American Christianity is in cultural and political decline. In 1937, 70 percent of Americans reported that they belonged to a church. These numbers held relatively steady through much of the 20th century. But in the past 25 years, an estimated 40 million Americans have stopped attending church. As Ernest Hemingway said, bankruptcy comes gradually and then suddenly.
The American public square, previously white and Protestant, is quickly becoming a pluralistic bazaar of diverse cultures, religions, ideologies, and lifestyles. Once dominant and uncontested, Christianity is increasingly one moral vision among many.
How are evangelicals responding to the decline of Christianity’s cultural and political power?
Contrary to media caricatures, evangelicals are not a monolith. We’re responding to this decline in a wide variety of ways. The classical stages of grief can offer an insightful tool for understanding the ways evangelicals are processing their cultural and political decline (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance).
It is quite possible to meet an evangelical at any stage in this grieving process. But of course, this scheme does not fit everyone. Some evangelicals are not grieving at all. They actually celebrate Christianity’s loss of power. This group believes it would be fundamentally good and healthy for Christians to take a moratorium on political engagement, seeing it as beneficial for both America and the church.
While I sympathize with their sentiments, I must object. I believe that Christians are called by God to engage in political life. We must actively seek public justice and mercy. We must vigorously work for the flourishing for our neighbors. This requires us to be involved in politics and exert some level of political power and influence toward these ends. Privileged Christians who wish to politically disengage are abandoning the very neighbors they’re commanded to protect, serve, and love.
No, I believe it is entirely appropriate for evangelicals to grieve their loss of cultural and political power. That said, as any counselor will tell you, there are productive and unproductive forms of grief. The bereft are not permitted to remain in denial, anger, depression, or bargaining forever. Nor are they allowed to hurt others as they wail.
Here’s how we might interact with these stages. The first stage of grief is denial. While some evangelicals are still in denial over the decline of Christianity, their numbers are dwindling by the day. It is becoming harder and harder to ignore Christianity’s marginalization in the media, the academy, the marketplace, arts, and politics. For those still in denial, there is not much to say.
The second stage is anger. Evangelical rage makes for great TV; infantile evangelical leaders coming unhinged attract a lot of clicks. It is thus no surprise that the bulk of media attention has been trained on evangelical fits of outrage, victimhood, and lament over the emergence of a post-Christian America.
The third stage is bargaining. Quite a few articles and books have explored the disastrous ways in which evangelical leaders are increasingly willing to make a devil’s bargain for a few scraps of political power and access.
While much ink has been spilled on these forms of evangelical denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, the final stage has received precious little attention. What might look like for American evangelicals to step into a state of acceptance?
I’m not a neutral observer on this issue. I’m an evangelical who believes that American Christianity should adopt a form of non-passive acceptance. To be clear, acceptance is not acquiescence. By non-passive, I hope to indicate my fervent support for ardent Christian engagement in public life. Accepting America’s ideological diversity is not a sign of my resignation from American public life. As an evangelical, I still intend to advocate for a biblical approach to justice, peace, and flourishing in our nation.
With this clear, let’s return to the question before us: How might evangelicals progress through their grieving process and emerge from various states of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression? As far as I can tell, at least five things are needed.
The first is a change in theology. All political philosophy begins with a rather simple question: “Who’s in charge?” Academics call this the question of sovereignty. For Christian political philosophers, the answer, of course, is Jesus. Christ alone is ultimately the one in charge, not kings, politicians, or ideologies. There is one throne, and it belongs to Christ.
Unfortunately, many American evangelicals suffer from a weak Christology when it comes to politics. They seem to imagine that Jesus is either absent or weak in American public life, that he is not strong enough—not tough enough—to take America “back.” Given this apparent weakness, evangelicals cast about looking for a strong politician who can do Christ’s job for him. After all, if Jesus is not up to the task, we need someone who can do it for him.
Carrie Underwood’s music is good for everyone, but evangelicals in particular should work “Jesus Take the Wheel” back into their playlists. Too many American evangelicals are trying to white-knuckle a political wheel that does not belong to them, that they do not, cannot, and should not control. If Christ is in the driver’s seat, that means Christians are not. We must learn to place our trust in the political sovereignty of Jesus.
The second change is tactical. As evangelicals accept their status as a political minority, they will need to learn how to play with others. They will need to build tactical partnerships with other “moral sub-cultures.” Rather than demonizing Catholics, Mormons, and Muslims, evangelicals will need to learn to collaborate on mutually agreed upon political goals. Tactically speaking, evangelical leaders are too weak to go it alone. To succeed, we need to make friends.
Evangelicals in the Netherlands offer an interesting path forward in this regard. They’ve been a minority political voice for decades. In a recent effort to curtail the practice of prostitution in the Netherlands, local evangelicals formed a common political effort with left-wing feminist groups. Despite their deep ideological differences, they agreed on three things: Women have profound value, their bodies should not be commodified, and they are worthy of protection from the moral privations of the sexual marketplace.
Dutch evangelical leaders did not bargain away their Christian principles to make this political deal. And, importantly, evangelicals did not attack their leaders for collaborating with left-wing feminists. These Christian brothers and sisters have accepted that if they wish to seek public justice in the Netherlands, they need to partner with diverse groups.
The third change is one of posture. Some evangelicals are acting like martyrs hunched over in a state of depression about their loss of power. Others are desperately grasping about for what little power they can grab before it slips through their fingers. If we’re in anger, we may have a fighting posture—head down, fists up. If we’re bargaining, we prostrate ourselves before politicians who promise political scraps in return. None of these postures serves us well.
Like a basketball player who can only dribble to the right, evangelical voters have become predictable. Politically speaking, this makes them easy to manipulate, pigeonhole, use, and ignore—a politician’s dream. Whether crouching, bowing, or fighting, evangelicals lack the posture necessary to adapt and respond to a dynamic and pluralistic political landscape.
One of the first lessons a basketball player learns is the power of the three-point stance. With one foot forward and the ball in front of his chest, the player becomes a “triple threat” and can in an instant pass, shoot, or dribble. The defender doesn’t know where he’s going next, so he has options. The three-point stance enables the player to use creativity, imagination, and skill to improvise, adapt, and overcome.
Evangelicals need a new posture that will enable them to collaborate and contest, fight and forgive, persuade and listen. Our game is in desperate need of some new moves.
This need leads us to the fourth change. The future of evangelical political engagement is going to require a profound renewal of the evangelical imagination. Any artist will tell you that things like creativity and inspiration are tricky to come by. They can be fickle friends, here one day and gone the next. There is no three-step process to “becoming politically imaginative.” But there are a few practices that could certainly help.
Evangelicals will need to shift from a life of political consumption to one of cultural creativity. Rather than consuming endless hours of political vitriol via cable news, talk radio, and social media, we need to focus on—to put it frankly—becoming more interesting human beings. It may seem an odd political prescription, but evangelicals need to throw more dinner parties, attend more poetry classes, take up woodworking, and start book clubs or bowling leagues. We should serve refugee families or learn a new language, learn to cook or throw a neighborhood picnic.
The mindless consumption of political rage will never produce an evangelical political witness marked by creativity, imagination, or wisdom. A life filled with play, beauty, learning, and love offers fertile soil for a much healthier political culture.
Extracting oneself from the clatter of the 24/7 news cycle and investing one’s hands and heart in life-giving practices can do a great deal for one’s political posture and practices. The iron grip of political outrage, depression, and bitterness must be broken. Embodied activities can liberate evangelicals to navigate a polarized world of deep differences with a renewed and open-hearted imagination.
The final change for American evangelicalism brings us back to the heart of the gospel. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Rom. 5:8). The center of evangelical politics must be the Good News.
If this is true, ours should be a politics of gratitude, not grief. The global evangelical movement, regardless of culture or context, has always agreed that the gospel is central. The evangelical life begins with an experience of grace and gratitude—not fear, anger, or resentment. This personal experience of grace in Christ has public consequences for evangelicals who claim to follow him. The hospitality we’ve experienced in Christ is a hospitality that must be demonstrated before a watching world.
America is an increasingly pluralistic marketplace of diverse religions, ideologies, and lifestyles. How should evangelicals politically respond to this diversity? When should we listen and learn? When should we stand and fight? When do we collaborate? When do we contest?
Dynamic political environments call for dynamic political postures and practices. On this side of eternity, the boundary lines are not always clear. This should not concern us as long as we remain clear on our center.
Matthew Kaemingk is the Richard John Mouw Associate Professor of Faith and Public Life at Fuller Theological Seminary. His podcast on faith and politics is called Zealots at the Gate. His recent books include Reformed Public Theology and Work and Worship.
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