I am many things. Nigerian. American. Political Scientist. Writer. Friend. Sister. Daughter. And here is one you may not expect to see: I am a spirit-filled, born-again Christian. I do not say that lightly. When I say I am a Christian, I don’t just mean that I identify as one culturally, the way two-thirds of Americans do or that my parents are Christians and raised me as one. No, I mean I study the Bible, I meditate on God’s word daily, and I am eternally, desperately committed to pleasing God and obeying his commandments—loving Him and loving people. As any honest Christian would tell you, I struggle but if there is a “Christian tenet” you better believe I abide by it or at least try to. If anyone could revel and boast in their extreme commitment to strictly obeying the law, it would be me. I say none of this to boast. I say this in the spirit of Apostle Paul who said he was a pure-blooded Jew, a real Hebrew, if there ever was one, in response to the Jews—mutilators, Paul called them—who were dogged in their belief that to be saved and accepted into the fold of faith, you had to be circumcised. Paul brought a radical idea: salvation belongs to both the Jew and the Gentile.
America is an experiment, founded on a premise of democratic ideals and principles like the rule of law, equality, liberty. It is the one country where this starry-eyed daughter of Nigerian immigrants could embody the spirit of resilience and grit and hard work it holds so that in so many ways, I become American. So that in fully embracing this spirit, in accepting the promise and opportunity of America, I can embrace its complexity and multi-dimensionality and what does it produce in me? It reinforces these same ideals and values that light up my torch to expect change and progress. It seduces me into an unwavering faith in its institutions especially as they stand in stark contrast with those I grew up with in Nigeria.
The ultimate result of these complex identities is a core value: that I can interpret what it means to be Christian and then to be American—knowing that the foundation of this country asserts you don’t have to be the former to be the latter and that the promise of the latter primarily rests on knowing the former does not have to concern you—is to work tirelessly and believe vehemently in a society that works for not just the most of us, but the least of us. To be Christian and to be American, I had assumed, carried along certain values and fortitude reminiscent of those my progenitors taught me through their actions such as freedom and equality and justice. Of course, American values have often meant different things to different people. For me however: the strive to treat everyone equally regardless of who they are; the forceful sense of optimism that permits second chances; the freedom to believe in yourself; and the basic principle of a caring society. These values are reminiscent of my own family and my Christian faith.
So, when I woke up on November 6th 2024, and fully grasped the electoral mandate for the Republican candidate, a journey into disillusionment (among other things) with Christianity as practiced by Americans unraveled. It’s not that I was naïve; I always understood, as Muslims and members of other religions do, that often times, a few fanatics can grab your faith and bastardize it. It is why no matter what the so-called Christian Nationalists did, I could cling onto hope: hope that there were more of us than them. But after November 5th, 2024, after seeing masked men, Christian Nationalists, march the capitol on America’s 250th birthday this weekend chanting racist and anti-immigrant rhetoric, that hope feels a bit shaky. It can be hard to reconcile all of it. For instance, how or do I even still align myself with a group of people so viciously hateful and vile but who claim to serve the same God I do? But I don’t recognize that God. I don’t recognize the God that calls them to idolize a person. I don’t recognize the God that calls them to discard the poor, the hungry, and villainize the immigrant. What I know about God, about the gospel, stands in stark contrast with what the loudest Christians in this country embody. So, either I am wrong or they are wrong. Are we supposed to be afraid of white Christians? Surely, we can still stand side by side with them and worship God? It occurs to me that these people I worship with would call me vermin because of my immigrant background, they would diminish my extraordinary achievements by labeling me a DEI hire.
It is had understand a world where the person who cheats (in business, in marriage, and in life); who spews such blatant hate every time he opens his mouth; who is so lacking in character thrives while the rest of us, some of whom wake up every day choosing to do good—to love others and love God—suffer. A world where injustice doesn’t just thrive, it wins. It is defiant.
In a video circulating online from 2016, a self-proclaimed white supremacist explained in clear terms that he voted for the Republican candidate for one reason only: his policies, if implemented, would “slow the dispossession of whites in the United States.” He said all of these while feasting on Chinese food. Something about that video, quintessential of what this movement has become, exposed a truth I had refused to confront: that too many of the white Christians I could worship with wouldn’t want me in this country. It’s a sobering reality to confront. It is a terrifying reality to grapple with. Too often, the response to this kind of worry is “even though we voted a particular way, even though we solidly support this movement, we do not think like this. We also don’t think he is racist.”
Deep down, my values don't longer align with the values of these so-called Christians. I grew up in a Christian faith that decried certain character. When talking to young girls about choosing a husband, 1 Corinthians 13 is presented as an ideal mirror to hold up to your potential suitor. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love does not boast. Love is not proud. We say to young girls, replace love with his name. So, John Doe is patient. John Doe is Kind. He does not boast. He does not demand his own way. He does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices when the truth wins out. No matter how hard you try to insert the Christian leader’s name, it wouldn’t fit. That is, of course, if it’s done after you extricate yourself from the sea of the blatant delusions and cognitive dissonance that clouds our world. There is a similar passage in 1 Timothy 3, where Apostle Paul described the traits of a would-be leader in the church. He must be a man whose life is above reproach. He must be faithful to his wife. He must have a good reputation. He must live wisely. People outside the church must speak well of him.
It is why it confuses me that others of this same faith saw a man simulating a sex act at a rally on national T.V. in a video so vile, you could not possibly show your children and decided THAT was the Christian choice. That a person so frighteningly crude, who has never once displayed love, compassion, any sense of justice, or even any fruit of the spirit could be deemed THE Christian leader. How can someone who goes against every Biblical teaching I know and only uses Christianity as a marketing ploy be touted as The Messiah? How can this be the Christian leader? How can? How can the Christian community teach me all these years to not be everything that person is but turn around and celebrate these very vices? I have always wondered about the supporters: wonder, if your child brought home a potential mate that was an exact replica of this person or if your child turned out to be this person, what would you say? How can the person who lies about an immigrant community—an already marginalized community—and deliberating puts them in harm’s way to make a point be the Christian leader? It is a dangerously slippery slope from “how could Christians do this?” to “why would God allow this?” One I found myself clawing away from to keep from being sucked into a vortex of even more despondency.
Maybe you are against immigration or your faith forbids being LGBTQ. Maybe your religion even says irrespective of the situation (rape, incest, the life of the mother), abortion is wrong. Maybe it goes so far to challenge the morality of IVF. But what kind of religion forbids you from bringing your humanity to the conversation? What kind calls for endorsing rhetoric that dehumanizes people? Not mine. At least, not the one I know. The loudest Christians tell you the God decries homosexuality, abortion, Black people. In the same breath, they tell you the Christian is the one who has been married thrice, divorced a couple of times, and never once shown contrition about this or any other thing. It’s a contradiction so jarring as to be dizzying.
“Since God chose you to be the holy people he loves, you must clothe yourselves with tenderhearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.” – Colossians 3:12-14. If you see humility and gentleness at any of those rallies and heard it within the words of the laborious speeches or if in the discourse about the LGBTQ community, or immigrants, or Black people, you’ve heard tenderhearted mercy or even kindness, please point me to it. How can you pray to the God that commands these and out of the same mouth spew such vileness? Reverend Warnock asked, “a man came out years ago and said America is in a mess and he is the only one to fix it? What blasphemy!” What blasphemy, indeed. The very unapologetic pride, the vacuous vanity, the showy display of greed are in contrast with every value Jesus taught. “Don’t be greedy,” Apostle Paul said. “For a greedy person is an idolater, worshiping the things of this world.”
To be absolutely clear, this is not to say all Christians had to vote for Kamala Harris. There are numerous Christians that would argue that the Democratic party is not a home for Christians. I do not make the case that the Democratic party is the party of Christians. The point is neither party is. Jesus does not neatly fit within America’s ideologies. Jesus is beyond America. Indeed, Christianity is. In feeding the hungry, welcoming all, denouncing greed, forsaking wealth and taking care of the poor and marginalized, Jesus could be deemed liberal. In his teachings on sexual immorality, particularly forbidding sex outside of marriage, he could be deemed conservative. Above all, he called us to love. Simple. What makes Christianity so difficult is not the list of rules (that anyone with a modicum of discipline can check off a list), but rather, its demands for us to love each other, to fight for the marginalized, to turn the other cheek, and to with unthinkable sacrifice, lay down our lives for our friends. True faith has always transcended politics—and it’s time for Christians to reclaim that truth
“It’s just politics. Get over it.” Many people have said. When is it ever? When the lack of regulations in housing, the environment, the airline industry creates an incisive pathway to minor inconveniences, at best, or generational cancers, at worst? When law enforcement is given absolute license to kill Black men and women? When eradicated diseases return and ravage children because of a deep aversion for real science?
I remember a church I used to attend where I threw myself into service and tried to find a community with folks in this church. I soon realized that no matter what, my attempts were met with a cold shoulder only accentuated by a stiltedness, always so hesitant and always too complicated to disentangle. In retrospect, as I saw congregants of the same church rejoice about the victory of a movement that holds such deep-seated prejudice against Black people and finds us repulsive enough that its leader refused to rent his apartments to Black folks, I wondered if all along they too found me repugnant. I wondered if they too were sure I didn’t deserve to be American. I will never know.
It’s the sanctity of life. Most have clung to this as the easy defense that nullifies some soul searching about their decision. The theoretical life so powerful that Jesus forgot to mention but that is worth overriding everything he actually DID mention. I would leave such people to their conscience. If people aren’t ferociously angry at all the recent allegations that pastors are abusing kids—you know, the ones already here on earth; if there isn’t fury at the extent to which the Catholic Church has historically turned its back on the abuse of little boys; if there isn't fury at the number of children that may die from pediatric cancers because funding for cures have been gutted; if there isn't a deep discomfort with the number of children living in poverty; then your conscience, and not reason, is all I can leave you to.
Maybe it’s not so surprising. After all, the Bible did say evil people and impostors will flourish. They will deceive others and will themselves be deceived.
I know other Christians feel the hurt just as palpable as I do. I invite them to consider the Psalmist’s musings in Psalms 73. Just like him, I tried to understand why the wicked prosper. But what difficult task it is. While he finally understood the destiny of the wicked, who saw that God put them on a slippery path and sent them sliding over the cliff to destruction so that in one instant, they are destroyed and completely swept away by terrors, I am left wandering and wondering. I wonder why the wicked enjoy a life of ease while their riches multiply. I wonder how they seem why they live such painless lives. I see them wear pride like a jeweled necklace and I see them cloth themselves with cruelty on X, on T.V., on the stoops of Congress. I see them scoff and speak only evil and how they delight in crushing the other. I wonder, as the Psalmist did, if I kept my heart pure and innocent for no reason. I realize, as the Psalmist did, my heart was bitter and torn up inside. I can’t proclaim I will fight or resist as most progressives always declare. Instead, my spirit may grow weak as it has these past several years, but God remains the strength of my heart. I take solace in the eternal truth that irrespective of how much a particular sect may monopolize my faith and weaponize it, that irrespective of the threats, none of them has the power to exclude me from God’s presence. He is mine forever, the Psalmist says. Indeed, he is.
Happy 250th, America!
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