The 2016 election was hailed as a significant win for many Christians, but I was not among them.
From a young age, I attended church regularly, dressed in frilly dresses and lace socks, singing songs like “Jesus Loves Me” and “Father Abraham” alongside my cousins. I vividly recall the red carpet of our sanctuary, memorizing Psalm 23, and sharing Saltines and grape juice during communion. Women in our church were the backbone, organizing potlucks, teaching Sunday School, and managing various events.
Summers were filled with Vacation Bible School, church camps, mission trips, and baptisms—sometimes in lakes, or if fortunate, in an above-ground pool. Fall brought hayrides and bonfire marshmallows, while Christmas featured candlelight services celebrating the birth of a glowing, white-skinned Jesus. Spring ushered in Easter egg hunts and car wash fundraisers.
The leadership, however, remained predominantly white and male, quoting from the King James Version Bible, filled with “thou art” and “thine.” The sins that were most talked about included alcohol consumption, anything beyond heterosexual marriage, and divorce—some topics too sensitive to openly discuss, like the rumors surrounding one particular youth at church.
I often felt out of place in my youth group. While I never questioned God’s love or the core tenets of Christianity, I was skeptical of the rules imposed by those in power, which seemed to favor some over others.
Fast forward to the 2016 election, and I couldn’t help but feel humiliated by the statistics. A staggering 81% of Trump voters identified as white evangelicals, and I was certainly not one of them. How could they overlook his history of divorces, social media rants, and rumors of infidelity? He even mispronounced “Second Corinthians” as “Two Corinthians.”
It’s disheartening. I want to tell those who criticize organized religion that, “Trump is not Jesus,” and extend my apologies for the hurt caused by those claiming to represent Christianity. I wish to encourage them to remain curious about my faith.
It’s easy for outsiders to assume that all church-goers are conservative, especially in light of the recent election results. Yet, Christians are not a monolith. There are influential Christian women like Hannah Ford and Tara Jones who challenge the status quo, advocating for LGBTQ rights, racial justice, and feminism.
For those of us who find ourselves at odds with mainstream Christian leaders, the question looms: where do we fit in? My family, a blend of diverse backgrounds including our four black children, nearly walked away from church altogether.
It was increasingly difficult to sit beside someone on Sunday who, just days earlier, had shared a Fox News clip promoting fear and division. This same leader often praised a man who tossed paper towels at hurricane victims and who referred to white supremacists as “very fine people.”
How can people who profess faith support a man who commits numerous sins that are condemned from the pulpit? Jesus teaches us to love our neighbors, yet what about the marginalized, the immigrants, and those struggling with healthcare? The Jesus I believe in embraces all people, regardless of race, nationality, or sexuality, affirming that every individual is created with purpose.
In early 2016, my family distanced ourselves from the predominantly white evangelical church. After a year of searching, we finally discovered a community that resonated with our values—a church where leadership openly discusses issues of social justice and actively engages with the community. This vibrant congregation is predominantly black, providing a refreshing and authentic experience in contrast to the previous settings.
I have stopped seeking guidance from leaders who fear the empowerment of people of color and women. Instead, I align myself with a faith that reflects Jesus’ radical love and inclusivity. There are many women like me, weary of the traditional narratives and tired of being told what is best for our communities by those who don’t truly represent us. We recognize that fear, not faith, often drives leadership.
We refuse to remain silent. While we may not have all the answers, one thing is certain: we will not give up.
Jenna Thompson is a passionate advocate for inclusivity in faith communities and a mother committed to raising her children in a loving environment.
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Summary
The article discusses the author’s experience of faith in contrast to the mainstream religious right, particularly after the 2016 election. It highlights the challenges faced by those who feel marginalized within their faith communities and celebrates the voices of diverse Christian women advocating for social justice and inclusivity.
Keyphrase: Religious right does not represent all Christians
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