Arrested Development

How Christians Can Respond to a Trump Arrest

As I write this, I have no idea if or when we will see something no generation of Americans has ever witnessed: a mug shot of a former president of the United States. What I do know is that the entire country is waiting with a sense of unease about just that possibility and about what happens next.

Last weekend, former president Donald Trump posted on his social media platforms that he expected to be arrested this week, on charges by a New York grand jury of illegally reporting the hush money cover-up of an alleged affair with “porn star” Stormy Daniels.

Part of the confusion is that this potential indictment is almost universally considered the weakest of the (at least) four criminal investigations now ongoing regarding the former president.

The biggest difficulty related to this potential prosecution is the fact that we are dealing with probably the single most polarizing figure in American life in at least a century.

Not many families were divided into seething groups who refused to speak to one another over the relative merits of Hubert Humphrey or Bob Dole. I can’t imagine that very many pastors agonized over whether they would lose their pulpits over inadequate enthusiasm for Adlai Stevenson or Gerald Ford.

Imagine trying to find a jury of 12 people without already-fixed views on Donald Trump, even if the entire country were the pool for the search. That’s amplified for us as evangelical Christians because there’s an assumption in American life that “evangelical Christian” and “Donald Trump enthusiast” are synonyms.

Not all of us are, by any means. But it is fair to say that, in some ways, the tumult around Trump and Trumpism is heightened even more for those who are theologically conservative churchgoers—often dividing Black and white evangelicals, younger and older evangelicals, and sometimes urban, suburban, and rural evangelicals. So, regardless of all our disagreements about Trump, how should we think about the possibility of his arrest?

First, let’s recognize that our political viewpoints do not determine the question of guilt or innocence. The Mosaic Law points to an important moral truth—one that the founders of the American legal system aspired also to recognize—when it says, “Do not pervert justice; do not show partiality to the poor or favoritism to the great, but judge your neighbor fairly” (Lev. 19:15).

That means more than just “innocent until proven guilty.” It also means that what we are to judge are the alleged crimes, not whether the person is significant or insignificant, “one of us” or “one of them.”

If I were on a jury in this case, I would have a moral obligation to put aside the reality that (as I’ve said repeatedly for the last seven years) I don’t believe Donald Trump is fit for office. Instead, I would have to look at whether the hush money was actually paid and concealed; whether that is, in fact, a crime; whether the intent was to commit a crime; and every other consideration that goes into an impartial judging of the case.

The question of whether any person—be it Trump or Hillary Clinton or Joe Biden or anyone else—is innocent or guilty cannot be determined on the basis of whether he or she is on “our side,” in either direction.

Second, let’s recognize that, sometimes, questions of criminality and questions of morality are not the same. Let’s suppose, as many suggest, that the criminal indictment in the Stormy Daniels case is much weaker than the potential others against Trump—such as an attempted overthrow of the election results in Georgia, his actions on January 6, or his handling of classified documents at Mar-a-Lago.

For the sake of argument, let’s go even further and assume that this case is merely political theater by the Manhattan district attorney. That might settle the question of criminality here, but it does not settle the question of morality.

Cheating on one’s wife with a porn star is not a crime. Lying to one’s spouse and to one’s supporters is not itself a crime. All sorts of things that aren’t prosecutable offenses—nor should they be—are nonetheless morally repulsive. Just as those of us who are not Trump supporters must be forceful in stating that Donald Trump (and anyone else) is innocent until proven guilty, Trump supporters should recognize what now should be obvious: Personal character does indeed matter.

There’s a world of difference between saying “This charge of awful immorality shouldn’t be settled in a courtroom” and saying “Who among us hasn’t paid hush money to an adult film star?” There’s a chasm between saying that a prosecution is too politically charged to pursue and waving away a public leader’s calling a woman “horse face.” The truth is, the sort of “lesser of two evils” argument that character doesn’t matter moves quite easily into a “see no evil” mentality.

Third, let’s realize that threats of violence must not deter justice. The most disturbing part of these unfolding events is not the argument back and forth over whether indicting a former president is justifiable—in this case or at all.

Rather, to me, the most disturbing element is the former president, once again, posting social media comments that called on people to “protest” and “TAKE OUR NATION BACK!” This is combined with his seeming encouragement for New York police to defy orders to protect prosecutors and grand jury members from violence. These actions are chilling considering the effect similar rhetoric had in mobilizing a mob on January 6, 2021.

Some would say the threat of violent protest is a reason to avoid prosecution. Again, whether or not a Christian concludes that charging Trump is legally unwarranted or even unjust, we must not make such determinations based on which side has an angrier mob.

The Book of Acts is filled with accounts of mobs—such as the Ephesian silversmiths of the cult of Artemis (Acts 19:23–29)—seeking to intimidate with violence. Such examples are everywhere, and they are always contrary not only to the way of Christ but also to every conscience seeking to preserve a society based on rule of law rather than the will to power.

The “look what you made me do” defense of mob violence is evil—whether made by the Weathermen of the 1960s Left or by the insurrectionists of the 2020s Right.

Christians may well disagree about what’s just or unjust in some of the legal decisions ahead. We should be able to have those debates and listen to one another. But what we shouldn’t disagree about is whether justice matters at all.

The After Party

My friends David French and Curtis Chang were with me in Washington this week, where we participated in a Trinity Forum event about our soon-coming church curriculum on navigating polarization and hyper-partisanship. One thing we’ve seen is churches becoming exhausted by the ways the spirit of the age has ripped through congregations and morphed the way we bear witness to the gospel.

The original name of this project was The Post-Partisan Church, but Nancy French wisely suggested a better, more fun name: The After Party. There’s a double meaning here—not just what happens on the other side of partisan warfare but, more importantly, the marriage supper of the Lamb, the party for which we are really waiting. When the kingdom of God is first in priority, we learn to reorder our other priorities in ways that actually free us to pursue those other priorities better.

Politics is a necessary good but a terrible identity—and an even worse god. There’s a different way.

You can read more about the project here.

An Update on Our Dog, Waylon

After I wrote last week about the melancholy dog song I’ve come to love, several of y’all have asked how our dog, Waylon, is doing. I mentioned that he seemed lethargic and was constantly drinking water. Turns out, our intuitions were right—something is wrong. Waylon has diabetes. He’ll require insulin shots (which I didn’t even know they made for dogs) twice a day for the rest of his life. There’s some question as to whether that will work, but for now, he’s hanging on.

Two thought-provoking pieces in recent days deal with questions about pets and suffering. One is the cover story of the new issue of Christianity Today on how to make sense of animal pain in light of the goodness of God. The other is The New York Times essay this week by our friend Tish Harrison Warren on why pets matter. And, of course, I would refer you to maybe my favorite piece ever on this subject: “Why I Will Never Live Without a Dog Again” by my late friend Mike Gerson.

“Out in Luckenbach, Texas, ain’t nobody feelin’ no pain,” the other Waylon once sang. Everywhere else, though—this side of heaven—we do. Sometimes even the suffering of the animal who’s stood by us through good times and bad can remind us that “the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time” (Rom. 8:22).

Every other week, I share a playlist of songs one of you says you’d want to have on hand if you were stranded on a desert island. This week’s submission comes from reader Phil Hoover from Rochester, Minnesota. Phil explains his list:

“Wichita Lineman”—In my opinion, the greatest country song ever written. “I am a lineman for the county / And I drive the main road / Searching in the sun for another overload …” A deeply descriptive love song to his wife—without being provocative or vulgar. Jimmy Webb wrote a great song, and Glen Campbell sang it marvelously well. I miss Glen … a lot.

“Danny’s Song”—Kenny Loggins’s best song, and everyone who sang it did a great job, whether it was Anne Murray, John Denver, or a Voice contestant in the blind auditions. “People smile and tell me I’m the lucky one / And we’ve just begun …” Powerful, poignant words, but not provocative or vulgar. Tells a great story.

“Fool’s Paradise”—The Archers were the standard for contemporary Christian music in the ’70s and ’80s. “Why don’t you start thinking about it / And get your head out of the clouds…” Powerfully good advice and much-needed admonition for us in every phase of life.

“Southern Nights”—Glen Campbell knew how to tell powerful stories but also knew how to sing “fun songs” as well. How do we find better lyrics than these?

Southern nights

Have you ever felt a Southern night?

Free as a breeze

Not to mention the trees

Whistlin’ tunes that you know and love so.

“The Things We Do for Love,” 10cc—I will always contend that the “pop music” of the 1970s was the very best ever. “Like walking in the rain and the snow / When there’s nowhere to go / When you’re feeling like a part of you is dying …” We’ve all been there—well, some folks have at least. Not provocative or vulgar, but just very honest.

“How Deep Is Your Love,” the Bee Gees—Smooth, gorgeous melodies, beautiful lyrics, and timeless music. What more can I say?

“The Four Seasons,” Vivaldi—Classical music at its finest.

“Rhapsody in Blue”—Gershwin’s finest, and it’s still loved all over the world.

“Go Ask,” Bill and Gloria Gaither—No one can tell the timeless truth of God’s grace like Bill and Gloria Gaither. “Don’t ask me if He’s good or bad / I only know the guilt I had is gone / And I can’t tell you any more.”

“Do You Remember These?”—The Statler Brothers always sang powerful songs. This one was just fun! I’m a bit young to remember so many of these “items,” but this song spoke to many, many people in the “before the internet” generation.

Thank you, Phil!

Readers, what do you think? If you were stranded on a desert island for the rest of your life and could have only one playlist or one bookshelf with you, what songs or books would you choose ?

For a Desert Island Playlist, send me a list of 5–12 songs, excluding hymns and worship songs. (We’ll cover those later.)

For a Desert Island Bookshelf, send me a list of 5–12 books. If possible, include one photo of all the books together.

Send your list (or both lists!) to questions@russellmoore.com, and include as much or as little explanation of your choices as you would like.

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Onward,
Russell Moore