The political landscape in America under Donald Trump bears a striking resemblance to the transformation many Christians have witnessed within their own faith communities over recent decades. As one observer notes, watching Trump's presidency unfold feels eerily familiar to those who saw right-wing evangelical churches reshape the Jesus they grew up with into his exact opposite.
The Political and Religious Parallel
Trump's approach to governance demonstrates what critics describe as a wrecking-ball mentality toward American democratic institutions. This method finds its precedent in what many see as the MAGA evangelical movement's distortion of Jesus's core message of radical love into one characterised by hate and aggression.
Some of Trump's most revealing moments came earlier this autumn when he reportedly began planning a gilded ballroom twice the size of the White House, allegedly starting to unilaterally dismantle the East Wing to accommodate it. Shortly afterward, he shared an AI-generated video depicting himself as "King Trump" piloting a fighter jet that bombed American cities with human waste.
While Trump has implemented policies with devastating consequences—including USAID cuts linked to approximately 600,000 deaths and fossil fuel policies predicted to kill another 1.3 million—these symbolic acts reveal something fundamental about his approach to power. No previous president would have considered destroying sections of the White House for personal glorification or publicly fantasised about defecating on citizens.
The Transformation of American Christianity
For those raised in mainline Protestant traditions, this political upheaval feels hauntingly familiar. They've watched over decades as right-wing evangelical churches transformed the Jesus they knew—a figure of love and compassion—into one who appears to bless the very cruelties he condemned in the Gospels.
The demographic shift has been dramatic. In 1958, when President Dwight Eisenhower laid the cornerstone for the National Council of Churches building in Manhattan, 52% of Americans belonged to mainline denominations like Methodists, Lutherans, Presbyterians, and Episcopalians. These churches generally embraced progressive biblical interpretations and supported civil rights—Martin Luther King's March on Washington was planned from the Methodist national headquarters.
Today, these denominations represent barely a sixth of the population. Their place has been taken by independent megachurches and television ministries that promote a version of Christianity wildly different from the mainline tradition.
Figures like Paula White-Cain, who leads the White House Faith Office, exemplify this new approach. After the 2020 election, she livestreamed a prayer service calling for "angelic reinforcement" from Africa and South America to swing results away from Joe Biden. Pastor Doug Wilson, who co-founded a denomination with Pete Hegseth, has argued against women's voting rights and described sexual relations in terms of conquest and colonisation.
Recovering Christianity's Radical Message
The Jesus described in the Gospels emerges from humble beginnings—born to homeless parents who fled secret police, working as a carpenter, and preaching a message of concrete love for the poor. His response to violence was turning the other cheek as an educational act rather than passive acceptance. His crime policy suggested giving your sweater to someone who stole your coat.
This radical figure has been largely replaced in much of American public Christianity by what critics describe as a "muscular, aggressive, and American" version that justifies cutting foreign aid and harsh immigration policies. Allie Beth Stuckey, an influential voice in MAGA Christianity, has published a bestselling book describing empathy as toxic and unbiblical, while supporting immigration policies she claims find scriptural support in the Book of Nehemiah's walls.
This represents what theologians call "prooftexting"—using isolated biblical verses to support predetermined beliefs while ignoring Jesus's clear and repeated instructions to welcome strangers. The Greek term philoxenia (love of strangers) appears throughout the New Testament, representing the exact opposite of the xenophobia that characterises much current political rhetoric.
Meanwhile, culture war issues like homosexuality and transgender rights—topics Jesus never addressed—dominate political advertising, while policies with deadly consequences for the poor receive religious justification.
Resistance and Hope
There are signs of resistance within both Christian and political spheres. James Talarico, a Democratic candidate in Texas, has gained traction by explicitly criticising Christian nationalism: "They have turned this humble rabbi into a gun-toting, gay-bashing, science-denying, money-loving, fear mongering fascist."
Pope Leo XIV has also emerged as a potential counterweight. Though American by birth, his decades abroad appear to have preserved a Christianity more aligned with traditional concerns for the poor and vulnerable. He recently criticised American immigration authorities for denying communion to detained immigrants and reminded Catholics that God will ask "how did you receive the foreigner?"
The struggle against what many see as Trump's perversion of American democracy mirrors the earlier failure of mainline Protestants to effectively combat the distortion of their faith. The lesson for democracy defenders may be that passive assumption that truth will inevitably prevail proves inadequate against aggressive movements.
As with Christianity, America's best defense lies in referencing what is most distinctive and beautiful in its tradition—not ignoring historical failures, but emphasising the democratic ideals and compassion that represent the nation's highest aspirations.
