Like many people (within my own echo chamber at least), I greeted the news of Trump’s triumph with horrified incredulity. Although, given the rather toxic combination of his populist bravado and the anti-establishment sentiment bubbling away in many quarters, perhaps it should have come as no surprise that he beat his eminently more qualified opponent.
Of course, his victory was not merely the result of support amongst disaffected communities in the de-industrialised rust belt. Across the country, he gained strong support amongst male voters and white voters, winning by a margin of 12% and 21% amongst each group respectively.[1] However, there was one demographic with whom Trump proved particularly popular: white evangelicals.
Reportedly, Trump commanded the support of more than 80% of white evangelicals, of whom only 16% backed Clinton.[2] Given the size of this voting bloc, it seems hard to deny that white evangelicals played their part in putting Trump into the white house.
As an Anglican ordinand who identifies both as an evangelical and as a social democrat, I found this statistic sobering but sadly unsurprising. After all, whilst political affiliation amongst British evangelicals is varied,[3] the marriage between white American evangelical christendom and the Republican party is well established. Previous Republican presidential candidates have all enjoyed similar levels of support, with Mitt Romney attracting the support of 79% of white evangelical voters in 2012. Before that in 2004 and 2008, George W. Bush and John McCain had received 79% and 73% support respectively.[4] Evidently, white evangelicals voting for Republican candidates is hardly a new or novel phenomenon.
And yet, despite this trend, I had hoped that faced with an option like Donald Trump, white evangelical voters might have had cause to pause before continuing their Republican affiliation.
Even if white evangelicals did retain their single-minded focus on abortion at the expense of any other issue, I had imagined that the extent of his explicitly racist rhetoric or misogynistic ramblings might have been a reason to think twice before voting for him. Likewise, I had wondered if they might have stopped and considered with skepticism the speed with which he had recently, and some might say cynically, embraced his pro-life position or decided that the Bible was (alongside ‘The Art of the Deal’) his favourite book. Indeed I had hoped that they might have asked themselves whether Trump’s bravado or ruthless pursuit of worldly success was reflective of the kingdom virtues taught or embodied by our crucified Lord?
Such hopes were sadly in vain. Trump not only retained the Republican share of white evangelical support, he increased it. This has caused no small degree of anger and hurt from christian commentators who identify as outside[5] or on the fringes[6] of American evangelicalism. Meanwhile, as an evangelical on this side of the Atlantic, I am left questioning how and why this happened?
Dave Magill, a friend and church leader in the UK has written a thoughtful blog in which he explores this question, suggesting several potentially key factors behind Trump’s white evangelical support. These include the prevalence of complementarian teaching and thinking in evangelical circles, support for Trump’s adopted positions on abortion and gay marriage, and a siege mentality developed on account of perceived persecution and fear that the culture war is being lost.[7]
Alongside these factors, it seems to me that many have not only voted according to their own inclinations, but in response to the stated inclinations of their evangelical leaders. Although support from evangelical leaders was by no means unanimous, some key figures proved loyal advocates for Trump even when faced with scandal.[8]
Uncomfortably for UK evangelicals, said support did not merely come from the far corners of the religious right. It also came from some well known and more mainstream figures whose influence upon British churches is unmistakable. In July, Wayne Grudem left many (including myself) feeling rather awkward about the copy of his Systematic Theology textbook lying at the back of our bookcase, when he boldly proclaimed that voting for Trump was the moral obligation of evangelicals.[9] Meanwhile, in recent days, Bill Johnson’s Facebook post outlining why he had voted Trump[10] has left many wondering whether they should delete all the Bethel tracks contained on their Spotify worship playlist.
I’m not going to stop singing Lion and the Lamb, nor will I throw away my ESV. But I do believe that the way both Grudem and Johnson articulated their support for Trump demands scrutiny from evangelicals and others.
Notably, the two hail from different realms and inhabit different roles within evangelicalism: one is a reformed theologian and biblical translator, and the other a church leader and charismatic figurehead (in both senses of the word). Furthermore, each chose a different forum and format with which to engage their respective audiences: one penned a lengthy op-ed for a conservative magazine whilst the other posted on social media, in between sharing motivational posters. Nevertheless, their author’s obvious differences in style and substance notwithstanding, it seems to me that both declarations are left open to two key critiques that might be labelled at white evangelical support more broadly.
Firstly, despite talk of morality, they both seem to be willing to overlook some serious concerns about Trump’s character for the sake of their own political ends. Grudem acknowledged that Trump was egotistical, vindictive and a serial adulterer, but seemed to find such flaws forgivable in the face of his disdain for Clinton’s liberalism. And whilst his support did waiver briefly in October in the wake of footage released of Trump’s predatory bragging, he eventually resolved to vote for him nonetheless due to the apparent strength of his policies. Similarly, Johnson decided that though his words ‘were inexcusable, they were not unforgivable’. Like Grudem, he suggested that Trump’s children’s affection for him offered evidence of his true character. (For whatever reason, neither man seemed particularly concerned with or influenced by Chelsea Clinton’s strong support for her mother.)
On one level, I accept that one’s private life might well have little or no bearing on one’s suitability for public office. The problem, as frustrated conservative evangelical Alan Noble pointed out in his pre-election piece for Vox, is that prior to Trump’s candidacy this was not a distinction made readily by evangelical leaders.[11] As Southern Baptist leader Al Mohler candidly conceded, to support Trump would undermine his criticism of Bill Clinton in the wake of his infidelity.[12] Furthermore, as Noble goes on to express, Trump’s words and actions in the past, and on the campaign trail, go beyond offending the sensibilities of social conservatism. More than that, they raise serious alarm bells about his propensity for abusing power, which in turn begs serious questions about his suitability for any public office, let alone the presidency.
My second critique, is that their use of Scripture is superficial and/or suspect. The premise of Johnson’s self-justification for voting Trump is that it was a result of what he found in Holy Scripture. It is curious therefore that his post contains barely any direct scriptural citations. Frustratingly, I am left wondering about the nature of his exegetical journey from scripture to a denouncement of open borders or complaints about a culture of dependency.
Of course, given that he is addressing issues such as immigration policy and welfare provision in a western liberal democracy (hardly the concern of any biblical passage), I am not expecting him to provide specific and comprehensive proof texts. However, if one is going to publicly assert one's political preferences as rooted in biblical principles, then it would seem appropriate to provide some kind of textual evidence to support such an assertion. In fairness, Johnson does refer loosely to the parable of the talents in his claim that Jesus’ teachings contradict socialism. However, his interpretation of this parable as pertaining to wealth distribution might be considered eccentric at best. Indeed, his bizarre suggestion that Jesus somehow reveals his capitalist leanings by telling a story featuring a man who had little giving to another who had much hardly inspires confidence in the exegetical process that led to his previously stated positions.
Moreover, to make matters worse, the one uncontentious biblical principle that he does offer is used in a blatantly biased fashion. Johnson rightly points out that honesty can be conceived as a kingdom value, but this is used as a stick to beat Clinton with, whilst Trump (a man who has just settled a fraud case) gets a free pass. Again, this reflects a poorly veiled bias, not only in how Johnson is interpreting scripture, but in the way he's applying it as well.
The problem, as Martin Saunders articulated in his own critique of Johnson’s post, is not so much the positions he holds (even if I they clash with his or indeed my own political outlook), but rather his claim that they’re scripturally sourced.[13] Such a claim should be carefully expressed based on thoughtful exegesis. Instead, Johnson’s post offers little more than an articulation of a conservative capitalist worldview, prefaced in such a way as to suggest that what is being offered is a biblical exposition of kingdom politics.
For his part, Grudem cannot be accused of such scriptural misuse. The argument he offers is based on purely political, rather than exegetical grounds. In fact, his only use of scripture is as a means of justifying christian engagement in politics. His advocacy of Trump is on account of his desire for a pro-life supreme court appointment and a lower rate of tax for small businesses. On one level, a case made unambiguously on the grounds of social and fiscal conservatism does seem eminently preferable to Johnson’s offering.
And yet, I remain somewhat troubled by the way in which Grudem does, or indeed doesn’t engage with scripture. After all, despite having a degree in economics, Grudem has not been offered column inches based on his fiscal expertise. Instead, he is writing as an evangelical theologian and directed his article at evangelical voters. Evangelical leaders owe the church and the world so much more than their own opinion. Indeed, considering the supposed centrality of scripture to evangelical theological method, it would seem to me that the role of evangelical theologians, pastors and leaders is to sensibly and sensitively bring scripture to bear on all issues, including presidential elections.
In their respective ways, both Grudem and Johnson have fallen short of doing this. Whilst Grudem simply offered secular analysis, Johnson offered threadbare theological reflection based on shallow exegesis. With so many people taking note, and with so much at stake, it strikes me that such approaches simply will not do.
Whatever the next few years holds for the US, the role of white evangelicals in electing Trump may continue to be scrutinised. It is something that many outside of white evangelicalism (including evangelicals of colour) may struggle to come to terms with.
Meanwhile, as an evangelical across the Atlantic, I am left mourning a twofold tragedy. Because not only did white evangelicals play a huge role in electing Trump, but they appeared to do so for reasons that have nothing to do with evangelicalism. In doing so, they may well have done themselves, their tradition and their country a disservice. My only prayer is that this is not the case.
