Note to reader: 

I have spent far more time than usual on this article. It is also much longer than usual for me. 

Since the 2016 campaign, I have been baffled why so many evangelicals could help elect a man who speaks and behaves so contrary to the life and teaching of Jesus Christ. 

Over the past two years, I have collected and studied over 60 articles in both the popular and scholarly press addressing different aspects of this question. My conclusion from these two years of research and thinking is one word: FEAR.

If there is a time for me to make my conclusion public, it is now 

Let me stress that I am not anti-Republican. I live in Maryland and yesterday I voted for a second term for Republican Governor Larry Hogan.

Our current context makes it difficult to separate the spiritual from the political. However, as I know my own mind, I honestly believe I would write the same article if Donald Trump were a Democrat. 

1:  Why So Much Fear?

In February 2016 I wrote a short post titled The Paradox of Fear about how fear can result in both positive and negative personal motivation; it all depends on how it is used.

To my surprise, I recently noted that it is by far my most-read post.  It had 72 views in 2016, 57 views in 2017, then 486 views through the first 10 months in 2018. Most of the 2018 increase is from random readers who don’t know me, as evidenced by the title showing up as #6 in a google search.  Still a tiny drop in the internet ocean to be sure! But a drop that somehow gathered a little attention.

In advance of the mid-term elections, fear is being weaponized by President Trump and GOP candidates following his lead for their short-term political gain, even though the divisiveness and hatred this fear stokes poisons our country in the longer term.   

For example, are the recent massacre of Jews in a Pittsburgh synagogue and pipe bombs sent to prominent Democrats a result of this politically-engineered culture of fear?

Bret Stephens, a Pulitzer prize winning journalist at the Wall Street Journal (a flagship of conservatism) who now writes for the New York Times, answers “yes.”  With refreshing intellectual honesty, he applies the same standard that conservatives once applied to liberals, noting about the perpetrators are terrorists in the class of Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber, or Nidal Malik Hasan, the Fort Hood shooter.

To call them anything else is to engage in the same evasive wordplay for which conservatives once scolded liberals. And it’s no less evasive to avoid drawing conclusions about the political basis of these acts.

He correctly points out that Islamic terrorists don’t spring from an ideological or cultural vacuum and neither do domestic terrorists.  They are slowly radicalized, simmering in a rhetorical culture of fear.  In the U.S., he describes this culture as:

“criminalization of political opposition, the vilification of the media, and the demonization of foreigners. At some point, the distance between word and deed becomes short. And then they are joined, as they were last week.”

Why so much fear today?

Why so much fear about immigrants today, when a mountain of evidence conclusively shows immigrants contribute far more to America than native-born residents contribute.  

• Immigrants start new businesses at twice the rate of nonimmigrants.
• Roughly 70 percent of immigrants express confidence in the American dream, compared with only 50 percent of the native-born.
• Immigrants have much more traditional views on family structure than the native-born and much lower rates of out-of-wedlock births.
• Immigrants commit much less crime than the native-born. (Roughly 1.6 percent of immigrant males between 18 and 39 end up incarcerated compared with 3.3 percent of the native-born.)

Why so much fear about Muslims today?  Why so many crazy conspiracy theories like Shariah law coming to the U.S.?

I lived in Ethiopia for four years, a nation that is 40% Muslim. I bought my food from Muslim shopkeepers.  Muslim calls to prayer at a nearby mosque were part of my everyday life. I never gave it a second thought. Now many Americans, most of whom rarely (if ever) even see a Muslim on the street, let alone know one personally, are apparently deathly afraid of them.

Why so much fear about non-whites today?

Yesterday a friend told me about his conversation with Jose, a mechanic who has worked on both of our sailboats.  Jose told my friend that often customers questioned his naval expertise or knowledge because he is Hispanic.  He even described how one woman dismissively said to him, “You’re not even an American!”  Jose calmly showed her his ID badge as a member of the U.S. Coast Guard. 

Yes, these are only my personal “slice of life” stories.  What about you? Can you honestly deny a rising tide of white fear in our society?

In my reading, I discovered 55% of Americans now say they are discriminated against because they are white.  Having lived in places where I have seen real discrimination at work, I find that statistic puzzling.

If you want to delve deeper into this fear, especially among Christians, I highly recommend The End of White Christian America by Robert Jones, CEO of the Public Religion Research Institute.  Jones is no liberal.  He offers insightful, balanced chapters on how different theologies over the last two centuries shape today’s angst and fear. Reading it was eye-opening and enlightening. I heartily recommend it.

2: Why So Much Fear Among White Evangelicals?

We evangelicals take pride in knowing our Bibles. 

• We know that our primary citizenship is the Kingdom of God that transcends races and national boundaries.
• We know that distinction of race, social class and gender have all been overcome by Christ: “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” (Gal. 3:28) 
• We know know that the Bible repeatedly highlights the obligation of God’s people to welcome and care for the “outsider”—the foreigner and sojourner (i.e. immigrants), as classically seen in the story of Ruth among scores of verses in both the Old and New Testament.

In the 19^th century, evangelicals were on the forefront of social causes that cared for the “other,” such as the abolition of slavery and the care and protection of children and immigrants.  Whether serving the poor in the teeming cities of 19^th century America or leading the great missionary movement that brought the gospel to “others” all across the globe, evangelicals today can look back with pride and appreciation for all they accomplished.

The hymn “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” composed in 1865 in England, typified their evangelical spirit.  It became the processional of the Salvation Army movement, also formed in 1865 in London. While the hymn’s militarist overtones grate on modern sensibilities, it captures the indomitable spirit of the times. Evangelical Christians marched into slums and far-off nations to love those radically different from themselves, confident of God’ leading and protection.

What about today?

In the white evangelical sub-culture today, the “other” is hated, not loved. 

Today the “other” for this white evangelical worldview not only includes traditional “outsiders” like homosexuals or those who are pro-choice.  The “other” not only includes Democrats and anyone labelled “liberal” (generations of preachers told people with this worldview that “real” Christians must be Republican).

Today this worldview has expanded the definition of the “other” to include anyone—even fellow evangelical believers—who cannot tick off every box of the sub-culture’s worldview. 

Take me, for example. I agree that life begins at conception and God intends marriage for a man and woman.  However:

• I do not believe “the government is out to get us,” with black helicopter conspiracy theories that unfortunately have moved from the fringe to the mainstream.
• I do not believe that tax decreases (or increases) are a Christian issue.
• I do not see abortion as the single-issue litmus test of genuine Christianity. Any impartial Bible reader notices that the Bible’s primary Right to Life campaign (based on hundreds of verses) is caring for the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the forgotten.
• I do not rail against the “other,” whom Jesus calls me to love as my neighbor.
• I do not mourn the decline and end of White Christian America. In fact, I embrace the notion that disentangling American nationalism from the Christian faith might, by God’s grace, lead to a rebirth of a more genuine, biblical discipleship.

3. Hearing from a Republican Conservative Evangelical

At this point, let me introduce Michael Gerson, a member of the Bush administration, graduate of Wheaton College and lifelong card-carrying evangelical Christian.  

In April 2018 Gerson wrote an often-cited article for Atlantic magazine titled The Last Temptation: How evangelicals, once culturally confident, became an anxious minority seeking political protection from the least traditionally religious president in living memory.

I mentioned I’ve read over 60 articles. More than any other, I recommend this one for the depth and breadth of its views.  It’s written by a biblically and historically astute evangelical believer and lifelong Republican. 

Gerson offers a compelling history and analysis of how and why evangelicals have arrived at this juncture. First, Gerson on why evangelicals see Trump as their “savior:”

It is true that insofar as Christian hospitals or colleges have their religious liberty threatened by hostile litigation or government agencies, they have every right to defend their institutional identities—to advocate for a principled pluralism. But this is different from evangelicals regarding themselves, hysterically and with self-pity, as an oppressed minority that requires a strongman to rescue it. This is how Trump has invited evangelicals to view themselves. He has treated evangelicalism as an interest group in need of protection and preferences.

As famously articulated by Tony Perkins, evangelicals “were tired of being kicked around by Barack Obama and his leftists. And I think they are finally glad that there’s somebody on the playground that is willing to punch the bully.” 

Gerson goes on to analyze this worldview:

Trump consistently depicts evangelicals as they depict themselves: a mistreated minority, in need of a defender who plays by worldly rules.

A prominent company of evangelical leaders—including Dobson, Falwell, Graham, Jeffress, Metaxas, Perkins, and Ralph Reed—has embraced this self-conception. Their justification is often bluntly utilitarian: All of Trump’s flaws are worth his conservative judicial appointments and more-favorable treatment of Christians by the government.

In reading evangelicals who defend Trump (I have read several), a recurring theme is that Trump’s words and character are simply aspects of “style.”  Style is inconsequential; what matters is results, like more conservative judges.

Using this justification, the compromises for their political goals made by evangelicals who used to be pro-family, pro-decency and self-described “values voters” are indeed breath-taking. Gerson again:

 For a package of political benefits, these evangelical leaders have associated the Christian faith with racism and nativism. They have associated the Christian faith with misogyny and the mocking of the disabled. They have associated the Christian faith with lawlessness, corruption, and routine deception. They have associated the Christian faith with moral confusion about the surpassing evils of white supremacy and neo-Nazism. The world is full of tragic choices and compromises. But for this man? For this cause?

Imagine the righteous rage white evangelicals would have mounted if Barak Obama had been recorded  saying he “grabbed women by the pussy?”  Or had multiple affairs? Or dishonored American military heroes like John McCain?

Gerson then turns to speak of the average person in the white evangelical sub-culture:

But it would be a mistake to regard the problem as limited to a few irresponsible leaders. Those leaders represent a clear majority of the movement, which remains the most loyal element of the Trump coalition. Evangelicals are broadly eager to act as Trump’s shield and sword. They are his army of enablers.

Here is the uncomfortable reality: I do not believe that most evangelicals are racist. But every strong Trump supporter has decided that racism is not a moral disqualification in the president of the United States. And that is something more than a political compromise. It is a revelation of moral priorities.

Finally, Gerson goes on to articulate my own deep sadness about what is unfolding before my eyes today:

It is the strangest story: how so many evangelicals lost their interest in decency, and how a religious tradition called by grace became defined by resentment.

This is bad for America, because religion, properly viewed and applied, is essential to the country’s public life. The old “one-bloodism” of Christian anthropology—the belief in the intrinsic and equal value of all human lives—has driven centuries of compassionate service and social reform. Religion can be the carrier of conscience. It can motivate sacrifice for the common good. It can reinforce the nobility of the political enterprise. It can combat dehumanization and elevate the goals and ideals of public life.

Democracy is not merely a set of procedures. It has a moral structure. The values we celebrate or stigmatize eventually influence the character of our people and polity. Democracy does not insist on perfect virtue from its leaders. But there is a set of values that lends authority to power: empathy, honesty, integrity, and self-restraint. And the legitimation of cruelty, prejudice, falsehood, and corruption is the kind of thing, one would think, that religious people were born to oppose, not bless.

Conclusion:  In Embracing Fear, the White Evangelical Sub-culture Has Lost Its Faith

What defines the Christian faith?  For evangelicals like me, it goes something like this:  

• Human nature and character, including mine, is broken and definitely prone to evil.
• I cannot cure or save myself from my own brokenness.
• The God who created the universe is not an impersonal “force” but a Person who loves me unconditionally, whether or not I even recognize God’s existence.
• God concretely and historically demonstrated his love for me by entering my human existence as a human being, Jesus Christ.
• Jesus’ death on the cross, and then resurrection victory over that death, opens the way into new life, a life bursting with power to heal my brokenness here and now and extending into an eternity in God’s presence.

John’s gospel captures this essence of this faith in one verse:

“Amen, Amen, I want to tell you something very important: the person who is listening to my Word and believing the One Who Sent Me has deep, lasting Life and is not heading for judgement.  Oh no!  That person has been transferred out of the realm of death into the realm of Life.”  (John 5:24)

Bible scholar Dale Bruner in his commentary on John (I quote his translation above) calls this verse indicative of the  “Great Transfer” (from death to life) that is the center of Christian faith.  He then makes this intriguing comment:

Nothing more honors the work of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit than our relaxing in this gift exchange.  “Relaxing in” is a good modern translation of “trusting in” or “believing in” or “believing into.”  It is the goal of the entire Gospel of John to create this relaxation, out of which comes such relief and trusting that we really desire to be the commandment keepers that Jesus will seek…” 

Today, the white evangelical sub-culture has allowed Donald Trump (and GOP politicians following his game plan) to play upon and bamboozle them through fear.

These evangelicals have traded in the hopeful faith of “Onward Christian Soldiers” and become instead soldiers in a cultural war. Instead of calmly standing tall and open-handed, embodying Christ, the “hope of the world,” they are bent in a constant defensive crouch. 

In short, they have engaged in another “Great Transfer”—they have exchanged their faith for fear.

I say this quite literally.  No doubt some will reply: “How dare you! My faith has not changed one iota!  I believe the same things I’ve always believed.”

It took me a long time to realize that “faith” is not simply agreeing to a set of propositions.  Faith is more than ideas—it’s how we act on those ideas.  And the Bible proclaims from start to finish that how we act (more forcefully than anything we might say) actually demonstrates what we really think or believe.

The Protestant Reformation declared Christian faith had two components: knowledge (or ideas), and trust.  Faith is more than agreeing with creedal statements.  Faith is more than “believing the Bible.” (American slave owners for hundreds of years “believed the Bible.”)

The best synonym for the biblical word “believe” is trust.  Faith is trusting that God’s version of reality is true and God’s promises are real. 

Even better, faith is “relaxing in God”—a stance of such deep and complete “relief and trusting” that we know we will be OK, no matter what. 

This relaxing trust allows Christians to act on the most counter-cultural tenet of our faith—WE FIND GOD’S POWER IN WEAKNESS. 

The Bible proclaims the locus of all power in heaven and earth is the cross. At the foot of the cross, Jesus’ enemies taunted him, “If you’re really God’s Son, come down from the cross.  Send your angels to rescue you.  Show us your power.” 

Jesus DID show them his power.  He replied, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Humility, meekness, love of enemies.  These qualities are the ground zero of all Christian power and hope.  They are immensely counter-cultural—they can only come from an infusion of the supernatural power of the Holy Spirit. Only with this power can we tackle the hard things Jesus often asks of us as his disciples.

By its embrace of fear, the white evangelical subculture shows they feel that God is no longer up to the task of protecting them.  They reject everything Paul says in these famous verses:

 For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.  But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. (I Cor. 1:25, 27)

That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Cor. 12:10)

Just this past Sunday, my pastor preached about the difference between earthly and heavenly wisdom:

Who is wise and understanding among you? Let them show it by their good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such “wisdom” does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice.

But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace reap a harvest of righteousness. (James 3:13-18)

Dare to do an honest thought experiment: are the language and emotional attitudes expressed by President Trump in daily his Twitter comments, in his speeches at rallies across America, “pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere?”  

Trump stands for a worldly, earthly power and wisdom that is inimical to the gospel. Yet the white evangelical sub-culture doesn’t care. In their beleaguered minority self-identity, they have exchanged heavenly wisdom for an earthly wisdom they feel is essential to their survival.

But the Holy Scripture calls this earthly wisdom—wait for it—demonic.

As best-selling author and evangelical icon Beth Moore put it succinctly: who knows what consequences will come “when we sell our souls to buy our wins.” 

5. Final Words

I will let Michael Gerson have the last word, because he so eloquently expresses my own heart:

It is difficult to see something you so deeply value discredited so comprehensively. Evangelical faith has shaped my life, as it has the lives of millions. Evangelical history has provided me with models of conscience. Evangelical institutions have given me gifts of learning and purpose. Evangelical friends have shared my joys and sorrows. And now the very word is brought into needless disrepute.

This is the result when Christians become one interest group among many, scrambling for benefits at the expense of others rather than seeking the welfare of the whole. Christianity is love of neighbor, or it has lost its way. And this sets an urgent task for evangelicals: to rescue their faith from its worst leaders.

At its best, faith is the overflow of gratitude, the attempt to live as if we are loved, the fragile hope for something better on the other side of pain and death. And this feather of grace weighs more in the balance than any political gain.

Yes, Christianity is love of neighbor, or it has lost its way. 

Christians do not promote fear and hate of neighbor.  Neither do they enable and support those who do.

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