When Fear Wears a Cross

What Kind of People Help a Nation Flourish?

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” — Martin Luther King Jr.

John and I were recently in Claremont for his 60th reunion at Pomona College. By the time people reach their 60^th reunion, seems like they’ve lost a lot of the need to impress and readily reveal their challenges, their passions, their concerns, their foibles, and in the process... a lot of wisdom.

John’s Pomona friends had been judges, had worked in government, still spoke African dialects – you name it…AND had spouses with Alzheimer’s, lost some of their own capabilities, and for the most part were continuing to click along, remaining highly engaged with life. The conversations are often both touching – even transcendent (like when I was talking to Edwin Krupp, the long-time director of Griffith Observatory in L.A.). And of course, there were lots of stories, true confessions, and memories.

In the middle of the nostalgia, a more sobering conversation began circulating among alumni. A Los Angeles Times article about what some described as “in-your-face racism” at Pomona had stirred emotions. Some alumni were upset. Some defensive. Some confused. Some deeply saddened. The college president, who is Black, chose not to avoid the discomfort. Instead, she showed up at an intimate dinner of the older alumni.

At one point, she described meeting with members of a Black student group wrestling with painful experiences on campus. She told them that her instinct is always to begin with education. One student challenged her: “Do you really think education works?”

Her answer came immediately.

“Do you think I’d be a college president if I didn’t?” Of course, these well-ripened Pomona grads were all for that!

I have thought about that exchange ever since.

Because we seem to be living in a time when many people have lost faith in education—not just formal schooling, but the broader act of learning, listening, examining history, questioning assumptions, and allowing our understanding to grow. We increasingly prefer certainty over curiosity. We gather with our own tribes. We consume media that reassures us that our side is good and the other side is dangerous, foolish, or morally suspect.

And yet if we stop believing people can learn, what remains? Contempt? Force? Endless shouting?

A little later, I was listening to David Brooks speak at Yale to some alumni. Brooks reflected on the enormous cultural shifts America has experienced since the 1940s—the unraveling of institutions, the rise of individualism, the fragmentation of community, the loneliness, mistrust, and social division that now shape so much of our national life. And yet, strikingly, he remained hopeful.

During the question period, someone asked what might help us. What kind of catalyst could bring out the best in us?

Brooks paused, thought for a moment, and then offered a surprising answer.

“Mr. Rogers.”

I laughed when I heard that, but the more I sat with it, the smarter it seemed.

Mr. Rogers represented something we are in danger of losing: neighborliness. Moral gentleness with backbone. Emotional honesty. Curiosity about others. The quiet insistence that every person has dignity. The belief that feelings can be understood rather than weaponized. The conviction that kindness is not weakness.

What if that really is part of what America needs?

Because one of the challenges we face today is something often called Christian nationalism, and this is one of those topics that requires exactly the kind of patient education that Pomona’s president was talking about.

Let me say clearly: this is not a criticism of Christianity, nor is it a criticism of loving one’s country. I am a Christian. I understand patriotism, John and I both served in the military. Faith can be a profound force for compassion, courage, healing, and social transformation. Love of country can inspire service, gratitude, and civic responsibility.

Christian nationalism is something different. It is what happens when Christian identity becomes fused with political power, national identity, and a story about who truly belongs. It suggests, implicitly or explicitly, that “real” Americans fit a certain religious and cultural mold, and that preserving the nation requires protecting that identity.

That story can feel emotionally comforting, especially during times of rapid change. Human beings long for belonging, meaning, order, and stability. When the world feels uncertain, narratives that promise restoration and clarity can feel deeply reassuring.

But history suggests that when fear gets wrapped in religion, trouble follows.

And in America, race is undeniably part of that story.

This is where education matters, because many of us did not learn this history.

Certainly I did not growing up in the Bible Belt and the home of the Ku Klux Klan.  Yes, it was started in my home state of Tennessee, in Pulaski, by six confederate officers initially as sort of a social club. But it quickly became a white supremacist terrorist organization. The former Confederate general, Nathan Bedford Forrest was its first leader, its Grand Wizard. I saw him as a hero in my early grades. Why? Because I didn’t know any better at the time.

My mother was a strong Christian and also, I later learned, staunchly against the KKK - it was still going though it was underground and I didn’t know anything much about it.  When my mother cleaned out her half-brother’s closet after he died, she found his KKK paraphernalia!  

The KKK was not simply a racist movement floating outside religion. It often cloaked itself in Christian symbolism and language. Crosses were burned not because Christianity teaches terror, but because religious symbols can be hijacked to lend sacred legitimacy to fear and domination.

That does not mean Christianity itself is racist. Nor does it mean everyone concerned about cultural change harbors prejudice. Human beings are more complicated than that. But it does mean we must be honest about how white supremacy and certain visions of Christian America have sometimes been intertwined. Here, even far out in the West little village of Cashmere, we found newspaper clippings of a KKK meeting in our church; the story tells about the Klan members being warmly welcomed by the pastor!

Modern Christian nationalism is not simply the KKK with better branding. That would be simplistic and unfair. Yet researchers studying Christian nationalism consistently find overlap with anxieties about race, immigration, demographic change, and cultural displacement.

Why?

Because fear changes us.

If I feel my world is slipping away, if I fear losing status, familiarity, influence, or belonging, I become more susceptible to stories that promise protection. “Take back our country.” “Restore our values.” “Protect our people.”

Those phrases may arise from understandable longings, but they can also conceal a more troubling question: Who exactly counts as our people?

That question matters deeply—not only for those excluded, but for all of us.

Of course, Christian nationalism harms people of color when it reinforces suspicion, unequal belonging, or exclusion. But it also harms those who think it protects them. Fear-based movements shrink our emotional and moral lives. They make us more suspicious, less curious, less compassionate, and less able to build the kind of relationships that human flourishing depends upon.

Positive psychology researchers talk about flourishing in terms of connection, meaning, accomplishment, engagement, positive emotion, and healthy relationships. Neuroscience reminds us that chronic threat keeps our nervous systems on alert, making thoughtful connection harder. Compassion researchers tell us that empathy, trust, and social belonging are not soft luxuries; they are central ingredients of well-being.

A society organized around fear corrodes these things.

And Christianity itself suffers.

This may be the saddest part. Jesus did not gather followers by appealing to tribal dominance. He did not preach cultural supremacy. He spoke instead of mercy, humility, peacemaking, love of neighbor, love of enemy, care for the vulnerable, and welcome for strangers.

Christian nationalism can replace spiritual formation with tribal identity. Faith becomes less about becoming loving and more about winning and power.

Young adults especially often reject not Jesus, but a version of Christianity that appears fused with exclusion, hypocrisy, or power hunger.

This brings me back to Mr. Rogers. I'm old enough now, to see he was a full-hearted man of wisdom and true Christian spirit. But Mr. Rogers is dead. And here's a question.

What if the cultural catalyst David Brooks longed for is not really one person, but a set of qualities?

Neighborliness.

Moral courage.

Emotional maturity.

Curiosity.

Kindness.

The refusal to dehumanize.

In some ways, that sounds suspiciously like Jesus.

And it certainly sounds more life-giving than fear.

The good life is not built on domination. It is built on trust. On communities where people feel safe enough to be honest, brave enough to face hard truths, and compassionate enough to make room for one another’s humanity. Education matters because it helps us tell the truth about history, understand human behavior, and resist simplistic narratives.

If we stop believing people can learn and grow in their heads, hearts, and spirits, then fear wins.

So perhaps the question is not simply how to defeat harmful ideologies, but how to become the kind of people who make them less necessary. No need for an us and a them.

Jesus offered a vision that still feels startlingly relevant, you can find it in Matthew 5: 3-12. It’s been called the Beatitudes or the Sermon on the Mount.  I’ve re-written it in contemporary language and hung it up in my kitchen.

Fortunate are those who know they do not have all the answers, for they are open to growth.

Fortunate are those who grieve what is broken in the world, for they will become healers.

Fortunate are the gentle and strong, for they help create a safer world.

Fortunate are those who hunger for fairness and justice, for they help bend history toward goodness.

Fortunate are the compassionate, for they create communities where mercy can breathe.

Fortunate are the pure in heart—those who are sincere and not driven by hidden agendas—for they will see what really matters.

Fortunate are the bridge-builders, for they are the true children of God.

Fortunate are those who stand for what is right even when it costs them, for they are helping bring the good life a little closer to all.

That sounds to me like an education worth pursuing, a life worth living—and a healthy path toward flourishing and living the good life.

How might we journey together to the good life by becoming more educated in mind, heart, and spirit and move together to the Good Life?

Here is a link to a Wikipedia article about Cashmere, scroll down to history to the 1920s and 1930s. The 1920s "second Klan" aggressively recruited Protestant churches by presenting itself as pro-Protestant, pro-temperance, anti-Catholic, 100% American.

I will write about what causes violence in the future. The researcher I find the most credible in this arena is Roy Baumeister (who also incidentally transitioned into studying what gives life meaning). The 4 primary reasons for violence? Instrumental (you have something I want, violence is the most direct way to get it). Sadism (only accounts for a very small percentage), I get a kick out of inflicting pain. Ego-threat (this applies largely to people who have what high unstable self-esteem, a certain type of narcissism. I feel that you have insulted me, I lash out. But this next one will surprise you. It's the most dangerous cause of violence. Idealism. When I think I am saving the world, I can justify my violence. More on this later.