I’m not writing this to debate policy. I’m writing about what kids learn when adults say one thing about character and then reward another thing at the ballot box. When a public figure can behave in ways we’d punish in our own homes—mocking opponents, spreading misinformation, bragging, name-calling, and dodging accountability—and still be celebrated as “winning,” children absorb a blunt lesson: morality is optional as long as you get the result you want. That lesson doesn’t stay in politics; it spills into classrooms, friendships, dating relationships, workplaces, and churches.
For many families—especially Christian families—this creates a painful credibility gap. We tell children, “Tell the truth,” “Treat people with dignity,” “Confess when you’ve done wrong,” “Don’t use others,” “Don’t excuse cruelty,” and “Don’t let anger rule you.” Then they turn on the news, scroll social media, or overhear adult conversations and see excuses being made: Yes, he said that, but he didn’t mean it. Yes, that was wrong, but the other side is worse. Yes, he lies, but everyone lies. Yes, he’s harsh, but he fights. That pattern teaches kids something far more specific than “politics is messy.” It teaches them how to rationalize.
And rationalization is the enemy of integrity. Children are learning a script for how to keep a clean self-image while making dirty choices: minimize the harm, change the subject, attack critics, and treat accountability as persecution. They learn that “repentance” can be replaced with “spin,” and that if you are loud enough, confident enough, or popular enough, you can redefine what’s morally and ethically acceptable. Even if you don’t intend to teach this, kids are excellent at noticing what gets rewarded.
This is why I struggle with the claim that overwhelming Christian support for Trump can be squared with a serious commitment to Christian formation. You can argue about courts, headlines, and partisan narratives, but you cannot argue away the public pattern that children can plainly see: contempt for opponents, casual insults, “ends justify the means” reasoning, and a willingness to discard truth and honor when it’s convenient. If Christian adults say they believe in humility, honesty, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control, then the leaders they excuse (and the excuses they repeat) become part of what their children think Christianity is.
Kids don’t learn our values from our slogans; they learn them from our exceptions. If we say, “Lying is wrong,” but we shrug when “our side” lies, we teach that truth is a tool, not a principle. If we say, “Sexual exploitation is evil,” but we dismiss credible accusations or treat women as collateral damage for political victory, we teach that protecting the vulnerable is negotiable. If we say, “Don’t be greedy,” but we celebrate ruthless self-interest as strength, we teach that the gospel is less important than power.
Some people respond, “But judges. But the economy. But national security. But religious liberty.” I understand the impulse to prioritize outcomes. Adults have responsibilities and fears; they want stability, safety, and a future for their families. But children aren’t only watching what we choose—they’re watching how we justify what we choose. When our reasoning repeatedly communicates, “Character doesn’t matter if the stakes are high,” we are training them for a life where they will say the same thing in smaller, everyday ways: cheating is fine if you need the grade, cruelty is fine if you need the status, betrayal is fine if you need the relationship, and deception is fine if you need to win.
If you’re a Christian parent, pastor, youth leader, or simply a Christian adult who cares about the next generation, I think it’s worth asking a few uncomfortable questions. What do your kids hear when you talk about people you disagree with? Do they hear wisdom and restraint—or contempt and mockery? When you share political content, are you careful about whether it’s true, or do you share whatever feels satisfying? When your preferred leaders behave badly, do you name it as wrong—or do you immediately rush to defend it?
Because children will not separate “politics” from “discipleship” the way adults try to. They will notice whether our Christianity is something that shapes our speech, our empathy, our honesty, and our courage—or whether it is a label we use while living by the same rules as everyone else. And if they conclude that Christianity mainly functions as a team identity that excuses whatever the team needs to do to win, they won’t just reject a candidate someday. They may reject the faith itself.
That’s the tragedy: it isn’t only that an election has consequences for laws and policies. It has consequences for moral imagination. It teaches children what kind of person “deserves” admiration, what kind of behavior “counts” as strength, and what kind of harm can be brushed aside as acceptable collateral damage.
I’m not claiming Christians must vote for any one party. I’m saying our public choices are part of our public witness. If we want our kids to believe that truth matters, then truth has to matter when it costs us something. If we want them to believe that cruelty is wrong, then cruelty has to be wrong even when it’s useful. If we want them to believe that repentance and accountability are real, then we have to stop treating accountability as an attack.
Don’t be surprised if your children grow up to reject “Christian values” when they never saw those values consistently practiced. They may not be rejecting Jesus; they may be rejecting the hypocrisy they watched adults baptize as righteousness. If we care about them—and about the integrity of our faith—then we should be brave enough to say, out loud, that character matters, and it matters all the time, including when we vote.
Dr. Beaux Bonhoeffer
Find me also @beauxbonhoeffer.bsky.social and at beauxbonhoeffer.substack.com
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