By the Archbishop of Selsey
For more than a decade, I have preached the words “Put Christ back into Christmas” from the pulpit. I have printed it on Advent notices, spoken it to families preparing for the Nativity, and used it to remind the faithful that Christmas is not sentiment but the Incarnation—God made man for our salvation. The phrase has appeared on parish notice boards, Catholic mission posters, evangelical banners, diocesan Advent reflections, and catechetical materials across Britain. It has never before been called extremist. It has been catechesis, not controversy.
That is why, when Tommy Robinson announced a public carol service in London using the same phrase, I did not expect the nation’s press to declare it a threat. The phrase did not change. Only the presumption of motive changed. When a minister says it, it is evangelical zeal. When Robinson says it, it is “Christian nationalism.” Here lies the strange crisis of our time: naming the Saviour at His own feast is safe or dangerous depending on who speaks His name.
The accusation is not theological; it is sociological. It does not claim the doctrine is wrong; it claims the speaker is unacceptable. The question has become not “Is Jesus Christ Lord?” but “Who has permission to say so in public?”
The accusation precedes the evidence
The accusation did not arise from what Robinson said. It arose from what might be imagined if the same words were spoken by the wrong person. Newspapers warned of an “extremist event dressed up as a carol service,” of “Christian imagery at protests raising fears of racial nationalism,” and advised readers “not to be fooled by hymns,” as if the Gloria could conceal a programme for civil unrest.¹–⁴ Imagination became evidence. A possibility was declared a certainty. This could be so became this is so.
One national broadsheet framed Robinson’s call to “put the Christ back into Christmas” as “exploiting the Christian message for populist politics,” linking the phrase directly to “anti-migrant rhetoric” and calling his carol service a “political use of Christmas.”⁵
The logic was not: “he said something racist.”
The logic was: “someone like him could say something racist.”
This is not evidence. It is fiction used as accusation, a verdict delivered in advance of any offence.
The manufacture of racism
The racism charge rests on a simple falsehood: that criticism of an ideological current within Islam is a form of racial hatred. But Islam is not a race. To treat theological disagreement as racism is to evacuate the word of moral meaning in order to silence the speaker. It is not a perspective on racial justice; it is a tactic of erasure, turning a debate about belief into a crime against identity.
The accusation also collapses when confronted with Robinson’s actual record. There is no public evidence of him preaching racial superiority or describing any ethnic group as inferior. His record shows the opposite. In the early years of the English Defence League he expelled neo-Nazis and racial supremacists, issued statements denouncing them, and clashed with those who attempted to turn the movement into a racial platform.⁶ He ultimately stepped down because he feared infiltration by racist elements.⁷ He has repeatedly stated that his opposition is to an ideology, not ethnicity, and his collaborators have included ex-Muslims, British Sikhs, and others who reject Islamist extremism.⁸
This is incompatible with the label “racist.” But the accusation is not made because of a record; it is made because the label is useful. When a curate says “Christ is King”, it is evangelical. When Robinson says it, it is “white nationalism.” The content does not change—only the assumption of motive changes.
Importing America into Britain
The second falsehood is the claim of “Christian nationalism.” The phrase is borrowed from American politics, where it refers to a distinct sociological phenomenon: the fusion of Evangelical identity with Republican ideology, a restorative narrative of lost Christian nationhood, and a history marked by civil conflict. There are distinctive features—“Seven Mountains” rhetoric, Confederate symbolism, megachurch populism, and a political bloc shaped by Evangelical voting patterns.⁹ It is a real, debated current in American political religion.
Britain has none of these conditions. There is no Evangelical political constituency, no myth of a lost Christian republic, no Confederate memory, no party shaped by theology, no restorationist nationalism with ecclesial energy behind it. The Church of England is established as heritage, not conviction. Denominations are post-Christian, shaped more by contemporary ethics than apostolic doctrine. The English crisis is not Christian nationalism; it is Christian amnesia. The danger is not that Christianity will govern the nation, but that it no longer governs the conscience of it.
Why then is the American phrase used here? Because it functions as ready-made condemnation. It does not describe what exists; it prevents what might exist. It says, in effect: “You may not speak Christ in public unless authorised.” It is a means of policing proclamation, not analysing reality.
The paradox: the denominations politicised Christmas, not the layman
Here the heart of the matter is revealed.
The denominations did not reject the phrase “Put Christ back into Christmas.” They affirmed its meaning and reproduced its theology. But they condemned the layman who spoke it publicly—not for doctrinal fault, but for identity. It was not Robinson who politicised Christmas, but the denominations who imagined politics into his proclamation. They heard nationalism where there was creed, and then used their rebuttal to preach asylum policy in the name of the Christ they were reluctant to name. Christmas itself was not defended by proclaiming the Incarnation; it was reframed as a message about immigration. The Child was not announced; the visa was. Thus the paradox: a layman proclaimed Christ, and was accused of ideology; the denominations preached ideology, and called it Christ.
This is the inversion: the accusation does not describe Robinson—it describes the response to Robinson.
Denominational adoption of the secular accusation
The Church of England adopted the same framing. According to national coverage, bishops urged Christians to “resist the capture of Christian language and symbols by populist forces” and launched a campaign of bus-stop posters reading “Christ has always been in Christmas” and “Outsiders welcome.”¹⁰ The Independent reported this as a confrontation with the “exploitation of the Christian message for populist politics,” and described Robinson’s call to “put the Christ back into Christmas” as an attempt to “drive an anti-migrant agenda.”¹¹
The Bishop of Kirkstall declared that Robinson’s conversion “did not give him the right to subvert the faith so that it serves his purposes,” and urged believers to resist “populist forces seeking to exploit the faith for their own political ends.”¹¹ No doctrinal error was identified. The issue, again, was not the truth of the Incarnation but the identity of the man proclaiming it.
Coverage in The Telegraph likewise presented the initiative as a “pushback against the rise of Christian nationalism” and the “appropriation of Christian symbols by far-Right protesters,” quoting an open letter from seven Church of England bishops condemning “the co-opting of the cross” at Robinson’s rally.¹² The symbolism of Christianity—the cross, biblical citation, public carol singing—was treated as ideological when carried by laity, though identical when used by denominations.
This is the central paradox made visible: the denominations politicised Christmas in order to accuse someone else of politicising Christmas.
A feast without faith
This controversy is possible only in a culture that remembers Christmas but no longer believes it. Britain still keeps the feast: markets fill the squares; schools sing about angels they do not believe in; “goodwill to all” is quoted without the One who gives peace. The nation loves the warmth of Christmas while fearing the fire that gives it meaning. The census records a fall from 59.3% identifying as Christian in 2011 to 46.2% in 2021.¹³ Among the young, Christianity is not rejected—it is forgotten.
The BBC documented the other side of this crisis: individuals “who do not necessarily believe in God, but have started going to church” after attending Robinson’s rallies, motivated by a sense that Christianity itself “could be replaced” in Britain.¹⁴ They carry wooden crosses and biblical texts not as political symbols, but because they recognise that what once was Christian has become secularised, and seek a return to what gave Britain its moral architecture. The institution’s response has been uncertainty: not doctrine, but discomfort. According to the same report, the Church of England is “grappling with fundamental questions” because this return comes from outside its authorised structures, without catechesis, yet with conviction.¹⁴
The BBC described clergy speaking of a “difficult road” as they attempt to welcome those whose return is motivated by cultural memory rather than doctrinal formation.¹⁴ They do not reject Christ—they do not yet know Him. Yet the institutional response has been to lead with condemnation, describing the presence of crosses as “co-opting” and “excluding others.”¹² The crisis revealed is not a movement of extremism against the Church, but a Church unable to welcome those who come seeking the Christ it no longer proclaims with conviction.
The constitutional duty of the Church of England, and the moral duty of all denominations
It must be stated plainly: the silence—or rather, the mis-speech—of the Church of England is not merely a pastoral failure; it is a constitutional breach. The Church of England is established not as a chaplaincy to private sentiment, but as the public guardian of the nation’s Christian identity. Its bishops sit in Parliament to proclaim the Gospel, not to echo secular narratives. The Coronation oath binds the monarch to defend the faith; those who anoint him are charged to uphold that oath in public life.¹⁵ Establishment is not ornament; it is obligation. When public proclamation of Christ is denounced as extremism, the established church must be the first to correct the error—not the first to affirm it.
Yet the same pattern of abdication was seen among other denominations. A duty rooted in history obliges the Church of England; a duty rooted in baptism obliges every community that bears the name of Christ. The Methodist Church, the Baptist Union, the United Reformed tradition, and other signatories of the Joint Public Issues Team were not compelled by any Crown, oath, or statute to speak—but their speech still bore the weight of Christian witness. They might have defended the Incarnation by proclaiming the Saviour’s birth. They might have used their public voice to call a restless people to faith. Instead, they accepted the same framing handed to them by secular media: that proclaiming Christ at His own feast could be extremist, and that the proper Christian answer to the Nativity was the language of immigration policy.
When they affirmed “Christ has always been in Christmas,” they affirmed the doctrine. When they followed it with campaign posters about “outsiders welcome,” they displaced the doctrine into political messaging. None of these denominations corrected the impossible idea that a carol service could cloak a programme of hate. None challenged the bizarre suggestion that a wooden cross held by a layman is a symbol of exclusion while a wooden cross held by clergy is a symbol of inclusion. None confronted the underlying falsehood: that the birth of Christ is dangerous when proclaimed by the wrong person.
Their failure is not constitutional, but evangelical. By adopting the same secular accusation—and echoing it with ecclesial authority—they participated in the same politicisation of Christmas they claimed to resist. It was not Robinson who turned Christmas into a referendum on migration: it was the denominations who imagined that message into his proclamation and then preached the world’s politics under the banner of Bethlehem.
Establishment gives the Church of England a unique responsibility. But every denomination has a spiritual one: to proclaim the Gospel without fear or favour. If the Church of England must speak to the nation as its established church, the other denominations must speak to the nation as its un-established conscience. In this hour, neither fulfilled the true vocation of Christmas. The Child born of Mary was not announced in the name of salvation, but invoked in the name of policy. The Nativity became a billboard. The shepherds were replaced by slogans.
Establishment demands clear speech: Jesus Christ is Lord.
Evangelical fidelity demands the same.
Until both are recovered, we will continue to witness this strange moment: the proclamation of the Saviour at His own feast treated as extremism—not because it is dangerous, but because Britain has forgotten what Christmas means.
The only restoration worthy of the feast begins where Christmas always begins—not in politics, but in worship. The shepherds did not negotiate asylum clauses; they knelt. The Magi did not issue rapid-response resources; they adored. The world was changed not by a campaign but by a revelation: the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Renewal will not come from rallies or counter-posters, but from conversion, catechesis, sacrament, and the fearless proclamation of Christ as truth—not metaphor.
Christmas is not a symbol for a social programme. It is the birth of the Saviour.
If Britain would have Christ in Christmas, it must hear His name again.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour.
Read this and more at Selsey Substack and check out this week’s Nuntiatoria
- Daily Record, commentary warning of “an extremist event dressed up as a carol service”, December 2025.
- The Mirror, advising readers “not to be fooled by hymns”, December 2025.
- iNews, analysis referring to “Christian imagery at protests raising fears of racial nationalism”, December 2025.
- The Independent, opinion framing carol events as a “front” for far-Right mobilisation, December 2025.
- Eleanor Burleigh, “Church of England hits out at Tommy Robinson for ‘exploiting’ Christmas message”, Daily Express, 7 December 2025.
- Interviews and official statements on expelling neo-Nazis from the EDL, 2009–2011.
- Robinson resignation citing infiltration concerns, Channel 4 News, October 2013.
- Record of public collaborations with ex-Muslim and Sikh activists in multiple interviews (TalkTV, LBC), 2017–2024.
- Samuel Perry and Andrew Whitehead, Taking America Back for God, Oxford University Press, 2020.
- Press reporting on Church of England poster campaign, December 2025.
- Holly Bancroft, “Don’t exploit the Christian message for your populist politics”, The Independent, 7 December 2025.
- Poppy Wood, “Churches using pro-migrant posters to challenge Tommy Robinson”, The Telegraph, 8 December 2025.
- Office for National Statistics, Religion in England and Wales: Census 2021.
- Aleem Maqbool and Catherine Wyatt, “Tommy Robinson supporters are turning to Christianity, leaving the Church in a dilemma”, BBC News, 23 November 2025.
- Coronation Oath Act, 1688.
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Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel. Isaiah 7:14 [also Isaiah 8:8; Isaiah 8:10] The Hebrew word ‘virgin’ occurs seven times in the Old Testament. It means a young woman of marriageable age, normally a virgin (Gen. 24:43). The Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Old Testament made about 150 b.c.) translated with a word more specifically meaning “virgin.” The New Testament understands Isaiah to be designating the Virgin Mary (Matt. 1:23). See “The Virgin Birth of Jesus” at Luke 1:27. Immanuel means “God with us.” The name conveys God’s promise to save, bless, and protect His children. Tradition identifies the child as the Messiah, a divine personage whose birth is above nature. It equates the Child named “Immanuel” with the Child possessing God’s titles in 9:6, and with the “Branch” of ch. 11.
Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us. Matthew 1:23 Jesus’ conception by a virgin is miraculous, announcing that God will soon redeem His people and is present with them. This quotation is the first of a number of Old Testament references Matthew uses to show that Jesus fulfills the Old Testament. A parallel thought is found in John 1:14 And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth. Highlighting the fulfilment of the Messianic prophecies in Christ (see O Adonai)
