I’ve been thinking a lot about this recent essay by The Gospel Coalition’s Trevin Wax. In it, he observes that there has been a recent tendency for Christian leaders to be selective and inconsistent in their criticism of fellow believers when it comes to the enticement of political power. Wax specifically calls out the partisan nature of these critiques, focusing on the red state versus blue state divide. “It’s ironic,” he writes, “to see Christian leaders who (often rightly) chastise evangelicals for being in bed with Republicans launch that accusation from the bed they share with Democrats.”
This essay stuck with me more than most things I read, and I think I now know why. I should first say that I don’t think Wax is wrong in principle. Christians—and especially Christian leaders—must not become enraptured by the same temptations and idols they’re rightly calling out. Wax’s essay rightly suggests the potential for this problem, and encourages Christians to proactively guard against it.
That said, there are two things that bother me about this essay. First, Wax says that Christian leaders comfortable criticizing conservatives for their embrace of Donald Trump’s brand of politics are less comfortable calling out liberals for allying with the Democratic Party and its leftward shift on issues like abortion and sexuality. The problem is that Wax describes a situation without providing evidence. Consider this paragraph:
The assumption of some of today’s leaders most concerned about Christianity’s reputation is that taking a public stand against immorality and godlessness on the right is necessary, no matter the cost. But would the same critics who advocate a prophetic posture in the red states tell the preacher in the bluest areas of the country to be a consistent and vocal opponent of politicians and policies that result in the destruction of unborn life, or the redefinition of marriage, or the distortion of the body in service to new definitions of “sexual freedom”? I fear not.
Why not, though? What examples does he have of this? If Wax is going to make this argument, he should be able to point to specific examples of Christian leaders neglecting to call out the politics of the left while simultaneously training their fire on the right. It’s one thing for a leader to call out something on the right without, in the same breath, calling out something on the left; it’s another, more problematic thing for this to be endemic in this leader’s record. To use some of Wax’s own phrasing, which Christian leaders does he think are sharing a bed with Democrats, and thus exacerbating this problem?
Digging into Wax’s argument deeper, he’s suggesting that Christians in red states are being held to different standards than Christians in blue states. “Why do some leaders,” he asks, “recommend a pastoral tone and a deferential spirit regarding politics in blue states but demand a prophetic edge and political distancing in red states?” He does rightly note the allure of approval and temptation for social acceptance, particularly among cultural elites. But again, some examples would be helpful here; otherwise, he’s criticizing a strawman.
Second, Wax’s essay has the feel of an unfortunate trend in American politics: whataboutism, or, deflecting from one problem by highlighting another. You can find this phenomenon anywhere on social media these days. Consider this response to Sen. Tommy Tuberville (R-AL), who helpfully made a video encouraging people to get the COVID-19 vaccine:
Or consider a response to yesterday’s observation from a Washington Post reporter that President Biden has not held a press conference in several weeks, continuing a break from recent tradition:
For the record, I don’t believe Wax is intentionally engaging in whataboutism here. But at times the essay sure resembles it, especially when seemingly equating the allure of partisanship in the church from the right and the left. Among white evangelical Christians, this is just not an accurate depiction of polarization in the church, as surveys from Pew, PRRI, and others routinely point out. So, while it is useful to point out the tendency of political polarization to capture Christians from the right and the left, one is a significantly greater challenge right now than the other.
So back to the question central to Wax’s essay: What should a prophetic Christian witness look like? Consider someone like David French, who has (famously) made no secret of his concern for the tendency of too many Christians to be enamored with Trumpian politics, going all the way back to early in Trump’s original candidacy. But French is no squish when it comes to, say, advocating a holistic pro-life message while calling out the left for its increasingly radical positions on abortion. French is not a Republican (at least by today’s definition), but he’s definitely a conservative and, by any indication, a Christian.
Samuel James, also responding to Wax’s essay, mentions Russell Moore and Justin Giboney as good examples of exhibiting prophetic Christian witness. As James notes, it’s no accident that both men are less than popular among members of their political tribes (Moore leans conservative and Giboney progressive, but don’t expect them to keynote either party’s national convention in 2024) — they speak and act in the political arena without fear of alienation or being sidelines.
Ultimately, I think Wax’s essay is useful. It prompted a good deal of self-reflection, especially as someone responsible for teaching and mentoring the next generation of Christian leaders via my role in Christian higher education. I will absolutely be using this essay as a conversation starter in my classes. That said, I do think specific evidence of the problem Wax is describing, plus an acknowledgment that one side of the coin really is more of a problem at the moment, would make the essay even better.