by Christopher Schouten
We live in deeply polarized times. If you’re reading this, chances are you’ve felt bewildered, frustrated, or even angered by the political choices of fellow Americans, perhaps even friends or family members. The rise and continued support for figures like Donald Trump often elicit strong reactions, and the question “How can they possibly support him?” echoes in many conversations. For those of us guided by faith, this political chasm presents not only a civic challenge but a spiritual one. How do we respond when faced with views that seem diametrically opposed to our own, especially when guided by Christ’s teachings?
Common answers often point to racism, ignorance, or blind allegiance. While prejudice and misinformation are undeniably part of the complex picture, relying solely on these explanations can sometimes feel insufficient. It can shut down curiosity and prevent us from understanding the deeper currents that might be influencing millions of people. As Christians, we are called to something deeper than surface judgment. We’re called to look beyond outward appearances, remembering that “The Lord does not look at the things people look at… the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7). If our goal is not just to win arguments, but perhaps to build bridges as peacemakers (Matthew 5:9) and reflect Christ’s love, we need to be willing to explore the underlying human experiences with a spirit of compassion.
This isn’t about excusing harmful beliefs or actions. Understanding is not endorsement, and we must always speak truth to injustice. But it is about recognizing the shared humanity, the Imago Dei, in every person, and exploring the complex motivations that might lead someone to a vastly different political conclusion. Drawing from conversations, observations, and trying to piece together the ‘why’, I believe a significant driver is a profound anxiety rooted in the dizzying pace and nature of change transforming America and the world.
The Currents Beneath the Surface: Change, Fear, and the Search for Stability
Imagine feeling like the ground is constantly shifting beneath your feet. For decades, many communities, particularly outside major urban centers, have experienced significant economic disruption – manufacturing jobs disappear, small towns struggle, and promises of prosperity ring hollow. But even for those not directly experiencing all these shifts locally, the perception of rapid, unsettling change elsewhere – witnessed daily through news feeds, social media, and television – can be profoundly destabilizing. This perceived pace of transformation, often focusing on urban centers or evolving cultural norms, is frequently highlighted and amplified by political narratives seeking to exploit the resulting anxiety. Simultaneously, technology reframes entire industries and social interactions at lightning speed across the board. Cultural norms evolve, demographic landscapes shift, and long-held identities or social hierarchies feel questioned or overturned, contributing to this widespread sense of unease.
For someone whose identity, livelihood, or sense of community feels deeply tied to a particular way of life, this relentless change – whether directly experienced or intensely observed – isn’t just an abstract concept; it can feel like a direct threat. It can breed anxiety about the future, nostalgia for a perceived simpler past, and a feeling of being left behind or ignored by a mainstream culture that seems to celebrate constant disruption. This anxiety is real, even if the conclusions drawn from it are ones we strongly disagree with. Recognizing this vulnerability is an act of compassion, reflecting the call to “clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience” (Colossians 3:12).
Consider the perspective from some rural areas. They might see rapid cultural shifts portrayed in national media that feel alien to their daily lives and values. It can foster a sense of “us vs. them,” a feeling that their way of life is misunderstood, mocked, or under siege by distant forces. Similarly, older individuals often have decades invested in the world as it was; rapid change can feel particularly destabilizing when you’ve built a life within a certain framework. This isn’t necessarily about rejecting progress wholesale, but about the speed and nature of the change feeling overwhelming and imposed.
When people feel anxious, destabilized, and ignored, they become understandably receptive to narratives that offer clarity, validation, and a sense of control. This is where political leadership and messaging become crucial.
Narratives of Restoration and the Appeal of the Strongman
Fear and anxiety create fertile ground for leaders who promise to restore order, defend traditional values, and fight back against the perceived sources of disruption. The appeal lies in the promise of stability, of returning to a time when things felt more certain or when their group held a more central place in the American narrative.
This is often accompanied by identifying clear ‘enemies’ or scapegoats – be it immigrants, ‘elites’, liberals, or specific minority groups. Channeling complex anxieties about economic insecurity or cultural change onto specific groups simplifies the world. It offers someone to blame and unites people in shared opposition. This mechanism is as old as politics itself, but it finds powerful resonance in times of widespread unease. As people of faith, we must be wary of such divisions, remembering the call to unity and the inherent worth of all people.
When a figure like Trump speaks directly to these feelings – validating the anger, acknowledging the sense of loss, promising to “make things great again” – it can feel incredibly powerful to those who feel left behind. His actions, such as rolling back regulations or appointing conservative judges, can be interpreted by supporters as concrete proof that he is fulfilling his promise to turn back the clock, providing tangible reassurance that someone is fighting for them against the tide of change. It’s less about critical analysis of policy impacts and more about the symbolic affirmation that their fears are recognized and acted upon.
Bridging the Gap: A Christian Mandate to Reach Out
Acknowledging these underlying dynamics doesn’t mean we agree with the conclusions or condone the prejudices that can arise. The real-world consequences of certain political choices and rhetoric are severe, and faithfulness often requires speaking out against them. Faced with the pain and division these viewpoints can cause, many of us, understandably, have made the difficult choice to distance ourselves, sometimes cutting ties altogether to protect our own well-being. That decision is deeply personal and often necessary. Yet, we must also recognize that disengagement, while preserving peace in one sense, closes the door on the possibility of mutual understanding or gentle influence.
If we hope to be agents of reconciliation, however small, it likely won’t come through winning arguments that prove weare right. Rather, it might emerge from embodying Christ’s love through compassionate engagement – an approach that seeks to understand the person behind the views and, perhaps, opens a door for them to encounter alternative perspectives as human and valid, not just threatening.
How, then, do we navigate this tension? How do we remain faithful to truth and justice while also heeding Christ’s radical command in Matthew 5:44: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you”? This isn’t a suggestion; it’s a core tenet of following Him. It challenges us to see even those whose views we find harmful not merely as opponents, but as people loved by God, potentially captive to fear or misinformation.
So, how can we embody this difficult love in practical ways?
- Listen with Humility: Approach conversations with genuine curiosity and humility, seeking to understand before seeking to be understood (James 1:19). Ask open-ended questions about their experiences, worries, and hopes. Resist the urge to immediately rebut or formulate your counter-argument. Focus first on hearing their story, recognizing their inherent dignity.
- Seek Common Ground: Look for shared values or frustrations outside of hot-button politics. Concerns about family, community well-being, honesty, fairness – these often transcend political labels. Connect on shared humanity first. Remember Paul’s approach in Athens, finding common ground before introducing a different perspective (Acts 17).
- Validate Feelings, Not Necessarily Beliefs: You can acknowledge someone’s frustration or fear (“It sounds like you feel really left behind by the economy”) without agreeing with their explanation for it. This reflects compassion and opens doors rather than slamming them shut.
- Share Your Story with Grace: Sometimes, sharing your own experiences or perspectives, perhaps how your faith informs your views on social justice or compassion, can be powerful. Do so gently, focusing on shared values and human experience. (As my own LGBTQIA+ activism has shown, personal stories can sometimes reach hearts when facts alone cannot.)
- Challenge Ideas Gently, Focus on Impact: If you do discuss contentious issues, focus on the impact of policies or actions, guided by principles of justice and love for neighbor. Instead of judgment (“How could you believe that?”), try inquiry (“Have you considered how that policy might affect the ‘least of these’ Jesus spoke of?”). Avoid personal attacks, striving to “live at peace with everyone,” as far as it depends on you (Romans 12:18).
- Pray and Be Patient: Deeply held beliefs rarely change overnight. Pray for wisdom, for patience, and for the hearts of those you engage with. Aim for relationship and faithful witness, not necessarily immediate conversion or political agreement. Building bridges is slow, often unseen work, like planting seeds (1 Corinthians 3:6-7).
Moving Forward in Faith
There are no easy answers to the divisions we face. But defaulting to dismissal, demonization or caricature of those we disagree with deepens the trenches and falls short of our Christian calling. By making an effort to understand the anxieties, fears, and desires that might fuel different political choices – particularly the profound human reaction to rapid, destabilizing change – we equip ourselves with the compassion needed to connect. It requires us to actively choose love over judgment, peace over conflict, and humility over certainty. It’s difficult, often thankless work, demanding patience and prayer. But perhaps it’s the very work Jesus calls us to: reflecting His love in a fractured world, one conversation, one relationship at a time.
