By John Q. Hosedrinker 
Pete Hegseth’s attempts to “simplify” the military’s religious coding system have inadvertently exposed the exclusionary nature of Christian nationalism. By reducing religious designations to 31 from 211, and granting Christians multiple subcategories while others receive only one, Hegseth signaled a hierarchy that marginalized non-Christian faiths and even excluded Mormons from the “Christian” label. This move, driven by Christian nationalist inclinations, backfired by revealing the deep divisions within Christianity itself, a stark contrast to the unified “Christian nation” often promoted by its proponents. Ultimately, this episode demonstrates that the pursuit of Christian nationalist power is not only about excluding non-Christians but also about the potential marginalization of various Christian factions.
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The notion of Christian nationalism, often presented as a unified force aiming to reshape America according to a specific religious vision, is being challenged, not by outsiders, but from within the very circles that champion it. Pete Hegseth’s recent comments, particularly his exclusion of Mormons from his definition of “Christian,” have inadvertently laid bare a significant crack in this perceived monolith. This exclusion highlights not just a theological disagreement, but a fundamental incoherence within the MAGA myth of a singular, all-encompassing Christian identity being imposed upon the nation. It exposes the reality that any attempt to forge a “Christian nation” will inevitably reveal the deep and often hostile divisions that exist between various Christian factions, divisions that secularism, in its efforts to accommodate diverse beliefs, has largely kept at bay.
Hegseth’s actions, seemingly aimed at simplifying religious coding in the military but clearly driven by his Christian nationalist leanings, have backfired by exposing this internal schism. His eagerness to marginalize those he deems outside his particular brand of Christianity accidentally dismantled a key MAGA talking point: that there’s a clear, rational, and even peaceful path to imposing their theocratic views. Instead, his moves underscore the inherent divisiveness of such an agenda, revealing how, in its pursuit of exclusivity, it alienates even those who might otherwise appear to be allies.
The surprise for some, perhaps, was the specific targeting of the Church of Latter-day Saints. While many recognized the underlying hostility towards non-Christians within the Christian nationalist framework, the outright rejection of Mormons from the “Christian tribe” by figures like Hegseth, especially when other groups like Catholics and Jews were acknowledged, proved telling. This isn’t an isolated incident; it reflects a long-standing tension where many white evangelicals, including prominent figures who align with Trump, have openly labeled Mormonism as a “cult,” effectively denying its claim to Christian legitimacy. Events have showcased a deliberate exclusion of Mormons from spaces ostensibly dedicated to Christian unity.
This theological exclusion isn’t new; it’s a continuation of a historical pattern. For a long time, Mormons were not broadly accepted by the mainstream Christian community. While they might have been tolerated as long as they remained quiet, their increasing visibility, particularly through political aspirations like Mitt Romney’s presidential bid, brought this underlying animosity to the forefront. The dynamic isn’t about genuine Christian unity, but about power and the definition of who gets to be on the “inside.”
The perceived incoherence arises from the very nature of trying to impose a singular religious ideology onto a pluralistic society. Christian nationalism, in its purest form, requires an “other” to define itself against. When that “other” is explicitly defined by theological differences, even within ostensibly Christian groups, the façade of unity crumbles. This dynamic is not unique to contemporary politics; history is replete with examples of groups claiming religious superiority and then turning on those who don’t precisely fit their narrow definition, whether it was the KKK’s animosity towards Catholics or centuries of oppression against various religious minorities.
Furthermore, the critique extends to the idea that any government policy rooted in a specific religious interpretation is inherently coherent. The foundational principles of the United States, particularly the separation of church and state, were established precisely to prevent the kind of sectarian strife that arises when religion is intertwined with governmental power. The founding fathers, deeply aware of religious conflicts, sought to protect religion by shielding it from the state, and vice versa. Attempts to enforce a state religion, or privilege one version of Christianity over others, directly contradict this core tenet and invite further division.
The inherent divisiveness of religion itself plays a crucial role here. With thousands of different groups each claiming to hold exclusive truth, the logical outcome of pushing for a singular “Christian nation” is not unity, but an intensification of these internal conflicts. The MAGA movement’s embrace of Christian nationalism appears to be an attempt to consolidate power by selectively embracing certain factions while alienating others, creating a hierarchy within the religious landscape. This strategy, however, is ultimately self-defeating as it reveals the shaky foundations of its purported unity.
The ultimate concern is that this movement will not stop at marginalizing Mormons. If the pursuit of a Christian autocracy continues, other Christian denominations and even non-Christian faiths will inevitably become targets. The pattern of religious extremism, when fused with political extremism, tends to become increasingly reductive, creating ever-smaller “in-groups” and identifying new “others” as power is consolidated. Those who cheer on this movement today may find themselves on the wrong side of its exclusionary logic tomorrow, when the definition of “right kind of Christian” or “Christian enough” tightens further.
The idea that Christian nationalism is anything but incoherent is a dangerous myth. Its proponents are often driven by a desire to feel superior, to look down upon those they deem less righteous. When the non-white, non-Christians are dealt with, the movement will undoubtedly turn its gaze inward, seeking new groups to marginalize. The “us” versus “them” mentality, inherent in fascism, is highly coherent in its simplistic pronouncements. However, its application to religious groups, particularly when those groups are themselves diverse and often in conflict, reveals a deep-seated incoherence in its supposed goal of national religious unity. The fundamental reality is that policies based on a cobbled-together book of fairy tales, interpreted in myriad ways, will always be at odds with the complexities of governing a diverse nation. The nation was never intended to be a white Christian nation, and any attempt to force it into that mold will only expose its inherent contradictions and moral bankruptcy.