What Shapes My Politics
I spent the opening section of this blog to write about dignity, opportunity, and prosperity as the core tenets that shape my political views. What I didn’t write about is where those values come from: my Christian faith.
I’ll admit, I’ve been hesitant to intertwine my faith and my politics. Politics is already divisive, but religion can feel like a step beyond in its ability to divide, harden positions, and run straight into deeply entrenched views about identity, truth, and morality. Conversations around economic policy might get heated, but conversations around faith can feel existential.
A part of me fears that bringing religion into this space might only make it smaller. I’ve seen faith reduced to slogans, wielded as a weapon, or fused so tightly to party identity that it becomes indistinguishable from it. I didn’t want to contribute to that, but avoiding it altogether felt dishonest.
The values I write about - dignity, opportunity, and prosperity - didn’t emerge in a vacuum. They are shaped by what my faith has taught me about people.
For me, my faith is not a list of policy prescriptions - it’s a lens.
If I believe that every person bears the image of God, then the dignity of others is not conditional. It isn’t reserved for the majority over the minority, the strong over the weak, or the rich over the poor. Dignity becomes the starting point.
If I believe Jesus meant it when He said to love your neighbor, then opportunity cannot be hoarded or selectively granted. Loving my neighbor means caring not only about charity but about the conditions that allow someone to stand on their own two feet with stability and hope.
If I believe generosity reflects the heart of Christ, then prosperity cannot mean abundance for a few and scarcity for the rest. My faith is not rooted in the ideas of hoarded wealth or domination but in shalom - a peace where people can thrive together.
None of that belief tells me what the corporate tax rate should be. It doesn’t tell me how to design an energy grid or what healthcare reform should look like. My faith hasn’t eliminated complexity nor has it handed me clear policy solutions. But it will always shape my instincts.
When I think about immigration, I don’t start with “How do we punish?” I start with “Who is my neighbor?” That doesn’t mean borders don’t matter. It means enforcement cannot be untethered from humanity.
When I think about economic policy, I don’t start with “Who deserves?” I start with “Who is struggling?” That doesn’t mean outcomes are equal. It means indifference to suffering is not an option.
When I think about government power, I don’t start with “How do we win?” I start with “How do we wield authority responsibly?” That doesn’t mean weakness. It means power is best expressed through humility, conviction shaped by compassion, and strength that refuses to trample the vulnerable to prove a point.
For me, following Jesus does not mean baptizing my political preferences or assuming my conclusions carry divine authority. It means holding my politics loosely enough to consistently reflect on if the policies I support reflect love of neighbor. It means remembering that faith is not strengthened by proximity to power, but by integrity - by the quiet, often unseen work of honoring dignity, widening opportunity, and pursuing a kind of prosperity that does not leave the vulnerable behind.
My hope is not for a government that replaces the Church, nor a Church that replaces the government. My hope is simpler than that: that the faith I profess actually forms my character before it forms any sort of talking points or political view. When my politics allows dignity to become conditional, opportunity to become selective, or prosperity to become hoarded, then I know I’ve lost my footing. My allegiance isn’t to a political party or candidate, but to a faith that persistently calls me back to love of God and neighbor.
