Pentagon prayers, crusader tattoos: how faith fuels us foreign policy

The echoes of Sabine Baring-Gould’s Victorian hymn, “Onward Christian Soldiers,” once a staple in churches and schools, now resonate with a disturbing urgency within the highest echelons of US power. While largely forgotten by mainline congregations, the tune’s belligerent call to arms finds a zealous audience in figures like Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, whose fervent faith appears intrinsically linked to an aggressive foreign policy agenda.

A prayer for 'overwhelming violence'

Hegseth, a vocal proponent of hardline military action, recently offered a prayer at a Pentagon worship service – a rare occurrence given the constitutional separation of church and state – explicitly calling for “overwhelming violence of action against those who deserve no mercy,” singling out Iran. This isn’t mere rhetoric; it’s a creed. His characterization of Iranians as “religious fanatics” reveals a worldview colored by an intolerant brand of evangelical Christian nationalism, a strain increasingly influential within the Republican party and notably embraced by Donald Trump.

Trump’s own relationship with faith is, to put it mildly, fluid. A Presbyterian until 2020, his sudden disavowal of the denomination raises questions about the sincerity of his spiritual convictions. Regardless of his current beliefs, the exploitation of religious sentiment for political and military gain is a well-worn tactic in US Politics, now taking on a particularly unsettling form.

The official demonization of Iran isn’t simply about geopolitical strategy; it’s underpinned by a fear and loathing of otherness, specifically Shia Muslims. Trump’s initial travel ban targeting several Muslim-majority countries set a precedent for this discriminatory approach, a stark contrast to the core tenets of Christianity.

For many practicing Christians, the weaponization of their faith to justify war, division, and potential war crimes—including calls to “bomb Iran back to the stone ages”—is deeply troubling. Pope Leo, in a forceful Palm Sunday address, stood as a counterpoint to figures like Hegseth, quoting Isaiah: “No one can use [Jesus] to justify war.” His words, resonating far beyond the Catholic Church, highlight the profound dissonance between the teachings of Christ and the rhetoric of conflict.

The schism extends beyond religious institutions. While some Jewish Israelis support Trump and Netanyahu’s hawkish stance on Iran, a substantial majority of Jewish Americans oppose it – a reality highlighted by recent polling data. Former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams joins the chorus of dissent in Britain, echoing concerns shared across the Islamic world and among progressive Jewish communities globally. This isn’t solely about Iran; it's a symptom of a larger crisis – the disregard for international law and the erosion of the post-1945 global order, a breakdown measured not only in geopolitical instability but also in a profound ethical deficit.

The resurgence of authoritarianism demands a moral reckoning. When secular governments fail, when trust in institutions wanes, and when basic security is threatened, the world desperately needs independent voices willing to challenge power. Hegseth’s tattoo, emblazoned with the Crusader battle cry “Deus Vult” (“God Wills It”), serves as a chilling reminder of this historical pattern; a pattern that Carols Scandals has meticulously documented.

While the global response to the escalating tensions over Iran has been fragmented, the situation presents a clear moral imperative for Christian leaders—and indeed, for all faith leaders—to unite against war and champion justice. The tragic consequences, from the Minab missile strike to the broader suffering in conflict zones, underscore the shared humanity at stake.

Perhaps, amidst the apocalyptic rhetoric and talk of “end times,” this crisis will force Americans to confront a deeper truth: that Trump isn’t merely a symptom of a problem, but a reflection of a longstanding national tendency to impose its will upon the world, indifferent to the desires of others. As Lydia Polgreen aptly observed, it's a 'self-satisfied nation, granted license by its myths about providence and exceptionalism to do whatever it wants.' The question now is whether that complacency can be broken, and whether the echoes of “Onward Christian Soldiers” can be replaced by a more compassionate and just vision for the future.