastes. You notice how fear leads the dance. And then you begin to change.

Craig meets April, and something clicks

Craig found April’s work online. He heard her tell stories that felt like his own. Texas. Tennessee. Sports teams. Church life. And a slow shift from party loyalty to King Jesus. He listened to Star-Spangled Jesus and felt like he was hearing pieces of his life sung back to him.

This is how change often starts. Not with a fight. Not with a headline. With a voice that sounds like home, saying true things in a kind way.

Humor tells the truth without the knives

April uses humor on purpose. Not to mock. Not to dunk. To lower the heat. To make space for honesty. She talks about a public “Jesus juke,” where someone tries to rush past hard facts with a holy-sounding line. She tells a story about a famous post that tried to make the Epstein files into a quick lesson about God’s “files.” It was a dodge. It was a “Jesus juke.” Craig loved the term the moment he heard it and wrote it down.

Humor helps. It lets you say, “Hey, we all do this.” It lets people breathe and listen. It reminds us that repentance is good news, not a beating.

When the flag walks into church

Craig remembers the day his church stood for the Pledge of Allegiance in a Sunday service. They honored the troops. They sang “patriotic psalms.” It felt normal. It felt right. It felt like “we are a Christian nation.” Years later he calls it what it was: a rival allegiance sitting next to the cross. He did not see it then. He sees it now.

He says the title of April’s book sticks because it pictures what he saw: Jesus wrapped in a flag. It looks bold. It feels safe. But it slowly swaps the words of the Sermon on the Mount for the words of the party platform. It takes your heart a few inches at a time, until the beat is different and you barely notice.

April nods. She has seen the same thing. She has seen pulpits become podiums. She has seen the cross used as a logo for campaigns. She has seen how easy it is to confuse God’s Kingdom with earthly kingdoms. Jesus said His Kingdom is not from here. We forget that line at our own risk.

“We just thought we were the good guys”

Most of us did not wake up one day and choose empire over Kingdom. We chose “the good guys.” We believed the horror stories about the other side. We assumed force was needed to save what we loved. April tells a story from grad school. After watching a fear-heavy film, she and friends made a Romney campaign video. They thought the nation was on the brink. Fear felt like faith. It also felt normal in their circles.

Looking back, she calls the film “propaganda.” That word can sting. But it fits. Propaganda is anything that trains you to trust Caesar more than Christ, to see neighbors as problems, and to baptize the use of force. Once you name it, you can step out of it.

“Good Christians” vs. the Kingdom of Jesus

April’s simple line keeps echoing: people caught in Christian nationalism do not think they are in a movement. They think they are being faithful. That is the danger. If you believe this is faithfulness, you will double down whenever someone questions it. You will feel attacked. You will defend your team as if you are defending Jesus.

But Jesus did not run for office. He did not build a voting bloc. He did not command His friends to rule others. He told them to love enemies, bless those who curse, forgive seventy-seven times, and pick up a cross. That is not a platform. That is a life.

The early church read the Sermon on the Mount like marching orders. They did not ask Caesar to pass better laws. They became better neighbors. They cared for the poor. They refused to kill. They told the truth. They shared what they had. They chose the Lamb over the sword.

When our modern faith looks more like a campaign than a cross, it is time to repent. Not with shame, but with joy. Jesus is better than any flag.

The line we cross without noticing

How do you know you have drifted from faith into nationalism? April offers a simple test. If you believe something is a sin, you live by that belief. But when you try to make the state force your belief on your neighbor, you have stepped into nationalist territory. The “you can’t do that because it violates my belief” move is a tell. It shifts the center from Christ to control.

Craig applies that to hot-button issues, including Roe v. Wade. He says even if you disagree with abortion, the government should not have power over someone else’s body. “Why don’t we just leave it between the doctor and the person?” he asks. “Everybody’s solution is always government.”

That is a brave thing to say out loud in our times. It is also a clean way to test our hearts. Are we trying to disciple our neighbor or dominate them? Are we offering help or passing a law? Jesus never forced anyone into the Kingdom. He invited and loved.

From the feed to the table

Another test is where we spend our energy. If our “discipleship” happens mainly on social media, we will start to sound like social media. Craig confesses he used to fight online. He learned that face-to-face talks feel different. Looking someone in the eye slows you down. It builds trust. It shifts you from points to people. That is where hearts change.

It does not mean the internet is useless. People watch. People listen. Seeds get planted. But if we want to look like Jesus, we will need more tables than threads. We will need more meals than memes. We will need to move from “owning” to “serving.”

Why laughter matters when the truth hurts

Shame shuts people down. Fear makes people dig in. Humor does something different. It opens a window. It lets light in without burning. That is what April is doing. She names things like “Jesus jukes” and smiles. She lets us see the dodge, but she gives us room to breathe. We are all tempted to spiritualize what we do not want to face. Laughter helps us face it without hating ourselves. Craig’s reaction says it all: “I’ve never heard that before. I love it.”

Humor, used well, is a form of mercy. It is truth with a warm hand on your shoulder. It makes change feel possible.

“No King but Christ” is not a slogan; it is a path

Talk is easy. Slogans are easy. The Kingdom is a way of life. Here is what it looks like in plain steps:

Read the words of Jesus out loud. Slowly. Matthew 5–7. Luke 6. John 13–17. Let them shape you.
Bless the person you dislike. Do one small act of help with no strings.
Stop baptizing your anger. If you post in rage, repent to the person you targeted.
Refuse coercion as a tool. Offer help, not control.
Do your politics at a table. Eat with people who vote different. Listen twice as much as you speak.
Keep your eyes on the cross, not the flag. The flag changes. The Kingdom does not.

These are small, human moves. But that is the point. The Kingdom is yeast and seeds. It grows in simple soil.

The difference that makes all the difference

Here is the heart of it. We are not calling people to hate their country. We are calling people to love Jesus more than their country. To refuse to hurt neighbors in His name. To stop using the state to get our way. To trust slow love over fast force. To pick up a cross instead of a club.

This is not soft. It is strong. Enemy-love is harder than war talk. Forgiveness is harder than payback. Honesty is harder than spin. But this is the way.

When the church remembers this, the church starts to look like Jesus again.

Highlights & Takeaways

Christian nationalism often feels like faith from the inside; many think they’re being faithful to Jesus, not political.
Symbols preach. A flag beside the cross tells a story about who is really in charge. Craig lived it before he saw it.
Humor heals. Naming the “Jesus juke” helps us face spin without shame and move toward truth together.
Coercion is not the Christian way. Loving neighbors means refusing to force them to live by our convictions through the state.
Stop outsourcing love to Caesar. “Leave it between the doctor and the person” models neighbor-first, Kingdom-first ethics.
Move from threads to tables. Real change is face to face, not just online.

Listen & Reflect

🎧 Listen: Notice how humor lowers the heat. April’s “Jesus juke” line helps people admit the dodge without feeling attacked. Where might that help in your circle?

💬 Reflect: Have you ever tried to make the state enforce your beliefs on a neighbor? What would it look like to trust Jesus instead of force?

📖 Read: Matthew 5–7 this week. Ask, “Do my politics look like this?”

🤝 Practice: Take one conversation offline. Invite someone you disagree with to coffee. Listen for 15 minutes before you make a single claim.