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The Trump Prophecy
Witness the incredible true story of one man’s personal journey to healing that led to an international prayer movement. Retired firefighter Mark Taylor finds himself in a crisis of faith as he struggles with a diagnosis of PTSD. But, in 2011, everything changes when he experiences a revelation from God about change in leadership in our nation prior to the 2016 Presidential Election. As he works to understand his remarkable experience, he shares his hopeful vision and it spreads across the globe.
"JESUS SAVES" banners were among those carried during a rally on Jan. 6, 2021, in Washington before rioters stormed the Capitol. Spencer Platt/Getty Images
With Joe Biden just days away from his inauguration as the nation's president, Pastor Darryl Knappen was still denying reality and even declaring himself willing to take up arms to keep Donald Trump in office.
"It was pastors who led the way in colonial times to encourage our country to shake off the totalitarian regime of the king of England," Knappen said in a Jan. 9 Facebook message to his Minnesota congregation. He was referring to the "Black Robed Regiment," a name given to those ministers who supported the Revolutionary War effort.
"I was tempted to wear my black robe today and cover up my AR-15 beneath it," Knappen said from his Cornerstone Church sanctuary in Alexandria, Minn., "but I thought that would be way too graphic for all of you and for Facebook to allow. But I would be part of that movement back then, and I may be part of that movement today."
Conservative evangelical Christians have been among Donald Trump's most fervent and loyal supporters. While few have gone as far as Knappen and endorsed armed struggle on his behalf, the rhetoric of some evangelical leaders has been notably militant.
In a conversation with conservative activist Charlie Kirk on Dec. 9, the right-wing Christian author and radio host Eric Metaxas said he did not care about the overwhelming odds against any effort to overturn the election of Joe Biden.
"What's right is right," Metaxas said. "That is so wrong. We need to do absolutely everything we can. What's going to happen is going to happen. But we need to fight to the death, to the last drop of blood, because it's worth it."
Three days later, Metaxas was the emcee at the Jericho March in Washington, where he and others implored God to keep Trump in office.
"We are here because we know he is the God who does real miracles when his remnant cries out to him in humility and love," Metaxas said. "We are here to cry out to the God of heaven to ask him to have mercy on the greatest nation in the history of the world."
A rally organizer, Robert Weaver, told the assembled crowd that God had appeared to him in a vision after Biden's election victory and told him, "It's not over."
The notion that God would take direct interest in a U.S. election is an expression of the ideology of Christian nationalism, says Andrew Whitehead, a sociologist at Indiana University-Purdue University and co-author of Taking America Back For God.
"It's the idea that God has a plan for this nation, that God wants a particular outcome," Whitehead says. Such convictions, Whitehead says, gave extra potency to efforts in support of Trump's attempts to overturn his clear election defeat.
"Religion is such a strongly and closely held system of beliefs and values," Whitehead says. "So if God has said, 'This is the way I want this nation run, and this is the person that I want leading it,' why would you brook any opposition, no matter what?"
Taken to an extreme, Whitehead says, that viewpoint can even be seen as justifying violence.
"Among Americans who see a fusion between their religious identities and their national identity," he argues, "it tends to draw on a framework of conquering outsiders and taking violent hold of what is rightfully yours."
Speaking at last month's Jericho March prayer rally, the founder of the OathKeepers militia group, Stewart Rhodes, told the crowd he hoped Trump would use the Insurrection Act to "drop the hammer" on his opponents.
"He needs to know from you that you are with him," Rhodes said, "and that if he does not do it now, we're going to have to do it ourselves later, in a much more desperate, much more bloody war."
Among the flags at the rally was a big yellow banner that said "JESUS SAVES." The same banner was seen again in the crowd that assaulted the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, among other examples of Christian imagery.
One of the leaders of the invasion of the Senate chamber, Jacob Chansley, actually asked the rioters to pause in their rampage and join him for a moment of prayer to God.
"Thank you for allowing the United States to be reborn," Chansley said, standing on the dais occupied a few hours earlier by Vice President Pence.
"We love you and we thank you. In Christ's holy name, we pray," Chansley said, as recorded in a video by Luke Mogelson, a writer at The New Yorker. The rioters, many of whom had quietly removed their hats, erupted in a cry of "Amen!"
The post-election expressions of right wing Christian protest suggest that Christian militancy on occasion can lead to political extremism.
"Inherent in the idea of Christian nationalism is the idea that America is representative of God's truth, and for that reason it needs to be defended. It needs to be protected," says Kristin du Mez, a historian at Calvin University and author of Jesus and John Wayne: How White Evangelicals Corrupted A Faith and Fractured A Nation.
"Because the dangers are so great and the stakes are so high, that often will require violence. It's violence for the sake of righteousness, violence to achieve order, violence to bring peace and security," du Mez says. "There's a willingness to do what needs to be done."
Since the Jan. 6 assault on the on the Capitol, pro-Trump Christian activists have generally kept a low profile. After an article on the Jericho March was published by The Atlantic, a spokesperson for the organizers wrote to say the March "denounces any and all acts of violence and destruction, including any that took place at the U.S. Capitol on January 6th, 2021."
But not all Christian militants have been chastened. In his Jan. 9 Facebook message, Knappen issued a call to arms.
"There is a need in every one of our localities to have individuals, patriots, who are ready to arm up and be part of a citizen militia to protect our freedoms," he said, noting that he was in church, speaking in front of the cross.
For Andrew Whitehead, the protests led by Christian militants in the aftermath of Trump's election defeat show that Christian nationalism can be a dangerous phenomenon when it calls into question the idea of sharing power with an adversary, and one not likely to disappear any time soon.
"It really is a threat to a pluralistic, democratic society," Whitehead says. "It should be taken very seriously."
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How QAnon uses religion to lure unsuspecting Christians
by Daniel Burke
CNN Religion Editor
Updated 1:05 PM ET, Thu October 15, 2020
(CNN) Parker Neff was scrolling through conservative posts on Facebook when he saw an unfamiliar hashtag: #WWG1WGA.
Recently retired after serving as a Southern Baptist pastor for more than 20 years, his time was free and curiosity piqued.
"I started looking into it online," Neff said. "Doing some research."
And with that, the 66-year-old retiree, and soon his wife, Sharon, fell down one of the internet's most dangerous rabbit holes.
It didn't take long for Neff to find the hashtag's meaning. "Where We Go One We Go All" is one of several mottoes of QAnon, a collective of online conspiracists.
The pastor and his wife, who live in Arcola, Mississippi, began watching the vast collection of QAnon videos posted online by "researchers" who decipher the cryptic messages of "Q," an anonymous online persona who claims to have access to classified military and intelligence operations.
Since its inception in 2017 QAnon has quickly metastasized, infiltrating American politics, internet culture and now -- religion.
A woman holds up a QAnon sign at a President Trump campaign rally on September 22, 2020, in Moon Township, Pennsylvania.
According to QAnon, President Donald Trump is secretly working to stop a child sex cabal run by Hollywood and political elites who will one day be revealed during an apocalyptic event known as The Storm.
During the pandemic, QAnon-related content has exploded online, growing nearly 175% on Facebook and nearly 63% on Twitter, according to a British think tank.
Although QAnon's conspiracy theories are baseless -- they allege that a famous actor is a secret sex trafficker and a leading Democrat participated in Satanic rituals -- the dangers the movement poses are very real.
The FBI has called QAnon a domestic terror threat and an internal FBI memo warned that "fringe conspiracy theories very likely motivate some domestic extremists, wholly or in part, to commit criminal and sometimes violent activity."
Facebook finally pledged to ban QAnon content earlier this month. And YouTube announced Thursday that it is "removing more conspiracy theory content used to justify real-world violence," including QAnon videos.
Still, some Christian conservatives are falling for QAnon's unhinged conspiracies.
"Right now QAnon is still on the fringes of evangelicalism," said Ed Stetzer, an evangelical pastor and dean at Wheaton College in Illinois who wrote a recent column warning Christians about QAnon. "But we have a pretty big fringe.
"Pastors need to be more aware of the danger and they need tools to address it," he told CNN. "People are being misled by social media."
Pastors who preach QAnon-aligned ideas
Some Christian pastors are actually leading their followers to QAnon, or at least introducing them to its dubious conspiracy theories.
To cite a few examples:
• During services in July, Rock Urban Church in Grandville, Michigan, played a discredited video that supports QAnon conspiracy theories. "The country is being torn apart by the biggest political hoax and coordinated mass media disinformation campaign in living history — you may know it as COVID-19," the video says. The church did not answer requests for comment and has removed the video from its YouTube channel.
• Danny Silk, a leader at Bethel Church, a Pentecostal megachurch in Redding, California, has posted QAnon-related ideas and hashtags on his Instagram account. Silk did not respond to requests for comment.
Bethel Church in Redding, California. One of its leaders has shared QAnon ideas on social media.
• Pastor John MacArthur of California, an influential evangelical who is battling county officials over the right to continue indoor services at his Grace Community Church, espoused a theme popular in QAnon circles when he misinterpreted CDC data and informed his congregation that "there is no pandemic." MacArthur declined CNN's request for comment.
• There's even a movement, led by the Indiana-based Omega Kingdom Ministry, to merge QAnon and Christianity -- with texts from both the Bible and Q read at church services.
"If you are just learning about QAnon and The Great Awakening, this is the right spot for you," reads the ministry's website. Representatives from the ministry did not respond to multiple requests for comment.
Paul Anleitner, an evangelical pastor in Minneapolis, said he's seen worrying examples of conservative Christians preaching from QAnon's bible: Pastors warning about the "Deep State," congregants trading conspiracy theories during Bible studies, and, most concerning to him, unsuspecting Christians lured to QAnon through respected church leaders.
"I see this circulating through conservative and Charismatic churches and it breaks my heart," said Anleitner, who spent time in Pentecostal churches, where he says QAnon's influence is distressingly pervasive.
"It's pulling families apart, pulling people away from the gospel and creating distrust among people searching for the truth."
Pastor John MacArthur speaking at his California church in August. CNN has blurred a portion of this image to protect a child's identity.
Earlier this year a young Christian friend of his recirculated QAnon ideas posted online by a national Christian leader, Anleitner said. (He declined to name the pastor on the record).
"I reached out to my friend and told him the stuff he posted came directly from QAnon," said Anleitner. "He had no idea."
And that, Christian leaders say, is a big part of the problem.
Some followers see QAnon messages as sacred texts
QAnon is complex, said Brian Friedberg, a researcher at the Harvard Kennedy School of Government who has studied the movement.
It churns out an almost endless stream of content, from memes to anti-Semitic tropes to Christian Scripture. From its anonymous message board, the dubious ideas circulate through social media, sometimes finding their way into the Twitter feed of Trump and his allies, who have repeatedly boosted QAnon accounts.
Q himself (or herself, or themselves for that matter -- no one quite knows who Q is) has posted nearly 5,000 messages since 2017.
In QAnon, some observers see a mass delusion, others see a political cult, and still others claim to see the sprouts of a new faith.
According to the religious view of QAnon, Q is a postmodern prophet, "Q drops" (aka his messages) are sacred texts and Trump is a messianic figure who will conjure "The Storm," an apocalyptic revelation exposing evildoers.
A QAnon flag is flown during a rally in support of President Trump on October 11, 2020 in Ronkonkoma, New York.
If QAnon is a new religion, it bears the birthmarks of our truth-deprived time: Born on an obscure internet image board, it spreads through social media, preaches a perverted form of populism and is amplified by a president who has demonstrated little regard for facts.
But in Mississippi, the Neffs said they see QAnon as a source of "behind the scenes" information -- not as a religion.
"It's kind of like checking Fox News or CNN," -- that is, a place to find the latest news, said Park Neff, who has a master's in divinity and a doctorate from New Orleans Baptist Seminary. "It just seemed to be good, solid conservative thought."
Like her husband, Sharon Neff said she saw no contradictions between QAnon and Christianity. Instead, she saw important connections, as did many of her friends and fellow church members.
"What resonated with me is the idea of moving toward a global government," she said, "and that actually goes along with the Christian belief about the End Times."
QAnon's 'red pill'
In some ways, QAnon echoes the concerns of politically engaged, ultra-conservative evangelicals.
It interprets world events through the lens of Scripture or Q posts. It's obsessed with a grand, apocalyptic reckoning that will separate good from evil, deeply distrusts the media and finds an unlikely champion -- and hero -- in President Trump.
Neff also said she likes that Q quotes Christian scripture extensively and claims to be exposing child trafficking, a problem that she said she and other Southern Baptist women have been fighting for years.
That's no accident, say experts who have studied QAnon. The group intentionally uses emotionally fraught topics, like suffering children, to draw Christians to their movement.
"That's a recruiting tactic," said Travis View, a host of "QAnon Anonymous," a podcast that seeks to explain the movement. "It's their red pill." (Travis View is a pseudonym he uses for safety. )
A man wears a QAnon sweatshirt during a pro-Trump rally on October 3, 2020 in the borough of Staten Island in New York City. The event was held to encourage supporters to pray for Trump's health after he contracted Covid-19.
View compared it to a religion that proselytizes by offering potential converts seemingly mundane services before laying the hard sell on them.
"The 'Save the Children' messaging is very effective, because everyone wants to protect children."
It's also tailor-made for evangelicals, View said.
Lately, he added, QAnon has been holding "Save the Children" rallies, while carefully concealing its involvement.
The tactic has been effective, said Anleitner.
"People who start with 'saving the children' don't stay there -- and that's the problem," he said. "It's like Alice in Wonderland. They follow the rabbit and enter a totally different framework for reality."
Ready for the Great Awakening
Friedberg said he sees elements of his experience as a young evangelical in the QAnon movement: Its seamless blend of Christianity and nationalism, its promise of spiritual knowledge and the primacy of scripture, and, finally, the desire to evangelize to friends and family.
But Friedberg said he doesn't see QAnon itself as a religion.
"This is an information operation that has gotten out of the direct control of whoever started it," he said. It's an operation, he added, that likely would not exist in a less polarized, confusing and frightening time.
Under somewhat similar strains, a group of 1840s Baptists called the Millerites predicted the Second Coming of Jesus.
When Jesus didn't arrive, the Millerites were greatly disappointed, but they adjusted their apocalyptic timetables and soldiered on, eventually becoming the Seventh Day Adventist Church.
A QAnon supporter at Mount Rushmore National Monument on July 1, 2020 in Keystone, South Dakota.
Travis View said he sees echoes of the Millerites in QAnon. Numerous QAnon "prophecies" have proven false. Hillary Clinton was not arrested in 2017, Republicans didn't rout Democrats during the 2018 midterm elections and Trump has not imprisoned his political enemies at Guantanamo Bay.
These days, Q shies away from giving specific dates, View noted, suggesting a shift in tactics. Even so, believers attempt to explain away any contradictions between QAnon and reality, just as the Millerites did centuries ago.
Park Neff, the Baptist pastor, said the failed prophecies are all part of QAnon's master plan.
"Some of it seems like deliberate misinformation to throw off the other side," Neff said, "as should be apparent to anyone who watches the news. Sometimes he (Q) does it to rattle their cages, sometimes to keep them guessing. It seems to work."
Meanwhile, Neff, like many interested in QAnon, looks forward to the Great Awakening. The pastor said it won't be like the other Great Awakenings, the religious revivals that torched through early America.
This one, he said, will concern the state, not the church.
It will start when the prevailing evil in our government is finally revealed, he said, and end with Trump validated and all the bad people jailed on an island far, far away.
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How QAnon Conspiracy Is Spreading In Christian Communities Across The U.S.
NPR: All Things Considered
August 21, 2020 3:47 PM ET
NPR's Ari Shapiro talks with journalist Katelyn Beaty about the spread of the QAnon conspiracy theory in Christian communities in the United States.
ARI SHAPIRO, HOST:
The false conspiracy theory known as QAnon is moving from fringe Internet chatrooms into mainstream politics. A Republican congressional candidate in Georgia is a supporter. The Texas Republican Party has used a QAnon slogan in campaign messaging. President Trump himself has retweeted QAnon followers at least 200 times and described them as, quote, "people that love our country." To be clear, this is a group the FBI has labeled a potential domestic terrorist threat. Its followers believe that President Trump is saving the world from a cult of cannibalistic pedophiles.
Reporter Katelyn Beaty writes for the Religion News Service about how this belief is taking hold in white evangelical churches. Welcome to ALL THINGS CONSIDERED.
KATELYN BEATY: Thanks so much for having me.
SHAPIRO: Your piece is called "QAnon: The Alternative Religion That's Coming To Your Church." Do the people you interviewed really see it as a belief system comparable to organized religion?
BEATY: They do. They are picking up on the overt spiritual language that Q, whoever that is, is using in his messages on the Internet, and they see that as connecting directly to the Bible, to the God of Christianity and to God's hand at work in the world. So they see the QAnon messages as revealing truth in the world and that they are supposed to take up a spiritual battle to reveal truth.
SHAPIRO: And your reporting suggests that there's something about this moment that makes it spread that much faster.
BEATY: Yeah. So a lot of pastors I spoke with noted the fact that, you know, their churches are having to continue to do virtual church. They're not meeting in person as much due to the coronavirus and restrictions on worship. And in that time, the pastors I spoke with sense that there is this isolation and loneliness that their members are experiencing. You know, the pastors only get one hour a week with people in their church. The people in their church are probably spending hours on Facebook, on other social media forums, taking in this information. And the pastors I spoke with just felt like they couldn't do enough to counter the false messages that some of their church members were receiving through the Internet.
SHAPIRO: One pastor who you spoke with in rural Missouri named Mark Fugitt told you he's trying to get at this in his sermons, and one way he's doing it is talking about the theme of dehumanization.
(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)
MARK FUGITT: When our enemy becomes - when they're not human, when they're Satan, you know, working for the devil, then we get into - you know, it's the whole - you know, I can't hate a - you know, another person. But, boy, if I can make them less than human, that's the crusade that's Jewish persecution throughout history, that's racial issues. And I think we're starting to see some of that. And, I mean, I've heard it. I've heard people literally say, you know, hey, this certain political figure, you know, I don't think they're human.
SHAPIRO: Besides speaking at the pulpit, what other strategies are these pastors trying?
BEATY: So the pastors I spoke with talked a lot about drawing on tried-and-true Christian principles - for example, the biblical teaching that Christians are not to bear false witness against their neighbors. They're supposed to be people who speak truth and not falsehood. They're people who are supposed to create peace instead of division. They're people who are supposed to speak words of love instead of hate. And so rather than directly take on the truth or falsity of specific QAnon claims, the pastors that I spoke with felt that it was better to really draw people in their church to principles that could then be applied in their daily lives, including in how they conduct themselves online.
SHAPIRO: Many pastors you spoke to are clearly very concerned about this. Let's hear from Jeb Barr, senior pastor of First Baptist Church in Elm Mott, Texas.
(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)
JEB BARR: As a Christian, as a church, we're going to be spreading the message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ because that's the most important message in the world. So if the people spreading that message are also spreading easily debunked, crazy lies, why would the message be believed, right? Why would we listen to my friend Joe, who says he's a Christian and who's telling me about Jesus, if he also thinks that Communists are taking over America and operating a pedophile ring out of some pizza restaurant?
SHAPIRO: I guess one question is, if these pastors are the voices of authority within the church community, why aren't they able to talk their parishioners out of this false belief?
BEATY: The pastors that I spoke with talked about a crisis of authority that they feel acutely as spiritual leaders. They perceive that we're in this time when traditional forms of credibility, of verifying truth, of looking at authoritative figures as holding truth - we're in a time when there's a lot of mistrust of traditional sources of authority and truth. And they feel that themselves as church leaders. So they're concerned that if they try to take on QAnon directly and speak truth instead of falsehood, that they just - they won't be trusted. They won't be believed.
And, also, if they try to point their church members to credible news sources, to mainstream media, that none of that will come through because, of course, according to the QAnon conspiracy theory, the mainstream media is part of the cover-up. So I think a lot of the pastors felt that their hands are tied in this time, and they're concerned that members of their church are not only accepting falsehood and kind of believing in these falsehoods but also spreading falsehood to other people in the church. And that's especially problematic when QAnon is being espoused by other pastors in a denomination or by leaders in a particular church.
SHAPIRO: Do you think we would find a growing belief in QAnon in any community that includes a lot of Trump supporters, or is there something specific to the white evangelical church that makes it susceptible to these messages?
BEATY: That's a great question. I think about a poll conducted by the Billy Graham Center at Wheaton College, a prominent evangelical institution in the Chicago suburbs. This was a poll conducted in 2018 that found that over half of evangelicals, as defined by belief, are strongly convinced that the mainstream media produced fake news. And Ed Stetzer, the executive director of the Billy Graham Center, noted that that distrust in mainstream media and that willingness to write off mainstream media information as fake news opens the door for a lot of evangelicals to turn to alternative and fringe news sources, including those that traffic in conspiracy theories. So I certainly think there's a connection there.
But, also, again, it's that QAnon uses this explicitly spiritual language that sounds Christian. You know, there's a clear battle between good and evil. There's the promise of this great awakening. More people are going to wake up to these prophecies, if you will, that's coming from Q. And so it's easy for many white evangelicals to read their Bibles and connect the dots between what they read there and what they're hearing from QAnon sources.
SHAPIRO: Katelyn Beaty is a journalist who wrote about QAnon and the evangelical church for the Religion News Service. Thank you for your time today.
BEATY: Thanks so much for having me.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
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QAnon: The alternative religion that’s coming to your church: Teaching susceptible Christians media literacy won’t counteract their sudden, widespread adherence to conspiracy theories because these Christians thrive on a narrative of media cover-up.
by Katelyn Beaty
August 17, 2020
In this Aug. 2, 2018, file photo, David Reinert holds a Q sign while waiting in line with others to enter a campaign rally with President Donald Trump in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. The far-right QAnon conspiracy theory forged in a dark corner of the internet has come into the mainstream political arena. (AP Photo/Matt Rourke)
(RNS) — It’s a rough time to be a pastor. An election year, national racial unrest and a global pandemic each challenged the usual methods of ministry. Taken together, many church leaders are facing the traditional post-vacation ingathering season with a serious case of burnout.
But there’s another challenge that pastors I spoke with say is on the rise in their flocks. It is taking on the power of a new religion that’s dividing churches and hurting Christian witness.
Mark Fugitt, senior pastor of Round Grove Baptist Church in Miller, Missouri, recently sat down to count the conspiracy theories that people in his church are sharing on Facebook. The list was long. It included claims that 5G radio waves are used for mind control; that George Floyd’s murder is a hoax; that Bill Gates is related to the devil; that masks can kill you; that the germ theory isn’t real; and that there might be something to Pizzagate after all.
“You don’t just see it once,” said Fugitt. “If there’s ever anything posted, you’ll see it five to 10 times. It’s escalating for sure.”
Conspiracy theories — grand narratives that seek to prove that powerful actors are secretly controlling events and institutions for evil purposes — are nothing new in the U.S. But since 2017, a sort of ur-conspiracy theory, QAnon, has coalesced in online forums and created millions of believers. “To look at QAnon is to see not just a conspiracy theory but the birth of a new religion,” wrote Adrienne LaFrance in The Atlantic in June.
Named after “Q,” who posts anonymously on the online bulletin board 4chan, QAnon alleges that President Donald Trump and military officials are working to expose a “deep state” pedophile ring with links to Hollywood, the media and the Democratic Party. Since its first mention some three years ago, the theory has drawn adherents looking for a clear way to explain recent disorienting global events.
Once the fascination of far-right commentators and their followers, QAnon is no longer fringe. With support from Trump and other elected officials, it has gained credibility both on the web and in the offline world: In Georgia, a candidate for Congress has praised Q as “a mythical hero,” and at least five other congressional hopefuls from Illinois to Oregon have voiced support.
One scholar found a 71% increase in QAnon content on Twitter and a 651% increase on Facebook since March.
Jon Thorngate is the pastor at LifeBridge, a nondenominational church of about 300 in a Milwaukee suburb. In recent months, he said, his members have shared “Plandemic,” a half-hour film that presents COVID-19 as a moneymaking scheme by government officials and others, on Facebook. Members have also passed around a now-banned Breitbart video that promotes hydroxychloroquine as a cure for the virus.
Thorngate, one of the few pastors who would go on the record among those who called QAnon a real problem in their churches, said that only five to 10 members are actually posting the videos online. But in conversations with other members, he’s realized many more are open to conspiracy theories than those who post.
Thorngate attributes the phenomenon in part to the “death of expertise” — a distrust of authority figures that leads some Americans to undervalue long-established measures of competency and wisdom. Among some church members, he said, the attitude is, “I’m going to use church for the things I like, ignore it for the things I don’t and find my own truth.
“That part for us is concerning, that nothing feels authoritative right now.”
A demonstrator holds a QAnon sign as he walks at a protest April 19, 2020, in Olympia, Washington, opposing the state’s stay-at-home order to slow the coronavirus outbreak. Washington Gov. Jay Inslee has blasted President Donald Trump’s calls to “liberate” parts of the country from stay-at-home and other orders designed to combat the spread of the coronavirus. Inslee said Trump is fomenting a potentially deadly insubordination among his followers before the pandemic is contained. (AP Photo/Elaine Thompson)
For years in the 1980s and ’90s, U.S. evangelicals, above nearly any other group, warned what will happen when people abandon absolute truth (which they located in the Bible), saying the idea of relative truth would lead to people believing whatever confirms their own inward hunches. But suspicion of big government, questioning of scientific consensus (on evolution, for example) and a rejection of the morals of Hollywood and liberal elites took hold among millennial Christians, many of whom feel politically alienated and beat up by mainstream media. They are natural targets for QAnon.
There’s no hard data on how many Christians espouse QAnon. But Ed Stetzer, executive director of the Billy Graham Center at Wheaton College, noted that distrust of mainstream news sources “can feed a penchant for conspiracy theories.”
A 2018 poll from BGC found that 46% of self-identified evangelicals and 52% of those whose beliefs tagged them as evangelical “strongly agreed that the mainstream media produced fake news.” It also found that regular church attendance (at least once a month) correlated to believing that mainstream media promulgates fake news (77% compared with 68% of those who attend less regularly).
Jared Stacy said the spread of conspiracy theories in his church is particularly affecting young members. The college and young adult pastor of Spotswood Baptist Church in Fredericksburg, Virginia, Stacy said some older members are sharing Facebook content that links the coronavirus to Jeffrey Epstein and secret pedophile rings. He says his and other pastors’ job is to teach that conspiracy theories are not where Christians should find a basis for reality.
“My fear … is that Jesus would not be co-opted by conspiracy theories in a way that leads the next generation to throw Jesus out with the bathwater,” Stacy said, “that we’re not able to separate the narrative of taking back our country from Jesus’ kingdom narrative.”
Others are concerned the theories will become grounds for more mistrust. “Young people are exiting the church because they see their parents and mentors and pastors and Sunday school teachers spreading things that even at a young age they can see through,” said Jeb Barr, the senior pastor of First Baptist Church of Elm Mott outside Waco, Texas. He said conspiracy theories are “extremely widespread and getting worse” among his online church networks.
“Why would we listen to my friend Joe … who’s telling me about Jesus who also thinks that Communists are taking over America and operating a pedophile ring out of a pizza restaurant? … Why would we be believed?”
But Barr and other pastors I spoke with are reticent to police church members’ social media conduct. Instead, they try to teach broader principles. “Christians are meant to be agents of hope, to be peacemakers; the Bible says we’re not to be quarrelsome,” said Barr. “We’re not to be the ones spreading fear and division and anger.”
Barr also teaches critical thinking skills and encourages his members to read “boring news.” He will recommend news sources that are credible.
But teaching media literacy isn’t enough, precisely because QAnon thrives on a narrative of media cover-up.
Fugitt said it’s not effective to tell conspiracy spreaders that what they are sharing online is false. “Nobody joins a cult. I don’t think anybody shares a conspiracy theory either because they believe it’s truth.” Rather, he tries to address the dehumanizing language of QAnon theories that equate certain people with evil. History is replete with examples of where such language can lead.
“I can’t hate another person, but boy if I can make them less than human, that’s the Crusades, that’s Jewish persecution throughout history, that’s racial issues hand over fist there.”
In a fraught political moment, the pastors I spoke with worried that taking on QAnon, by addressing politics directly, would divide the church.
But QAnon is more than a political ideology. It’s a spiritual worldview that co-opts many Christian-sounding ideas to promote verifiably false claims about actual human beings.
QAnon has features akin to syncretism — the practice of blending traditional Christian beliefs with other spiritual systems, such as Santeria. Q explicitly uses Bible verses to urge adherents to stand firm against evil elites. One charismatic church based in Indiana hosts two-hour Sunday services showing how Bible prophecies confirm Q’s messages. Its leaders tell the congregation to stop watching mainstream media (even conservative media) in favor of QAnon YouTube channels and the Qmap website.
And it’s having life-and-death effects: It’s hampering the work of anti-sex trafficking organizations. The FBI has linked it to violence and threats of violence. And its adherents are downplaying the threat of COVID and thus putting others’ lives at risk.
The earliest Christians contended with syncretism in the form of Gnosticism, which blended elements of Greek philosophy and Zoroastrianism with Christianity, emphasizing the good-evil spirit-flesh divide as well as secret divine knowledge (Greek: gnosis is “knowledge”). Early church fathers such as Irenaeus and Tertullian battled Gnostic ideas, rejecting them as heresy.
At a time when church leaders are having to host digital church and try to meet members’ needs virtually, the idea of adding “fight heresy” to their to-do list might sound exhausting. But a core calling of church leaders is to speak the truth in love. It’s not loving to allow impressionable people to be taken in by falsehood. Nor is it loving to allow them to spread falsehood and slander to others.
“Conspiracy theories thrive on a sort of cynicism that says, ‘We see a different reality that no one else sees,’” said Stacy. “Paul says to take every thought captive — addressing conspiracy theories is part of that work.”
(Katelyn Beaty is a former managing editor of Christianity Today and the author of “A Woman’s Place.” The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily represent those of Religion News Service.)