"We Love You God." When War is Worship

Empire doesn’t care about faith. It only cares about control. And if it can wrap that control in religious language, it will.

The Religion of War: A Bombing. A Blessing. A Pattern.

Last night, the U.S. bombed Iran.

Then came the televised statement:

President Trump stood behind the podium, recapping the strikes. And at the end—without irony—he looked into the camera and said:
“We want to thank you, God. We love you, God.”

And here’s the thing:

It’s not just Trump who does this.

Every president in our lifetime—Democrat or Republican—has ended war stories with God talk.

They bless the bombs.
They sanctify the violence.

Trump just does it more awkwardly.
And more obviously.

But this isn’t about him.
It’s about a pattern. A liturgy.

One we’ve seen play out again and again.

“Wars and rumors of wars.”
They’ve always been with us.
And when the bombs fall, God gets thanked.

And we reaffirm that we love him—
at least more than our enemies do.

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Empire Always Finds a Justification

If you grew up in white American Christianity, chances are this all feels normal.

God and country were always partners.
The military was honored at church.
Mission trips and military service were talked about in the same breath—two ways to “serve.”

The message was clear:
Violence is regrettable, but necessary.
And God is always on our side.

But empire doesn’t care about faith.
It only cares about control.
And if it can wrap that control in religious language, it will.

That’s how you turn a missile strike into a moral crusade.
That’s how you turn God into a mascot for vengeance.

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Violence Is Biblical

Let’s not pretend otherwise.

The Bible is full of violence.
And depending on which verses you pull, you can justify nearly anything.

YHWH in the Hebrew scriptures often sounds like a god of war—commanding armies, slaughtering enemies, demanding blood.
And sure, Jesus himself once said, “I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.”

So yes. It’s biblical.

Let’s kill our enemies.

But it’s also biblical to say:

“Love your enemies.”
“Bless those who curse you.”
“Turn the other cheek.”
“Blessed are the peacemakers.”

The prophets envisioned a world where weapons were melted down and wolves napped beside lambs.

You can justify war with scripture.
You can also justify non-violence.

The Bible is a library, not a rulebook.
And everyone—on every side—chooses the parts they need to advance the story they’ve already decided is true.

That’s what empire does.
It uses religion to boost the story it needs to get the result it wants.
Then it thanks God that the bombs worked.

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Politics Has Always Been a Religion

This isn’t new.

Politics has always looked like religion.
And religion has always been used for politics.

In every empire, in every age, the lines have blurred.

If you just showed up on the scene today—
completely new to America—
and watched a political rally and a megachurch service side by side…

You’d see more similarities than differences.

There are anthems and altars.
Sacred texts and founding myths.
Prophets and messiahs.
Enemies and infidels.

You gather in crowds.
You chant the creed.
You reaffirm your faith—
not in God, necessarily,
but in the nation, the leader, the story.

You don’t vote—you convert.
You don’t debate—you defend the truth.

And just like religion, politics always needs a sacrifice.

Sometimes it’s your money.
Sometimes it’s your rights.
Sometimes it’s your children’s lives.

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The Invitation of Peace

I’m not here to offer a foreign policy.
I’m not claiming to have the answers for global diplomacy.

But I am asking a question of faith:

If your version of Christianity never challenges violence…
If it never asks hard questions of your government…
If it never wonders whether Jesus would bless the bombs—

Then maybe it’s just nationalism in a clerical collar.

We all have to decide which part of the story we’re living.
And which part we’re willing to question.

Because yes—violence is biblical.

But so is peace.

And I keep coming back to a quote I’ve written about many times—usually in the context of personal calling.

But today, I’m hearing it in its original context.

The Austrian philosopher Ivan Illich was once asked how to bring change to a broken world: Was it through violent revolution? Or gradual reform?

His answer has been a north star for me for more than twenty years:

“Neither revolution nor reformation can ultimately change a society. Rather, you must tell a new powerful tale—one so persuasive that it sweeps away the old myths and becomes the preferred story. One so inclusive that it gathers all the bits of our past and present into a coherent whole. One that even shines some light into the future so we can take the next step…
If you want to change a society, then you have to tell an alternative story.”

That’s the only answer I have.

The only way to peace is to tell an alternative story.

It’s a hard path.
Leaving behind a time-tested, violent, self-serving war-God myth is a tall order.

Jesus tried to tell a new story.

And the gravitational pull back to empire was so strong that within just a few generations, even his early followers were back worshiping power.

I don’t know the full shape of the alternative story yet.
I don’t think anyone does.

But I know this:

It’s our only hope.