The State Loves Baby Jesus—But Fears Him Flipping Tables

Why do governments celebrate Christmas and Easter while rejecting Christian values? Read how the state co-opts Christian holidays to tame the Gospel and neutralize Jesus’ radical message.

Theological opinion: The state parades Jesus but does not nurture His values. That’s the heart of the problem. Christmas and Easter may still mark the calendar, but their meaning has been stolen, diluted, and recycled for civic consumption. I no longer believe we should be thankful that governments still “honour” these holy days. In fact, I believe it’s time for Christians to demand that the state stop recognising our sacred events altogether.

It is better for Christ to be kept in our hearts than mocked in public.

When the state sponsors Christian holidays, it does not do so to elevate the Gospel. It does so to neutralise it. What should be a challenge to power becomes a performance for power. The Incarnation becomes an excuse for a shopping festival. The Resurrection becomes a chocolate-driven long weekend. The most radical events in human history have been refitted into quiet traditions, stripped of their teeth.

Stanley Hauerwas warned us years ago: “The church does not exist to provide the state with a morality.” Yet this is precisely what has happened. In allowing state-sponsored holidays to pass as respect for Christianity, we’ve traded the prophetic voice of the church for a seat at the table of polite culture. We have become decorators for empire.

Let’s be clear. When the government observes Christmas or Easter, it’s not confessing the lordship of Jesus Christ. It’s managing public sentiment. It’s giving the masses something familiar and warm to hold onto, even if the substance of that familiarity has been emptied out. As Jacques Ellul wrote, “The modern state… blesses the Church on Christmas and crucifies her on Good Friday.” The state gives us a silent night, but keeps the tomb sealed shut.

There is nothing noble in this arrangement. It is a hostage situation disguised as hospitality.

Jesus didn’t come to bolster national identity. He came to upend it. The early Christians were not martyred because they were festive or well-organised. They were killed because they declared a new kingdom—one where the last are first, the meek inherit the earth, and Caesar is not Lord. Christ was a threat to power, and He still is, if we let Him be.

But we don’t. Not really. We let the state carry His image like a banner, while gutting His message. The cross becomes a decoration. The birth of the Saviour becomes a marketing opportunity. The resurrection becomes a reason to promote community resilience.

It is better for us to be persecuted Christians than celebrated caricatures.

Walter Brueggemann observed that the state wants “chaplains, not prophets.” He’s right. Prophets are dangerous. They speak truth that costs something. Chaplains, on the other hand, are allowed at the table so long as they bless whatever is already on the menu. When governments honour Christian holidays, they want a Church that affirms their plans, sanctifies their budgets, and speaks of peace without justice. They want prayers before council meetings but no serious critique of policy. They want Christian music at public events but not the Sermon on the Mount.

Reinhold Niebuhr captured the irony of this all too well: “The religion of the state is always tempted to idolize itself.” And what is more idolatrous than taking the name of Christ and using it to promote national branding? We’ve reached a point where Christianity survives as state theatre. The Nativity appears on government banners, but not in government policy. The cross is worn, but not carried.

In the name of tolerance, the state offers us Christmas. In the name of unity, it grants us Easter. And in the name of good governance, it discards every value that flows from those events—sacrifice, truth, humility, divine authority.

And still, many Christians smile and say thank you.

Why? Because we have confused visibility with influence. We think that if Christ is publicly acknowledged, even in watered-down ways, that’s a win. It isn’t. Visibility without substance is not faith. It is mockery. It is an illusion designed to pacify the faithful while protecting the secular order from anything that might disturb it.

This is not a partnership. It’s a con.

Jesus does not need the state to endorse His birthday. He does not want the state to decorate itself with His cross. He wants disciples, not customers. He wants people transformed by the Spirit, not people comforted by the illusion that everything is fine because the shops still close on Good Friday.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer saw it clearly. What the state gives us is cheap grace—grace without repentance, celebration without confession, religion without the cross. He warned, “Christianity without discipleship is always Christianity without Christ.” The modern state offers us Christianity without discipleship. It offers us pageantry without purpose.

And we, in turn, give it our silence. Our gratitude. Our cooperation.

This is why I say, enough. Let the state cancel its Christmas. Let it dissolve its Easter. Better to have no public acknowledgement of our holy days than to continue this charade. At least then the Church might be free to proclaim Christ without being co-opted. At least then we might find our voice again.

There is a difference between persecution and patronisation. The former sharpens the Church. The latter rots it from within.

We may wish for a nation where Christ is honoured. But when the state offers a throne for Jesus, it is not a gift—it is a trap. As soon as Christ is seated in state ceremonies, He ceases to be the One who overturns the tables. He becomes the mascot of empire. And Christians become civil servants of comfort.

Even Pope Benedict XVI, no radical, lamented this. He saw that Western societies had turned Christian holidays into mere cultural symbols. “A Christianity that has become mere tradition and culture,” he warned, “is no longer a faith, but a shadow.”

And yet every December, the shadow grows longer. Every April, the echo of the Resurrection gets drowned out by road trip playlists. And every year, Christians are told to be grateful for the crumbs they are handed from the secular feast.

This is not gratitude. It is confusion.

Zizek would call this ideological violence: the theft of meaning masked as inclusion. In fact, he already did. He once said, “The true victory of ideology is when even our dreams are dictated by the enemy.” In our case, the dream of Christian recognition has been fulfilled in the worst possible way—by being turned into a symbol so safe it no longer means anything.

Christmas in the West today is the ultimate Zizekian fantasy: a holy day with no holiness, a feast celebrating a birth we dare not actually discuss. It’s not offensive, because it’s been emptied. Sanitised. Disneyfied. The most dangerous truth in history—that God became flesh and dwelt among us—has been wrapped in fairy lights and sold at a discount.

The danger is no longer the absence of Christ in public life. The danger is the presence of a Christ we do not recognise, because He has been tamed, managed, and declawed.

The early Church survived emperors who hunted them. But I wonder if we will survive governments that honour us with gift cards.

We must not ask the state to honour our faith. We must live it. We must stop outsourcing our identity to holidays on the national calendar. The Church is most alive when it is most distinct. Not angry, not isolated—but holy. Set apart. Not begging for recognition, but proclaiming truth. Not blending in, but standing out.

Let the government have its long weekends. Let it keep its civic rituals. We will keep Christ. Not as symbol, but as Lord. Not as decoration, but as King. We will celebrate His birth not with shopping sprees, but with worship. We will remember His death not with public holidays, but with trembling gratitude.

And we will proclaim His resurrection—not because the calendar says so, but because it is true, and because it changes everything.

The state can take its parades. Christ deserves more than that. He deserves our lives.