Evangelical Christians are distraught, reports the New York Times, with the choice between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton for president. The Times’ in-depth profile of a conservative Christian community in Iowa is quite the read for someone like me—a Left Coast queer rights activist who grew up in a Midwestern Republican household and took a brief turn as a Bible thumper myself. Their tortured journey toward Trump is so incomprehensible to me on so many levels, it felt worthy of dissecting. Let's start with Betty and Dick Odgaard, evangelical heroes of sorts for refusing to rent out their chapel space—a family business—to two gay men for a wedding. They eventually lost so many customers once their prohibition came to light that they had to sell the chapel.
Overnight, it seemed, they discovered that even in small-town Iowa they were outnumbered, isolated and unpopular. Everyone they knew seemed to have a gay relative or friend. Mr. Odgaard’s daughter from his first marriage disavowed her father’s actions on Facebook, and his gay second cousin will not speak to him. Even their own Mennonite congregation put out a statement saying that while their denomination opposes gay marriage, “not every congregation” or Mennonite does. Mrs. Odgaard, 64, the daughter of a Mennonite minister, was devastated.
“It all flipped, so fast,” said Mr. Odgaard, a patrician 70-year-old who favors khakis and boat shoes. “Suddenly, we were in the minority. That was kind of a scary feeling. It makes you wonder where the Christians went.”
They felt like a minority and it was "scary"—bingo! Welcome to the world of LGBTQ Americans, along with numerous other minorities in this country who have the shared experience of feeling vulnerable.
This was an insight by Odgaard that might have yielded some sympathy for the experience of minorities, including the ones the couple banished from their business. They are self-avowed Christians, after all. Although I don't personally identify as Christian anymore, I did spend some time studying the New Testament years ago and do consider myself spiritual on some level today. I tend to believe there's a higher order of some sort but don't discount those who disagree. I’ve also found both goodness and horror in the teachings of all organized religions and, therefore, no home in any one of them. To me, faith is an exercise in kindness, vulnerability and forgiveness—a belief in the humanity of all, whether you agree with them or not. At the same time, I am admittedly sometimes angered by intolerance—despite the inherent contradiction—because I am human and find that anger can be an appropriate if imperfect response.
In any case, the Odgaards, feeling the sting of discrimination, might have used that moment to reconsider their intolerance and willful targeting of a vulnerable minority—a classic lightbulb moment. But that does not seem to be case and throughout the article you get the sense that they feel victimized by their switch in fortune from validated oppressor to vilified minority. Theirs is not a Christianity I recognize. There's nothing charitable about it or "golden" in the sense of “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." So, while I don't wish harm upon others, it’s difficult to identify with their plight because instead of using that moment to find a greater, more all-compassing love for the experience of others, they turned away from humanity in reverence to their own rightness. And that is where they lose me.
Next came a confab of Christian radio hosts and ministers coming to terms with their support for a twice divorced, thrice married, pugilistic opportunist who does not hesitate to belittle, cheat, or eviscerate those less fortunate than himself in service of his own gain.
None had supported Mr. Trump in the Iowa caucuses. Mr. McKoy and Chris Rohloff had supported Marco Rubio, Mr. Holzhauser had favored Ben Carson, and Bob Monserrate had backed Mr. Cruz. Mr. Rohloff said he had thought that Mr. Trump was finished last year, the moment he said at a candidates’ forum in Iowa that he had never asked God for forgiveness.
“Everyone in the room just went, ‘Are you kidding me?’ Even if you’ve never done it, you should at least know the right answer,” Mr. Rohloff said. “That’s a fundamental thing for Christians.”
But by late September, Mr. McKoy said in a telephone interview that he and his co-hosts had decided to vote Trump: “It’s the lesser of two evils. And I don’t know by how much.”
Okay, so Mr. Rohloff would prefer that Trump lie about his penitence, because that's what the Bible teaches. Nuff said.
Now let's chat about this "lesser of two evils" thing, a phrase that people on both the right and left have employed to describe their choices this cycle. Since this articulation was framed through the lens of Christianity, the question is whether there's even a comparison to be made between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton within that context.
Call me a fool, but I take Donald Trump at his word that he's never asked God for forgiveness—that would require compunction, something that is in very short supply for him. In his moral universe, Trump does no wrong. He is his own religion and would never ask for forgiveness from another source. Anyone who receives his wrath or feels burned by him "deserves it," which is exactly how he justified the hatred he has directed at Rosie O'Donnell.
Now, it’s obvious a lot of people don't like Clinton—they don't feel they can trust her, they don't like her politics, etc. But while she may not wear her religion on her sleeve, she has exhibited a commitment to the betterment of humanity throughout her life and career, even if you disagree with her methods for getting there. On the campaign trail, she has opened up a bit about her Methodist upbringing teaching her to "Do all the good you can, for all the people you can, in all the ways you can, as long as ever you can."
But perhaps even more animating for her, in my estimation, are the words, "Every child deserves the chance to live up to his or her God-given potential." This, I honestly believe, has been the cause of her life. I'm not really a Clinton aficionado and wasn't super politically active in the '90s, so perhaps I bring less baggage to this discussion. But the first time I ran across that "God-given potential" phrase was in late 2010 when I was preparing to interview Clinton for an Advocate magazine cover story. As I was pre-interviewing people, her chief of staff at the State Department, Cheryl Mills, used it to describe one of Clinton's chief organizing principles as Secretary of State. Surely, she must kidding, I thought, ever the cynical Washington journalist at the time. It just seemed too touchy-feely. But in fact, she wasn't. One of Clinton's top priorities as Secretary of State was to empower women and children in developing countries because providing them with education and resources produces more equitable and stable societies. Or at least, that's my conclusion, based on numerous studies. But look, even if you don't agree with that assessment of outcomes, the fact remains that Clinton's commitment to boosting kids' "God-given potential" isn't an accidental, campaign-inspired conversion. It's been a consistent mantra for Clinton for years and she uses the phrase often when talking about what guides her approach to governance.
So if you're looking at these two candidates through the eyes of Christianity, one of these candidates has an unyielding fealty to advancing his own interest no matter what the cost to others, while one of them has a proven devotion to bettering humanity. And no, I just don't get how one's position on abortion or same-sex marriage or any other single issue trumps having a decision-maker in the Oval Office who's guided by a commitment to humanity.
Mr. Scheffler, president of the Iowa Faith and Freedom Coalition, used a line borrowed from the conservative activist Phyllis Schlafly: “If you’re looking for a perfect candidate, you will not find Jesus Christ’s name on the ballot.”
He sounded exasperated with Christians who disparaged Mr. Trump.
“I hope the good Lord shows more grace to me as a sinner than these people show to Donald Trump,” he said.
While I hesitate to associate myself with remarks made by the likes of the late Phyllis Schlafly, I humbly submit that prefect candidates do not exist. That said, I absolutely cannot grasp why Scheffler is so terribly vexed by the relatively few evangelicals who have concluded that they simply cannot vote for Trump. The disconnect for me probably stems from the fact that I don't really believe spreading one's personal religion should be a political pursuit. The conservative Christian movement's obsession with dominating our politics and dictating policy on certain issues hasn't been an exercise in spirituality at all. Rather it's done more to debase true spirituality than to bolster it.
No single policy—not one—is worth voting for someone who has routinely demonstrated that he cannot be trusted to be honest, thoughtful, competent, or to leave his own self-interests at the White House doorstep in pursuit of improving our country (i.e. ya know, helping others).
Hillary Clinton has generally demonstrated all of those characteristics in public life, though she is not necessarily my perfect candidate. But even if you doubt her trustworthiness or view her as power hungry, as some do, any objective reading of her career reveals someone who is thoughtful, engaged, competent, and interested in the well-being of others—all qualities that seem plenty worthy of a Christian vote to me.
Kerry Eleveld is the author of Don't Tell Me To Wait: How the fight for gay rights changed America and transformed Obama's presidency.