On the day the electors meet to decide on Donald Trump and the presidency of the United States, there are a host of questions. Perhaps, those assembled in various state capitals had some, but elected him anyway. I have my own, and I’ve puzzled how best to frame them. Originally, this article was entitled, “What Do We Do Now?” We ― who believe that our Christian values have actually been repudiated by this event? We who believe that those very values have been rejected by a good percentage of the Christian church? We who cannot see how this election connects with the King whose birth we celebrate this season, who proclaimed as his core message in the Gospel of Luke,
The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
That article, with that title, sat unwritten.
And so I’m rephrasing the question, “What do I do now?” It seems that I found it hard to speak for others. Instead I’m asking myself, “How do I respond?” Still, I write this for those who have come to the same disturbing questions, and I ask them (many of whom I’ve talked to personally) to join me in figuring out the next steps. (I also acknowledge that those I sit alongside in the pews may have come to a different response. I hope we can talk too. But this post heads in a different direction.)
One of the deepest shocks of this election comes from the reported 80% of white evangelical voters who supported Trump despite pleas to reconsider before November 8 from evangelical leaders such as Andy Crouch, Beth Moore, and Max Lucado (not to mention the concerns poignantly expressed about what this means for evangelicalism after the election by Mark Labberton and Richard Mouw).
I suppose I take some comfort in the fact that Trump lost by 2.8 million votes, the largest percentage of the popular vote in 140 years. So I know I’m not alone. But as a Christian, that’s not enough. My training in classical evangelicalism taught me not to be enamored with the public’s esteem. I learned that Jesus wasn’t popular — in fact, the crowds turned against him. In the Gospel of John, Jesus notes that many are leaving him:
“You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve disciples. (With his proverbial bravado) Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to trust and to know that you are the Holy One of God.”
So popularity by itself is insufficient.
And more than that, I learned from training in evangelicalism to test everything against the evangel, which in Greek means “the Gospel.” My books on evangelicalism taught me to distrust easy recourse to “the results of modern scholarship” (because those could often be biased) and “the cultural consensus” (because that so often reflects the troubling values of a corrupt and fallen “world”). It was amazing training in a way — though naturally distorted at times — but one that led me to be a scholar who critically engages every idea that comes my way.
Nonetheless, after November 9, I’ve decided to be very careful about using the “evangelical” label. Certainly, there are many people who voted for Trump out of good motives. I know them. But when I evaluate Trump against the values most dear to me, those of the Gospel — I am shocked by the xenophobia, racism, and misogyny that was some component of his campaign rhetoric and even more of some of his supporters. To think that my Christian brothers and sisters have awarded the highest office to this kind of leader — despite, or maybe even because of, those views — is deeply disturbing.
At the end of the day, I don’t plan to use the term “evangelical” for myself for some time. Why? It’s meaning of “a commitment to personal regeneration by faith in Christ and a commitment to Scripture” has been confused, if not tarnished, by this election.
So, this Christmas season, I’m going to return to this succinct summary from the book of James,
Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.
In biblical terminology, “orphans” and “widows” were outside the social network, which depended on a patriarchal family structure (and I use the phrase descriptively). That means if you were a widow, you had no husband to support you and an orphan had no family to do the same. And there was precious little public assistance. So the voice and action of this small group of 1st century Christians were called on to support those around who had no safety net. I hope I can follow their lead, offering my voice and my actions to those on the margins.
And that’ll keep me connected to the evangel — at least, that’s my deepest hope… even if I won’t use the label “evangelical.”
I think the King born in a manger won’t really care one way or another.