JD Vance’s testimony comes with a political agenda

Did I expect to like this book? No. But did I find some common ground in these pages, at least in terms of Christianity feeding into a new kind of politics? Also no.

Vance writes quite well, which will irritate those who loathe his politics. He’s no Graham Greene or Annie Dillard in terms of literary heft, nor a C.S. Lewis or Richard Rohr in terms of compelling ideas. But he communicates well, easily taking you on a journey from his childhood to his present high estate, interspersing theological and political musings with the human story so smoothly you might miss them. In this sense he’s an impressive writer, but not a showy one, like Max Lucado with a dark agenda.

Vance has chosen a leitmotif of fruitfulness for this spiritual memoir, and it is by looking to the fruit of his own political life, and his senior membership of the Trump administration, that we might assess how much weight to give to his undoubtedly pretty words. And they certainly are pretty.

Vance’s stories are winsome, exhibiting an apparent vulnerability one might not expect from a politician at the heart of a political cult of strength and winning. How much is a warm openness that many of us will find relatable, and how much is naked pandering to a Christian base that has started to tire of the mental gymnastics required to defend Donald Trump’s words and actions, should be left to the discernment of readers.

 And while it’s a man’s story of faith, it’s also a soft sell for Christian supremacy and Christian nationalism

An early anecdote feels like a Michael McIntyre bit, engineered for a suburban Christian audience (in our house it’s crazy when we get ready for church, what are we like?!) and the closing homespun homily could have been dictated by a repentant character from the Fast and Furious franchise (It’s a crazy mixed up life of ups and downs, but it’s all good, because it’s all about family!). It’s good stuff, in a mass-appeal sort of way. But it is the clothing on a rather more worrying frame.

This is a book about JD Vance and his faith, but it is also an argument. At least as much a manifesto as it is a memoir. And while it’s a man’s story of faith, it’s also a soft sell for Christian supremacy and Christian nationalism. The Vance emerging from this book may be likeable, but an iron fist is still an iron fist, even if it comes packaged in a homely baseball mitt.

In telling this intellectual-spiritual story of coming back to faith, Vance is explaining who he is – or how he’d like you to see him: not the protégé of virtual Bond Villain Peter Thiel or sidekick to a man found guilty of sexual assault and who pays off porn stars. But just a guy like you or me, who makes mistakes and finds solace and inspiration in a particular, conservative version of Christianity. And is also the Vice President of a country with military bases all over the world and a massively controversial current crackdown on migrants and citizens based on their ethnicity.

That Vance is not just a conservative but a far-right conservative is evident partly in the company he keeps (Vance himself reportedly called Trump “America’s Hitler” before eventually joining his ticket), but in what he writes here, if you can cut through the self-deprecating relatability maxing.

Vance argues that in a demographically diverse nation like America, Christianity was historically always the prime force for cultural cohesion. He seems to believe that this is America’s historic culture, despite the Founding Fathers (who, for context “owned” Black people) being set against a state religion. His argument is a strange mix of brutal pragmatism (people get along better if they have no choice but to live under one religion’s core principles) and naïve (the idea that the true core of that religion’s prescription for society is not only easily discernible but self-evident).

Vance, of course, is not so simple-minded as his aw-shucksery might have us believe. He knows there are many people who see Christianity’s natural political compass as pointing towards radical inclusion, social justice, love of the stranger and tolerance rather than homogeneity or submission to hegemony. That’s just not the Christianity his politics find easy to co-opt. His assertion that “Christian cultures” (whatever that might mean) bear “good fruit” is both true and untrue. For every abolition of slavery there is also a Church collusion in enslavement and violent colonialism. For every Martin Luther King Jr. there is an Apartheid government led by racists with theology degrees.

Calling something Christian is not sufficient to sanctify it. That applies to human beings as well as ideologies (like fascism). If the selfless, expansive love of Christ is not at the heart, words remain just words. The business of applying our faith to the world of politics is serious, complex and too important to base on personal anecdote, however winsome.

Communion: Finding My Way Back to Faith (William Collins) by JD Vance is out now