Rhetoric of the New Christian Right
Our speech is not merely tactical, but sacred. Every word we speak is ultimately an offering, and we will give an account not only to men, but to the living God who calls us to speak as his witnesses.
1. Introduction
The New Christian Right rises not from the optimism of progress, but from the ashes of betrayal. We are not the heirs of Enlightenment dreams, nor the champions of the global man without a country. We are the sons of Christendom, bound by blood, faith, and soil, called to rebuild what our fathers, in their wisdom, once forged under the hand of Almighty God.
We reject utterly the postmodern heresy that man is a creature unto himself, severed from nature, history, and obligation. We deny the gospel of self-destruction preached by the modern world: the cult of equality, the desecration of marriage, the uprooting of nations, and the perversion of moral order. These are not mere errors—they are rebellions against the natural law, and against nature’s God himself.
In their place, we proclaim a Christianity that is public, potent, and particular—a faith that calls men to love their God and their people, to honor their forebears, to defend their homes, and to submit to the law woven into the fabric of creation. We do not apologize for loving our own; we do not blush to call our nation a gift of providence; and we do not flinch from the duty to bring every thought, every institution, and every land into obedience to Christ the King.
As the battle for the soul of the nation moves increasingly into the public squares of the internet—on platforms like X and beyond—rhetoric becomes not merely important, but indispensable. Our speech must be deliberate and deadly, not sloppy or shrill. We must not furnish our enemies with the fuel of unfettered anger, rashness, or self-righteousness by careless words. We must stand poised, composed, and ever ready to give an account—with clarity and conviction to the honest inquirer, and with immovable courage to the spiteful accuser. Victory will not belong to those who shout the loudest, but to those who speak with authority, rooted in truth, seasoned with grace, and unmoved by sinful malice.
Our task is not reform but restoration; not dialogue but dominion. We are not here to negotiate with a dying world, but to stand as witnesses against it—and to prepare the ground for what must come after its fall.
2. The Power of Rhetoric
In every age of decline, those who wield words with wisdom shape the course of nations. Rhetoric is not a matter of ornament or entertainment; it is the vehicle by which truth is brought to bear upon the hearts of men and the structures of society. In the long twilight of Christendom, the New Christian Right must understand that properly ordered speech—firm, disciplined, rooted in natural law and divine authority—is itself an act of dominion.
The influence of rhetoric lies not in volume, but in gravity. It is the calm, relentless assertion of reality that unsettles lies, not the fevered shout. There is a time for raised voices and righteous indignation, but only as it serves truth and not self. Volume isn’t a force we reject, but frivolity: we must harbor a steady stream of clear, unanswerable truth that wears away the mountains of deceit, not the splash of temporary outrage. If we are to rebuild a Christian order, we must train ourselves to speak in ways that reflect the authority of God and the dignity of his created order.
Christ himself instructs us: “Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as doves” (Matt. 10:16). Our rhetoric must embody both: the craft and cunning to maneuver in a hostile age, and the innocence that disarms accusations of malice. We are not permitted to descend into bitterness or slander; nor are we permitted to be naive. Truth must be delivered with strategic skill, clothed in patience, and wielded with precision.
I remember once sitting with an old friend, a man seasoned by the hard lessons of life, who said to me, “No matter what, when you are right, you can't be beat.” His words have stayed with me. Rightness—true rightness, rooted in God’s order and not in passing passions—carries a moral weight that no shouting mob, no manipulative press, no false tribunal can overcome. It is the man who stands patiently and firmly upon truth who outlasts the storms of his age.
Those who master this art will gradually and irresistibly gather strength to their cause. As in all great movements of Christian history, influence is seldom won by sudden storms, but by the steady growth of conviction, fidelity, and courage among the faithful. A thousand small victories in the arena of words prepare the ground for greater victories in the arena of culture and governance.
Thus, our speech must not be reactionary, but proactive; not emotional, but principled; not self-serving, but sacrificial. We speak not merely to win arguments, but to reclaim the minds and hearts of a people who have been estranged from their own nature, their own history, and their own God.
But before we can contend with the world, we must first strengthen our own ranks—summoning our brothers to remembrance, stirring the blood of loyalty and faith that still runs beneath the surface, and forging once more a people fit for the fight ahead. This includes not only those already committed to the cause, but also those caught in hesitation—men who sense the decay around them yet lack the courage to name it, men who need to hear that they are not alone, and that there is still something worth fighting for.
3. Winning Your Brothers
Before a movement advances, it must first gather its own. Rhetoric is not merely a weapon aimed at enemies—it is a torch carried among brothers. The manner in which we speak, both publicly and privately, in person and online, will determine whether the New Christian Right becomes a band of scattered zealots or a coherent and growing remnant. The war of words is not only fought across ideological lines; it is fought for the souls of men who agree with us more than they know—but who need clarity, patience, and courage to take their place in the ranks.
There are many men, good men, who see the cracks in the modern world. They feel the weight of fatherlessness, the chaos of moral inversion, the sickness of a society at war with nature. But they are unsure where to turn. They are hesitant to name what they see. Our rhetoric must speak to them, not above them. It must dignify their instincts and give them language for their discontent. We must not scoff at their uncertainty, nor repel them with needless harshness. This is a work of brotherly persuasion, not just ideological force.
At the same time, we must speak with strength to those who already believe, but have grown quiet or cold. Men of conviction often falter not from doubt, but from isolation. They need to hear the sound of clear, firm voices—voices that reassure them they are not alone, and that the cause is not lost. Well-ordered rhetoric emboldens the faithful and makes cowards ashamed of their silence.
Online platforms like X have become some of the primary arenas for this rhetorical work. They are treacherous ground—often quick to inflame pride or recklessness—but they also offer a unique opportunity. With discipline, wit, and clarity, we can model speech that is compelling without being theatrical, piercing without being cruel, sharp without being self-righteous. “Let your speech be alway with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man” (Col. 4:6).
James writes, “Behold also the ships, which though they be so great and are driven of fierce winds, yet they are turned about with a very small helm… Even so tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things.” (James 3:4–5). Our words may seem small in the moment, but they steer the course of souls—our own and others'. What we say today may direct a brother’s path for years to come.
Every word we speak or post is either gathering or scattering. We are either winning our brothers, or losing them. Rhetoric that lacks order, patience, or love will do more harm than silence. But rhetoric shaped by truth and seasoned with grace can become the very means by which the hesitant become loyal, the timid become bold, and the forgotten become family again.
4. Putting Our Enemies to Shame
The enemies of the New Christian Right do not merely disagree with us—they desire to discredit, silence, and dismantle us. They are not playing by the rules of reason or conscience; they traffic in slander, hysteria, and moral inversion. Yet this is precisely why our rhetoric, if rightly ordered, becomes a weapon they cannot match. When lies are met with composure, when slander is met with sobriety, when confusion is met with clarity—the result is exposure. Not the shallow embarrassment of being publicly corrected, but the deeper unraveling of being revealed as false, hollow, and disconnected from the created order. It is the shame of being exposed as a fraud in the light of the truth that Christian rhetoric is uniquely suited to bring.
Truth calmly spoken is more disruptive to their agenda than rage or emotionalism ever could be. As Scripture says, “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head” (Rom. 12:20). The righteous man, poised and clear, robs the wicked man of his weapon: narrative. When our enemies come with snarling accusation and are met with grace and conviction, it is not we who are discredited—it is they who appear small and desperate.
This does not mean we are silent or soft. Paul, confronting men who spread corrupt teaching, declared plainly that their mouths must be stopped (Titus 1:11). The Christian has both a lion’s courage and a surgeon’s hand. We are not permitted to let lies go unanswered when they corrupt the people of God. But our answers must be so well-ordered, so grounded in natural law and divine truth, that they leave no room for retreat or slippage. Our rhetoric must pin falsehood to the wall and leave it there, gasping.
In this age, our enemies often assume we will stumble—that we will either lash out emotionally, confirming their caricature of us, or retreat quietly and abandon the fight. We must do neither. We must answer firmly, without venom. We must expose wickedness without losing composure. We must meet shrillness with gravity and arrogance with calm dominion. When we do, the result will not merely be debate—it will be defeat.
The goal is not to humiliate, but to reveal. To strip away the illusion of moral high ground our enemies wrap themselves in, and show the watching world that theirs is a project of disorder and death. Their rage cannot overcome our righteousness; their chaos cannot endure our clarity. In the end, we will not shout them down—we will outlast them. And we will do it with the quiet authority of truth, spoken by men who fear God and fear no man.
But even as we contend boldly in the public square—silencing falsehood and shaming rebellion—we must remember that our speech is not merely tactical, but sacred. Every word we speak is ultimately an offering, and we will give an account not only to men, but to the living God who calls us to speak as his witnesses.
5. Our Duty to God
The ultimate weight of our words does not rest on their influence among men, but on their faithfulness before God. Rhetoric, in its truest form, is not merely strategy—it is stewardship. We speak as men under authority, ambassadors of a King who will judge not only our deeds, but our speech. “On the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak,” said our Lord (Matt. 12:36). Every phrase, every post, every retort carries eternal consequence.
Disorderly rhetoric—rash, prideful, aimless—is not just ineffective; it is disobedient. God is not the author of confusion but of peace and order (1 Cor. 14:33). He does not bless the man who vents his spleen or trades in clever cruelty, but the one who rules his tongue and speaks with wisdom. To speak in a way that reflects God’s own nature—just, clear, purposeful, and good—is a moral obligation. It is a form of worship.
This is why the rhetoric of the New Christian Right must not be shaped by the tone of the age—sarcastic, frenzied, self-referential—but by the weight and dignity of truth. We speak not to be seen, but to be faithful. Not to trend, but to testify. Our cause is holy, and our words must be fitted to that calling. We have no right to pollute a just cause with reckless speech. To do so is to invite judgment upon ourselves.
God does not tolerate the disorderly man. He despises the one who stirs chaos with his tongue, who trades dignity for bravado, or conviction for applause. And he will not honor a movement that uses his name to chase clout, build platforms, or win favor with the enemies of his truth. We have seen this already: many of the very men we once looked up to—teachers of theology, champions of Reformed orthodoxy, respected voices in the conservative world, have now turned their rhetoric against us. They rebuke not the perversions of this age, but imagined sins like “racial vainglory” or “toxic masculinity.” They censure boldness in men, while flattering those who hate God’s order. These men taught many of us how to think, and now they accuse us for following through. They are the old guard now. Their speech no longer aligns with heaven, but with the crowd who shouted, “His blood be on us, and on our children!” If we are to remain faithful, we must not speak as they do, for the approval of the moment, but rather as sons, for the judgment of God.
To speak well, then, is not just an art—it is an act of obedience. In an age of confusion, every ordered word is a form of resistance. In an age of rebellion, every gracious word is an act of war. And in an age of cowardice, every truthful word is a step toward the restoration of Christendom.
Let us then speak as free men—because we serve a King who speaks and does not stutter.
