I spotted it recently—I won’t say where—a small metal pin proclaiming in large white letters on a red background … “F*ck Trump.” The message was brief, profane, and politically charged. What struck me wasn’t the political sentiment itself, but the jarring disconnect between the crude language blazoned across this pin and some things about this person’s claim to Christianity.
This moment crystallized a question that haunts modern Christianity: How do we reconcile our public witness with our private convictions? More pointedly, what happens when our political passion overrides our spiritual principles?
When Caesar Becomes Our God
Picture this scene from first-century Palestine. Peter storms into the upper room, his cloak pinned with a bronze medallion reading “Crucify Tiberius” (in Greek, of course). The other apostles exchange glances. John raises an eyebrow. Matthew shakes his head. The image seems absurd because we instinctively understand that such behavior would contradict everything Jesus taught about loving enemies, blessing those who curse us, and representing His kingdom with grace.
Yet here we stand, twenty centuries later, wrestling with similar tensions. Our political convictions burn hot. Our frustrations with leaders run deep. And sometimes, our desire to express these feelings trumps our commitment to express them in ways that honor Christ.
The person choosing to wear that provocative pin likely feels justified. Perhaps they viewed their political stance as righteous indignation. Maybe they believed crude language was the only way to cut through the noise of public discourse. They might have even convinced themselves that Jesus Himself would appreciate their bold stand against perceived injustice.
But here’s the uncomfortable truth: the moment we choose crude expression over Christ-like character, we’ve surrendered our most powerful tool for transformation—our witness.
The Weight of Witness
Every Christian carries an invisible placard that reads, “This is what Jesus looks like in human flesh.” We become walking advertisements for the gospel, whether we acknowledge this responsibility or not. Our words, our social media posts, our bumper stickers, and yes, our lapel pins—they all communicate something about the Christ we claim to follow.
Paul understood this weight when he wrote to the Corinthians about becoming “all things to all people” so that by all possible means he might save some. He wasn’t advocating for compromise of truth, but for strategic wisdom in how truth gets communicated. He grasped that the medium often shapes the message more than we realize.
When we adorn ourselves with vulgar political statements, we’re not just expressing personal opinion—we’re teaching the watching world what Christianity looks like when it gets political. We’re providing a case study in how followers of Jesus engage with temporal power structures.
The Apostolic Alternative
Imagine Paul encountering Emperor Nero, the man who would eventually execute him. Nero’s cruelty was legendary. His persecution of Christians was systematic and sadistic. If anyone had justification for crude political expression, it was Paul facing down this tyrant.
Yet Paul’s approach reveals a different way. In Romans 13, written while Nero ruled, Paul instructs believers to respect governing authorities. Not because those authorities were righteous—they clearly weren’t—but because Christians operate from a different kingdom with different values.
This doesn’t mean Paul was passive or silent about injustice. His letters overflow with passionate arguments for righteousness and equality. But notice the language: precise, powerful, persuasive. Never crude. Never designed merely to shock or offend. Always aimed at transformation rather than condemnation.
Paul understood that the gospel’s power lies not in our ability to tear down opponents with clever insults, but in our capacity to demonstrate a better way of being human.
The Mirror of Motivation
Before we judge the pin-wearer too harshly, we might examine our own lapels—literal and metaphorical. What messages do we broadcast through our choices? Our social media feeds often reveal as much about our character as any piece of jewelry.
The real issue isn’t whether we hold strong political opinions. God expects us to care about justice, to advocate for the vulnerable, to engage thoughtfully with the systems that shape our world. The question is whether our methods of engagement reflect the character of Christ or betray it.
When we choose shock value over servant-heartedness, we reveal something troubling about our spiritual priorities. We demonstrate that political victory matters more to us than spiritual witness. We show that we’re willing to sacrifice long-term kingdom impact for short-term emotional satisfaction.
The Tiberius Test
Here’s a simple diagnostic question: Would the apostles have worn your political messaging? Not your political convictions—they had those too. But your methods of expressing those convictions?
John the Baptist called Herod a fox. Jesus called religious leaders whitewashed tombs. Prophetic truth-telling has always been part of faithful witness. But notice the precision of their language, the strategic nature of their confrontations, and the ultimate goal of their boldness—not personal vindication, but spiritual awakening.
The apostles faced emperors, governors, and religious authorities who made our modern politicians look tame by comparison. Yet their response was never crude dismissal but courageous engagement grounded in love.
Redemption Through Reflection
Perhaps you’re reading this while wearing your own version of that controversial pin—whether physical or digital. The goal isn’t condemnation but reflection. What drives your political expression? Is it anger seeking release, or love seeking transformation?
The beautiful reality of the gospel is that our past failures don’t define our future witness. The Christian who chooses crude political messaging can choose different messaging tomorrow. The believer who lets political passion override spiritual wisdom can recalibrate their priorities.
This isn’t about becoming politically neutered or artificially nice. It’s about becoming strategically faithful to our calling as ambassadors of Christ’s kingdom.
The Higher Politics
Christianity offers something more subversive than any political pin: the radical notion that love transforms more effectively than hate, that service conquers more thoroughly than dominance, and that the cross changes hearts in ways that crude slogans never can.
When we choose Christ-like engagement over crass political theater, we’re not retreating from the public square—we’re occupying it with kingdom values. We’re showing a watching world what it looks like when someone believes that Jesus is not only Savior but Lord over all of life, including political life.
The Call to Costly Discipleship
Every morning, we dress ourselves not just in clothing but in character. We choose which version of Christianity we’ll display to our neighbors, our coworkers, our children. The lapel pin is just one small symbol of much larger choices about how we’ll represent Christ in a polarized world.
The easy path leads toward tribal loyalty—choosing political allegiance over spiritual integrity, choosing the applause of our side over the approval of our Savior. The narrow path requires something more costly: the discipline of representing Jesus even when it means moderating our methods, even when it means choosing love over revenge, even when it means looking weak in the eyes of those who mistake crudeness for strength.
Your lapel tells a story. Your social media tells a story. Your conversations tell a story. The question echoing from the first century to today remains the same: What story are you telling about Jesus?
The apostles chose to tell a story of transformation through love, of justice through service, of victory through sacrifice. Their story changed the world.
What story will you choose to tell? What will your lapel pin say about the Christ you claim to follow?
The watching world is reading every word.