That religious language isn’t only metaphorical. Among QAnon’s most troubling aspects are its use of the language and style of evangelical Christianity, its misuse of the Bible to disguise its deception, and its increasing function as a syncretic cult of semi-Christian heresy.
A pro-Q politician in Oregon described her involvement by sharing that some “people think that I follow Q like I follow Jesus,” a blasphemous characterization she left unchallenged. That’s unsurprising, for QAnon fashions itself as a “Christian” movement. Q drops often quote Scripture—as even the devil does (see Matt. 4:10)—a tactic that adherents have said helped convince them the theory was worth their time.
The way ardent Q supporters study drops for hidden truths (and also resonance with headlines) resembles nothing so much as evangelical eschatological obsessions in the vein of The Late, Great Planet Earth. There’s even a “church” of QAnon, in which congregants meet for services, pray, take communion, and use incoherent, anonymous posts from filthy online forums to guide their understanding of God’s Word.
QAnon may not be an error to which CT readers are prone. But what I find deeply worrisome about this movement is how insidious it has become. The more Pentecostal moments of my upbringing didn’t stick well enough to make me confident in diagnoses of demonic activity (as opposed to ordinary human evil), but QAnon sure seems devilish. It deliberately preys on well-intended concern about the very real issue of sex trafficking. Q followers glom onto anti-trafficking hashtags, sharing content that casual viewers may not realize mixes truth with malignant lies.
These strategies to infiltrate more normal parts of the internet are working, especially in evangelical and fundamentalist Christian contexts. As former CT editor Katelyn Beaty recently reported, pastors say QAnon “is on the rise in their flocks. It is taking on the power of a new religion that’s dividing churches and hurting Christian witness” among younger generations. Some pastors Beaty spoke with wouldn’t even go on record to discuss Q’s sway among their congregants.
That sway isn’t surprising, because pastors are at a grave discipleship disadvantage here. “A pastor may preach a wonderful 30-minute sermon that is exegetically sound, theologically rich, and has important applicability to the listener’s life, but if that congregant goes home and consumes hours of [QAnon] stuff on YouTube every week, I can tell you what the outcome will be,” explained Paul Anleitner, a pastor in the Twin Cities.
After hearing accounts of church splits over QAnon, Anleitner made a video about the movement as a warning to fellow Christians. It’s a warning every American church needs to hear right now.
One reason Q appeals to Christians, Anleitner argues, is it can feel like a way to live out Jesus’s instruction to “be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves” (Matt. 10:16, NASB). The problem, he says, “for followers of QAnon who are Christians is that they actually aren’t being shrewd enough.” QAnon is predatory drivel that undermines the authority of Scripture and pilfers trust we owe only to Christ. American Christians have a responsibility to learn to identify it—and flee.
熱心なQ信者たちがQ予測や報道の見出しに「隠された真実」を必死に探すやり方は、（１９７０年に注目を浴びた終末論書籍）「偉大なる地球の行方（原題：The Late, Great Planet Earth）」のそれに近いものがある。