Tucker Carlson’s critics have a habit of mistaking his skepticism for sacrilege. His recent comments questioning “Christian Zionism” were branded as heresy by those who believe God’s foreign policy comes with an Israeli flag stitched to it. But Carlson’s point wasn’t anti-Israel. In truth, it was anti-idolatry. He was questioning a theology that confuses the divine with the geopolitical, the sacred with the strategic, and faith with fan mail for Benjamin Netanyahu.
Christian Zionism isn’t Christianity. It’s the unholy fusion of Revelation with real estate, where ancient prophecies are traded like stock options and every missile strike in Gaza is a prelude to the Rapture. To suggest that Jesus needs the Israeli Defense Forces to fulfill God’s plan is to shrink the Creator into a campaign manager. Carlson simply asked what any thinking Christian should: when did the Cross become a weapon in another nation’s war?
The concept rests on a strange reversal. In the New Testament, Christ redefined “chosen” not as an ethnicity but as a way of being—a moral covenant available to all. Christian Zionists undo that, wrapping tribalism in the language of faith. They read Genesis 12:3 (“I will bless those who bless you”) like it’s a Pentagon memo and insist that America’s salvation depends on funding Israel’s excesses. The result isn’t piety but policy dressed as prophecy. Many of the same evangelicals who warn about “globalism” have yoked their faith to the foreign policy of another nation. The same people who distrust Washington bureaucrats seem to believe Tel Aviv generals are on God’s direct line. If this isn’t a “brain virus,” as Carlson quipped, it’s a full-blown bout of doctrinal delirium.
Carlson’s critics call him ignorant of history, yet they’re the ones allergic to context. Christian Zionism isn’t a timeless creed, but rather a 20th-century marketing campaign. Scofield’s Reference Bible—the one that popularized this “end times” narrative—came with footnotes so slanted they might as well have been signed by a lobbyist. Scofield wasn’t Moses; he was more of a middleman, turning prophecy into a pamphlet for political loyalty. His disciples built megachurches and mailing lists, not cathedrals or conscience.
By the 1970s, with the rise of televangelists and the “Moral Majority,” Christian Zionism became a brand. Every crisis in the Middle East was reimagined as a trailer for the Second Coming. Theological reflection gave way to theater—complete with countdown clocks to Armageddon. What began as scriptural interpretation devolved into spiritual speculation, where Jesus’ return was scheduled like a flight that keeps getting delayed. The absurdity of it would be funny if it weren’t so tragic. A faith founded on love of neighbor now demands allegiance to a government that bombs its neighbors. Sermons that once preached peace now bankroll destruction.
The “Prince of Peace” has been drafted as an honorary defense minister. To call this Christianity is like calling a casino a cathedral because both have stained glass. Carlson’s refusal to genuflect before this golden calf makes him dangerous—not to America, but to the cottage industry that thrives on fear, prophecy charts, and tax-deductible donations. His critics conflate questioning with apostasy because doubt threatens their dividends. Yet his challenge is profoundly Christian: to separate the eternal from the expedient, the Church from the Chamber of Commerce, and the Gospel from the gunship.
To believe that divine favor can be bought with weapons aid is to insult both God and man. Faith becomes foreign policy, prayer becomes lobbying, and salvation becomes statecraft. What passes for piety is politics with a prayer book. Carlson’s point—the one his detractors pretend not to hear—is that American Christians have mistaken symbolic solidarity for spiritual substance. You can support Israel’s right to exist without believing its government manages heaven’s housing plan. You can love the Jewish people without subscribing to an apocalyptic playbook that requires their annihilation for your ascension.
Christian Zionism is, at its core, a theological Ponzi scheme: an early investment in catastrophe, promising eternal dividends. And like all Ponzi schemes, it thrives on ignorance and ends in ruin. Carlson, for all his flaws, refuses to buy in. In an age where politicians sell faith by the pound and pastors pitch prophecy like a product demo, he dares to remind people that Christianity isn’t a geopolitical alliance—it’s a moral one.