Van Epps’ Tense Win: Every GOP Seat a Fight for Survival

Paul Riverbank, 12/5/2025Matt Van Epps’ narrow Tennessee win, marked by a hot pink Bible and a shrinking GOP majority, signals a new era where every seat and vote carry unprecedented weight in a deeply divided House.

For Van Epps, this was less pageantry, more arrival. Tennessee’s 7th District has long leaned red, yet last week’s special election drew a surge of attention that might’ve surprised even seasoned political watchers. National money flowed, campaign professionals poured in—it started to look less like a routine fill and more like a fight to set the tone for the rest of the country. That’s not something you’d expect in a district Donald Trump carried handily just a few years back. But the math, as ever, keeps the Speaker up at night.

With Van Epps stepping in, Republicans nudge their majority to 220; Democrats sit six behind, at 213. But this narrow victory is fleeting. Marjorie Taylor Greene is on her way out. Two other seats are already empty—one in Texas after the death of Rep. Sylvester Turner, one in New Jersey following Mikie Sherrill’s gubernatorial leap. Each departure reshuffles the precarious balance. And for Speaker Johnson, who’s been grappling with some of the skinniest majorities in House history, every seat is a live wire.

It’s easy to forget how swiftly control can shift in Washington. Johnson, fully aware, traveled to Tennessee the night before the vote. The campaign trail wasn’t glitz and rallies—it was local stops, last-ditch reminders of what’s at stake. Every hand shaken, every vote counted. The district, considered safe not so long ago, felt the full pressure of a national referendum.

Van Epps’s resume is nothing if not decorated: West Point graduate, Army special operations aviator, a résumé loaded with nine combat tours. His first speech to colleagues wasn’t subtle. “I come to this body as a Christian, a husband, a father, and an Army officer. I’ve seen—in uniform and in the field—why America is exceptional,” he said. “It’s our belief in freedom, and in the families who work to keep that spirit alive.” There’s a sincerity to his delivery, devoid of empty rhetoric.

Still, behind the ceremonial optimism lurks a cautionary note. The previous Republican sailed to victory by more than twenty points. Yet Van Epps’ margin was less than half of that. Nine points separated him from Democrat Aftyn Behn—a chasm by some standards, but eyebrow-raising in this part of Tennessee. Insiders are reading signals: the map might be shifting underneath their feet.

Van Epps says he’s here to make things happen for local families, not just make statements. In radio interviews, he’s already focused on pocketbook issues: expanding HSAs, pushing real competition in healthcare, putting deregulation at the top of his punch list. It’s classic “America First,” but wrapped in policy specifics his district can measure. “Transparency on prices, expanded options—those aren’t just slogans. Those are what move the needle for Tennesseans,” he insisted.

Meanwhile, the collective anxiety in Washington won’t be disappearing soon. Photographers snapped endless shots as the Van Epps family departed, that pink Bible still on display—a reminder of the personal stakes at the heart of all this maneuvering. The arithmetic in the House is brittle, and every resignation or special election has the potential to redraw the landscape—sometimes with little warning. Johnson’s final word to the press seemed personal more than political: “In a year like this, nobody gets to take anything for granted—not even in a deep red district.”

That much, even opponents agree, seems to be the lesson echoing through the Capitol’s marbled halls. Every vote, every town, every conversation—none of it is automatic anymore. Not in the House, not anywhere.

Early afternoon in the House chamber, the cameras mostly pointed at Matt Van Epps—but it was a flash of unexpected color that caught the eye. There on the dais, with his daughter squeezed close and his wife at his flank, he placed one hand on a Bible. Not just any—the cover was hot pink, printed with his daughter's name. Speaker Mike Johnson couldn’t help but pause, remarking, “With her name on it! I have not seen that before.” It was a rare injection of family and personality into the orderly rite of a congressional swearing-in.For Van Epps, this was less pageantry, more arrival. Tennessee’s 7th District has long leaned red, yet last week’s special election drew a surge of attention that might’ve surprised even seasoned political watchers. National money flowed, campaign professionals poured in—it started to look less like a routine fill and more like a fight to set the tone for the rest of the country. That’s not something you’d expect in a district Donald Trump carried handily just a few years back. But the math, as ever, keeps the Speaker up at night.With Van Epps stepping in, Republicans nudge their majority to 220; Democrats sit six behind, at 213. But this narrow victory is fleeting. Marjorie Taylor Greene is on her way out. Two other seats are already empty—one in Texas after the death of Rep. Sylvester Turner, one in New Jersey following Mikie Sherrill’s gubernatorial leap. Each departure reshuffles the precarious balance. And for Speaker Johnson, who’s been grappling with some of the skinniest majorities in House history, every seat is a live wire.It’s easy to forget how swiftly control can shift in Washington. Johnson, fully aware, traveled to Tennessee the night before the vote. The campaign trail wasn’t glitz and rallies—it was local stops, last-ditch reminders of what’s at stake. Every hand shaken, every vote counted. The district, considered safe not so long ago, felt the full pressure of a national referendum.Van Epps’s resume is nothing if not decorated: West Point graduate, Army special operations aviator, a résumé loaded with nine combat tours. His first speech to colleagues wasn’t subtle. “I come to this body as a Christian, a husband, a father, and an Army officer. I’ve seen—in uniform and in the field—why America is exceptional,” he said. “It’s our belief in freedom, and in the families who work to keep that spirit alive.” There’s a sincerity to his delivery, devoid of empty rhetoric.Still, behind the ceremonial optimism lurks a cautionary note. The previous Republican sailed to victory by more than twenty points. Yet Van Epps’ margin was less than half of that. Nine points separated him from Democrat Aftyn Behn—a chasm by some standards, but eyebrow-raising in this part of Tennessee. Insiders are reading signals: the map might be shifting underneath their feet.Van Epps says he’s here to make things happen for local families, not just make statements. In radio interviews, he’s already focused on pocketbook issues: expanding HSAs, pushing real competition in healthcare, putting deregulation at the top of his punch list. It’s classic “America First,” but wrapped in policy specifics his district can measure. “Transparency on prices, expanded options—those aren’t just slogans. Those are what move the needle for Tennesseans,” he insisted.Meanwhile, the collective anxiety in Washington won’t be disappearing soon. Photographers snapped endless shots as the Van Epps family departed, that pink Bible still on display—a reminder of the personal stakes at the heart of all this maneuvering. The arithmetic in the House is brittle, and every resignation or special election has the potential to redraw the landscape—sometimes with little warning. Johnson’s final word to the press seemed personal more than political: “In a year like this, nobody gets to take anything for granted—not even in a deep red district.”That much, even opponents agree, seems to be the lesson echoing through the Capitol’s marbled halls. Every vote, every town, every conversation—none of it is automatic anymore. Not in the House, not anywhere.