Christian Nationalists Just Got Spanked in Texas—and Oh, It Was Delicious

Christian Nationalists Got Their Asses Handed to Them in Texas School Board Elections

So... that happened. Texas—Texas, of all places—stood up, adjusted its belt buckle, and told Christian nationalists to shove their holy war somewhere the sun don’t shine. And honestly? I’m still a little giddy about it.

This wasn’t some sleepy school board race, either. This was Christian nationalism’s petri dish, their soft entry point into mainstream control. Hijack education, rebrand dogma as “values,” and boom—public schools become Sunday school with standardized testing.

Except voters weren’t buying it. Not this time.

The Bible Brigade Got Body-Slammed—and It Was About Damn Time

Let’s set the scene: evangelical-backed candidates, truckloads of PAC money, and all the “save the children” rhetoric you could choke on. These folks came in hot, clutching pearl necklaces and campaign signs that might as well have read, “Jesus loves test scores.”

But the voters? They weren’t having it.

Take Tarrant County. Every GOP-endorsed school board candidate went down in flames. Not “they barely lost” flames. More like “leave your yard sign and go” flames. Seven candidates—seven—booted. Swept. Erased.

All that megachurch muscle, down the drain like a forgotten baptism.

And you know what? It wasn’t some blue wave. These were suburban voters. Middle-of-the-road parents. People who are absolutely fine with Jesus in their own homes but do not want him grading their kids’ algebra tests.

“Parental Rights” Is a Rebrand for Religious Control

Look, I’m a parent. I get the whole “wanting a say” thing. But that’s not what this is. It never was.

This “parental rights” movement is marketing. It’s a velvet-wrapped sledgehammer of theocracy dressed up like PTA policy. It’s code for: “I want my version of religion in every classroom, and yours can get bent.”

They banned books. They erased LGBTQ+ kids. They tried to turn history into a church bulletin. And then they stood back and pretended it was about protecting families.

Protecting from what, exactly? Honest conversations? Black authors? Trans kids existing in the hallway?

That’s not protection. That’s repression. And this time, voters saw it for what it was—a takeover attempt hiding behind Bible verses and buzzwords.

We’ve talked about this before—like in our breakdown of Ohio’s creepy ID bill, where lawmakers tried to legislate biology via Genesis.

All the Money in Jesus’ Wallet Couldn’t Save Them

These folks weren’t broke. They were stacked. Evangelical PACs, donor networks, and “family values” orgs that sound like bake sales but operate like lobbying machines.

They had money. They had messaging. And they still lost.

That’s the part that sticks with me.

Because it means people noticed. Regular, non-shouting, non-sign-waving voters walked into a booth and said: “Nah. Not this time.”

They voted for school boards, not pulpits. For education, not indoctrination. And that means something. Especially in a place like Texas, where “faith and freedom” is the state motto, whether they’ve etched it into stone yet or not.

It's important to point out how rare and encouraging this kind of result is—especially in places where religious overreach usually flies under the radar until it’s too late.

Why This One Actually Matters

This isn’t just some headline you scroll past. This was a major swing in a major state, in a cultural battleground that Christian nationalists thought they had locked down.

Here’s the thing:

• It’s proof that people are over it. The book bans. The purity tests. The constant guilt-tripping of anyone who doesn’t toe the biblical line.

• It shows that theocracy isn’t inevitable. That if folks show up—parents, voters, even quiet fence-sitters—you can turn this bus around.

• It blows up the idea that “family values” = religious values. Newsflash: secular families have values too. So do queer families. So do single moms, and mixed-faith homes, and people who’d rather not say the Lord’s Prayer before dissecting a frog.

• And maybe most importantly? It gives us a roadmap. Organize. Educate. Vote. Rinse and repeat.

We saw it before when churches got a pass on paying into unemployment systems—and how that kind of religious privilege is quietly building behind the scenes. This win shows it can be pushed back.

A Sign of Something Bigger?

So, what now? Was this just a fluke? A blip on the red-state radar?

Honestly, I don’t think so.

Christian nationalism is loud, sure. It’s flashy. It’s organized. But it’s also desperate. These tactics are the moves of people who know they’re losing ground. People who see a pluralistic society and panic that their version of God might have to share the stage.

And when people like that start showing up at school board meetings with crosses in one hand and book ban lists in the other? That’s when you know they’re running out of ideas.

Texas pushed back. Loudly. If that doesn’t tell you something’s shifting, I don’t know what will.

Want more examples of religious overreach backfiring? See our take on how Joe Rogan's sudden Jesus phase reveals more Bible illiteracy than actual faith.