Christian Allegiance to Trump Has Wrecked My Faith

On Jan. 6, 2021, the United States Capitol Building was attacked by a mob of violent insurrectionists led by then President Donald Trump. Fueled by conspiracies of massive voter fraud, and urged on by Trump, rioters proceeded to invade the building, erecting gallows on the National Mall’s lawn and rallying to chants of “Hang Mike Pence!” All this in an attempt to subvert the results of the 2020 election. Though ultimately unsuccessful in overturning the election, the attack would leave several dead, countless injured, and result in millions of dollars in damage.

At the time, I’d hoped this ugly assault signaled an end to Trump’s influence over the American people — particularly those professing to be Christian. Trump had consistently demonstrated that he was both a bad leader and a bad person. In the aftermath of the Jan. 6 attack, evangelicals had to see that securing culture war victories wasn’t worth the cost of empowering a vengeful authoritarian and known sexual predator.

Sadly, this was not the case.

This January, Trump was once again sworn in as president of the United States, propelled to office by the unwavering support of countless evangelical Christians.

For me, the results of the 2024 presidential election felt like the punchline to an incredibly cruel joke. I grew up in the church and still remember the lessons taught to me by my old mentors. I was told that following Jesus meant that truth mattered, justice mattered, how I treated women mattered, and how I treated my neighbor mattered. Later, when I came out as a gay man, my Christian peers insisted that I put aside my personal feelings and desires in the name of biblical fidelity. I spent years of my life making painful and irreversible sacrifices in order to do what I thought was right at the time. Then Trump came along, and suddenly the narrative changed — truth was pliable, character was irrelevant, and justice was getting in the way of “winning.”

That the majority of Christians would choose to vote for Trump not once, not twice, but three times felt like confirmation of all my worst doubts and fears: Namely, that Christianity had never truly been about God or goodness; it had always been about power.

I can’t pretend that my faith isn’t currently in shambles. What hope I have for the future is pretty scant, but as we enter 2025 and the second Trump administration, I want to share three truths that have allowed me to endure in the face of overwhelming cynicism. Regardless of what challenges lie ahead for our country, I pray these truths will encourage Christians who still endeavor to follow Jesus with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength.

We are not the good guys

Many Christians grow up hearing that the propagation of our faith is inherently good for society. We’re told that we are “the salt and the light of the earth” (Matthew 5:13-16), “the hands and feet of God” (1 Corinthians 12:27), and that Christianity is responsible for all the best aspects of Western civilization. History, on the other hand, paints a more complex picture of our religion. Yes, it’s true that Christians have been a driving force behind positive human progress, but we’ve also been guilty of unspeakable evil.

Christians have championed the principles of social justice and human dignity while also waging wars to preserve the institution of slavery. We’ve helped found centers of higher learning, but have also banned books and censored information when it threatens our worldview. The early Church pioneered the practice of orphan adoption only to later steal children from Indigenous families and those it considered moral degenerates. The truth about Christians is this: We’re not the good guys, we’re just people.

This fact might not be entirely comforting, but it helps us understand why so many Christians have embraced the Make America Great Again movement. Certainty in our own inherent righteousness will always lead us away from Jesus. If Christians are to make any meaningful difference in the years ahead we must first reject this idealized view of ourselves as saviors of the culture. We need to move forward in humility, remembering the evil we’ve done and asking God for the wisdom not to repeat those sins.

Jesus is for losers

One of the most disappointing aspects of Trump’s victory is how quickly opposition to his rule has crumbled. In a recent New York Times article, “Now is the Time of Monsters,” the journalist Ezra Klein laid out the current political landscape in stark detail: “The Republican Party is meek, and Trump knows it. He would not have dared to send Senate Republicans names like Robert F. Kennedy Jr., Tulsi Gabbard, Kash Patel and Pete Hegseth for cabinet posts in his first term. Even beyond the party, he faces no mass resistance this time, nothing like the Women’s March that overwhelmed Washington in 2017. Democrats are dispirited and exhausted.”

These facts are made all the more disheartening given that a majority of white evangelicals are eager to welcome the new administration. Any believer who dares otherwise will quickly find themselves excommunicated from the fold.

While Christian nationalists trumpet their victory in the halls of government, it’s worth remembering that Jesus never sought political power or sided with those who held it. In fact, he outright rejected it on numerous occasions (Matthew 4:1-11; John 6:14-15). Instead, Jesus made his place amongst the lowly. His disciples were a jumbled collection of cowards and failures, and those who sought him out were often desperate, disillusioned, or marginalized by society. In short, Jesus was for the losers.

This is the great beauty of the gospel: The character of Jesus doesn’t change. No matter how often his name is invoked in the pursuit of power, the fact that he sided with the powerless remains constant. Jesus blessed the meek, the mourning, and the poor in spirit (Matthew 5-7). He told the rich that their money was a prison (Matthew 19:23-26) and the culture warriors to practice a little self-awareness (John 8:7). Power and politics shift with the sunrise, but Jesus will always be present for us losers — offering hope, wisdom, and strength to any broken spirit willing to draw close.

The Spirit still moves

Scripture tells us that Jesus lived his entire life under Roman occupation. The book of Luke states that his birth in Bethlehem took place during a mandated census (Luke 2:1). Much of his public ministry involved responding to questions about Jewish cooperation with Roman authorities (Matthew 22:15-22), and even his death was intertwined with the empire’s attempts to control and mollify its vassal state (John 19:1-30). These circumstances didn’t change after his resurrection, nor did the apostles live to see how their ministry and faith would eventually reshape the empire. It wasn’t until 380 C.E. — almost four centuries later — that Christianity became the state religion of Rome.

At its height, the Roman Empire must have seemed like an unstoppable juggernaut. Its cultural and military might stood virtually unchallenged throughout the known world. Yet even under the shadow of tyranny, angels sang, multitudes were fed, and death gave way to resurrection. The Holy Spirit is forever present — be it under Caesar’s Rome or Trump’s America.

I don’t want to minimize the challenges that lie ahead. Many dubious individuals have gained positions of incredible power, and it will take nothing short of a herculean effort to protect the most vulnerable in our society from what they have planned. At the same time, there are still multitudes of Christians who are committed to pursuing God’s goodness and mercy. We can reject nihilism, embody love, and ground ourselves in the strength of community as we seek to preserve what matters most. The Holy Spirit will continue to do its work, and we can be part of its beautiful purpose. If we embrace this calling, there’s no telling what type of miracles we may witness.