A NATION OUT OF BALANCE—WHEN PRAISE AND CRITICISM LOSE THEIR WAY

There is something wrong with us—not politically first, but spiritually. We have lost the ability to evaluate actions once a name is attached to them. Mention Donald Trump, and for some, every sentence must end in condemnation; no good may be named without suspicion. Mention Barack Obama, and for others, criticism becomes taboo while praise flows freely. We no longer weigh deeds; we weigh allegiances.

This is not moral seriousness. It is imbalance.

Those who speak passionately about injustice should—by the very logic of their convictions—be able to acknowledge genuine movements toward peace wherever they occur. If violence is reduced, lives are spared; if war is halted, mothers keep their sons. Scripture does not ask first, Who did this? but What fruit did it bear? “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God” (Matthew 5:9). The verse carries no party affiliation.

This does not require naïveté. Acknowledging a good outcome is not the same as endorsing every motive, policy, or pattern that surrounds it. Moral clarity does not demand blindness; it demands precision. The Christian conscience must be capable of saying, This was wrong—and, in the same breath, this was good—even when both belong to the same person.

We have seen this failure before. A decade ago, many who now condemn everything associated with Trump once found nothing to criticize in Obama; others now praise Trump with an enthusiasm that once could see nothing but failure in Obama. The pattern did not change—only the names did. What shifted was not conviction, but loyalty.

Scripture warns us against this kind of distortion: “Do not judge according to appearance, but judge with righteous judgment” (John 7:24). Righteous judgment requires balance—neither reflexive outrage nor reflexive defense. Anything less is not discernment; it is captivity.

This is not a call to moral equivalence, nor a plea to mute prophetic critique. Power should be scrutinized; injustice should be named plainly; harm should never be excused.

But scrutiny is not the same as totalization.

When criticism becomes absolute—when no good may be acknowledged under any circumstances—it ceases to be prophetic and becomes performative. Likewise, when praise becomes absolute, it collapses into idolatry. God condemns both.

Jesus Himself modeled this balance. He rebuked rulers without flattening reality. He exposed corruption without denying truth when it appeared, even on the lips of opponents (Luke 20:39-40). He neither flattered nor caricatured. He spoke truth whole.

The deeper tragedy is not disagreement; it is absolutism. We have trained ourselves to speak in slogans rather than judgments, to react rather than reason. James warned us long ago: “The wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God” (James 1:20). Outrage has never healed a nation. Selective blindness has never produced justice.

If Christians cannot model clear-eyed fairness—truthful enough to condemn evil wherever it appears, honest enough to acknowledge good wherever it emerges—then we have surrendered our witness. We are not called to be cheerleaders or executioners; we are called to be salt and light. Salt preserves. Light reveals. Neither distorts.

A nation does not heal by winning arguments. It heals when truth is loved more than tribes, justice more than outrage, and peace more than pride. “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty” (2 Corinthians 3:17). That liberty includes freedom from blind hatred and blind loyalty alike.

This is not political moderation.

It is moral maturity.

And I want to be clear about where I stand—because clarity disarms suspicion, and honesty earns a hearing. I humanize this so that critics have to deal with my argument rather than caricature my motives.

I like Barack Obama. He is my favorite president. I admired his intellect, his composure, and his ability to speak in a way that reminded the country of its better angels. And I can still acknowledge places where I believe he fell short. Appreciation has never required blindness.

I did not vote for Donald Trump. I do not share his temperament, his tone, or much of his approach. And yet—I pray for him every day. Not selectively. Not sarcastically. Because the Lord commands prayer for those in authority, not only the ones we prefer (1 Timothy 2:1-2). Prayer is not endorsement; it is obedience. It is also an act of hope—that God can restrain evil, encourage good, and bring peace even through flawed instruments.

I say this because my concern is not defending politicians. It is defending moral credibility. When we are incapable of acknowledging good in someone we dislike—or wrong in someone we admire—we lose the right to be taken seriously. Our criticism stops sounding principled and starts sounding personal. And once that happens, no amount of volume will restore trust.

This article is not about changing party allegiance. It is about recovering balance—so that our words carry weight again.

Constant negativity does not make us prophetic; it makes us predictable. If every sentence about a person is critical, people stop listening—not because they disagree, but because they already know what you are going to say. Criticism that never pauses to acknowledge truth, progress, or restraint eventually collapses under its own excess.

The Gospel calls us to something better than reflexive outrage. It calls us to truth spoken whole. Jesus was never impressed by power, but He was never dishonest either. He could condemn injustice without denying reality. He could speak hard words without surrendering to contempt.

That is the posture I am pleading for—not political compromise, but moral seriousness.

If we want to be heard when it matters most, we must prove that our judgments are not driven by anger or allegiance, but by truth. That means learning to say, This was wrong—and also, when it is true, this was good. Anything less is not conviction; it is noise.

I am not asking anyone to change who they support. I am asking us to change how we speak, so that when we do speak, it still sounds like wisdom—and still resembles Christ.

BDD