Faith, Politics, and the Seduction of Certainty

Let’s talk about religion and politics. There—I’ve stepped into the deep end of a pool filled with controversy, disinformation, and predictable outrage. I have my ecclesiastical hip boots on, though I suspect they may not be high enough for the flooding of grievance and critique come rushing my way.

Even so, I proceed.

At eighty years old, I have spent much of my life as a pastor, teacher, and seminary president. I have seen faith inspire extraordinary courage, sacrificial service, and moral imagination.

I have also seen religious faith in many forms misused—sometimes by institutions, sometimes by clergy, and increasingly by politicians who seem eager to wrap themselves in religious language they neither fully understand nor faithfully practice.

The recent election of Pope Leo XIV offers one example. All too quickly, political voices—including Donald Trump and J. D. Vance—seemed eager to assess whether the new pope’s theology aligned with their own political assumptions.

That should concern all of us.

When politicians presume authority over theology, they reveal how faith has become less a source of humility and more a tool for ideological control.

And then there are the symbols. We have seen golden statues erected in honor of political leaders while some clergy voices insist there is no resemblance to the biblical warning about golden calves. One need not be especially liberal—or especially conservative—to find such spectacles deeply troubling.

But perhaps the deeper problem is our growing addiction to certainty.

I think of Charlie Kirk. His tragic death deserves mourning. It deserves condemnation and accountability. Violence is never a legitimate response to disagreement.

By all accounts, he was sincere and deeply committed to his beliefs.  But sincerity is not the same as spiritual maturity.

I spent years working with young seminarians and emerging believers. One of the recurring traits of youthful faith is the conviction that every question has a simple answer and every doubt represents weakness.

But the opposite of doubt is not faith. The opposite of doubt is certitude.

Belief — and even the desire for everyone to believe like you –may be the beginning of the journey. It is rarely the destination.

The most remarkable persons of faith I have known were not armed with slogans or who used the Bible as a cudgel. They were deeply human, shaped by the mulitple complexities of life. They were people who wrestled with scripture, history, suffering, and mystery. They understood that God is always larger than our political tribes.

To be fair, not every public or political expression of faith is performative. I recall the integrity of Senators like Mark Hatfield, Paul Simon, Richard Lugar, and most recently, Ben Sasse.

We have two candidates running for the U.S. Senate currently who offer an alternative way: James Talarico, a seminarian in Texas, attempts to bring thoughtful faith into public life; Adam Hamilton, in Kansas, has shown that large congregations do not have to be built on grievance and fear.

There are signs that many Americans remain spiritually hungry. Worship attendance has improved since the pandemic. Some younger adults appear more willing to explore questions of meaning and purpose.

I hope that hunger finds fulfillment.

But I worry some are confusing religious visibility with religious vitality.

Too many congregations are closing. Too many seminaries struggle to survive. Too many graduates enter service professions that our economic and political systems discount.

And yet religious rhetoric grows louder by the day.

The late University of Chicago theologian Martin Marty often warned against giving away the store to satisfy whatever the marketplace says religion should become. He understood that faith loses its soul when it becomes a product designed to satisfy popular demand.

That warning feels urgent now.

Faith should challenge power—not seek proximity to it at any cost.
Faith should produce humility—not arrogance.
Faith should deepen our compassion—not sharpen our divisions.

And faith should never be reduced to a campaign prop, a social media brand, or a weapon used to identify who belongs and who does not belong.
America does not need louder religion.
It needs deeper faith.

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Philip Amerson May 12, 2026