Maybe we’re the ones who changed?

Over the last several years I have come across numerous heartfelt reflections by Jesus followers (typically in their 30’s or 40’s) which voice shock, anguish, and disbelief at seeing the church community and spiritual leaders of their childhood give enthusiastic support for Donald Trump and the logic of Christian Nationalism. In many ways I relate with the pain and confusion of this experience. It’s quite disorienting to see someone who taught you for years to love and care for others give wide-eyed support to a movement that has consistently demonized immigrants, excused the mistreatment of women, and claimed our country’s wellbeing to be more important than others.

While I relate with the disorientation being expressed and find these reflections helpful, I’d like to offer up an alternative perspective.

Maybe we’re the ones who changed?

As I think back over my time growing up in the church, there is much to be thankful for. Perhaps most notably, I experienced one of the most wonderful and priceless things a child can receive in that I felt surrounded by a network of adults (beyond my family) who knew my name, prayed for me, and embraced a sense of responsibility for my wellbeing. Just thinking about this brings tears of gratitude to my eyes. It’s rare for a kid to receive that kind of love outside of their family and I can honestly say this made a massive positive impact on my life in too many ways to name. To this day, I’m passionate about and engaged with the work of community building because I know that children who grow up with that much support are exceedingly more prepared for the mental health difficulties that come with adolescence and adulthood. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m better off having grown up in the church and there’s so many ways I could illustrate this through stories of kind people who went out of their way to see, include, and care for me.

As grateful as I am for my time growing up in the church, I am also confused. Some of those people, many of those people, seem to see something in the message of Christian Nationalism that works for them, while I do not. So how are we to make sense of this?

While taking stock of the many good gifts I received from growing up in the church, it’s also important to remember as clearly and accurately as possible what was actually taught in that environment. What was valued? What kind of energy was underlying and what kinds of stories were told? As I dig into this kind of reflection, I see a very mixed bag. Yes, I remember so many messages and experiences that were clearly centered on love, self-sacrifice, and humility. These things felt intentional, important, and never far from the hearts and minds of our pastors and leaders. But I also remember a lot of other things.


I remember a fearful, anxious energy towards those who were different. I remember a condescending, belittling tone towards those with an incorrect “world view” or perspective. I remember a god-like status of honor being bestowed upon Bobby Knight, a coach who was clearly and famously abusive and mean. I remember the American flag and the pledge of allegiance occasionally mixed into church settings without any serious discussion or questions asked about how to grapple with the obvious contradiction. I remember an emphasis on apologetics and having the right answers so we could win arguments rather than exploring ways to serve or connect with those we differed from. I remember large stadiums and gatherings being put forth as evidence of God’s work and favor while things that were small or seemingly weak were embarrassing or in need of help. I remember a special focus upon the book of Revelation in messages and books like “Left Behind,” that were full of bad interpretations of scripture. I remember the bible being taught in ways that excused violence as necessary for the greater good. Later, when I lived in D.C. in the aftermath of 9/11, I remember celebrating and pumping my fists with my Christian friends as our country dropped bombs on Iraq. Clearly these were not things my church alone was struggling with. This was the cultural water we were swimming in, the overarching energy and milieu of the time. That said, it’s not helpful or fair to put any one church or pastor on the hook for this stuff. And still, with the trajectory of the gospels in view, it’s alarming to realize how many of the crucial and core components of God’s vision for shalom were altogether absent.

I do not remember learning a Jesus centered approach to my faith or interpretation of scripture.

I do not remember conversations about peacemaking.

I do not remember anyone openly challenging the evils of violence and war.

I do not remember conversations about earth care or natural theology.

I do not remember economic policy being considered a matter of ethics.

I do not remember lament over racial or class division.

I do not remember women being empowered to take lead roles as elders or teachers.

I do not remember hearing about Christian activists who made creative and subversive moves in protest of dehumanizing systems and power structures.

I do not remember encountering a contemplative approach to prayer and scripture.

As I look back, this mixed bag of good and bad, wonderful and weird, has me wondering if maybe we shouldn’t be so surprised or shocked by the rock-solid support the sensibility of Christian Nationalism seems to have amongst the churches we grew up in. It still hurts but maybe we’re the one’s who changed?

Around, I don’t know, 2015 or so, something began to shift and change for me related to how I understood my faith. Brushes with Quaker and Anabaptist theology and history as well as interactions with people who were familiar with these traditions gave me a vision for something that felt altogether awakening. It felt like a homecoming and restart I didn’t know was possible. I was surprised and amazed to find stories of Jesus followers that could be traced all the way back to the early church who were wary of the empire and opposed to the ways Christians were used as pawns by one Caesar after the other. I saw a thread and tradition of peacemaking, albeit small and seemingly marginal, that ran all the way back through the Church Fathers and the early church. I discovered a community of Jesus followers who were struggling to learn how to listen to silence and each other in ways that were totally new and life giving for me. Today, 10 years later, as we near 2025, I still feel like a beginner to the worlds of Quaker and Anabaptist spiritualities but I’ve been around them long enough to say they have transformed and deepened my faith. Although certainly not perfect and very much in process, I feel like I’ve merged with a stream of thought and a community capable of sustaining a lifetime of growth and exploration.

So where do we go from here? What should our posture be towards our friends who openly support and excuse the logic of Christian Nationalism? Of course there are no easy answers and this question deserves deep and extensive discernment. However, drawing from the wisdom of the traditions mentioned in this post, I’ll share two insights that seem right for our time. The Quakers have a saying, “An enemy is one whose story we haven’t heard.” Perhaps one of the most helpful ways to approach those whose stances seem disorienting to us would be to seek and remain curious about their narrative. How did they come to hold this view? What’s their backstory? What’s their image of God? Curiosity may or may not lead to understanding (and it shouldn’t keep us from being clear about right and wrong) but at the very least, it has a powerful way of keeping our hearts warm towards those we struggle to relate with. Next, the Anabaptist story is a powerful reminder that following Jesus will lead to being distinct. For those who have changed and find themselves out of sync with the mainstream to the right, or left, the Anabaptist “3rd way” provides a framework for our imaginations to discover new ways beyond the dualism of our day. This is a way of thinking that helps us to normalize and embrace being different and creative. It empowers us to trust our hearts and minds when we know something isn’t right. While we lament the sense of distance we feel from the churches we grew up in, we discover that sometimes being distinct from others is a sign of deepening faith and trust.


I believe these two things, genuine curiosity and the courage to be different, might be just what is needed right now to sustain our faith and love for others in a world full of opposing sides, certainty, and pressure to remain loyal to a party or group. May we never give up on our brothers and sisters who seem to us in this moment to be pursuing something we do not understand. May we hold them as we seek to hold all others, in compassion and grace. As we face forward and follow Jesus together, may we welcome the chance to be in the world for the good of others, even those others whose view of God is radically different from our own.

— Josh VonGunten