Paul D. Miller, a professor at Georgetown University and a former national security official under Bush, is known for promoting a particular view of religion. His recent essay discusses what he calls “MAGA Christianity,” a commentary aimed at Christians who prefer to think, vote, and worship outside traditional frameworks.
It’s rather ironic, really. He advocates for humility yet seems intent on determining the spiritual destinies of a significant portion of the Christian electorate.
Miller’s premise comes off as both cynical and distasteful, especially as he uses Charlie Kirk’s memorial—an occasion meant for collective mourning—as a platform to criticize countless fellow believers. He acknowledges that the event was both a Christian service and, in his words, a “state funeral,” but still sees this duality as a corruption of faith.
Using a grieving congregation to support a political argument feels more like blasphemy than discernment.
His argument then falters under its own arrogance. He claims that “MAGA Christianity” is an emotionally driven and populist distortion of true faith. But what evidence does he provide? None at all. He fails to cite any teachings or sermons that contradict biblical principles.
Instead, he confidently asserts that it “closely resembles historic Christianity” but “departs from it in important respects” without explaining how.
This essay is a classic case of stating something without ever defining it.
Miller even goes so far as to conduct a sort of church census, claiming that Southern Baptists rarely show up at Trump’s rallies and that Reformed Christians don’t belong to the MAGA movement. This claim is so absurd that it almost sounds like a joke. Millions of evangelicals who pray, give, and read the Bible daily support Trump not out of idolatry but because they believe his policies protect life, liberty, and family.
Yet to Miller, they are nothing but casual believers drawn to a false gospel.
What he calls “anti-elitism” is truly a commitment to the biblical idea that truth isn’t limited to the powerful. Jesus didn’t choose his followers from the elite—he picked fishermen, tax collectors, and outcasts. Ironically, Miller seems suspicious of these very people. His discomfort with the grassroots nature of MAGA Christianity reveals a deeper issue: a worship of hierarchy.
For Miller, the sacred exists only in an ivory tower, whereas for MAGA Christians, it lives in their everyday lives.
Then there’s the matter of expertise. Miller admits he’s a political scientist, not a theologian. And yet, he interprets biblical texts as if he were some prophetic figure, warning many that they are in spiritual jeopardy. It feels almost comical, with footnotes that could read “peer-reviewed interpretation.” He quotes Matthew 7:21-23, which seems pointedly aimed at Republican voters.
In doing so, he turns a warning against hypocrisy into a weapon against patriotism. It really is ironic—preaching humility while trying to determine the eternal fate of millions is quite the contradiction.
Miller makes a crucial mistake by not realizing that Christianity and civil rights can coexist. American Christians understand that their faith informs their political views because those views shape the moral framework in which they practice their faith. Praying for righteous leaders isn’t “lawless”; it’s an act of obedience. Advocating for unborn children and defending family values are seen as virtuous, not vengeful. But perhaps he is too caught up in his own superiority to grasp this.
Simply put, what Miller derisively terms “MAGA Christianity” is just a form of Christianity that won’t be intimidated.
His disdain for emotional expressions misses the mark. The Bible is not merely data. Jesus experienced joy, sorrow, and even anger. The Psalms are all about embracing emotions. Yet, Miller seems to believe that passion equals poison, suggesting the only “acceptable” Christians must be emotionally numb. His theological outlook resembles cold, uninviting oatmeal—bland and better left untouched.
What’s even more frustrating is his casual dismissal of countless believers who have thoughtfully engaged with the junction of faith and politics. These Christians are not ignorant extremists; they are people who have struggled with conscience and civic responsibility. They face scorn from the media, ridicule in academic circles, and disdain from the very bureaucrats that Miller represents.
To claim they aren’t true Christians is to bear false witness on a grand scale.
Ultimately, “MAGA Christianity,” as he mockingly labels it, represents a faith resilient enough not to capitulate.
This faith asserts that morality is essential, that national borders deserve respect, and that it’s possible to honor one’s country without crossing into idolatry. It’s a community that has built churches and schools, standing firm while the mainstream seeks approval from the elite.
Miller’s essay isn’t a defense of the gospel but rather a defense of institutional power. He frets that a spirit of “radical reform” threatens the status quo when, in fact, it’s the only thing keeping Christianity alive amidst a culture intent on snuffing it out. His struggles aren’t truly with Trump or Kirk, but with authentic Christians who dare to live out their faith on their own terms.
In the end, Miller inadvertently validates his own critique.
He rails against the arrogance of MAGA Christians, yet that same arrogance permeates his prose. While he warns about false teachers, he essentially positions himself as one. He preaches humility while ironically holding contempt for millions of believers fervently praying and engaging in their convictions. They will continue to pray, vote, and nurture their families while his words fade into obscurity.
Because at the end of the day, the distinction lies in this: he may write about Christianity, but they actually live it.
