GOP Flexes Muscle: Van Epps Sworn In Swiftly, Democrats Cry Foul

Paul Riverbank, 12/5/2025GOP speeds Van Epps' House induction, sparking partisan outcry amid razor-thin majority drama.

A former Army officer who’s been deployed nine times, Van Epps cut straight to the chase moments after being sworn in. “Voters didn’t come here for just another speech,” he said, voice steady and low. “They sent me to get results, and that’s what I’ll try to deliver.” Old campaign refrains about duty and service seemed to blend with the urgency of his new surroundings. As reporters huddled nearby, he added, almost as an afterthought, “We’ll work with President Trump and this House—America First is my promise.”

For Republicans holding a paper-thin majority, Van Epps’ quick arrival wasn’t some bureaucratic footnote. Suddenly their margin rose, if only for now, to 220 seats. It was a brief change, but symbolically potent. Every headcount matters in today’s House, and party strategists know that better than anyone. Speaker Johnson, fielding questions on Fox News, didn’t mince words: “You can’t relax, not for a second. We’ve all witnessed some of the narrowest majorities in our country’s history. One more seat—sometimes that’s everything.”

Yet, in a Congress charged with tension, even the ceremonial becomes contentious. Many Democrats found the speed of Van Epps’ swearing-in hard to swallow. Rep. Adelita Grijalva of Arizona, who waited what felt like an eternity—50 days after her win last year—watched from afar. Her own inauguration had been sandwiched between legislative gridlock and a government shutdown, the House falling silent, business at a standstill. “Forty-eight hours? Must be nice,” she remarked online, her frustration echoing among colleagues.

Others didn’t hold back either: Democrats’ social media feeds crackled with accusations, charging Republicans with hypocrisy and favoritism. “Fast action only seems to happen when it serves their friends,” one post jabbed. Oddly enough, the timeline isn’t always as neat as it looks. Rep. James Walkinshaw, another Democrat from the Virginia suburbs, took his oath just a day after his victory last fall, largely because the chamber happened to be convened then.

Van Epps’ campaign, by itself, was far from routine. National party groups and outside spenders poured in time and cash, trying to tip the scales in a region where the GOP, not long ago, won races by 20 points. This time? Nine. The final margin was comfortable, but the steep drop was noticed by party insiders—Democrats believed, at least fleetingly, that rural voters in Tennessee might lean their way.

With Van Epps’ induction, the updated scoreboard read: 220 Republicans, 213 Democrats; two seats remained in limbo, both previously Democratic. That stability was fragile. Marjorie Taylor Greene, reliably in the headlines, declared she would leave Congress next month, meaning that margin for error shrinks again—a game of political musical chairs with national consequences. Special elections in Texas and New Jersey loom.

It’s not just the numbers that feel volatile. In today’s Capitol, seemingly procedural matters—how and when a member is admitted, whose hand touches the Bible first—become stakes in longer-running partisan dramas. What would have been forgotten three decades ago now elicits debate, social media backlash, and endless cable analysis. For Van Epps and others stepping into the maelstrom, the pace barely allows for introductions, let alone a moment’s orientation.

If there’s a lesson beneath the headlines, it’s this: routine is a thing of the past. Procedural details are as fiercely fought over as policy itself. Every entrance and exit, every oath, every absent or present member—these are pressure points now, watched by operatives, activists, and Americans across the country. As the calendar creeps closer to another round of midterm elections, one reality becomes inescapable: nothing, not even the date or manner of a swearing-in, is guaranteed anymore.

On a chilly Washington morning, just as the sunlight started to graze the Capitol dome, Matt Van Epps slipped his left hand onto a Bible streaked vivid pink and raised his right, repeating the oath to join the House of Representatives. He had barely had time to catch his breath—the ink hardly dry on certificates from a special election in Tennessee’s 7th District—yet here he was, facing Speaker Mike Johnson, his wife and daughter close by.A former Army officer who’s been deployed nine times, Van Epps cut straight to the chase moments after being sworn in. “Voters didn’t come here for just another speech,” he said, voice steady and low. “They sent me to get results, and that’s what I’ll try to deliver.” Old campaign refrains about duty and service seemed to blend with the urgency of his new surroundings. As reporters huddled nearby, he added, almost as an afterthought, “We’ll work with President Trump and this House—America First is my promise.”For Republicans holding a paper-thin majority, Van Epps’ quick arrival wasn’t some bureaucratic footnote. Suddenly their margin rose, if only for now, to 220 seats. It was a brief change, but symbolically potent. Every headcount matters in today’s House, and party strategists know that better than anyone. Speaker Johnson, fielding questions on Fox News, didn’t mince words: “You can’t relax, not for a second. We’ve all witnessed some of the narrowest majorities in our country’s history. One more seat—sometimes that’s everything.”Yet, in a Congress charged with tension, even the ceremonial becomes contentious. Many Democrats found the speed of Van Epps’ swearing-in hard to swallow. Rep. Adelita Grijalva of Arizona, who waited what felt like an eternity—50 days after her win last year—watched from afar. Her own inauguration had been sandwiched between legislative gridlock and a government shutdown, the House falling silent, business at a standstill. “Forty-eight hours? Must be nice,” she remarked online, her frustration echoing among colleagues.Others didn’t hold back either: Democrats’ social media feeds crackled with accusations, charging Republicans with hypocrisy and favoritism. “Fast action only seems to happen when it serves their friends,” one post jabbed. Oddly enough, the timeline isn’t always as neat as it looks. Rep. James Walkinshaw, another Democrat from the Virginia suburbs, took his oath just a day after his victory last fall, largely because the chamber happened to be convened then.Van Epps’ campaign, by itself, was far from routine. National party groups and outside spenders poured in time and cash, trying to tip the scales in a region where the GOP, not long ago, won races by 20 points. This time? Nine. The final margin was comfortable, but the steep drop was noticed by party insiders—Democrats believed, at least fleetingly, that rural voters in Tennessee might lean their way.With Van Epps’ induction, the updated scoreboard read: 220 Republicans, 213 Democrats; two seats remained in limbo, both previously Democratic. That stability was fragile. Marjorie Taylor Greene, reliably in the headlines, declared she would leave Congress next month, meaning that margin for error shrinks again—a game of political musical chairs with national consequences. Special elections in Texas and New Jersey loom.It’s not just the numbers that feel volatile. In today’s Capitol, seemingly procedural matters—how and when a member is admitted, whose hand touches the Bible first—become stakes in longer-running partisan dramas. What would have been forgotten three decades ago now elicits debate, social media backlash, and endless cable analysis. For Van Epps and others stepping into the maelstrom, the pace barely allows for introductions, let alone a moment’s orientation.If there’s a lesson beneath the headlines, it’s this: routine is a thing of the past. Procedural details are as fiercely fought over as policy itself. Every entrance and exit, every oath, every absent or present member—these are pressure points now, watched by operatives, activists, and Americans across the country. As the calendar creeps closer to another round of midterm elections, one reality becomes inescapable: nothing, not even the date or manner of a swearing-in, is guaranteed anymore.