Faithful Leadership in an Age of Defection

Thirty-five years ago, Westminster seemed to be gripped by a sense that politics and popular culture were mirroring one another in unsettling ways. I was doing my A-levels when the BBC drama ‘House of Cards’ captivated the nation with its dark portrayal of ambition, betrayal, and the slow corrosion of trust at the heart of political life. At the same time, Margaret Thatcher’s leadership was drawing to a dramatic close - not through a general election, but through internal party revolt and amid questions around loyalty, authority, and legacy.

History does not repeat itself neatly - but it often rhymes. Today, once again, the nation is absorbed by a television programme centred on betrayal and shifting allegiances. This time it is ‘The Traitors’, a psychological contest in which loyalty is provisional and trust is constantly under threat. Unsurprisingly, many (especially the media) have drawn parallels between the programme and the present political moment, particularly on the political right, where leadership struggles and ideological fractures are once again on public display.

It is against this cultural backdrop that the recent political story involving Robert Jenrick has prompted renewed reflection. His actions have raised a question that is both unavoidable and deeply biblical: is this a matter of conviction - or of ambition?

I have written several times before that Christians should be cautious about speculating on personal motives. Practical experience of working with politicians has taught me that they are, for the most part, not the characters that we often portray them as. Scripture too, warns us against presuming to see the heart. Yet the Bible also insists that leadership decisions are morally significant and open to evaluation. Our primary question, therefore, is not to speculate about ‘What we think motivated this move?’ but rather ‘How should Christians assess moments of defection or dissent at all?’.

Modern politics often treats leadership as strategy: managing narratives, positioning for advantage, preserving future options. Yet Scripture presents leadership in fundamentally moral terms. Authority is not self-generated; it is entrusted. Power is not neutral; it is accountable.

The apostle Paul writes that “those who have been given a trust must prove faithful” (1 Corinthians 4:2). Faithfulness, in biblical terms, is not the same as effectiveness, popularity, or advancement. It is measured by integrity, consistency, and submission to God’s purposes.

It was seeing these characteristics embodied in some prominent politicians when I was a teenager that shaped by own convictions and engagement, and I believe that being able to identify leaders that – even if they do not share my faith – seem to embody many of the characteristics Paul upholds is a helpful yard-stick by which we can measure leadership.

Paul’s words bring a focus on the uncomfortable question that moments like this force upon us: does an action reflect principled obedience, or prudent self-interest? The two can look deceptively similar from the outside.

That danger applies not only to those clinging to power, but also to those seeking it, or navigating how best to retain influence when circumstances change.

Scripture affirms the importance of conscience. When commanded to obey human authorities in defiance of God, the apostles replied with clarity: “We must obey God rather than human beings” (Acts 5:29). There are moments when breaking ranks is not merely permissible but required - when commitment to truth demands visible dissent.

Yet the Bible is equally insistent that appeals to conscience are not self-validating. Scripture consistently tests such claims by examining cost, consistency, and fruit. Conscience that is truly shaped by obedience to God is prepared to suffer loss. Conscience invoked for convenience is not.

Here the biblical story of David offers a searching, and often overlooked, warning. Fleeing Saul and fearing for his life, David sought refuge among the Philistines—Israel’s historic enemies (1 Samuel 27–29). His decision was understandable, even strategic. Yet it placed him in a position of profound moral compromise. David survives by deception. God is silent throughout the episode. And at one point, David comes perilously close to marching into battle against his own people.

The text does not celebrate this decision. Nor does it condemn David outright. Instead, it exposes the cost of fear-driven calculation. David himself reveals the turning point: “David said in his heart, ‘Now I shall perish one day by the hand of Saul’” (1 Samuel 27:1). He stops listening to God and begins listening to fear. What follows is not immediate disaster, but a slow erosion of clarity, truthfulness, and trust.

The lesson is sobering. Not every act of defection is rooted in ambition. Some are driven by exhaustion, anxiety, or the desire to survive. But Scripture records David’s time among the Philistines not as faithfulness, but as warning. Strategic retreat may preserve position, but it can quietly compromise integrity.

This distinction matters when assessing leadership decisions today. Conviction is prepared to lose. Calculation - whether driven by ambition or fear - rarely is.

Scripture also speaks more directly about defections that flow from desire rather than discernment. The apostle Paul writes with restrained grief of Demas, who “because he loved this present world, has deserted me” (2 Timothy 4:10). Paul does not accuse Demas of false teaching or overt rebellion. The issue is simpler and more searching: loving something else more. Faced with the cost of faithfulness, Demas chose what was safer, easier, or more advantageous.

The Bible’s verdict is unambiguous. This was not principled dissent. It was desertion.

Taken together, David and Demas provide a vital moral framework. One represents fear-driven compromise; the other comfort-driven departure. Neither is celebrated. Both remind us that Scripture judges leadership decisions by what they reveal about our trust, our desire, and our true allegiance.

As Timothy Keller writes in his book, ‘Generous Justice’, “when you are absolutely certain your cause is righteous, you are most likely to be blind to your own sins.”

That warning applies not only to political actors, but to those of us assessing them. Christian reflection must resist both cynicism and naivety.

Scripture honours dissent that flows from obedience and accepts the cost. Nathan confronts David. Daniel defies imperial decree. The apostles preach despite imprisonment. In each case, dissent is marked by humility and risk, not repositioning or advantage.

By contrast, Scripture consistently warns against leadership shaped by self-preservation. Jesus rebukes those who loved status more than truth (Matthew 23). James condemns ambition that masquerades as wisdom (James 3:16).

This is why moments of political defection demand careful moral discernment. When dissent coincides neatly with personal advancement, Christians are right to pause before celebrating it as prophetic courage. The Bible urges us to ask not only what has been done, but what has been risked - and what has been preserved. Have our actions been motivated by conviction, or convenience?

That is a searching standard—one that applies to all in public life, regardless of party or position.

Ultimately, moments of defection remind us of the fragility of political life. Parties fracture. Leaders falter. Allegiances shift. None of this should surprise Christians.

CARE’s engagement with public life values deeply relationships and people, but also rests on an even deeper conviction: no political career or movement is ultimate. Our allegiance belongs first to Christ and his kingdom. That frees Christians to support good leadership where it exists, to challenge it where it falls short, and to resist the temptation to confuse political success with moral faithfulness.

It is easy for the Church to become too closely enamoured with power, and to become worldly. That applies not only to institutions, but to our instincts as observers and participants in political life.

In an age fascinated by betrayal - on screen and in Parliament - Christians are called to model something rarer: discernment without cynicism, courage without calculation, and faithfulness without theatrics.

Whether the present political moment will prove to be one of conviction or ambition remains to be seen. But Scripture gives us the categories to ask the right questions—and the wisdom to remember that long after the credits roll, it is faithfulness, not strategy, that endures.