Ep 131 - When the Faith Bends to the Man: Trump and Christianity

The White House recently published a remarkable document: “President Trump’s Top 250 Victories for People of Faith.” Not 25. Not 50. Two hundred and fifty. The administration describes Donald Trump as the most pro-faith, pro-life, and pro-religious-liberty president in American history. And at first glance, some of what appears on the list is exactly what you might expect—protection of houses of worship, conscience rights, combating antisemitism, religious freedom abroad. But then the definition of “faith” begins to expand. School choice. Parental rights. Women’s sports. Transgender policy. “Biological truth.” Ending DEI. Abortion policy. All of it is presented as part of Trump’s record of victories for believers.

Who is serving whom?

That is where the question gets interesting. Because protecting someone’s right to practice their religion is one thing. Declaring a broad conservative political agenda to be a victory for religion itself is something else entirely. Religious liberty says government should not prevent you from worshipping, believing, speaking, or living according to your faith within the bounds of the law. Religious political power begins when the government uses that faith as justification for determining how everyone else should live. Those two ideas can overlap, but they are not the same.

The Trump administration has built substantial infrastructure around religion in government. It established a White House Faith Office within the Domestic Policy Council, required agencies without a faith center to designate faith liaisons, and created a Religious Liberty Commission to recommend policies concerning religious freedom, education, conscience protections, public prayer, and other issues. The stated purposes include legitimate religious-liberty concerns. But taken alongside the administration’s much broader definition of “victories for faith,” the question becomes unavoidable: is this about protecting religious exercise from government interference, or about using government power to advance the agenda of one politically powerful strand of American Christianity?

And then there is the man at the center of it.

I am not interested in declaring whether Donald Trump is “really” a Christian. I have no access to his private beliefs, his prayer life, his thoughts about God, or whatever might happen when the cameras are gone. Neither does anyone else. But Trump is not merely being described as a politician who happens to receive Christian votes. He is routinely presented as a defender of Christianity, a warrior for Christian values, sometimes even a leader specially chosen by God. Once those claims are made publicly, his public conduct becomes relevant.

And the contrast is difficult to ignore. Trump’s public persona is built around confrontation, insult, humiliation, grievance, revenge, and an almost absolute refusal to acknowledge personal wrongdoing. He has been married three times. He was convicted on 34 felony counts in New York. A civil jury found him liable for sexually abusing and defaming E. Jean Carroll. None of those facts individually settles anyone’s relationship with God, nor should they. Christianity is not a faith for perfect people. The more revealing issue is what happens afterward: acknowledgment, contrition, apology, repentance, change. Those qualities are remarkably difficult to find in Trump’s public posture.

Even something as basic as church attendance produces an odd contrast. Trump certainly appears at churches and religious events on high-profile occasions. But there is little public evidence of ordinary, regular churchgoing as part of his religious life. That does not prove private worship does not occur. It simply means the public record is thin—an especially noticeable fact for an administration that aggressively publicizes Trump’s religious credentials and rarely misses an opportunity to showcase his relationship with Christianity.

That brings us to the bigger issue: which Christian values become political emergencies, and which ones do not? 

Abortion receives enormous attention. So do transgender issues, sexuality, schools, parental rights, gender, and public religious expression. Christians can sincerely care about every one of those things. Millions do. But Christianity also speaks rather insistently about poverty, hunger, mercy, forgiveness, strangers, outsiders, enemies, wealth, humility, prisoners, and vulnerable people. None of that dictates one modern political program. Jesus never wrote a SNAP eligibility standard or a Medicaid waiver. Christians can disagree honestly about how government should address poverty. But hunger and poverty are difficult to treat as peripheral concerns in a faith centered on the teachings of Jesus.

And yet there is often a revealing difference in the language. Certain moral concerns become reasons for immediate government intervention. Others suddenly become questions of private charity, individual responsibility, fiscal discipline, or whether government should be involved at all. Again, there may be legitimate policy arguments behind those distinctions. But if we are calling the entire agenda Christian, then it seems reasonable to ask why some teachings of Christianity demand legislation while others apparently do not.

The same issue appears in discussions of transgender Americans. Christians are free to hold traditional beliefs about sex and gender. They are free to disagree about medical policy, school policy, athletics, or treatment of minors. But theological disagreement does not require humiliation. Policy disagreement does not require contempt. The Christianity I learned placed considerably more emphasis on how you treated the person you believed was wrong than on how effectively you could make that person suffer for being wrong.

DEI offers an even stranger example. The White House explicitly lists ending DEI among Trump’s victories for people of faith. There are conservative arguments against DEI programs. There are legal arguments. There are fairness arguments. But why is eliminating DEI a religious victory? At that point, “faith” seems to be functioning less as a description of religious practice and more as a label attached to a broader ideological coalition.

Sexual violence provides another uncomfortable illustration of selective moral urgency. Trump and his administration can speak forcefully about rape, abuse, trafficking, and violence when those issues support arguments about immigration, crime, or law and order. That concern is legitimate. Victims do not become less important because of who victimized them. But when the subject shifts to Jeffrey Epstein, the rhetoric has often been notably different—more dismissive of the controversy, more impatient with continued attention, more eager to move on. That does not mean Trump participated in Epstein’s crimes, and it should not be used to imply that he did. The issue is moral consistency. If exploitation of women and girls is a moral emergency, the urgency should not depend on whether the story is politically useful.

Then comes one of the most common Christian defenses of Trump: God uses imperfect people. And, as theology goes, that is not a ridiculous argument. Scripture is full of deeply flawed human beings. David committed terrible acts. Paul began as a persecutor of Christians. Isaiah describes the Persian king Cyrus as an instrument of God even though Cyrus did not worship the God of Israel. Christianity has never taught that God is limited to working through flawless people.

But “God can use an imperfect person” is not the same statement as “therefore this person’s character no longer matters.” Nor is political usefulness evidence of Christian virtue. Christianity also spends an enormous amount of time on repentance, humility, confession, mercy, transformation, and accountability. “Nobody is perfect” is supposed to explain why grace exists. It is not supposed to become a lifetime exemption from ever admitting you were wrong.

And this is where the political bargain becomes clearer. For many conservative Christians, Trump does not need to be personally devout. He needs to deliver. Judges. Abortion restrictions. Religious-liberty policies. Conservative education priorities. Transgender restrictions. A stronger institutional voice for conservative Christianity. The White House’s own 250-item list is, in many ways, a catalogue of that bargain.

There is nothing mysterious about a political coalition supporting an imperfect candidate because that candidate advances its priorities. Every coalition does that. The problem comes when the transaction gets transformed into theology. Trump stops being merely the politician who delivers favorable policy and becomes the Christian warrior. Political effectiveness becomes spiritual significance. Winning becomes evidence of righteousness. And defeating political opponents begins to look like defeating the enemies of God.

An AI-generated image circulating online depicts Donald Trump enthroned above Jesus. Its original source and provenance are unclear, and it should not be treated as representative of all Trump supporters.

There is an AI-generated image circulating online whose original provenance I have not been able to establish. It shows Trump crowned and seated on a throne, surrounded by patriotic imagery. At his feet is Jesus, kneeling and apparently cleaning Trump’s shoe. The caption calls Trump Jesus’ “greatest disciple.” I would never pretend that this image represents every Trump supporter—or even a meaningful percentage of them. But as a symbol, it is almost painfully perfect.

One of Christianity’s best-known images of servant leadership is Jesus washing the feet of his disciples. The teacher kneels before the followers. The master takes the place of the servant. The point is humility. This AI image reverses the entire hierarchy. Trump receives the crown, the throne, and the glory. Jesus kneels beneath him. Whether its creator intended it or not, I cannot imagine a more concise visual representation of the question running through all of this: who is serving whom? 

Here’s My Take

If I am being completely honest, I remain shocked by how passionately some Christians have embraced Donald Trump. I understand voting for him. I understand political priorities. If abortion is your overriding concern, I understand why his judicial appointments matter enormously to you. If religious-liberty litigation is central to your politics, I understand the calculation. If you care most about schools, transgender policy, or conservative cultural issues, I understand why Trump is politically useful. What I struggle to understand is the devotion—the language of Christian warrior, chosen leader, almost providential figure.

And there are other self-described Christians whose embrace of Trump surprises me considerably less. I have watched plenty of loud, public figures wrap themselves in Christianity while displaying very little of what I was ever taught Christianity was supposed to look like. Cruelty becomes strength. Humiliation becomes entertainment. Refusing to apologize becomes toughness. Enemies become the organizing principle of political life. Mercy appears far less frequently than grievance.

I am not declaring those people non-Christian. That is not my job. I am saying that when I compare those behaviors with what I learned about Jesus, the connection is difficult for me to see. And maybe that helps explain Trump’s appeal within that version of Christianity. He does not ask it to become more merciful. He validates its anger. He validates its sense of persecution. He identifies enemies. He promises to fight them. And politically, that is enormously powerful.

But “God uses imperfect people” cannot answer everything. Imperfection is precisely why Christianity has a concept called repentance. Nobody being perfect does not mean nobody ever has to admit wrongdoing. Grace does not make accountability irrelevant. Political victories do not transform arrogance into humility or cruelty into virtue.

The faith is supposed to shape the person. The person is not supposed to reshape the faith around himself. Christianity, at least as I learned it, is supposed to challenge power—not flatter it. It is supposed to remind kings that they are not God, not hand them a crown and ask Jesus to polish their shoes.

I do not see Donald Trump as Christianity’s instrument. I see Christianity being used as Donald Trump’s instrument. 

And if that assessment is even partly right, the consequences extend beyond one president or one election. Presidents eventually leave. Political coalitions eventually change. But if a faith tradition teaches itself that character is negotiable, repentance is optional, mercy is weakness, enemies are useful, and political victory is evidence of righteousness, then the question is no longer merely what Donald Trump has done to American politics.

It is what American politics is doing to Christianity.

SOURCES

President Trump’s Top 250 Victories for People of Faith — White House - https://www.whitehouse.gov/releases/2026/09/president-trumps-top-250-victories-for-people-of-faith/

Executive Order Establishing the White House Faith Office — White House - https://www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/2025/02/establishment-of-the-white-house-faith-office/

Fact Sheet on the White House Faith Office — White House - https://www.whitehouse.gov/fact-sheets/2025/02/fact-sheet-president-donald-j-trump-establishes-white-house-faith-office/

Executive Order Establishing the Religious Liberty Commission — White House - https://www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/2025/05/establishment-of-the-religious-liberty-commission/

Fact Sheet on the Religious Liberty Commission — White House - https://www.whitehouse.gov/fact-sheets/2025/05/fact-sheet-president-donald-j-trump-establishes-the-religious-liberty-commission/

Pew Research Center survey on how Americans view Trump’s religiosity and his support among White evangelical Protestants - https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2026/04/16/americans-have-become-more-likely-to-say-trump-is-not-too-or-not-at-all-religious/

Trump’s New York criminal conviction on 34 felony counts — Associated Press - https://apnews.com/article/trump-trial-deliberations-jury-verdict-85558c6d08efb434d05b694364470aa0

Trump’s civil liability in the E. Jean Carroll sexual-abuse and defamation case — Associated Press - https://apnews.com/article/trump-carroll-defamation-appeal-sexual-abuse-8e2db7bdb881ff0b9353b6fb17750f48

Presidential Message on National Sexual Assault Awareness Month — White House - https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/2026/04/presidential-message-on-national-sexual-assault-awareness-month/

Reporting on Trump’s response to the Epstein-files controversy and continuing demands for accountability — Reuters - https://www.reuters.com/legal/government/what-are-trump-lawmakers-victims-saying-about-jeffrey-epstein-files-2025-11-18/

Pew Research Center data on the political and religious priorities of White evangelical Protestants - https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2026/05/27/what-political-issues-do-americans-hear-about-in-church/

Biblical account of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet, John 13 — Bible Gateway - https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John%2013%3A1-17&version=NRSVUE

Biblical passage describing Cyrus as God’s “anointed,” Isaiah 45 — Bible Gateway - https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah%2045%3A1-7&version=NRSVUE