God’s not dead. The title says so right from the get-go. But when it comes to Peter Kane, it’s not for lack of trying.
Back in 2016 (in the events chronicled in God’s Not Dead 2), the attorney Kane led the prosecution (and persecution) of a young teacher who dared discuss Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in class. Alas for Kane, it didn’t go all that well. He lost the case, some respect and perhaps a few clients.
But Kane is not one to be easily deterred. Eight years later, he’s running for Congress—campaigning, naturally, to push God out of politics. Maybe he didn’t have that much luck with the jury box. But the ballot box? Well, that might be a different story.
And out of the blue, the incumbent in the race drops dead, leaving Kane running unopposed. Why, if Kane was a man of faith, he might’ve chalked up the congressman’s untimely demise as an act of God.
But Kane takes little time to contemplate the mysteries of fate or faith. He has far too much gloating to do. The road is clear for a triumphant congressional campaign. And once in office, he can begin the job of expelling any mention of God or faith or religion from—well, everything. Everything remotely connected by tax dollars, in any case.
“Religious superstition has no place in influencing our laws and government,” he says. “Here’s to laws, reason and reshaping our nation’s core.”
But wait! The loyal opposition refuses to just roll over. Someone needs to stand up to this perfidious politician. And naturally, they find that someone on a viral YouTube clip.
The Rev. David Hill, long a passionate defender of religious liberty and faithful activism, made quite the impact when he stood up to the powers-that-be in a recent rant. “This guy is gold,” a political operative exclaims while watching.
Clearly, this quiet, unassuming pastor is just the guy to run against Kane and his infernal goals in what current Rep. Daryl Smith says is “a fight for the soul of our nation.”
They quickly rope in Lottie Jay, a promising former political consultant, to run David’s campaign. Oh, and yeah, maybe ask the guy if he wants to run.
David doesn’t. But, after a good night’s sleep and a bit of prayer, the reverend changes his mind.
But the election won’t be easy.
Rev. Hill, as we’ve seen throughout this franchise, is a caring and conscientious fellow—presented to us as an incorruptible paragon of Christian humility and righteousness. And when the movie opens, he has no interest in diving into the world of politics. Really, he mainly wants to keep a women’s shelter run by his church open and viable.
That blend of righteousness and humility makes David an attractive political candidate. It’s hard to stay clean in the dirty world of politics, of course, and he has opportunities to dive into the muck with everyone else. But for the most part, he refuses.
[Spoiler Warning] For instance, when given the chance to spread a little dirt about Kane during the campaign, David refuses: “If I release this to the media, then my promise [to run a clean campaign] is no more than a slogan.” But when it leaks anyway, he refuses to throw anyone under the bus—taking responsibility.
David has help, though. When circumstances get difficult, he complains about how it seems as though God is putting “mountains” in his way. His fellow pastor, Martin Yip, says, “Perhaps God put those mountains in front of you to show that they can be moved.”
And then, when it looks as if David’s entire campaign is crumbling, Hill’s friend Daryl—who’s already a congressman—brings a few pinecones over and tosses them in David’s fireplace. They only release their seeds, he says, when they’re exposed to extreme heat.
When the movie’s title contains the word God not once, but twice, that’s a pretty good indication that there’s going to be some serious faith-based content to consider. Indeed, God’s Not Dead: In God We Trust is stuffed with spiritual themes like a Thanksgiving turkey’s stuffed with dressing. We’re not going to detail everything we see, but here’s a sampler.
In God We Trust begins with clips from a speech from then-President Ronald Reagan. “Without God, democracy cannot and will not endure,” he says. That sets the film’s thematic table, with Peter Kane cast as the guy who keeps flinging the silverware.
“My job as a congressman is to represent the people, not impose my faith on them,” he says. In a debate, he argues that “the idea that this country is a Christian nation, that’s more myth than history.” He notes that the phrase “In God We Trust” was added to U.S. currency in the 1950s, as was the wording “under God.” Publicly, he doesn’t denigrate people of faith. But Kane does say that faith has no place in government, arguing for a strict separation of church and state.
Rev. Hill argues that that so-called separation was enacted to protect the church, not the state. And when Kane points out the checkered role religion has played in history, David says, “The messengers may stumble, Mr. Kane, but it doesn’t negate the message.” He makes many an impassioned speech about the necessity of faithful political engagement: “We cannot remove God from the fabric of our country without the risk of it collapsing,” he says. And he quotes from the Declaration of Independence’s use of the word “Creator,” stressing that the nation’s forefathers felt our “inalienable rights” were endowed by the Almighty—not a construct of man.
All of this seems to crescendo to a moment that, likely intentionally, mirrors Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness—with David and Kane taking the roles of Jesus and Satan, respectively.
Even though David was selected because of his impassioned, spiritual speeches, Lottie’s concerned that her candidate is undercutting his chances. “We gotta drop God, and we gotta go negative,” she tells him—one of many instances where she begs David to conform to the rules of the game.
But her contact with David does have an influence on her. Admittedly, that influence seems to take a questionable turn at first: In a hotel room, she grabs a Gideon’s Bible from her hotel nightstand, clasps it in her hands and prays that a political enemy loses. “Make him suffer the way I have,” she says.
Over time, she grows more receptive to actually following God, rather than begging Him to follow her into battle. In perhaps the movie’s most poignant conversation, Lottie wonders how to discern God’s will.
“How do you know it’s God?” she asks David.
“You know someone long enough, you begin to recognize His voice,” he says. “But sometimes knowing it’s God is easier than actually listening to Him.”
Meanwhile, David’s struggling to save/resurrect the women’s shelter, which bears a sign that proclaims, “Provided by God through His people.” One representative mother, Monica, wonders just where all those people are when the shelter falls on hard times. And she has some strong words for David as the shelter teeters on obsolescence. At first, she asks him, “Who dropped the ball, pastor? It wasn’t God!” (David says he did his best, but “I just wish my best was better.”) Then, later, she seems to reprimand him for spending too much time campaigning when it could’ve been better used closer to his home church.
One more overarching note: In God We Trust nods to the idea that faith crosses party lines. “Christians who are politically active must be led by biblical principles and values and not by party affiliation,” we hear. That said, it’s not too hard to figure out what political party Rev. David Hill would belong to.
Marc Shelley, a businessman (and secondary antagonist in the original God’s Not Dead film), finances David’s campaign—naturally, for his own purposes. And he says, “Much like his God, I can giveth, and I can taketh away.”
Elsewhere, people pray and display religiously themed signs. Lottie reads a story about King Midas, a character from Greek mythology who was granted by the gods the ability to turn anything he touched into gold. We hear references to China’s Cultural Revolution, and the film compares the U.S.’s own growing secularism with Communist persecution.
John Wesley, Kane’s campaign manager, used to be romantically linked to Lottie. He repeatedly asks her if she’d like to go to Paris with him after his client wins.
We learn that a character had a sexual relationship out of wedlock and became pregnant.
The man in the relationship mentioned directly above tells his paramour to “take care of [the pregnancy],” obviously pressuring the woman to have an abortion. “So I did,” she says, changing the intended meaning of his “take care of it.” “I’ve been taking care of our son Christopher ever since.”
We don’t see any actual physical violence, but Kane clearly views politics as combat. He laments the fact that his original congressional opponent died, because that means he couldn’t strike the “death blow.” And then he repeats that same sentiment when Kane believes that David’s about to drop out of the race.
None.
Kane drinks what appears to be whiskey on occasion, and he shares a toast with members of the media.
Wesley can be quite rude, especially in his attempts to get under Lottie’s skin. When they renew their acquaintance, for instance, he looks at her and says, “The weight looks good on you.”
[Spoiler Warning] Lottie continues to push David to launch into a more negative campaign. David refuses to do so, but that doesn’t keep Lottie from trying to dig up dirt on Kane. And finally, she seems to find some. Against David’s wishes, the scandal she unearths leaks to the press. But that “dirt” was itself a dirty political trick—a fake scandal planted to discredit David and his campaign.
The God’s Not Dead movies have garnered a great deal of attention and a loyal following by adhering to a well-defined narrative template: You start with a strong, sincere Christian. Pit that Christian against a caricature that embodies a fearsome-and-growing aspect of secular society. Have those two standard-bearers talk and preach and pontificate, and always, always, give the Christian the last word. The mic-drop speech.
Hey, these are Christian movies, right? Absolutely nothing wrong with any of that. And the movie’s central premise is right on: Christians should take their faith into the public and political sphere. Christianity is supposed to be an all-transformative state of being—not something to stuff into a cubby hole and trot out on Sunday mornings.
But make no mistake: These are movies by Christians for Christians. The real Peter Kanes of the world would not, I suspect, feel too threatened by them.
But In God We Trust—like many of the God’s Not Dead movies—digs a bit deeper in its own way. Perhaps, sometimes, unintentionally.
When Rev. David Hill is about to throw in the towel, he confesses that he’s feeling pretty low. He wonders whether he made the wrong decision.
“Maybe I wasn’t saving the world,” he says. “But I was happy being pastor.”
But do you know how I think the world is saved? One person at a time. And the movie is at its strongest when David is sitting with one person on a carpet, drinking bad coffee, talking about Jesus.
Yes, In God We Trust tells Christians to be politically engaged. No argument here. But our zeal to stand for God’s truth in the public square must always be combined with a sensitivity and genuine love for the person before us, even when they oppose everything we hold dear. There will be times we must speak boldly, even if it might cause offense. But at other times, we should simply listen, or maybe hold our tongue for another day. We need to lean on God’s Spirit to help us discern.
Jesus understood that truth: He told stories. He healed the people around Him. He wept. And when someone tried to pick a fight with him—engage Him in a debate that Jesus surely would’ve won—He often simply sidestepped the argument and went on His way.
Near the end of the film, a character tells us that “God is good, all the time.”
And in a way, I wish the credits had rolled there. Because it’s true. That core truth isn’t impacted by the ballot box. Our faith is not validated by political wins or losses. It’s not altered by how blessed we are or how much we may be suffering.
We know—we know—that God is good. All the time.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
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