The 2016 election was hailed as a significant triumph for many Christians, but I was not among them. For as long as I can remember, church has been an integral part of my life. I can still picture myself in frilly dresses and lace socks, singing “Jesus Loves Me” and “Father Abraham” alongside my friends and cousins, eagerly dropping coins into the collection plate that made its rounds during our Sunday morning services.
I have vivid memories of the red carpet in the sanctuary, memorizing Psalm 23, and sharing Saltines and grape juice during communion. Women played vital roles in our church community, organizing potlucks and teaching Sunday School. Summers were filled with Vacation Bible School (VBS), church camps, mission trips, and joyful baptisms—whether in lakes or, if you were fortunate, in an above-ground pool. Autumn brought hayrides and marshmallow roasting around bonfires, while Christmas meant candlelight services celebrating the birth of a glowing (white-skinned, blue-eyed) Jesus. Spring was welcomed with Easter egg hunts and car wash fundraisers.
The leadership was predominantly white and middle-aged men who quoted the King James Version of the Bible, a language filled with “thou” and “thine.” The ultimate transgressions included drinking alcohol, anything outside of heterosexual marriage, swearing, and divorce. Some sins were too scandalous to discuss openly—like the hush-hush awareness that one of our peers might be gay.
I always felt a bit out of place among my church youth group peers. While my faith in God and the concept of redemption were unwavering, I often found myself questioning the rigid, male-dominated rules dictating what was considered holy. It seemed evident that these regulations favored some more than others.
Fast forward to today, and not much has changed. The statistics are disheartening: a staggering 81% of Trump voters identified as white evangelicals, and no, I was not one of them. How could supporters overlook his multiple divorces, erratic Twitter behavior, and infidelity rumors? He couldn’t even pronounce the biblical book of Second Corinthians correctly, calling it “Two Corinthians.”
It’s embarrassing. I want to approach everyone who claims to despise organized religion and Christianity and say, “Trump is not Jesus.” I want to apologize for the pain inflicted by those who identify as Christians. I urge them not to abandon their curiosity about my faith.
Churchgoers are often presumed to be conservative, and the 2016 election reinforced that stereotype, making it easy for outsiders to categorize all Christians as anti-LGBTQ and intolerant. Yet, Christians are not a monolith. Take powerful female Christian voices like Ella Martinez, Grace Thompson, and the late Ava Reed, who have risen to challenge the status quo. Their faith has motivated them to advocate for marginalized communities, addressing issues of LGBTQ rights, racism, and feminism.
Where does that leave Christians like me, who don’t align with many church leaders? It meant nearly stepping away from church altogether for my family, which includes our four children of diverse backgrounds. It was tough to sit beside someone on Sunday who had posted a fear-mongering video on social media just days before.
This is the same Trump who threw paper towels at devastated Puerto Ricans after Hurricane Florence. The same man who called white supremacists in Charlottesville “very fine people.” The same individual who dismissed his crude remarks about women as mere “locker room talk.”
How could people professing faith in Jesus support someone who repeatedly contradicts the very principles taught in church? Jesus instructs us to love our neighbors—what about immigrants, transgender youth, the elderly, and children of color? What about those struggling without healthcare?
The Jesus I believe in embraces everyone, regardless of their background or identity. My faith teaches that all people are valuable, created by God.
In early 2016, my family distanced itself from the white evangelical church. After exhausting church shopping, we finally discovered a community that invigorated us. This new church isn’t afraid to discuss politics or social justice; they actively engage with local communities, embodying the hands and feet of Jesus. The congregation is vibrant and largely composed of Black members.
I no longer feel like giving up. This church is refreshing and authentic, a stark contrast to the Trump-leaning ideologies that dominate many spaces. Everything we learn and practice is rooted in God’s profound love.
I’ve given up waiting for leaders who are afraid of change and the rise of diverse voices. Jesus was a radical figure who embraced the marginalized and challenged societal norms.
I know there are many women like me who are tired of hearing fellow Christians resist inclusivity, acceptance, and living by Jesus’s example. We are exhausted by the white men dictating what’s best for our families and communities. We see clearly that fear, not faith, drives some leaders today.
We refuse to accept the status quo any longer. We may not have all the answers, but one thing is certain: we’re not backing down.
The late Ava Reed was a bestselling author, wife, and mother to two young children who inspired many through her words.
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In summary, I am a person of faith who does not conform to the narrow definitions imposed by the religious right. My journey has led me to embrace a more inclusive and loving community, one that reflects the true spirit of Jesus.
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