Reclaiming the Cross
What Faithful British Christianity Looks Like In The Face Of Christian Nationalism
This article is part of the Sign Posts series, which explores where 2,000-year-old faith meets 21st-century challenges—from artificial intelligence to mental health, from science-faith tensions to interfaith dialogue, helping fellow pilgrims navigate the intersection of ancient beliefs and modern realities. Read more Signposts here.
The question came three days after Part 3 went live. David sent me a message via Substack.
"I've read everything you've written," he said. "I understand the problem. Christian nationalism is bad theology, selective Bible reading, and corrupted witness. I get it. But what do I actually do? My brother-in-law shares Tommy Robinson content at every family gathering. My book group thinks I'm overreacting. And honestly, I'm not sure what faithful British Christianity looks like if it's not that."
I didn't have a quick answer. After three articles explaining what's wrong, I owe David something better than "don't do that."
Here's where I've landed: we don't need to import an alternative. We already have one. British Christianity has its own heritage of cultural engagement—and it looks nothing like what's being waved at those rallies.
We Have Our Own Story
One thing struck me while researching this series: how much British Christians have forgotten our own theological heritage. We import American culture war frameworks as if we have nothing of our own.
But we do.
Consider the Celtic Christian tradition. When Augustine of Canterbury arrived in 597, he found Christians already here—a tradition emphasising creation's goodness, God's presence in ordinary things, pilgrimage as spiritual practice. Patrick, Columba, Aidan—they didn't conquer culture from above. They walked through it, attending to God's presence within it. They founded communities of prayer and learning that preserved civilisation through dark centuries. Not by seizing power. By faithful presence.
Consider Julian of Norwich, the fourteenth-century anchoress whose visions gave us "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." Julian wrote during plague, war, and social upheaval. She didn't promise England would be great again. She promised God's love would ultimately prevail—hope that transcends every national fortune. Her theology was cosmic, not tribal—divine love extending to "all that is made," not just her people.
Consider the seventeenth-century Baptists and Quakers who suffered imprisonment rather than accept state-enforced religion. Thomas Helwys died in prison for insisting that faith cannot be coerced. These dissenters understood what we've forgotten: when church and state fuse, both get corrupted. They gave us religious freedom—not despite their faith but because of it.
Consider the Clapham Sect—Wilberforce and his friends—who spent decades in patient parliamentary work to abolish the slave trade. They didn't seize power through a culture war. They persuaded, organised, persisted, failed, tried again. They changed Britain not by dominating it but by serving it. The campaign took twenty years of defeats before victory. That's what faithful cultural engagement actually looks like.
Consider the Anglo-Catholic slum priests of the nineteenth century who moved into London's most desperate parishes. Stewart Headlam, Charles Lowder, Arthur Stanton—they didn't lecture the poor about Christian values from a comfortable distance. They lived among those they served, sharing their conditions, advocating for their dignity. Faith expressed through incarnational presence, not cultural conquest.
This is our heritage. Patient persuasion rather than power seizure. Service rather than dominance. Presence rather than conquest. Hospitality rather than exclusion.
When someone gets excited about "taking back the culture," we can say: "We have our own tradition of cultural engagement. Let me tell you about Christians who actually changed Britain—and how they did it. That's our story. Why abandon it for an American import that contradicts everything they stood for?"
What Faithful Response Looks Like
So, what does this heritage mean in practice? David needs more than history. He needs Monday morning.
For Individual Christians
Start with questions, not accusations. When David's brother-in-law shares another video, attacking won't help. But asking might: "What worries you most about Britain's future?" Listen to the legitimate anxiety beneath the rhetoric. Then, gently: "I share some of those concerns. But I'm troubled by how Christianity is being used. The Jesus I read about doesn't look like what I saw at that rally."
You won't change his mind in one conversation. But you'll have planted a seed.
Build relationships that make abstraction harder. Christian nationalism trades in faceless categories: "Immigrants." "Muslims." "Asylum seekers." Fear of categories crumbles against knowledge of persons. When David's brother-in-law talks about "the Muslim problem," David might ask: "Which Muslim? The family whose kids play with mine?"
Know your neighbours across differences. Share meals. Hear stories. Let relationship defeat abstraction.
Speak clearly when clarity is needed. Not angrily. Not self-righteously. But directly: "I've seen those videos too. And I'm troubled by what's being done in Christ's name. Can we talk about it?"
You're not trying to win arguments. You're bearing witness. There's a difference.
For Church Leaders
Form people through worship, not just information. Your liturgy shapes people more deeply than any sermon.
When you pray for "all who live and work in this community," you teach that the church's concern extends beyond its membership. When you gather diverse people around Christ's table, you practise the kingdom that transcends every human division. When you baptise someone into Christ rather than into Britain, you teach where primary identity lies.
These liturgical practices quietly resist nationalism's claims week by week. Don't underestimate their formative power.
Preach your own tradition. When Seven Mountains Dominionism circulates in your congregation, you don't need American counter-arguments. You need British Christian history. Tell them about Wilberforce's patience, the slum priests' presence, the dissenters' costly commitment to religious freedom. Show them what faithful cultural engagement actually looked like—and how different it is from what's being sold today.
Name the problem clearly. Your people need to hear it from you—their pastor, who knows them, who breaks bread with them. Institutional statements matter less than pulpit clarity. If Christianity is being corrupted in ways that affect your congregation, say so.
For Congregations
Engage legitimate concerns with better answers. Christian nationalism exploits genuine grievances: economic decline, housing costs, cultural disorientation, and the sense that ordinary people have been forgotten. If the church only says "nationalism is wrong" without addressing these problems, we abandon people to dangerous solutions.
What would faithful engagement look like? Advocacy for economic justice in struggling communities. Involvement in housing campaigns. Presence in places experiencing rapid change—not judging but walking alongside.
This is harder than culture war. It requires patient local presence rather than dramatic national campaigns. But it's what the church has done at its best.
Create spaces for honest conversation. Not everyone drawn to nationalist rhetoric is a hardened ideologue. Many are confused, anxious, and looking for answers. Churches can host conversations where people process their concerns without being shamed—and encounter better frameworks than nationalism provides.
The Courage This Requires
I won't pretend this is easy.
Speaking up strains relationships. You become "the difficult one." Family gatherings get awkward. Some friendships cool. Church leaders face harder choices—congregants leaving, giving dropping, conflict where there was peace.
And beneath the social cost lies a quieter grief. These are people you love, drifting toward something you believe will harm them and others. You want to be wrong. You're not entirely sure you're right. The loneliness of seeing something others don't—or won't—is its own kind of suffering.
But here's the truth: the cost we face is mild discomfort. Awkward conversations. Strained dinners. Maybe losing some church members.
That's not martyrdom. It's not imprisonment or execution. The Christians we claim as heritage—Helwys dying in prison, Bonhoeffer hanged by the Nazis, the slum priests risking cholera—faced actual danger. We face social friction.
If we can't manage that, what does our faith actually mean?
The church has never followed the path of least resistance when faithfulness required otherwise. We're not called to save the church—Christ does that. We're called to faithful witness in our moment, wherever that leads.
A Prayer for This Moment
Lord Jesus Christ, you came not to be served but to serve. Forgive us when we've sought power instead of following your way.
You welcomed Samaritan and Roman, tax collector and leper. Forgive us when we've drawn boundaries you never drew.
You refused the crowds who wanted to make you king by force. Forgive us when we've tried to seize what you surrendered.
Give us the courage to speak when your name is misused. Give us wisdom to distinguish love of country from worship of nation. Give us hearts wide enough to welcome those you send to us.
And when we fail—as we will—remind us that your kingdom doesn't depend on our success. You are building your church. The gates of hell will not prevail.
Come, Lord Jesus. Your kingdom come. Your will be done—on earth as in heaven, in Britain as everywhere else.
Amen.
Questions for Fellow Pilgrims
What's one practical step you can take this week to embody the gospel's welcome?
How do you navigate conversations with family or friends drawn to nationalist rhetoric? What's worked? What hasn't?
Which figures from British Christian heritage speak most powerfully to you? How might their example shape your response?
Where does faithful patriotism tip into dangerous nationalism in your own thinking?
Going Deeper
British Christian Heritage:
Benedicta Ward, High King of Heaven: Aspects of Early English Spirituality (1999)
Kenneth Leech, Subversive Orthodoxy (1992)
David Bebbington, The Nonconformist Conscience (1982)
Eric Metaxas, Amazing Grace: William Wilberforce and the Heroic Campaign to End Slavery (2007)
Theological Framework:
Nick Spencer, "Christianity, Nationhood and the Rise of Christian Nationalism," Theos research project (2025-2027)
Paul Bickley, "On Nationalism: Are You Proud of Britain?" Theos Think Tank (2025)
Lesslie Newbigin, The Gospel in a Pluralist Society (1989)
For Churches:
Joint Public Issues Team resources — https://jpit.uk/
Evangelical Alliance, "Christian Nationalism in the UK: A Contest for the Nation's Soul" (2025)
Theos Think Tank reports — https://www.theosthinktank.co.uk/
This concludes the "When the Cross Becomes a Weapon" series. Thank you for walking this difficult path with me. The conversation continues—in your churches, in your families, in your daily witness. May we be faithful.