Choose You This Day, Second Edition: The Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Politics of Trumpism

By Paul C. McGlasson and Chris Coons

The American church is in crisis. The crisis is not caused by the politics of Trumpism, though that is the occasion for it. The crisis is evoked by the great challenge which every generation faces: to follow Jesus Christ in the way of discipleship. The word of God's promise sets before American Christians a simple but dramatic choice in the face of the toxic politics of Trumpism. Yes, or no? Each must choose, and the gospel itself is at stake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cascade Books
• Release date: Jul 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781666774603

Paul C. McGlasson

Paul C. McGlasson received his MDiv from Yale Divinity School, and his PhD in Systematic Theology from Yale University. He is the author of numerous books, including the multi-volume work, Church Doctrine. He currently resides with his wife Peggy and their dog Thandi in Athens, Georgia.

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Preface

The present work is written with at least three audiences in mind. It is written for Christians who are deeply troubled by the association of their treasured faith with the politics of Trumpism. It is likewise written for nonreligious folk, who are concerned about the use—or misuse—of religion by Trump and his followers. And finally, it is written for supporters of Trump who may be having second thoughts on grounds of conscience.

I have not been shy in this book. I have tried to make a case fairly, objectively, and straightforwardly; but a case that is nonetheless seldom made, at least in the mainstream church. That it is seldom necessary to make is a good thing. But when it becomes necessary, it is imperative to remember that we are here critiquing a set of ideas, not a group of people. Nor am I here arguing against the religious right from the point of view of the religious left. That is simply to oppose one boundary language to another.

The Word of God’s promise knows no boundaries; God’s grace is everywhere.

I wish to express my deepest thanks to my good friend and colleague Mark Tranvik, who read this manuscript as it was being written and offered invaluable criticism and advice. Needless to say, any errors of fact and theological judgment remain my own. Thanks also to Rodney Clapp, the editor, for fine work on our seventh book together.

Circumstances, I believe, have necessitated a second edition of this volume. The reason for a new edition can be simply stated, though the argument fully unfolds in the book itself.

Donald Trump is not the worst criminal in history; that horrific distinction surely belongs to Adolf Hitler. But Donald Trump is certainly the most reckless criminal ever to hold the high office of the presidency of the United States, and that is surely distinction enough, even for Trump’s insatiable ego. And yet, he was supported enthusiastically by American evangelicals, who retain in large measure their allegiance to him.

American evangelicalism should be asking the question: what is it about our serious misunderstanding of the Christian gospel that ever led us to embrace a figure like Trump in the first place? But that is not the question they are asking. Instead, they are asking: given our core beliefs, who is best suited to give us the power and influence we should rightly command? Is it still Trump, or someone else? That question led them to Trumpism in the first place, and because they are still asking it, this book remains necessary.

I should perhaps also add that while a few alternatives to Trump have emerged in the GOP and among its evangelical supporters—one thinks of DeSantis, or Pence, or Haley, and so forth—no genuine alternatives to Trumpism have. Trumpism is a shipwreck for American democracy, no matter who is at the helm.

I am deeply, deeply grateful to the honorable Senator Chris Coons of Delaware for taking time away from the busy work of American democracy in order to write a foreword to this new edition. He is uniquely qualified to do so, not only because of his wide experience in matters of peace and justice, and well-earned respect from across the political spectrum as an accomplished legislator. Senator Coons has dual degrees from Yale Divinity School and Yale Law School, which positions him to see both sides of the coin—political and theological—that constitute the unique threat that is Donald Trump. I tender Senator Coons my kind thanks and regards.

Introduction

In the sixteenth century, Lutheran theologians made a theological distinction that would have a fateful history. Indeed, in many respects they simply made explicit a distinction that had already deeply impacted the church in an implicit way. Let me offer a brief explanation.

Martin Luther had insisted that salvation comes through grace alone, and is received by faith alone, which comes by hearing the promised Word of God. Despite enormous pressure, Luther would not retreat from that position; and the world now knows the result. The church divided. The Lutheran theologians were of course convinced that Luther had no choice. The issue he had seized upon was one in which the gospel itself was at stake. To retreat here was to lose everything. In such a situation, the church is in a state of confession (in statu confessionis). The notion of confession implies forgiveness of sins, and repentance is certainly part of a church struggle; but what they had in mind was different. The words of Jesus were in their ears and hearts: Whoever therefore shall confess me before others, those will I confess also before my Father who is in heaven (Matt 10:32). Standing by the truth in a time of desperate trial is not grounded in stubbornness, but in discipleship.

In fact, what distinguishes such confession from stubbornness is the other half of the theological distinction. There are some issues—plenty of issues, probably the vast majority of issues—upon which Christians can rightly disagree. You can fill in the blanks. Should we sing this kind of church music, or that kind? Should we send missionaries abroad or spend our efforts at home? Should we celebrate the sacrament by distributing the elements, or gathering around the table together as a congregation? And so on, and so on. Even profound theological issues can fall in this category. Does God suffer or not? Is eternity a kind of endless time, or is it qualitatively different, as God’s own time? All of these issues—and countless others besides—the Reformers named indifferent (adiaphora). They did not mean unimportant; they simply meant, however important they may appear, and indeed truly are, disagreement over such matters should not divide Christians. That it sometimes does is a scandal, not a victory for the gospel. True wisdom lies in knowing when the church is in a state of confession, and when the church is facing issues that are indifferent, negotiable.

Looking backward from the sixteenth century, it is clear that the distinction then made had already been operative, though never formulated precisely. In the early church, there was a wide variety of practice on a number of levels. Congregations in Antioch, Alexandria, Rome, Constantinople, and so forth, expressed a wide variety of Christian experience on a number of levels. There were different liturgies, nuances in biblical interpretation, different preaching styles, different church organizational structures, and so forth. These were all tolerated as adiaphora by the early church, though the word was not used. On the other hand, in a time of crisis, it was recognized that despite such diversity, there was a pattern of truth shared by everyone, a family resemblance in the affirmation of truth. And when that truth was tested, the church united and confessed, as it did for example at Nicaea, yielding the Nicene Creed, which is familiar today in the global ecumenical church. At Nicaea, the church found itself in statu confessionis, to use the later phrase, and it responded accordingly, with one voice.

Looking forward from the sixteenth century, the distinction would lie dormant, for the most part, until the church faced the most bloody and horrific century known to humankind: the twentieth century. We will describe the issues in detail in the chapters to follow; but what transpired was the temptation of one segment of the church—known as the German Christians—to follow Hitler and the Nazis, and to endorse their program on Christian grounds. There arose, in Germany, a group of Christians, called the Confessing Church, who invoked the theological distinction once again: they believed they were in statu confessionis, in a state of confession. The gospel itself was at stake. Whether or not the church should support fascism is not the same kind of issue as whether we should sing traditional or modern music. It is not indifferent; it is essential. It strikes at the core. It is a call to discipleship. We will describe their response. And while we will not here examine yet another case, the same distinction was invoked in South Africa by the Dutch Reformed Mission Church against the supporters of apartheid, resulting in the Belhar Confession of 1982.

To summarize: while the distinction between truths that are negotiable, and truths that put the church in a state of confession, was made a technical one by Lutheran theology of the sixteenth century, it has in fact operated throughout church history. And there are three main periods of crisis (thus far) where it has shown itself vital: the early church, the time of the Reformation, and the struggles of the twentieth century.

The purpose of this book is straightforward. I here argue that the errors of American evangelical support for Trumpism have put the church, once again, in a state of confession, in statu confessionis. These are not errors that can be debated and discussed and then politely set aside. These are errors in which the gospel itself, and the gospel as a whole, is at stake. Indeed, we will endeavor to show that, at least in certain ways, the church struggles of the twentieth century, particularly in Germany, cast a long shadow into our own time. Donald Trump is not Hitler; that is not my point. Yet the theological rationale used by the German Christians to support Hitler and the Nazi agenda has, sadly enough, a family resemblance, a certain elective affinity, with American evangelical support for Trump. It is the theological rationale I am concerned to lay bare, and to which I offer a response.

Of course in the end the reader must decide for herself, or for himself, and so I have done my best to listen to the voices of the German Christians, and the American evangelicals, and not just describe them. As far as the German Christians are concerned, we have Mary M. Solberg to thank for making that possible. In her instant classic, A Church Undone, she translates the major texts of the German Christians into English for the first time. It is one thing to read studies of these issues; but hearing their views in their own voices adds, in my judgment, to the resonating echo one quickly detects with American evangelical support for Trump. That is not the purpose of her book, but it is an aftereffect.

We need to be clear who and what we mean by evangelical. In Germany, an evangelical (evangelisch) simply means a Protestant, one who follows the new gospel discovered by Luther. In England, an evangelical is one imbued with Wesleyan piety, a heart warmed by God, and is often synonymous with Methodist. Only in America does the word evangelical take on the reactionary political overtones it now has, and actually has had since its inception in the nineteenth century. So, when we speak in this book of evangelicalism, we are speaking of American evangelicalism. But we must be even more precise, more targeted. Since the change in immigration laws in 1965, whole new ethnic groups have entered the United States, and some have become evangelicals. These include for example some Asian Americans, and some Latin Americans. Yet neither of these two subgroups of evangelicals support, in any way, the kinds of theology described in this book. They just don’t, for a vast variety of reasons. Neither do African American evangelicals. So: when we are speaking of evangelicals here, we mean white American evangelicalism.

White American evangelicalism is espousing a set of views that can only be described as false doctrine. That is the argument I will make. In order to make it, I will listen to the voices of prominent representatives of the movement, people who represent the 81 percent of white evangelicals who voted for Trump, and who for the most part continue to support him. Who are they?

Many of their names are familiar to most readers from television interviews: Jerry Falwell Jr., Franklin Graham, Michele Bachmann, James Dobson, Ralph Reed. Paula White is fairly widely known as Trump’s personal spiritual counselor, and has long been a leader in the prosperity gospel movement, a subgroup within evangelicalism. Robert Jeffress is pastor of First Baptist Church in Dallas, and a prominent voice in the Southern Baptist Church. A couple are scholars: Eric Metaxas has written books on Luther and Bonhoeffer, while Wayne Grudem is widely considered the most important evangelical theologian of this generation, certainly its most influential after his twenty-year tenure at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, one of the largest seminaries in the world. David Brody is the chief political analyst on CBN, the Christian Broadcasting Network, which was founded by Pat Robertson. Scott Lamb is vice president at Liberty University, one of the largest universities in the world, and a leading force in evangelical thought. Lance Wallnau is a major voice in Dominion Theology, yet another subdivision of evangelicalism, and part of the evangelical prophecy movement. My point is: I have chosen voices that have, themselves, made their support for Trump quite clear, and indeed their reasons for supporting him quite public. As far as possible I have endeavored to let them speak for themselves. I have done so, not simply to be fair (I am no saint); rather, I am convinced that the arguments offered stand self-condemned.

These are not subtle times. Donald Trump is not a subtle man, nor are his evangelical supporters walking a fine line. I believe we are in a state of confession in the American church, and it is time to decide: yes or no. Is the politics of Trumpism the way of the gospel? Or is it not? These are no longer matters indifferent.

Still, despite the desire of Donald Trump to take credit for nearly everything, the fact is that the distortions of social good we will be examining in this book predate him, and will continue well beyond his tenure. Our argument is that the toxic mix of Trumpism and American evangelicalism has brought national life to the point of crisis, and created for the Christian community in particular a challenge to the very essence of the gospel itself. Nevertheless, racism predates Trump and evangelicalism, and will certainly, unfortunately, continue into the future. The inequality that Trumpism has rendered normative, and evangelicalism has blessed and called good, is hardly new, and sadly will challenge the next generation, and the one after. Trump has been embraced by evangelicalism as an authoritarian demagogue; but he is not the first in American history, nor likely will he be the last. And indeed, it is hardly a secret that racism, inequality, authoritarianism, and so forth, are scarcely confined to the United States, whether in the present, or likely in the future. We do both Donald Trump and American evangelicalism too much credit if we ascribe to them such powers of chaos as they sadly relish. They are as much creatures of chaos as fomenters.

Donald Trump will pass into history; perhaps American evangelicalism, at least in its present form, will as well. But the power of chaos, its terrifying force to defeat and distort human good, will continue to threaten human well-being, and that is the true (and enduring) concern of this book. Donald Trump would never have been elected if such forms of human distortion were not already present and prevalent in American society. And defeating Donald Trump at the polls will not by itself defeat the racism, inequality, and threat of authoritarianism that pervade our society. There is hard work ahead for American democracy. I say this not because I am a prophet, but because I read the prophets. Ah, you who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter! Ah, you who are wise in your own eyes, and shrewd in your own sight! (Isa 5:20–21). Words used to conceal moral integrity, words used to confuse truth and