The Devil You Say
During the years I spent trying (and failing) to be an Evangelical, I found a lot of stuff written about "The End Times," and the coming of the Antichrist. Everyone had a different idea about who the Antichrist was, where he would appear, and so on, but there's one thing everyone felt pretty confident about. The "real" Christians (assuming they hadn't all been carried away by the Rapture) would know who the Antichrist was. The Antichrist wouldn't be able to fool a "real" Christian - which is to say, of course, an Evangelical.
So it strikes me as sadly ironic that the most anti-Christian figure we've seen in generations of American politics is so adored by the white Evangelical community.
Note that I'm not saying Trump is the Antichrist. The Book of Revelation is a tricky thing, so I'm not even sure there will ever actually be someone who is the Antichrist. But Trump is close enough, if not because of his own moral bankruptcy then surely because of the cruelty, callousness and selfishness of his party's policies. The entire Republican Party, in fact, acts like they want to undo not just the Bill of Rights, but the Sermon on the Mount as well. And yet, white Evangelicals flock to the party and hail Trump as their hero. Some even claim that Trump is God's chosen candidate, or that God sent Trump to us.
A lot of shocking things have happened in the past couple of years, but for me, the most bewildering and disheartening one of all is the way the white Evangelical church has sold its soul for power. I've known a lot of Evangelicals over the years. They're good people. They taught me things about Christianity and the Bible that I still rely on to this day. It's almost incomprehensible that they wouldn't see Trump for what he is, and the Republican platform for what it is.
Almost incomprehensible. But not quite. I have a few ideas.
For starters, the Evangelical church has a very narrow view of the way people should live their lives - which is fine as a choice for how you live your own life, but a problem when you think it's your job to make everyone else live that way, too.
Second, the Evangelical church tends to get their preferences for how to live your life mixed up with the doctrines of the faith. I still remember the pastor I went to when I lived in Oklahoma, who told me, "Well, your mother's not a Christian, so she doesn't understand that a woman's place is in the home."
And third, all too often, Evangelical spirituality is rooted in fear. Evangelicals have a neat trick for turning the Gospel inside out. They acknowledge the idea of "salvation by faith," that salvation is a free gift from God and doesn't depend on doing specific things or following specific rules - but then they ask, "How can you be sure that you're saved?" and launch into a set of specific things to do and specific rules to follow in order to prove to yourself and others that you're in the club. Evangelical preaching is full of warnings about "backsliders" and tales of demons lurking around every corner, waiting to snatch your soul away. One wrong move can mean eternal damnation. The peace of God which passes all understanding isn't brought up all that often.
It's insidious - and effective. To this day, more than two and a half decades after my own time in the Evangelical church, I still have moments where I feel like God doesn't want me to be a writer because writing is selfish and egotistical, and instead I should be trying to live the good Evangelical life supporting the wholesome world of corporate capitalism. When I hear a religious authority, even one of the many fine priests who preach at All Saints, begin a sentence with "God wants you to..." my subconscious reflexively completes the sentence with "stop writing." It's maddening. But I digress.
Back to Trump: He clearly doesn't do the specific things or follow the specific rules that Evangelicals preach about, so why do they support him? A big part of it is that Evangelical leaders see him as a means to an end, a tool to advance their agenda and boost their own power. And their congregations, already conditioned to do what their leaders say or risk being a "backslider," naturally fall into line.
That's one explanation. There's another that comes to mind, one that's much more terrible.
I would never claim to know what's in another person's heart and mind, but by all appearances, a lot of Evangelical Christians have stopped believing in God.
That is to say, they've stopped believing in the God who tells us to welcome the stranger, care for the poor and love our enemies. They've stopped believing in the God who tells us to be bold in seeking justice and righteousness. They've stopped believing in the God who promises to stand by us and sustain us through our burdens. The world is changing around them, and they're too scared to believe in the God who wants them to help guide those changes toward the good, so instead they've run to a small, petty, tribal god who promises to keep things as they are, with themselves as the "chosen elect" at the top and everyone else bowing to them. That's the kind of god you'd expect to send someone like Donald Trump as its champion.
So what can we do about it?
As usual, I have no answer. I know plenty of Scripture, but Scripture doesn't seem to be any more effective than observable facts in swaying the Evangelical mind. Just like with the rest of the Trumpocalypse, I feel like I've got to leave the current generation in the hands of others and turn my attention toward the generations to come.
The Evangelical church is finished. They may have been able to share the Gospel before, but no one will listen to them now. They have so thoroughly discredited themselves that it will take decades for them to recover, if they ever do at all. So who is left to carry on? Okay, lots of people, actually. They'd do just fine without little old me, but I want to be part of the team. My voice may be small, but I want to show whoever I can that "Christianity" isn't about being a judgmental hypocrite, that there are still plenty of people trying to live the Gospel as it actually is.
How about that? I always sucked at "witnessing" as an Evangelical, but now the Evangelicals have made me step up my game. So at least there's one good thing to come out of this mess.
So it strikes me as sadly ironic that the most anti-Christian figure we've seen in generations of American politics is so adored by the white Evangelical community.
Note that I'm not saying Trump is the Antichrist. The Book of Revelation is a tricky thing, so I'm not even sure there will ever actually be someone who is the Antichrist. But Trump is close enough, if not because of his own moral bankruptcy then surely because of the cruelty, callousness and selfishness of his party's policies. The entire Republican Party, in fact, acts like they want to undo not just the Bill of Rights, but the Sermon on the Mount as well. And yet, white Evangelicals flock to the party and hail Trump as their hero. Some even claim that Trump is God's chosen candidate, or that God sent Trump to us.
A lot of shocking things have happened in the past couple of years, but for me, the most bewildering and disheartening one of all is the way the white Evangelical church has sold its soul for power. I've known a lot of Evangelicals over the years. They're good people. They taught me things about Christianity and the Bible that I still rely on to this day. It's almost incomprehensible that they wouldn't see Trump for what he is, and the Republican platform for what it is.
Almost incomprehensible. But not quite. I have a few ideas.
For starters, the Evangelical church has a very narrow view of the way people should live their lives - which is fine as a choice for how you live your own life, but a problem when you think it's your job to make everyone else live that way, too.
Second, the Evangelical church tends to get their preferences for how to live your life mixed up with the doctrines of the faith. I still remember the pastor I went to when I lived in Oklahoma, who told me, "Well, your mother's not a Christian, so she doesn't understand that a woman's place is in the home."
And third, all too often, Evangelical spirituality is rooted in fear. Evangelicals have a neat trick for turning the Gospel inside out. They acknowledge the idea of "salvation by faith," that salvation is a free gift from God and doesn't depend on doing specific things or following specific rules - but then they ask, "How can you be sure that you're saved?" and launch into a set of specific things to do and specific rules to follow in order to prove to yourself and others that you're in the club. Evangelical preaching is full of warnings about "backsliders" and tales of demons lurking around every corner, waiting to snatch your soul away. One wrong move can mean eternal damnation. The peace of God which passes all understanding isn't brought up all that often.
It's insidious - and effective. To this day, more than two and a half decades after my own time in the Evangelical church, I still have moments where I feel like God doesn't want me to be a writer because writing is selfish and egotistical, and instead I should be trying to live the good Evangelical life supporting the wholesome world of corporate capitalism. When I hear a religious authority, even one of the many fine priests who preach at All Saints, begin a sentence with "God wants you to..." my subconscious reflexively completes the sentence with "stop writing." It's maddening. But I digress.
Back to Trump: He clearly doesn't do the specific things or follow the specific rules that Evangelicals preach about, so why do they support him? A big part of it is that Evangelical leaders see him as a means to an end, a tool to advance their agenda and boost their own power. And their congregations, already conditioned to do what their leaders say or risk being a "backslider," naturally fall into line.
That's one explanation. There's another that comes to mind, one that's much more terrible.
I would never claim to know what's in another person's heart and mind, but by all appearances, a lot of Evangelical Christians have stopped believing in God.
That is to say, they've stopped believing in the God who tells us to welcome the stranger, care for the poor and love our enemies. They've stopped believing in the God who tells us to be bold in seeking justice and righteousness. They've stopped believing in the God who promises to stand by us and sustain us through our burdens. The world is changing around them, and they're too scared to believe in the God who wants them to help guide those changes toward the good, so instead they've run to a small, petty, tribal god who promises to keep things as they are, with themselves as the "chosen elect" at the top and everyone else bowing to them. That's the kind of god you'd expect to send someone like Donald Trump as its champion.
So what can we do about it?
As usual, I have no answer. I know plenty of Scripture, but Scripture doesn't seem to be any more effective than observable facts in swaying the Evangelical mind. Just like with the rest of the Trumpocalypse, I feel like I've got to leave the current generation in the hands of others and turn my attention toward the generations to come.
The Evangelical church is finished. They may have been able to share the Gospel before, but no one will listen to them now. They have so thoroughly discredited themselves that it will take decades for them to recover, if they ever do at all. So who is left to carry on? Okay, lots of people, actually. They'd do just fine without little old me, but I want to be part of the team. My voice may be small, but I want to show whoever I can that "Christianity" isn't about being a judgmental hypocrite, that there are still plenty of people trying to live the Gospel as it actually is.
How about that? I always sucked at "witnessing" as an Evangelical, but now the Evangelicals have made me step up my game. So at least there's one good thing to come out of this mess.
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