The 2024 presidential election ignited a strong wave of political engagement among college students and first-time voters, prompting many to align themselves with a specific party or candidate.
This political awakening, however, lacked thorough research into the policies and character qualities of the two aspiring presidents. As a student at Baylor University – a Baptist University in Texas – this became particularly evident.
The decision to vote Republican, especially in support of Donald Trump, seemed less of a political decision and more of a religious obligation. Statements such as “a Christian cannot vote Democrat” or “Trump is a Christian, so he has my vote” proliferated among my peers.
Having grown up in Massachusetts, a comparatively progressive environment, this sense of political certitude was new. Many seemed to hold the belief that to be an evangelical Christian necessitated Republican support. I wrestled with this belief and began to question if this correlation has always been present in American politics.
This, however, wasn’t the first time I wrestled with my political understanding and heritage.
Growing up, conversations at the dinner table often revolved around politics. I quickly became acquainted with the “good party”, the Republicans, and the “bad party”, the Democrats. Through the years my dad became increasingly involved in politics, even hosting fundraisers at our house to support Republican candidates and making numerous personal donations.
I trusted in his enthusiasm, and the beliefs my dad held became my own. In 2020, George Floyd was killed by a police officer in Minneapolis, leading many Americans, my dad included, to question the state of racism in our country.
While reading Heather McGee’s The Sum of Us , my dad learned about redlining – a discriminatory practice that historically denied financial assistance to non-white communities. This discovery was unsettling for him.
My dad’s most compelling discovery dealt with economic theory. As a businessman he initially supported the Republican party’s economic policies, particularly “trickle-down economics,” which was enacted by Ronald Reagan. My dad soon learned that this theory has not worked. After seeing the stark economic disparities this policy exacerbated – the top 10% now control 67% of the nation’s wealth while the bottom 50% only own 2.4% – my dad shifted his allegiance from Republican to Independent.
Both conservatives and evangelicals, and especially conservative evangelicals, should be seeking a political engagement marked not by fighting and destruction, but peace and edification.
In The Politics of Prudence, philosopher Russell Kirk defines a conservative “as one who finds the permanent things more pleasing than Chaos and Old Night.” – someone who abides by tradition rather than progress. My dad’s shift brought me into the Chaos and Old Night of critical reflection, and I was prompted to embark on my own path of political exploration. I was especially interested in the intersection of religion and politics, and how this influenced conservative evangelicals and the republican party. I found the history of this intersection to be a prescient hermeneutic for what I witnessed at Baylor during the 2020 election.
Originally established as an anti-slavery group, the Republican Party was solidified with Abraham Lincoln’s 1860 presidential victory and the subsequent abolition of slavery. Distinguished history professor Dr. Phillip Jenkins also noted in an interview that the Republican Party was traditionally more “sympathetic to women’s causes and feminist causes through the 1950s.”
The social upheaval of the 1960s and 1970s, however, driven by movements for civil rights, women’s rights, and reproductive freedoms, fundamentally altered the political landscape. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and Roe v. Wade in 1973 were landmarks in the fight for racial and gender equality. Many conservatives, however, saw these advancements as a threat to the traditional order. Conservative Americans, particularly evangelical Christians, grew frustrated with the direction of America and sought an outlet to express their distaste and effect change.
Amidst these social progressions, the Jesus Movement in the late 1960s and early 1970s brought vibrancy back to evangelical church communities. The movement drew disillusioned youth who, unsettled by societal changes, turned to the counter-cultural teachings of Jesus on love and peace. The disorganization of this movement, coinciding with the social upheavals of the 60s and 70s, set the stage for the evangelical leader and political activist Jerry Falwell.
As an individual favoring conservative policy, Falwell consistently opposed the social progress of the 1960s and 70s. In 1979, he formed the Moral Majority, a political organization that sought to unite evangelical Christians around conservative values. By 1980, the Moral Majority helped propel Ronald Reagan to a decisive victory, ushering in an era of conservative dominance in American politics marked by the united support of a large evangelical Christian population.
Statements such as “a Christian cannot vote Democrat” or “Trump is a Christian, so he has my vote” proliferated among my peers.
With this history in mind, I began to see parallels between the political engagement of conservative evangelicals led by Falwell and the current political engagement of conservative evangelicals for Trump—notably a common thread of fear and rhetoric centered on opposition.
Four decades after Falwell’s Moral Majority, the United States is encountering shifts in social dynamics reminiscent of those leading up to the Reagan administration. Issues such as abortion and LGBTQ+ rights have become volatile and polemic in American political rhetoric. Conversations around immigration, especially enforcement of the U.S. southern border, are similarly engaged. The same frustration with the direction of society and politics that united Christians under the republican banner in 1980, seems to have worked similarly in the 2020 election.
In Republican election campaigns, this frustration is expressed as fear of the “other,” rather than the traditionally conservative exhortation to preserve and care for the known. Rather than preserving and edifying, current Republican rhetoric gravitates toward fighting and fear-mongering.
This is particularly evident within issues such as migration to the United States, where charged rhetoric is utilized to stoke fear and division. During his most recent campaign, President Trump issued statements such as “the migrants [are] attacking villages and cities” and labeling them as a “threat from within” that have plagued the way Americans view this critical issue. Language is presented to invoke fear in the voter base, not inspire. This rhetoric is destructive, not cultivating.
While this rhetoric and disposition of the current Republican party is problematic, it does not mean that every evangelical Christian must declare allegiance whole heartedly to the Democratic party, deeming them the new “Christian” party. This is especially clear if we reflect on the two presidential candidates presented in 2024.
The first was a Democratic candidate who, while holding some good policies, celebrated and supported policies and actions generally opposed by the Christian ethos, such as early pregnancy termination. The second was a Republican candidate who, while often appealing to the Bible and the support of “Christian” groups, spoke and acted in ways that clearly diverged from the examples modeled for us in scripture.
This dilemma, for which there is no good solution, reveals a telling truth for both conservative and liberal evangelicals —there is no “Christian” party today. For my conservative evangelical peers at Baylor, there is no room to blindly vote for a candidate just because they claim to be a “Christian.” Similarly, one cannot deem someone less of a Christian because they voted differently than us.
Our vote has some impact, but as we approach political engagement today, we must strive to perpetuate small acts of love in our community each day.
In scripture, there is no Republican or Democrat distinction. To be faithful in politics, evangelicals have a duty to impartially compare the messaging of all candidates with the truth of scripture. There is a need to earnestly seek answers without settling on them through charged rhetoric or popular drift. Once this is done, a voting decision can be made with trust that the LORD is in control of any earthly authority.
Conservative evangelicals today must approach politics with more deliberation than ever before. Both conservatives and evangelicals, and especially conservative evangelicals, should be seeking a political engagement marked not by fighting and destruction, but peace and edification. We must, as Christian John Mark Comer puts it, “look hard to make little moves against destructiveness.”
On both sides of the aisle there is brokenness and flaw. Our vote has some impact, but as we approach political engagement today, we must strive to perpetuate small acts of love in our community each day. Through this, conservative evangelicals can reject complete alignment with a party increasingly centered on fear and destruction. Instead, they may return to alignment with the Way of Jesus—a way marked by humility, peace, and relentless love.