In August 2025, President Donald Trump signed an executive order aimed at criminalizing flag desecration, framing it as a matter of national unity and respect; never in my life have I felt a stronger urge to burn a flag than I do now. The order proposes fines and potential jail time for individuals who burn or deface the American flag in public protest to incite violence. Supporters hail it as a long-overdue defense of national honor. Critics warn it violates the First Amendment and sets a dangerous precedent for regulating symbolic speech.
But for Christians, the issue runs deeper than constitutional law. It touches on the temptation to legislate morality—to use the state to enforce reverence rather than cultivate righteousness. The flag, like the cross, is a symbol. And when symbols are legally protected from desecration, we must ask: are we defending virtue, or demanding conformity?
This temptation to protect symbols through law isn’t new; it’s deeply human. Even in Scripture, we see how sacred objects can become spiritual liabilities when reverence turns into ritual. Not because symbols are inherently evil, but because humans are prone to worship the sign instead of the substance. In Numbers 21, the bronze serpent was a tool of healing, but by 2 Kings 18, it had become an idol, named Nehushtan, a mere piece of brass, which Hezekiah destroyed. Even the cross, central to Christian faith, is not to be worshipped—it points to Christ, who alone is worthy.
Does Speech Necessitate Violence
When the Church defends symbols through law, it risks turning reverence into ritual and patriotism into idolatry. True righteousness cannot be legislated. It must be lived, spoken, and embodied by a people who fear God more than man.
And we must be honest: to make something illegal is to invite the state to use force against those who violate it. Every law carries the threat of fines; if fines go unpaid, then arrest and possible imprisonment. When Christians advocate for criminalizing speech, whether it’s flag burning or blasphemy, they are essentially asking Caesar to use his authority to suppress dissenting voices on their behalf. That’s not revival. That’s retribution.
This executive order is part of a long tradition of using the law to enforce reverence. To understand its implications, we must revisit the history of blasphemy laws and how they shaped, and often distorted, public faith.
Historical Echoes: Blasphemy Laws and Their Fallout
Long before executive orders targeted flag desecration, American lawmakers tried to legislate reverence through blasphemy laws. These statutes, rooted in colonial anxieties and religious nationalism, didn’t protect faith. They often harmed the very witness they claimed to defend.
Colonial America: In 1649, Maryland passed the Toleration Act, which offered religious freedom, but only to Trinitarian Christians. Anyone who denied Jesus faced fines, whipping, or even death. Reverence was enforced, not chosen. The law didn’t foster unity; it created a hierarchy of belief backed by state violence.
Imagine a settler named Elias, newly arrived in Maryland from England. He’s a devout Unitarian, drawn by rumors of religious tolerance in the colony. But in 1650, after publicly denying the divinity of Christ in a tavern debate, Elias is arrested under the Toleration Act. The law is clear: anyone who “denies our Saviour Jesus Christ to be the Son of God” shall be punished with death and forfeiture of all property.
Elias is dragged before the colonial assembly in St. Mary’s City. His neighbors plead for mercy, but the magistrates cite the Act’s language. Though his sentence is eventually commuted to public whipping and imprisonment, his land is seized, and his reputation destroyed. The message is unmistakable: reverence is not optional—it is enforced.
In the case of People v. Ruggles, John Ruggles was convicted of blasphemy for loudly declaring in a New York tavern that “Jesus Christ was a bastard, and his mother must be a whore.” He received a three-month jail sentence and a $500 fine. Chief Justice James Kent upheld the conviction, wrongly arguing that Christianity was “the religion of this country” and that blasphemy was punishable because it undermined public morality and social order.
Kent’s ruling didn’t defend theological truth; it enforced cultural decorum. It treated Christianity not as a living faith, but as a moral scaffold for civil society. And when the Church applauds such rulings, it risks appearing fragile, dependent on state power to silence offense rather than proclaim truth.
Contrast this with Jesus’ own response to mockery and blasphemy. In Matthew 27:39–41, as He hung on the cross, “those who passed by hurled insults at Him, shaking their heads.” The chief priests and elders mocked Him, saying, “He saved others, but He can’t save Himself!” Yet Jesus did not retaliate. He did not call for punishment. He entrusted Himself to the Father and endured the shame for the sake of our redemption.
As 1 Peter 2:23 reminds us:
“When they hurled their insults at Him, He did not retaliate; when He suffered, He made no threats. Instead, He entrusted Himself to Him who judges justly.”
This is the model the Church must follow, not seeking legal protection from offense, but bearing witness through grace, endurance, and truth.
Modern Echoes: Even into the 20th century, states like Pennsylvania banned “blasphemous” business names. These laws lingered until 2010, long after cultural pluralism had taken root. They didn’t preserve faith; instead, they revealed a fear that faith couldn’t withstand scrutiny.
In 2007, filmmaker George Kalman attempted to register his company under the name I Choose Hell Productions. The Pennsylvania Department of State rejected his application, citing a statute that prohibited business names containing “words that constitute blasphemy, profane cursing or swearing, or that profane the Lord’s name”.
Kalman’s choice wasn’t meant to mock religion, it reflected his personal philosophy: that enduring hardship is better than giving up, even when life feels like hell. But the state saw the word “hell” as blasphemous and denied his right to incorporate.
The ACLU filed suit, arguing that the statute imposed a religious litmus test on speech and violated the First Amendment. In 2010, a federal court struck down the law, noting that it privileged Christian terminology (flagging words like “Jesus” and “Christ”) while ignoring others like “Allah” or “Mohammed”.
This wasn’t just censorship; it was theological gatekeeping by the state. It revealed a deeper and false insecurity: the fear that faith might falter under scrutiny if not legally protected. The Fallout: Blasphemy laws didn’t strengthen the Church’s witness. They weakened it. By outsourcing reverence to the state, believers traded persuasion for punishment. The Gospel, which thrives in open dialogue and Spirit-led conviction, was reduced to a protected category, less proclaimed, more policed.
Can We Legislate Morality?
These legal efforts, whether targeting blasphemy, idolatry, or offensive speech, stem from a deeper impulse: the desire to legislate morality. But can virtue be mandated? Scripture suggests otherwise. From Mosaic law to modern statutes, societies have tried to codify virtue. But Scripture is clear: the law can expose sin, not transform hearts. As Paul writes in Romans 7:7, “I would not have known what sin was had it not been for the law.” The law reveals our need for grace; it cannot supply it.
This is the danger when Christians seek moral outcomes through political means. We risk outsourcing virtue to the state, expecting Caesar to do what only Christ can: change hearts, renew minds, and restore communities. Yes, laws can restrain evil! However, they are unable to produce righteousness. That requires the Spirit.
Thomas Jefferson, though no orthodox believer, understood this tension. He famously wrote:
“It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no God. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.”
His point wasn’t theological, it was civic. Belief, even offensive belief, must be free if liberty is to mean anything. When Christians call for speech restrictions, we risk becoming the very persecutors our faith once resisted.
Some argue that morality must be legislated, after all, we outlaw murder, theft, and assault. Isn’t that moral legislation? It’s both yes and no. These laws don’t aim to instill virtue; they exist to protect life and property from tangible harm. They are reactive, not redemptive. The state punishes violations but does not prevent sin.
This is the crucial difference between crimes of violence and matters of conscience. Murder and assault violate another’s body. Speech and belief, no matter how offensive, do not. The First Amendment enshrines this distinction, not to protect depravity, but to preserve liberty. When we conflate moral offense with criminal harm, we invite the state to police thought, not just action.
Even biblical law reflects this tension. The Ten Commandments include both civic prohibitions (“You shall not murder”) and spiritual imperatives (“You shall not covet”). But only the former carried judicial penalties. To understand how blasphemy fits into this framework, we must distinguish between its treatment under Israel’s covenant law and its implications for Gentile societies. Coveting, idolatry, and blasphemy were sins, but their judgment belonged to God, not the magistrate. The Church must remember this: not every sin is a crime, and not every offense demands a legal remedy.
- Is it judicially punishable in Israel? Yes.
- Under the theocratic system, idolatry was punishable by death; Israel was a covenant nation governed by divine law. Blasphemy wasn’t just offensive—it was treason against the divine King.
- Although idolatry was tolerated outside Israel, it was considered blasphemous.
- Gentile nations were not subject to Mosaic law. Their blasphemy was condemned prophetically (e.g., Isaiah 36:18–20), but not prosecuted judicially.
Let’s be honest: legislating morality means inviting the state to punish those who violate our convictions. That’s not revival, it’s retribution. It replaces persuasion with coercion. The Church must resist this temptation, not because morality doesn’t matter, but because it matters too much to be entrusted to the sword.
The desire to see righteousness upheld in public life is noble, but the method matters. When Christians seek moral outcomes through legal force, we risk confusing justice with control, and holiness with censorship. The gospel calls us to persuasion. In Part II, we’ll examine how Trump’s executive order on flag burning echoes the logic of blasphemy laws, and why the Church must resist the urge to sanctify speech codes in the name of witness. Revival doesn’t come by silencing dissent. It comes by proclaiming truth with courage, clarity, and grace.
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