Who Owns Jesus? Tommy Robinson and The Dirty Revival

The fury over a Christmas carol event exposes the ideological gatekeeping hollowing out British Christianity.

Over the last few days, my social media feeds — shaped by the strange, selective algorithms we all live under — have been replete with progressive and left-leaning Christians condemning the upcoming “Christ in Christmas” event in London linked to Tommy Robinson. Anecdotally, those are the voices I see most loudly. And beyond my feeds, the national news and radio have been wheeling out predominantly Anglican clergy (as they always do) to denounce the gathering in firm, moral tones, with warnings of the ‘Far Right’ and ‘Christian Nationalism’.

I understand why people feel uneasy. I am no Tommy Robinson supporter. But I also sense that something deeper is happening here — something revealing, something uncomfortable, and something worth paying attention to. Because if we only focus on the personalities involved, we risk missing what this moment is saying about the soul of the UK, and perhaps the state of Christianity itself.

We seem to have had Christian groups who have spent months entirely at ease under pro-Palestine banners, Islamic slogans, rainbow flags, LGBTQ+ causes, BLM symbolism, climate change flags, and anti-colonial rhetoric, who are suddenly and seemingly scandalised by a carol event — and not primarily because of the carols. That contrast alone should make us pause.

Anglican and other priests have been arrested for supporting a proscribed extremist organisation—Palestine Action—whose activists violently assaulted a police officer with a sledgehammer. Yet many of the same voices express horror at a proposed carol service, immediately castigating it as ‘far right Christian nationalism’. It is a revealing moment in our public discourse: outrage is not always proportionate to actual harm, and moral energy is, I suggest, often spent denouncing the wrong thing.

Policing Faith

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For years now, huge numbers of ordinary Brits have felt ridiculed, unheard, and publicly shamed simply for being British. And the moment some of them reach for Christian symbols, language, and tradition — the very things Christianity once assumed belonged to all — those who preach tolerance respond with moral panic and purity tests. The contradiction is hard to ignore.

Beneath that reaction lies something more uncomfortable: the instinct to decide who is “allowed” to reach for Christ, who may “recover” Him, who counts as worthy of invoking His name. As though Christ belonged to some ideological tribe or moral elite. As though we could curate where Christ is permitted to appear.

But here is the truth few want to say aloud:

The most unsettling element of this carol event will not be Robinson. It will be the Crosses, the icons, the voices publicly shouting, “Jesus is King.”

That will disturb many who have been perfectly comfortable with other ideological symbols dominating public space all year. The offence is not nationalism; the offence is Christ showing up in a place we did not approve.

And if anyone imagines the attendees will be the fever-dream caricature of the “far right,” it is worth remembering how elastic that label has become — a catch-all category deployed for almost anyone who disagrees with a dominant progressive moral imagination. It functions like a modern heresy charge, shutting down conversation rather than opening it.

This caricature stands in stark contrast to Trevor Phillips’ firsthand account after attending the Unite the Kingdom march with 150,000 taking part in London this year. Many of whom might well be at this Christmas Carol Event:

“The vast majority seemed normal, not like the stereotype of some far-right extremists.”

Exactly. The people attending will mostly be ordinary folk — neighbours, parents, tradespeople — people reaching for meaning, identity, and yes, perhaps even faith.

And that prompts a difficult question:

If we casually call this gathering “far right,” are we prepared to label everyone condemning it “far left”? Of course not — and that’s precisely the point. These labels are flattening our moral vision and impoverishing public discourse. They tell us more about our cultural anxieties than about the people themselves.

Here is another irony:

Some of the voices denouncing this event come not from worshipping communities or from people living a discipleship-shaped Christian life, but from cultural and professional Christians — those whose functional faith has migrated into ideological symbols, activist liturgies, and moral slogans. Their causes have become their creed, baptised with Christian symbols and terminology.

Yet they insist that those gathering in London have “no right” to use Christian imagery. Misappropriation is a serious charge — but it is being levelled by many who have done the same thing with their ideological beliefs. And they can appear as cultural middle-class Christianities, offended by their sensibilities, unable and unwilling to have empathy for those in their sights.

And yet, to be fair and truthful, not everyone raising concerns fits that description. There are many thoughtful Christians genuinely troubled about co-option, distortion, or Christian symbols becoming vehicles for grievance or identity conflict. Those concerns matter as much to me as they do to you.

But even here, a question lingers:

Why is it so easy to publicly denounce this event, yet so hard to critique the ideological culture of the progressive left and their ideological capture in public?

Their symbols, chants, and moral framework have dominated public space for months with scarcely a murmur from the same people now speaking so forcefully. That asymmetry reveals something about the state of Christianity in Britain — people often more willing to critique unfashionable expressions of faith than fashionable forms of ideology.

The danger of co-option is very real. Christian symbols can be bent into political tools and have already been used by the progressives and left this year. But it is hard to name that danger without first acknowledging how we ourselves — left and right — are discipled by cultural ideologies that function like anti-Christian liturgies.

Resistance Is Futile

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Tommy Robinson now speaks openly about having found faith and believes a kind of revival is stirring outside the established church — among people who, like him, feel they would never be welcomed by its leaders. Whatever we make of his claims, the dynamic he is describing is not unfamiliar. Time and again in Christian history, those on the edges of church respectability have insisted they are encountering God, while the institution has responded with suspicion, distance, or outright rejection. Often, the church has been uneasy not only with the individuals involved but with what their presence might say about its own life and witness.

Throughout the centuries, many of the Church’s most significant renewal movements began precisely in these marginal spaces. In nearly every instance, the resistance was shaped as much by cultural anxiety and political concern as by theology: fears of instability, the loss of control, and the unsettling presence of people who did not fit the accepted norms. Yet history shows how often these same movements became agents of renewal, mission, and reform that reshaped the Christian landscape, no matter how much people condemned them at the time.

There is a pattern to such moments in history:

1. God meets people in unexpected places — often outside established structures.

2. Authorities denounce these encounters as spiritually suspect, socially disruptive, or politically dangerous.

3. The “outsiders” form new communities around their lived experience of God.

4. Some of those communities become significant renewal movements in theology, mission, and prayer.

5. Within a generation, the church often adopts what it once opposed.

What begins as illegitimate spirituality at the margins often becomes the birthplace of renewal for the whole Church.

This is the cautionary note for our current moment. The increasingly alarmist efforts to proscribe the carol event associated with Tommy Robinson may end up driving more people toward it, not away. When leaders resort to sweeping denunciations, collapse every distinction into the language of extremism, or speak as though attendance is itself morally suspect, they unintentionally reinforce the narrative that the church and the cultural establishment neither listen nor welcome. People already wary of institutions often interpret such reactions as proof that something genuine must be happening beyond official boundaries. Ironically, history teaches us that attempts to shut down fringe religious gatherings rarely diminish them; more often, they consolidate them.

If we are wise, we will pay attention not only to the very real risks but to the deeper questions being revealed — questions about belonging, credibility, and the gap many now feel between the church and the people it is called to reach.

Looking In A Mirror

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This moment, if we are willing to receive it, is a mirror.

It reveals the ideological purity cults we build, the idols we defend, the boundaries we draw to gatekeep Christ, and the strange comfort we find in labelling others rather than examining ourselves.

But perhaps the greatest tragedy is pastoral.

Instead of denouncing and deepening polarisation, this could be a moment to reach out —

…to listen,

…to understand the woundedness beneath the rhetoric,

…to invite people into a relationship with Christ and into communities that actually form disciples of Jesus.

For many who participate in the carol service, there is pain there. There is longing. And beneath the surface noise, there may be genuine hunger for God. Christ often appears where respectable religion least expects Him. As mentioned above, we only have to take a cursory glance at church history to see this. What if this part of a ‘dirty/messy revival’ as messy as other moments in history, to lean into instead of condemn?

Grace always begins when we stop gatekeeping Christ, lay down our ideological idols, and open our eyes to the people right in front of us.

Summary

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Given the minefield I have stepped into on this topic, let me summarise what I have attempted to express:

Post-Church Condemnation: Those outside the church in post-church life who have made cultural ideologies their mission are as guilty as those charged with Christian nationalism.

Genuine Concern & Suggestion: Christians who sincerely want to follow Jesus, in whatever form that takes and with Christ at the centre of their lives, are right to feel uneasy. But before reaching for the reflex of condemnation, I am suggesting it is worth asking whether something deeper may be happening — something that might actually be an opportunity to help people find faith in Christ.

Opportunity: What if there are hundreds of thousands of ordinary people who, amid the political and cultural turbulence of our age, are instinctively reaching for Christianity as a stabilising identity and source of hope? And what if, instead of being dismissed or denounced, they were listened to, welcomed, and gently guided toward a relationship with Jesus by those who have one — one not captured by nationalism or by progressive ideology, but shaped by the gospel itself?

And for absolute clarity:

If anyone reads this as support for the event or for Tommy Robinson, they have not read what I have written.