For much of the modern era, evangelical political engagement in America has been perceived—sometimes rightly, sometimes wrongly—as a quest for power. The rise of the Religious Right in the late 20th century was framed by many as a strategic movement to “take back” the culture, to assert Christian values through political dominance. That framing—whether entirely accurate or not—has left a lasting impression on public consciousness. But that is not the story of evangelical politics today.
There is a maturing underway.
Something deeper and sturdier is shaping the posture and consciousness of a new generation of Christian political activism. While past movements may have sought cultural or political ascendancy under the banner of Christianity and to make sure that everyone knew America was a “Christian Nation,” today’s evangelical engagement is increasingly uninterested in power for its own self-interest. Rather than seeking to rule, the focus is on preserving the moral architecture that makes a just and ordered society possible.
This shift is not a retreat from the public square. It is, in fact, a more rooted and muscular presence in it—one that recognizes the limits of politics while insisting on the necessity of moral clarity within it. It is a form of engagement that no longer imagines that utopia is just one election away. Instead, it seeks to uphold what Russell Kirk once called “the permanent things”—those enduring moral truths embedded in the creation order that undergird human dignity, family, community, and justice.
Late-stage secularism has not simply privatized religion—it has severed society from any transcendent reference point and left untold collateral damage in its wake. That explains, at least in some small way, the so-called “vibe shift” happening in the culture today. A growing consensus in many corners is that American culture has pressed as far as it can go in trying to evade moral limits. The result of secular progressivism’s success is a fraying of the social fabric, an unraveling of common goods once taken for granted. It is 60 million abortions and unchecked anti-Semitism on college campuses. Marriage, gender, family, even truth itself—these are now contested zones of ideological warfare.
In the face of this, evangelical Christians are recognizing that politics is not just about policy, but about anthropology—and anthropology that affects not just Christian self-interest, but a broader cultural self-understanding of who we are as human beings. What kind of beings are we? What are we for? What kind of society makes space for human beings to flourish in accordance with how they are made?
The maturing of evangelical political thought reflects a theological correction as well. Christians are coming to terms with the fact that political orders are not vehicles of ultimate redemption. The state is incapable of mediating redemption, though it must possess a sound moral consensus. Every nation is, in some sense, Babylon. Every political regime is fallen. To expect the state to bear the weight of the kingdom of God is to turn it into an idol. The proper Christian posture is one of principled realism—neither utopian nor cynical.
This realism does not retreat from politics, but it does reposition its goal. Christian engagement today must be more confessional and less imperial. It must seek not to baptize a political party, but to bear witness to moral truth in the public square. It must ask: What is the role of law in restraining evil? What policies protect the most vulnerable? What moral norms must be preserved if liberty is to endure? These are not questions aimed at reclaiming exclusive Christian supremacy. They are questions of stewardship and public responsibility.
Indeed, this new evangelical posture is motivated less by nostalgia for a lost Christendom, but by conviction about the necessity of order. Christians now find themselves making arguments that appeal to creation, not just to confession. We must draw on natural law, the assertion of transcendence and the decadence of secularism, common sense and common grace, and shared human experience and we must contend for realities that preexist any political arrangement: the nature of man and woman, the permanence of family, the sanctity of life, and the freedom of religion.
In this way, evangelical engagement is growing both more confident and more constrained. Confident—because it is anchored in a version of truth available for all who will seek after it. Constrained—because it knows the state is not the church and will never deliver permanent wins. The church does not need to be in charge of Caesar, but it must speak prophetically to Caesar. Not for the sake of Christian privilege, but for the sake of public peace.
This maturing does not mean disengagement. If anything, it demands greater courage. In a society increasingly hostile to moral norms, it takes fortitude to say what is true—and to say it winsomely, persistently, and sacrificially. It requires rejecting both the false utopia of political messiahship and the apathy of political withdrawal.
Christians should not be surprised that public witness is costly. The cross is not a campaign slogan. But neither is it an excuse for silence. The work of preserving the permanent things is not glamorous, and it may not bring electoral victories. But it is holy work. And it is necessary.
Evangelical political engagement is not dying. It is maturing. And that is good news—for the church and for the world.
This article originally appeared at WORLD Opinions on April 30, 2025.
