Christians, Conservativism, and the Purity of the Gospel

On Tuesday, I posted an article reflecting on the tragic murder of Charlie Kirk and the way many Christians responded to the event. I knew right when I posted that a follow-up would be necessary. That was cemented this week when a good friend told me that the article—and the concerns it expressed—seemed like it came out of the blue. In reality, I have been reflecting on these matters for some time, and increasingly so over the past year. The events of the last two weeks have added to my burden, but certainly did not create it.

Unpacking Syncretism

The heart of my concern was summed up in this sentence: “I am concerned that Evangelicals on both sides of the border are falling prey to a syncretism that espouses Christianity insofar as it is important for Making America (or Canada, or wherever) Great Again.”

The New Oxford American Dictionary defines syncretism as “the amalgamation or attempted amalgamation of different religions, cultures, or schools of thought.” This is what we might call a thin definition of syncretism. Missiologists—those who study missions—define syncretism a little more “thickly:” Syncretism is what happens when the practices of a new religion are adopted without any change to the existing worldview.

What does that even mean? Here’s an example. Years ago, friends of mine went on a missions trip to a Central American country. They were stunned to learn how the local Catholic priest would perform the mass, and then, without missing a beat, walk out the door of the church, change his robes a little, and offer a goat in sacrifice to the local tribal deity.

This is classic syncretism, of a kind we see all around the world. A thin definition of syncretism says, “look, two religions being blended.” A thick definition of syncretism understands what’s really happened here: for years, the people had believed in a spirit-filled world in which various little gods needed to be kept happy in various ways. Catholicism was introduced to them, and the people rapidly adopted its practices. But their basic way of looking at the world hadn’t changed. The God of the Bible is just one more deity to appease. The sacrifice of the mass is just one more religious ritual to perform along with all the others. And after it’s done, of course a goat has to be offered on the church lawn, because how else are all the other gods going to be kept happy?

Syncretism is so sneaky, because, from the perspective of the missionary, it can appear to be but a minor speed bump in an otherwise successful endeavour. “Look! These people say they believe in Jesus, they’re coming to our church meetings, and they’re starting to talk like Christians. Sure, they’ve got a few kinks to work out, but that will come in time.” Little do they realize how much remained unchanged. Instead of turning from idols to serve the living and true God (1 Thess 1:9), the people have simply added Jesus to their long list of gods. He’s just another tool in the tool-belt to help them get at what they’ve always been after (Acts 8:9-24).

In other words, the goat sacrifices aren’t anomalies: they are where the real worldview pokes through the veneer of Christian practice.

From the perspective of the syncretists themselves, nothing seems off. Syncretism may shock outsiders, but it’s invisible to the ones practicing it, which is why they are practicing it in the first place. Their syncretism feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Evangelical Syncretism

A seminary professor (and a former missionary) once told our class that, in his opinion, North American Evangelicalism was one of the most syncretistic religions in the world. He believed that many Evangelical Christians, though fully adopting the forms and practices of Christianity, still held to a worldview that was throughly secular. They might go to church every Sunday, read Christian books, and listen to Christian music, but if you dug down to the foundations of how they actually understand reality, you would find basically the same set of assumptions and priorities as their unbelieving neighbours.

And if you looked hard enough, you’ll see evidence of this syncretism at play in their lives—their own version of the Central American goat sacrifices. Evidence that, in the end, they still wanted basically the same things as everybody else: worldly success, satisfaction in life, and a comfortable existence surrounded by family and friends. They practiced Christianity in some measure because it helped them get those things. Jesus was a means to an end.

I think my professor friend was on to something, and in recent years, I’ve seen more and more evidence for Evangelical syncretism—particularly in the realm of politics. Beneath a layer of Christian practice and language, it appears as if the underlying priorities, goals and values of many Christians are increasingly political, human-centred, and, frankly, worldly. The primary framework appears to be political conservativism with a little Jesus added to the mix.

Now, I fully understand that many conservative Christians understand their politics to be related to their faith in that as they see conservative principles being most in line with Christian principles. That’s a fair position to hold and defend, and it’s one I hold myself, even though it needs to be acknowledged that it is not the only position Christians have held and defended. A fair bit also depends on how narrowly or widely one defines “conservative principles.”

Nevertheless, though some defend conservative politics as the most consistent outworking of biblical principles, others appear to embrace Christianity as the most effective means to achieving conservative goals. In other words: syncretism. Christianity is merely the means to getting at the same socio-political goals that our unbelieving neighbours are after.

Where do I see this? What is the evidence I offer for this alleged syncretism? In what follows, I’ll share some observations that I’ve grouped under four main headings. Could these be examples of an unbiblical worldview poking through a veneer of Christianity, bearing witness to the syncretism that lurks below?¹

1. Adopting Political Instead of Biblical Categories

One of the key areas I see syncretism at work is the way in which many Christians have adopted extra-biblical (or even un-biblical) categories for describing people and the world we live in.

One prime example is “the Right” and “the Left.” How many times have I heard Christians talk about “the Left,” as if “it” is the great scourge of our day, without batting an eye?

The problem here is that “the Left” is not a biblical category—it is a political category. If we think that people on “the Left” are worse sinners than people on “the Right,” then we’re not thinking like Christians. If we think that “the Left” is the problem with our country, then we are thinking in terms of worldly wisdom. If we allow the “Left-Right” polarization to shape our conception of reality, we’ve abandoned a biblical framework.

Is there a chance we feel more at home with someone who shares our politics, but not our faith, than we do with someone who shares our faith, but not our politics? If so, what does this say about our most foundational beliefs?

The cosmic struggle isn’t between “Right” and “Left” or “liberals” and “conservatives,” but between the domain of darkness and the kingdom of Christ (Col 1:13). Can we forget that it was conservative Pharisees who crucified Jesus? Can we forget that a conservative without Jesus is in just as much darkness as a liberal without Jesus? Can we forget that, without the hope of eternal life set before us, all of the conservative politics in the world is just vanity, a chasing after wind?

Christians must also remember that “the Left” is not an amorphous blob of viewpoints. When we say “the Left” we are talking about people, made in the image of God, people who are more than the sum of their cultural and political viewpoints, people who we’ve been commanded to love and share Christ with.

People are people, not walking political issues. When we see someone from an other country, what do we see? Do we see “immigration,” or do we see a person who has probably been through a lot, who is probably suffering right now, and who could really use the love of Jesus?

Isn’t this how Jesus taught us to think when he told us, “And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles” (Matt 5:41)? The language Jesus uses here points to the Roman practice of soldiers forcing civilians to carry their loads for a distance of one mile. It was an unmistakably political event in which the oppression of Rome came crashing in to the daily lives of an occupied people. And yet Jesus tells us to see the soldier, not as a symbol or stand-in for the oppressive Roman regime, but as a person whom we are to love by going above and beyond what’s legally demanded of us.

What would it look like if Christians consistently applied this kind of thinking in our day?

2. Advancing Un-Biblical Priorities

Another area where I see syncretism at work is in the way that many Christians have adopted and promoted extra-biblical (or even un-biblical) priorities.

Christian nationalists advocate the transformation (or return, as they may argue) of our countries into Christian states. Those who are less strident still speak of the importance of maximizing the Christian influence on our culture.

That sounds like a great idea, but it’s simply not a biblical priority. If you struggle with that thought, I encourage you to read through the New Testament with a highlighter in hand, underlining every passage where Christians are encouraged to maximize their influence on the surrounding culture through direct political engagement.

It’s just not there. Now, I’m not ignorant to how the arguments tend go at this point. “Well, would you prefer us to work at minimizing Christian political influence? Would you prefer that we maximize secular or Muslim political influence?”

And my response is that those are the wrong questions entirely. They are questions which, intentionally or not, attempt an end-run around the Word of God. Influencing politics is simply not a question that the New Testament is preoccupied with. It describes us as sojourners and exiles with a gospel to preach, a saviour to follow, and people everywhere to love. We can go round-and-round the mulberry bush of political theology all day, but if we just stop and open up our Bibles and start reading them, I suggest we’ll find that Jesus and His apostles are interested in other things altogether.²

Now, yes, Christians will have an influence on our culture as we live as salt and light, carrying out good works that bring glory to our Heavenly Father (Matt 5:13-16). Furthermore, most of us reading this live in democracies, and loving our neighbours will include some level of concern and engagement with politics. Some Christians should even pursue careers in politics. But that’s where an understanding of priorities is so crucial. What is the relative importance the New Testament gives to these matters? There’s lots of things Christians should do as good neighbours, but what should be occupying our attention?

The priority many Christians give to political matters is evidence of being out of touch with the priorities of Scripture—especially the emphasis found in the Bible on the return of Christ and the glories of the age to come.

“For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay each person according to what he has done” (Matt 16:26-27).

What good is it if we win the next election but lose our soul? Is there a chance we’ve lost the plot?

3. Compromising Biblical Standards for Political Ends

One of the clearest places where I’ve seen evidence of syncretism is in the way that many Christians have been willing to compromise biblical standards for the sake of political goals. A key example here is Evangelical support for Donald Trump.

Two comments before I go further: yes, I’m Canadian. But there’s lots of Canadian Christians I know who wish they could have voted for Trump. Support for him doesn’t end at the 49th parallel. Second, I realize many of my American brothers and sisters voted for Trump with their noses plugged, trapped inside of a real-world round of “Would You Rather?” with no happy choices. That’s not the phenomenon I’m referring to. What I’m referring to are the Evangelicals who supported Trump with enthusiasm, gusto, and little-to-no criticism.

There’s lots that could be said here, but the big problem to highlight is the double standards. Trump has regularly said and done things which would make conservatives blow gaskets had they come from the other side. Conservative Christians have been so quick to point out the lies of “the Left” but have said precious little, in comparison, about the many, many lies that Trump has told.

Would John the Baptist have held his tongue about Herod’s infidelity if Herod had happened to be on the right political “side”?

Five years ago, Albert Mohler described Trump as a huge embarrassment, and he’s still right. When I talk to my family and friends who are not Christians, it’s clear that, in their eyes, Evangelicals have lost their moral authority over the way they’ve given unqualified support for the unsupportable and made excuses for the inexcusable.

Does the truth matter, or is it just a political tool? If we are to “live not by lies,” does that also include the lies coming from the Right? Will we hold ourselves (and others) to God’s eternal standards, or the fluctuating morals of political expediency?

4. Confusing The Christian Gospel with a Political Message

Finally, syncretism is on full display when Christians repeatedly confuse the gospel with a political agenda. This has been a problem for some time, but it’s come into razor-sharp focus since the murder of Charlie Kirk.

Once again, I want to reiterate that Charlie’s death was a tragedy, and may God help (literally) anyone who celebrated it. What happened to him was atrocious, and we’re right to be appalled.

And at the same time, the truth matters. If all you knew about Charlie Kirk was based on second-hand information from Evangelicals shared on social media in the last several days, you’d get the idea that he was basically a missionary. Christians have used phrases like “when Charlie Kirk went to campuses to preach the gospel…” and have compared him to Stephen—or even the Apostle Paul.

Friends, no matter how tragic Charlie Kirk’s death was, the truth is that he was not a Christian missionary; he was a political activist. He wrote books like “The MAGA Doctrine.” He was an apologist for Donald Trump, defending him at every turn. Watch hours of his latest videos (as I did into the wee hours of a recent morning) and you won’t see lots and lots about Jesus. You’ll see lots and lots about DOGE, the scam of college education, Trump’s immigration practices, etc.

Kirk was a political activist who was also a Christian, and sometimes he talked about his Christian faith and its relation to his political work. This is not slandering Charlie Kirk. It’s simply stating the facts.

There are only two explanations, as far as I can see, for the widespread depiction of Kirk as a champion for the gospel. One, people have only watched a few carefully-selected clips, and assume that they represent the entirety of his material. Or two, they are familiar with the rest of his material, and they can’t tell the difference between Christian doctrine and the MAGA doctrine.

If I had to, I’d guess that both explanations are in play, but it’s the second one that worries me the most. Leaving aside the growing irony of a message about a crucified saviour being wrapped up with the actions of a powerful and morally compromised government, even if Trump supporters could justify the administration’s every decision as good and wise (an impossibly long shot, I’d offer), that does not justify confusing pro-Trump political activism with gospel proclamation. As Mark Dever said back in 2008, “we must make a distinction between the gospel and other things that we take to be true, and… this distinction is faithful to the New Testament.”³

In Conclusion

The central issue here—and the whole reason I’m speaking up about any of this—is the purity of the gospel. When we stop being able to see any difference or distinction between conservative politics and the gospel, we are in dangerous territory. This is a danger inherent in the way in which Charlie Kirk, and the many now following in his steps, seamlessly moved between pro-Trump and pro-Jesus talking points. When the gospel begins to be confused with MAGA politics, it is not merely in danger of being forgotten, minimized, diluted, or compromised—those things are already happening.

For years, conservative Christians have generally assumed that our biggest enemies were on the cultural left. We’ve pushed hard against the progressive agenda. Could it be that our spiritual enemy, like a deft master of jiu-jitsu, is using our momentum against us? As we gain traction against liberal opposition to the gospel, could we be tumbling right into conservative compromise of the gospel?

“I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Cor 2:2). Christians, regardless of political stripe, must be zealous to maintain the purity of the gospel. May God deliver us from any vestiges of syncretism, and shape us to be bold and pure witnesses for the crucified, risen, and returning Lord.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!