Wait, We're The Oppressed Ones?, Part Four
The Commission of Religious Liberty Meets for the first time at God's Base Camp
This is part of my “Wait, we’re the oppressed ones?” series — an ongoing look at how claims of anti-Christian discrimination are being mobilized into policy. And few examples are as on-the-nose as this one
Every time you shop at Hobby Lobby, you’re not just buying crafts — you’re actually helping bankroll a particular vision of religious liberty. But that vision isn’t a pluralistic world where all faiths can practice their religion, rather that vision takes the shape of a building and in this case a Museum, of the Bible that is. Located just down the street from the U.S. Capitol, the museum, which is heavily backed by Hobby Lobby’s Green family, served as the backdrop of the inaugural meeting of the Trump administration’s Religious Liberty Commission, a gathering that, unironically, promotes policies prioritizing the rights of evangelical Christians above nearly everyone else. (See: Wait, We’re The Oppressed Ones?, Part Three)
And given that this commission was created to combat the ubiquitous “bias” of Christians, it seems fitting — almost poetic — that its first meeting took place in a half-billion-dollar monument to the biblical text of arguably the least persecuted religious group in the country.
More Than a Museum
The Museum of the Bible opened in 2017 — three months ahead of schedule, thanks to what some might call divine intervention. But despite its proximity to our nation’s other Smithsonian Museums (it’s only two blocks from the National Air and Space Museum), one could easily be forgiven in thinking it’s a building controlled by the government. I wonder if the twenty million people who visit DC every year know that? At any rate, the museum was funded by a cast of characters you may have heard of, including the National Christian Foundation (NCF) and Steve Green, president of Hobby Lobby.
While the Museum presents itself as a neutral celebration of Scripture, many of its top funders have deep ties to the Christian nationalist movement. The National Christian Foundation, one of its major backers, has quietly funneled billions of dollars into efforts that seek to reshape American law and culture according to a conservative Christian worldview. From advancing school voucher programs that divert public funds into religious education, to supporting organizations that oppose LGBTQ+ rights and promote “traditional” gender roles, NCF is a cornerstone in the financial infrastructure of Christian nationalism. These causes are well-organized campaigns designed to embed a specific theological vision into public life.
And few figures have been more pivotal in advancing that vision than David and Steve Green, the father/son billionaire duo behind Hobby Lobby and prominent patrons of the Museum itself.
As Anne Nelson writes in her book Shadow Network: Media, Money, and the Secret Hub of the Radical Right
“The Green family members were major donors to the National Christian Foundation, where they joined the DeVoses and the Friesses in funding such CNP [Council for National Policy] regulars as the Family Research Council, Focus on the Family, and the Alliance Defending Freedom. The Richard and Helen DeVos Family Foundation is also prominently featured on the Museum of the Bible’s donor wall.”
I’m guessing there aren’t many religions out there with a half-billion-dollar museum, the backing of multiple billionaire families, and a donor wall that reads like a who’s who of the Christian Right — all in the name of combating persecution.
The Errancy of Inerrancy
The Museum of the Bible proudly upholds the inerrancy of Scripture — so much so that all members of the museum’s board are required to sign a statement affirming that belief. Now, if inerrancy isn’t a word you use in daily conversation, congrats — you likely don’t have high-blood pressure, lol. But this doctrine is quite central for many Christian nationalists. It allows them to argue that the Bible is not just descriptive of ancient life, but prescriptive for how everyone should live today.
Which makes one element of the museum’s origin story so contradictory. The museum’s founding family — the same folks so committed to biblical values — found themselves caught in a case of errancy of their own: allegedly breaking the eighth commandment. You know, “Don’t Steal Stuff” (Message translation, probably). Turns out, smuggling over 11,000 antiquities from Iraq and Egypt doesn’t quite square with the moral high ground they often claim. These artifacts were scheduled to be showcased at the Museum of the Bible.
Eventually, Hobby Lobby agreed to hand over the artifacts and pay $3 million to settle a civil forfeiture case brought by the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Eastern District of New York and Homeland Security Investigations. And because irony is never in short supply these days, the official who signed the ceremonial transfer certificate was none other than then–Acting Director of ICE, Thomas D. Homan.
A “Base Camp” for a Spiritual War
The Museum of the Bible holds a special place in the religious right's imagination — not just as a cultural institution, but as a kind of headquarters. But as investigative journalist
writes in her book, The Power Worshippers: Inside the Dangerous Rise of Religious Nationalism, some view the museum as something all together different:“Cindy Jacobs…who identifies herself as an ‘apostle,’ went on to describe the Museum of the Bible as ‘God’s base camp.’ Right there, in the auditorium of the museum, she offered a prophecy: ‘The army of the heavens marches into Washington, D.C., and marches out of Washington, D.C.’”
This language from a stalwart of the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR) is not surprising — in fact, it’s common among those advancing a Christian nationalist agenda. But it goes further. A radical strand of independent charismatic Christianity, NAR is not just a fringe spiritual movement — it has become a powerful political force reshaping American democracy.
The movement has fused charismatic theology with Trump-era politics, gaining national visibility through figures like Paula White, Sean Feucht, Cindy Jacobs, and the late C. Peter Wagner, who helped architect its ideology. Its influence was perhaps most visible during the January 6 Capitol insurrection, where spiritual warfare took on literal form — shofars, worship music, and public prayer became tools in what many adherents saw as a prophetic mission to overturn the 2020 election. (See: Uncivil Religion)
And as NAR expert and Bible Scholar
writes in his book, The Violent Take It by Force:“If Peter Wagner was the theorizer, scholarly popularizer, and network-builder of the NAR [New Apostolic Reformation], Cindy Jacobs was the mystical goad, the spur who pushed Wagner along many stages of his own development — from spiritual warfare to envisioning Christian conquest of whole societies.”
So yes, when Cindy Jacobs calls this place "God’s base camp," she means it literally — not metaphorically. And with the Religious Liberty Commission’s crusade against alleged Christian bias, maybe the museum should be more aptly named “The Situation Room” — because much like its West Wing counterpart, it’s where strategy is coordinated, battles are framed, and the faithful prepare to reclaim what they believe has been taken from them.
A Perfect Fit (Unfortunately)
In light of all this, maybe the Museum of the Bible really is the perfect place to host the first meeting of a Religious Liberty Commission. What better location than a half-billion-dollar private museum — funded by tax-dodging billionaires, filled with smuggled artifacts, and backed by a donor network that bankrolls efforts to codify a single religious worldview into law — to talk about the urgent threat of Christian persecution in America? It’s not just symbolic. It’s a mission statement.
Because in this version of religious liberty, liberty isn’t about protecting the rights of all beliefs — it’s about elevating one. And the Museum of the Bible? It’s the marble-and-glass embodiment of that theology, weaponized for politics and wrapped in piety.
So if the Religious Liberty Commission wanted a venue that reflected its priorities — power cloaked in faith, grievance disguised as gospel — it could hardly have picked a better stage.