A small Methodist church in Nashville has ignited a firestorm of controversy and a national conversation about the role of faith in politics after a video surfaced showing its congregation chanting political slogans against U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) during a Sunday service. The incident at Edgehill United Methodist Church, where the traditional worship session was reportedly replaced with the rhythmic chant “Say it once, say it twice: we will not put up with ICE,” has drawn condemnation from religious observers, political commentators, and social media users who argue the church crossed a sacred line.
The Viral Moment That Divided a Congregation and a Nation
The controversy began when a short video clip from the church’s service was posted online, quickly spreading across Twitter, Instagram, and conservative news outlets. The footage shows congregants, a mix of ages and ethnicities, standing and clapping along to the chant led from the pulpit. Some appear to be dancing or moving enthusiastically to the rhythm, while others participate with more restrained gestures. The setting is unmistakably ecclesiastical—pews, stained glass, and a cross are visible—creating a jarring juxtaposition between the sacred space and the secular, politically charged message.
The reaction was immediate and polarized. For supporters of the church’s action, it represented a powerful example of “prophetic witness,” where a faith community uses its platform to speak truth to power on a critical justice issue. For detractors, it was a profound desecration, a moment where politics supplanted piety, turning a house of worship into a rally venue. The video became a Rorschach test for America’s ongoing culture wars, revealing deep fissures over what constitutes appropriate religious expression and the proper relationship between church and state.
A Church’s Defense and a Doctrine of Social Justice
Edgehill United Methodist Church, located in a historically diverse neighborhood near Vanderbilt University, has long been associated with progressive Christian activism. In statements following the viral backlash, church leaders defended the service, framing the chant not as a replacement for worship but as an integral part of it. They cited the United Methodist Church’s Social Principles, which call members to “reject the idolatrous notion that we can ensure the safety of ourselves by sacrificing the safety of others,” and pointed to biblical mandates to “welcome the stranger” and seek justice.
“Our worship is not confined to hymns and prayers,” a church spokesperson explained in a local interview. “It extends to how we live out our faith in the world. Speaking against systems we believe are causing harm and separating families is, for us, an act of faithfulness. The chant was a moment of communal prayer in action.” The church has been actively involved in immigrant advocacy for years, offering sanctuary support and legal aid clinics, making this service less an isolated incident and more a public manifestation of its core ministry.
The Backlash: Blasphemy, Politics, and the Purpose of a Sanctuary
The critical response, however, was visceral and widespread. On social media platforms, critics lambasted the church for what they saw as abandoning its primary spiritual mission. Comments ranged from disappointment to fury. “Anything, but worshipping the Lord,” wrote one observer, capturing the sentiment of many who felt the church had misplaced its priorities. Others questioned the very identity of the congregation: “Chanting political slogans in the middle of a worship service isn’t a church; it’s performing arts gone wrong. If your ‘sanctuary’ needs ICE protesters to feel holy, maybe it’s time to admit you’re running a rally venue with extra pews.”
Theological critiques were sharp. Several comments focused on the idea of blasphemy and idolatry, suggesting that by elevating a political cause to the center of a service, the church was worshipping something other than God. “Jesus is not in that church,” concluded one user after watching the clip. Another warned, “Rest assured, God will remember you using his place of worship like this when you meet him. Repent!” The imagery of “lost sheep with the wrong shepherd” was repeatedly invoked, painting the church’s leadership as having led its flock astray from spiritual matters into the temporal fray of politics.
The Broader Trend: Faith Communities at a Political Crossroads
The Edgehill incident is not an anomaly but part of a growing trend where churches, synagogues, and mosques are grappling with how directly to engage with political issues. From pulpits advocating for climate action or abortion rights to those endorsing political candidates or specific legislation, the line between spiritual guidance and political activism is increasingly blurred. This trend mirrors the deep political polarization in the broader society, with congregations often reflecting—or sometimes challenging—the divisions found in their communities.
Historically, Black churches have been at the forefront of integrating faith and social justice, from the abolitionist movement to the Civil Rights era, where spirituals and sermons fueled direct action. For many mainline Protestant and progressive Catholic communities, activism on issues like immigration, poverty, and war is seen as a direct fulfillment of the Gospel’s call. Conversely, many evangelical and conservative congregations have become more politically vocal on issues like religious liberty, abortion, and traditional family structures, though often with a different liturgical approach that keeps explicit campaign-style rhetoric separate from Sunday worship.
The Edgehill case stands out for its stylistic choice—the use of a repetitive, rally-style chant within the formal liturgy. This method struck many as particularly secular and performative, raising questions about form as much as content. Is a chant inherently less worshipful than a hymn? Does the musical or rhetorical style of a message determine its appropriateness for a sanctuary, regardless of the underlying conviction?
The Legal and Cultural Context of Immigration and the Church
The specific focus on ICE is particularly charged. Immigration policy remains one of the most divisive issues in American politics, and ICE has become a potent symbol in that debate. For critics of U.S. immigration enforcement, the agency represents family separation, detention in poor conditions, and a harsh, inhumane system. For supporters, it embodies the rule of law and national sovereignty. By chanting “we will not put up with ICE,” the church was not merely expressing a political preference but directly opposing a federal law enforcement agency, a move some interpret as crossing from advocacy into civil disobedience.
This action exists within a long tradition of religious sanctuary, dating back centuries, where churches have offered physical protection to those fleeing authority. In recent years, the “sanctuary church” movement has seen congregations across the country openly sheltering immigrants facing deportation, testing the limits of federal authority. The Edgehill chant can be seen as the auditory and communal counterpart to this physical sanctuary—a declaration of non-cooperation and resistance voiced collectively by the body of believers.
Theological Divides on the Nature of Worship and Witness
At its heart, the debate sparked by the Tennessee video is theological. It forces a confrontation between two often-competing visions of Christianity. One vision, often described as “vertical,” emphasizes the transcendent relationship between the individual believer and God. Worship, in this view, is primarily about praise, prayer, sacrament, and hearing scripture—activities that direct attention upward. Introducing overtly political material is seen as a distraction, a horizontal move that dilutes the sacred encounter.
The other vision, a “horizontal” or incarnational theology, stresses that worship is incomplete if it does not lead to ethical action in the world. This perspective draws heavily from biblical passages like Isaiah 58, where God criticizes fasts and rituals disconnected from justice: “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice… to set the oppressed free?”. From this viewpoint, a chant against a system perceived as oppressive is not a distraction from worship but its very essence—a communal act of lament, defiance, and hope rooted in faith.
Critics of the church’s action ask, “If the songs are not songs of praise, why are they being sung in church?” Proponents might respond that the chant *is* a song of praise—praise for a God of justice, and a defiant prayer for that justice to manifest. This fundamental disagreement over what constitutes worship is unlikely to be resolved, as it reflects older, deeper schisms within global Christianity.
The Impact on the Local Congregation and Religious Liberty
Beyond the national commentary, the incident has very real implications for the Edgehill congregation itself. As one astute online commenter asked, “How would they handle a member of their congregation saying they disagree?” This gets to the practical challenges of mixing fervent politics with communal faith. Churches are, theoretically, communities of belonging that transcend political affiliation. When a church takes a strong, explicit stand on a partisan issue, it risks alienating members who hold different views, potentially sacrificing unity in Christ for unity around a political cause.
Furthermore, the incident raises questions about tax-exempt status. The IRS prohibits 501(c)(3) organizations, including churches, from engaging in campaign intervention for or against political candidates. While issue advocacy (like criticizing ICE) is generally protected, the line can be fuzzy, and such high-profile acts can invite scrutiny. More immediately, the church may face internal strain, financial repercussions from disaffected donors, or even security concerns from becoming a political flashpoint.
The story of the Edgehill United Methodist Church is a microcosm of a nation struggling to define the boundaries of community, faith, and civic life. It demonstrates that in an era of deep polarization, even the sanctuary is not immune to the conflicts raging outside its doors. Whether viewed as a courageous stand for human dignity or a sacrilegious misstep, the event forces a uncomfortable but necessary examination of what people expect from their spiritual havens and what responsibilities those institutions bear in a broken world. The echoes of that chant—”Say it once, say it twice”—will likely reverberate far longer than the service itself, continuing to challenge believers and non-believers alike to consider where the line is, or if it should exist at all, between the pew and the picket line.
