When the New York Young Republicans recently disbanded after a leaked group chat revealed members were sharing racist and antisemitic messages, state leaders called it a “fresh start.”
Days later, a similar scene played out in Washington, DC. Paul Ingrassia, a young Trump nominee to lead the Office of Special Counsel, withdrew his nomination after Politico published text messages in which he boasted of a “Nazi streak” and called for the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday to be “tossed into the seventh circle of hell.” Ingrassia had made a litany of racist comments before he was nominated. But even for many of the president’s most loyal allies, this appeared to be a bridge too far.
Meanwhile, Jay Jones, a Democratic candidate running for attorney general in Virginia, has fallen behind in the polls after text messages surfaced in which he mused about shooting a political rival, Todd Gilbert, and seemingly wished harm on Gilbert’s young children. Jones apologized and remains in the race.
The exposure of all these private messages has sparked necessary outrage across the political spectrum. But the real story here is about not just one party or one person. It’s about what happens when the rot of contempt seeps into our national bloodstream. There’s what was said but even more so what shaped people to say it—and how our culture, by degrees, is being trained to think, feel, and speak the same way.
While these types of messages still represent extremes in our culture, the underlying language of contempt has become a common tongue of our public life.
What used to be shamefully whispered in private corners now plays out openly in comment sections, podcasts, and campaign rallies. This flagrant contempt for political opponents opens the door to even more grotesque behavior in private spaces. From “jokes” about rape and genocide to gleeful celebrations of opponents’ suffering, cruelty has become a currency of authenticity. To belong in political circles, one must prove a willingness to scorn.
Our digital culture has only magnified the problem. On the right, contempt often takes the form of dehumanizing minorities or glorifying cultural dominance. On the left, it shows up in mockery of faith, in the dismissal of opponents as irredeemable bigots, or in casual delight in their misfortunes.
But this constant contempt is not simply a feeling or an action; it is a curriculum. It teaches that identity is secured by mockery, moral seriousness is naive, and empathy is weakness. It corrodes our humanity and forms habits of the heart that make mercy unimaginable. At the end, it feeds a formative process fueled not by the Spirit but by the flesh.
Behind this culture of contempt often lies a dormant but persistent state of fear: fear of losing cultural and political power, fear of being canceled, fear that if we let our guard down, they will win. This anxiety is enhanced even more when Americans—including Christians—imagine each other as worse than we are.
Recent research from the nonpartisan More in Common initiative, for example, found that while most Americans—81 percent—believe people of all religions should feel like they belong in the US, we drastically underestimate each other’s goodwill. Most Americans also believe 47 percent of evangelicals value religious liberty for everyone, when 78 percent of evangelicals do. Similar misperceptions hold for Muslims, Jews, and atheists.
Fear, however, doesn’t explain everything. Contempt also offers a counterfeit sense of community that’s forged around shared grievance. It presents a type of peer pressure that creates solidarity through shared disgust. It tells us we don’t need to build anything beautiful to belong. We just need to hate the right people, whether or not they’re culpable of harm.
But a community formed through scorn cannot inspire its members toward anything better. It can only hold together through the sinister power of mutual disdain.
Scripture shows us this is precisely where the church should step in. The body of Christ exists to form people differently, cultivating habits of speech, imagination, and love that runs counter to the world. If contempt is the pedagogy of disdain, then the church needs to be the school of grace.
This formation begins in worship, where we learn to name God rightly and, in doing so, see others rightly. It continues through preaching that deepens the conviction that every person bears God’s image and therefore commands our reverence. It deepens in discipleship that trains believers to speak blessing rather than curse and model biblical examples by directing godly disgust toward sin, sinful systems, and demonic spirits (Eph. 6:12) instead of toward people who God loves. Like Elijah challenging Baal’s prophets or Jesus calling out the scribes and Pharisees, the Bible shows how to use sharp language for godly ends without falling into sin.
The practices we cultivate—truth telling, forgiveness, confession, repair—are not just private virtues but public gifts that our political culture needs to see on display. When we speak well of others, repent when we’re wrong, see others as neighbors rather than enemies, and build bridges of mercy (even in disagreement), God will use these small, stubborn habits to slowly remake our world.
The exposure of these recent hateful messages is painful, but it may also be providential. God often allows what is hidden to come to light so healing can begin. What has been revealed in our politics is a mirror and a message for the nation.
Accountability is critical if we are to move forward in a healthy way. Justice was served when the New York State GOP swiftly disbanded its youth wing and the Senate refused to advance Ingrassia’s nomination. But accountability alone cannot heal a nation that has been shaped by contempt. Punishment may allow the news cycle to move on from a scandal, but what we desperately need is a renewal.
Chris Butler is a pastor in Chicago and the director of Christian civic formation at the Center for Christianity & Public Life. He is also the co-author of Compassion & Conviction: The And Campaign’s Guide to Faithful Civic Engagement.
