You can learn a lot traveling down a rural road deep in the middle of nowhere.

For example, on a recent trip to the Bayou State, we saw this sign stuck in the dirt: “Ordained by God to be President.”

I found it especially interesting, given that Louisiana’s very name is taken from King Louis the XIV of France — a guy who was dedicated to the notion that he ruled because God said he should.

It was a common idea centuries ago. God gave power to the king, who was legitimated and crowned by the pope. The king, and the king’s men, told you what to do. If you didn’t do it, you were disobeying not just the king but also God and would lose your soul in the process.

Eternal damnation for disagreeing with the government was an excellent tool for keeping people in line.

In modern time, of course, we reject the notion that the source of all truth, temporal and divine, is the church. We know that science and reason are the paths to truth. We also know that what can be proven to us scientifically must be true.

Except that that’s a wrong-headed notion, too, seeing as how our understanding of science is no less a matter of faith than belief in God.

If you disagree, ask yourself how much you know from personal knowledge about DNA or splitting atoms. I trust science, but I must acknowledge that most of it is real to me because I trust the folks who taught it to me.

Many generations have passed since Western society rejected the notion that God should run the government. So how is it that we’re back to a four-foot by eight-foot plywood sign that proclaims rule by divine right?

By the math, most of the people in the United States who profess a religious faith are Christians. Does that mean that throughout history, Christian kings have turned the other cheek and given beggars their cloaks as well as their tunics?

Or, did kings and queens like Louis of France, Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, Elizabeth of England or any of the others pillage the continent on which I live today?  Say what you will about the history of the European conquest of the New World, but it had little to do with the teachings of Christ.

There’s a reason for this, of course. The teachings of Jesus don’t make any sense if seen in terms of the world. Christianity doesn’t contemplate this world, but the next.

A couple of years ago, I sat in on a religion class where the teacher asked what should be done with illegal immigrants in terms of Christian teaching. A sincere young man spoke up. “They should be taken care of, fed and clothed,” he said, “as long as they’re here legally.”

Acceptable government policy? Sure. Christian? No.

Real Christianity says we have a higher duty. Help the slaves escape even if the law says that to do so is a crime. Feed the crazy people even if they’re smelly and nasty and are sleeping in your doorway. Embrace those who are reviled in your community, even if they have pink hair, tats and tons of piercings and are gay or transgender or identify as whatever seems to make them happiest.

You do these things because you understand that no matter what anyone’s race or gender or socioeconomic status is, we are all equally children of God.

That’s what makes authentic Christianity so difficult. Popular Christianity is a lot easier.

Tell poor people that they should be happy with what they have. Remind them that they’d have more if they didn’t spend so much money on tattoos, piercings, cigarettes and beer. Suffer the little children to come unto you, provided they don’t press their little noses against your sanctuary’s clean windows and only if they’ll keep quiet, for God’s sake.

Care for the needy and elderly, provided they look and act like you do and are properly grateful and humble.

Most of all, make sure your brand of the teachings of Christ promotes what you already believe: Tribalism, nationalism and the rock-solid belief that you are right and “they” are wrong are a lot more important that the crazy ideas taught by a rabbi from the sticks who told his followers to do things that would make so little sense in the world.

Mixing a big old dose of your brand of religion into politics will work like a charm. Your brand of “believers” will accept anything, apologize for everything and exude a kind of self-righteous, self-congratulatory smugness that would make the king of France blush.

To do this, of course, would be to destroy both a government of the people and religious freedom.

There once was a wise old senator from North Carolina. He was the kind of guy who put the truth out there because he couldn’t conceive of doing anything else. Back in the 1970s, he was a pivotal character in figuring out how President Richard Nixon schemed to pervert the electoral process.

He also knew about politics and religion, and once said: “Political freedom cannot exist in any land where religion controls the state, and religious freedom cannot exist in any land where the state controls religion.”

Sen. Sam Ervin is long dead. Let us hope that the wisdom he had didn’t perish with him.

Frances Coleman is a former editorial page editor of the Mobile Press-Register. Email her at [email protected] and “like” her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/prfrances.