The 2016 election was heralded as a significant triumph for many Christians. I was not among them.
Having spent my entire life in church, I fondly recall the days of wearing frilly dresses and lace socks, singing “Jesus Loves Me” and “Father Abraham” alongside my cousins and friends, and joyfully dropping coins into the collection plate that made its rounds during our Sunday services.
The red carpet of our sanctuary holds many memories; I can still recite Psalm 23 and remember the taste of Saltines and grape juice at communion. Women in our church played vital roles—organizing potlucks, teaching Sunday School, and coordinating funerals and weddings. Summers were filled with Vacation Bible School (VBS), church camps, mission trips, and baptisms in lakes or, if fortunate, in inflatable pools. Hayrides and bonfire marshmallow roasts filled our autumns, while Christmas brought candlelight services celebrating a glowing (white-skinned, blue-eyed) Jesus and spring was marked by Easter egg hunts and car wash fundraisers.
Yet, the leadership remained consistent: white, middle-aged men, often quoting from the King James Bible—a language steeped in “thou art” and “thine.” The ultimate sins were clearly defined: alcohol, anything but heterosexual marriage, using God’s name in vain, and divorce. Some issues were so taboo they were never discussed openly, like when everyone knew a kid in church was possibly gay.
I always felt somewhat out of place among my youth group peers. While my faith in God’s love and redemption was steadfast, I often questioned the rigid, white male-defined norms of holiness. It seemed these rules favored certain individuals while marginalizing others.
Has much changed since then?
I know the statistics; they are undeniably embarrassing. A staggering 81% of Trump voters identified as white evangelicals. (It’s important to note I was not one of them.) How could these Christian supporters overlook his multiple divorces, erratic social media behavior, and the rumors of infidelity? He couldn’t even correctly name the biblical book of Second Corinthians, referring to it as “Two Corinthians.”
It’s downright humiliating. I want to tell those who express disdain for organized religion and Christianity, “Trump is not Jesus.” I want to apologize for the pain caused by those who profess to be Christians but act contrary to the teachings of Christ. I urge them not to dismiss my faith entirely.
Often, churchgoers are assumed to be conservative, and given the events of the 2016 election, who can blame outsiders for thinking all Christians are anti-LGBTQ, pro-life conservatives? The reality is, Christians are not a monolith.
Consider the strong, outspoken Christian women like Mia Thompson, Jenna Lee, the late Laura Collins, and Sarah Green—individuals who refused to remain silent. The 2016 election galvanized them to rise and elevate the voices of the marginalized. Their faith has spurred them to advocate for LGBTQ rights, racial equality, and feminism, showcasing a more progressive Christianity.
As Christians who disagree with many established leaders and institutions, where does that leave us? We can hardly look to those who profess faith on Sundays yet abandon their principles at the polls.
For my family of six, including our four Black children, it meant almost walking away from church entirely.
Sitting next to someone who, on Friday night, shared a Fox News clip featuring a privileged white host boasting about building a wall to keep out “illegals” was unbearable. This is the same man who tossed paper towels at desperate Puerto Ricans after Hurricane Florence and labeled white supremacists as “very fine people.” How could people of faith support a man who openly engages in behaviors condemned from the pulpit? Jesus teaches us to love our neighbors as ourselves. So, where does that leave immigrants, transgender youth, the elderly, and children of color?
The Jesus I know and the faith my family embraces does not exclude anyone based on nationality, race, ability, age, or sexuality. My faith has instilled in me the belief that every person is valuable, created in God’s image.
In early 2016, my family distanced ourselves from the white evangelical church. By 2017, we were close to giving up, drained from searching for a community that aligned with our values. After one more visit to a church that intrigued us, we decided to return—first for a second Sunday, then a third, and eventually we never left.
What was different? The leadership openly addresses politics and social justice—not just in discussions but through active engagement in the community, living out the teachings of Jesus. The congregation is vibrant and committed, with over 95% being Black.
I finally stopped feeling like giving up. Our church feels refreshing, authentic, and stands in stark contrast to the Trump narrative. Every action and message is rooted in God’s powerful and redemptive love.
I have lost faith in leaders who cower in the face of rising voices from people of color and women, forgetting that Jesus was a radical Middle Eastern figure who wasn’t afraid to confront injustice.
There are countless women like me, weary of fellow Christians refusing to embrace inclusivity and acceptance. We are exhausted by another white man dictating what’s best for our families, schools, and communities. We see through the façades, recognizing that fear, not faith, motivates some leaders.
We refuse to accept it any longer. While we may not have all the answers, one truth remains: we will not give up.
Laura Collins, referenced in this article, sadly passed away on May 4, 2019. She was a bestselling author, devoted wife, and mother of two young children.