August 2019

Trump’s Apostle

No matter how incendiary his latest tweet or policy might seem, Donald Trump can count on evangelical preacher and Fox News fixture Robert Jeffress to defend him. What’s behind the Dallas pastor’s unconditional embrace?

Illustration of Robert Jeffress

Here’s Robert Jeffress, talking to the hundreds of thousands of people watching conservative cable news on a typical Friday evening, and he’s defending President Donald Trump against the latest array of accusations in the news this week. And he isn’t simply defending Trump—he’s defending him with one carefully crafted Bible-wrapped barb after another, and with more passion, more preparation, more devotion than anyone else on television.

As Lou Dobbs finishes his opening remarks, Jeffress laughs and nods. It’s early January, about two weeks into what will prove to be the longest government shutdown in U.S. history. Across the country, hundreds of thousands of federal workers are missing paychecks, worrying about mortgages, car payments, utility bills. Some have started going to food banks. But Dobbs waves his hand up and down and tells Jeffress that he hasn’t heard anyone—“literally no one!”—say they miss the government. The jowly host revels in Trump’s threats that the shutdown could continue “for months, if not years,” if that’s what it takes to get more wall built on America’s border with Mexico.

Jeffress, speaking from a remote studio in downtown Dallas, agrees completely. “Well, he’s doing exactly the right thing in keeping this government shut down until he gets that wall,” he says.

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Jeffress is the senior pastor at First Baptist Dallas, a 13,000-member megachurch that’s one of the most influential in the country, but he’s known best for appearances like this one: he’s often on Fox & Friends or Hannity or any number of sound-bitey segments on Fox News or Fox Business. His own religious show airs six days a week on the Trinity Broadcasting Network. He has a daily radio program too, broadcast on more than nine hundred Christian stations across the country, though it’s TV he loves best. Dobbs invites Jeffress onto his show nearly every week.

Jeffress preaching at First Baptist Dallas

Jeffress preaching at First Baptist Dallas on April 1, 2018.

First Baptist Dallas

Jeffress continues. He cites the Old Testament tale of Nehemiah, who was inspired by God to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. “The Bible says even heaven itself is gonna have a wall around it,” Jeffress adds. “Not everyone is gonna be allowed in.”

It’s not clear whether Dobbs buys this theological reasoning, but he’s at least amused by it. “What would be the point of those pearly gates if there weren’t a wall, right?” the host says with a Cheshire grin.

The pastor keeps going. “What is immoral,” he says, “is for Democrats to continue to try to block this president from performing his God-given task of protecting this nation.”

The 63-year-old Jeffress is trim and winsome, with a natural smile and a syrupy demeanor. Tonight he’s wearing a charcoal suit and a gleaming magenta tie with matching pocket square. As he speaks, the screen behind him shows generic patriotic imagery. He has the syntax and enunciation of a champion debater and the certitude of someone who believes he gets his instructions directly from God.

He is known for leaning into controversy, whether it’s declaring that Mormonism is “a heresy from the pit of hell” (which resulted in an extended public beef with Mitt Romney) or preaching a sermon titled “Why Gay Is Not Okay” (which resulted in a protest outside his church) or having two hundred or so members of his choir and orchestra perform a rendition of a hymn called “Make America Great Again” at a concert in Washington, D.C. (which resulted in not one but two approving tweets from President Trump).

He is also known, of course, as one of the president’s most avid and outspoken advocates. While other evangelical leaders were slow to get behind Trump—James Dobson, for example, wondered about Trump’s religiosity—Jeffress campaigned with him before the 2016 primaries even started, before Ted Cruz and Jeb Bush and Marco Rubio flamed out. If some evangelicals who now back Trump fret that they’ve entered into a Faustian bargain, for Jeffress it’s a wholehearted embrace. It’s become one of the most fascinating symbiotic relationships in modern politics: the pastor gets a national platform for his message and a leader who appoints conservative judges who will in turn restrict access to abortion; the president gets the support of evangelical voters he needs to win reelection, along with an energetic and effective promoter who can explain or excuse all manner of polarizing behavior.

When the Access Hollywood tape leaked before the election and America heard Trump brag about grabbing women, Jeffress went on Fox News to say that the candidate’s words were “crude, offensive, and indefensible, but they’re not enough to make me vote for Hillary Clinton.”

After the president said there were “some very fine people on both sides” of the deadly clash between white nationalists and counterprotesters in Charlottesville, Virginia, Jeffress appeared on the Christian Broadcasting Network to say that Democrats were falsely painting Trump as a racist. “Racism comes in all shapes, all sizes, and, yes, all colors,” explained the pastor. “And if we’re going to denounce some racism, we ought to denounce all racism.”

When the adult-film actress Stormy Daniels announced that she’d had a sexual encounter with Trump and was paid to keep quiet before the election, Jeffress explained in a Fox News debate with Juan Williams that evangelicals “knew they weren’t voting for an altar boy.”

Jeffress defended Trump when the president referred to a kneeling NFL player as a “son of a bitch.” He justified the administration’s separating children from their parents at the border. When Trump questioned why America would accept immigrants from “shithole countries,” Jeffress responded this way: “Apart from the vocabulary attributed to him, President Trump is right on target in his sentiment.”

Ten days before tonight’s appearance with Dobbs, Jeffress was on a different Fox show, scoffing at a Christmas tweet from Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, a New York Democrat, suggesting that Jesus was a refugee. “There’s nothing in the Biblical text to suggest that Mary, Joseph, and Jesus came to Egypt to flee Herod illegally,” Jeffress said, laughing and shaking his head. “And they certainly didn’t come in a caravan of five thousand, threatening Egyptian sovereignty.”

No doubt Jeffress knows that a lot of the people waiting at the border are there precisely because they want to enter legally, as asylum seekers, but that didn’t come up on air. These television exchanges, usually over in five minutes, don’t allow for such distinctions.

Robert Jeffress being interviewed for a TV segment
Robert Jeffress being interviewed for a TV segment in Dallas on May 20, 2011.

During this evening’s three-minute discussion with Dobbs, Jeffress sounds more like a fiery Old Testament prophet than a turn-the-other-cheek Christian: he decries Democrats for supporting sanctuary cities laws he believes led to the death of a police officer in California. He says Michigan representative Rashida Tlaib is “despicable” for using “gutter language to curse our president.” He declares, “The Democrats are the party of immorality.” He calls Romney a “self-righteous snake.”

His animated ranting earns a belly laugh from Dobbs. Finally, the host tells him, “Pastor, good to have you with us!”

With that, the camera’s off. After wiping away his TV makeup, Jeffress will walk out of the studio, drive to his home in North Dallas, and spend the rest of the evening watching TV with his wife, Amy. He may even watch a replay of tonight’s show.

TV reaches people, and reaching people is important to Jeffress. And to reach people, he knows, you must understand who they are and how they will hear you. You must be, as the Apostle Paul once put it, all things to all people.

Here’s Robert Jeffress as a boy in the sixties, well-mannered and bright, so infatuated with the power of television that he dreams of one day becoming—of all things—an executive producer on a TV show. He’s so dedicated to this dream, so enthralled by show business, that he wakes up early some days to play his accordion before school on a children’s morning show in Dallas called Mr. Peppermint.

His family lives in Richardson, but they spend plenty of time at First Baptist, downtown. It’s a turbulent time for Dallas, where the president has just been assassinated, and for the church, which is reckoning with desegregation. First Baptist has always been enmeshed in politics: George Truett, who became pastor in 1897, gave his most famous sermon, about the separation of church and state, on the steps of the U.S. Capitol, in Washington, D.C. His successor, W. A. Criswell, is not shy either: He has decried the Supreme Court decision to desegregate schools as “idiocy” and suggested that Catholics do not make good presidents. In 1968 Criswell reverses his position on desegregation and is soon thereafter voted in as president of the Southern Baptist Convention. The move puts North Texas at the center of a massive conservative movement.

His ninth-grade speech teacher tells him, “Jeffress, you’re going to be a preacher one day, and it scares the bejeebers out of me because you can sell anybody anything!”

Young Robert absorbs all this. His parents campaign for Barry Goldwater in 1964. When he is fourteen, Roe v. Wade goes to court, just a short walk from First Baptist; he’s seventeen when the Supreme Court legalizes access to abortion. In 1976 Criswell endorses Gerald Ford from the pulpit, but Jeffress casts his ballot—his first—for a Democrat, a born-again Christian from Georgia named Jimmy Carter.

Although Jeffress is just a boy, people around him are already taking notice of his power to influence others. His ninth grade speech teacher tells him, “Jeffress, you’re going to be a preacher one day, and it scares the bejeebers out of me because you can sell anybody anything!” Criswell becomes his mentor, and in fact, when he’s a freshman in high school, Jeffress hears God tell him to abandon his executive producer dreams. 

For the first fifteen years of his career as a pastor, at a small church in Eastland and then a larger First Baptist in Wichita Falls, Jeffress doesn’t get political. He rarely mentions abortion or homosexuality. But he learns the power of controversy in 1998, when a member of his church shows him two children’s books from the local library: Heather Has Two Mommies and Daddy’s Roommate. Jeffress announces that he will not allow the books to be returned. The city council takes his side, the American Civil Liberties Union sues the city, and the story makes national headlines. Eventually a court decides the library can keep the titles in the children’s section, but by then Jeffress has received letters and donations from all over the country. Church attendance goes up, and soon comes an expensive new sanctuary.

Jeffress will remember these lessons when he is invited, in 2007, to return to First Baptist Dallas as senior pastor. In his first few years back, he gives sermons with attention-grabbing titles on the marquee and makes controversial statements about, in no particular order, Mormons, Muslims, Jews, Catholics, gays, lesbians, and Oprah Winfrey. Almost a decade later, he embraces one of the most controversial presidential candidates of all time, and in 2018 the church reports the highest giving levels in its 150-year history. Now, like Criswell and Billy Graham, who was himself a longtime member of First Baptist Dallas, Jeffress has the ear of the president.

Through all this, he retains his affinity for television. In 2018 his entire family is featured on a TLC reality show centered on his oldest daughter’s newborn triplets. At First Baptist, the main sanctuary gets outfitted with six or seven high-definition screens that can be made into a long LED scroll that ribbons across the back of the proscenium. Sunday services are broadcast live on the church website, an operation that includes seven cameras, a team of grips and technicians, and a control room that rivals studios at CNN and Fox. The church posts his cable news clips on YouTube. Jeffress says TV accounts for a small percentage of his work but that Fox News—where he becomes a paid contributor under contract—is a “gateway to bring people into our ministry.”

Donald Trump greeting Jeffress at the Celebrate Freedom Rally in Washington, D.C.

Donald Trump greeting Jeffress at the Celebrate Freedom Rally in Washington, D.C., on July 1, 2017.

Olivier Douliery-Pool/Getty

And television, it turns out, is how he connects to the president, a man with his own affinity for reality shows. In mid-2015, after seeing Jeffress compliment him on Fox News, Trump tweets out the clip and has someone from his office—Jeffress doesn’t remember who—reach out so he can thank the pastor for the kind words.

When Jeffress recounts the story, he lowers his voice an octave to repeat the way he’s heard Trump describe it: “ ‘You know, I was watching TV one night, and I’ll never forget, I saw Pastor Jeffress saying, ‘Trump’s a lousy Christian, but he’s a good leader. ’ ”

The pastor interrupts himself to clarify. “Of course, I didn’t quite say it that way,” he explains, lest anyone think he called the president lousy. “I said, ‘He’s not a perfect person, but he’s a tremendous leader.’ ”

Jeffress has also heard Trump tell it this way: “I was watching television with Melania, and I saw Pastor Jeffress, and I said, ‘Look at his mouth move! Look at how quickly that mouth moves. It’s like a machine gun! I would never want to see that used against me someday!’ ”

Trump’s campaign asks Jeffress to pray at a rally in Dallas that fall, and soon the two forge what they describe as a friendship. The candidate sends nice notes or has his assistant email, and in early 2016, Trump invites Jeffress to join him on the campaign trail. The pastor spends a weekend with Trump in Iowa, where, both men understand, evangelical support can make or break a Republican presidential run. Jeffress says things like “I don’t want some meek and mild leader or somebody who’s going to turn the other cheek. I’ve said I want the meanest, toughest SOB I can find to protect this nation.” 

Then Jeffress is at Trump Tower on the day of the election. The mood is not optimistic. Jeffress tells Trump he hopes they’ll stay friends, no matter the outcome. Trump asks him if he thinks evangelical voters will show up for him. The pastor says he does. Later that night, Jeffress and his wife go to the Hilton to watch the results come in. For a while, it’s slow and quiet, and the couple debate leaving early.

But as the evening wears on, the feeling in the room starts to change.

“I will never forget when the spotlight was thrown on the balcony of the ballroom,” he recalls later, his voice slowing for dramatic effect. “The president and the first lady and their family entered to the soundtrack of the movie Air Force One. It was a chill-bumps moment.”

After a speech, Trump comes down from the stage to shake a few hands. Spotting Jeffress, he walks over and puts his arm around the pastor. The boy who used to play his accordion on Mr. Peppermint is now standing next to the future president. “Did you see it?” Trump says. “Largest evangelical turnout in history!”

“Yes, sir, I saw it,” Jeffress tells him. “I just wanted to be sure you saw it.”

Here’s Robert Jeffress in his office, a year or so into Trump’s first term, speaking to a reporter: me. We have a bit of history. In late 2011, around the time Jeffress was first upsetting conservatives by criticizing Republican presidential front-runner Mitt Romney, I wrote a profile of Jeffress for D Magazine. In the story, I explained that despite the fact that I disagreed with him on virtually every issue—at the time, he was supporting a presidential run by Texas governor Rick Perry—I found Jeffress charming and personable. Yes, he insists that the vast majority of humanity will spend eternity in a pit of fire. But he’s also self-deprecating and disarming. I was curious about his political advocacy and how he squares it with the teachings of Jesus.

After the story ran, we continued to have lunch every couple of months, usually in his office. It’s on the sixth floor of one of the church’s eight buildings, with towering shelves of scholarly journals, framed covers of his books (he has written more than twenty), and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the Nasher Sculpture Center. We ask each other about family and work. We discuss news and politics and whatever’s happening in the world that week.

He’s completely engaged, attentive. With or without the TV makeup, he’s the same man. Same rapid-fire delivery. Same polite, saccharine manner. Same unapologetic born-again Baptist view of the world. He says he genuinely wants me to dedicate myself to Jesus Christ, and he prays for me and my wife. His goal is to save as many souls as possible before the end times. He knows journalism is important to me, and he reminds me that some of the greatest writers in history were Christians. I joke that I know he’d love to brag that he helped shape some sort of present-day C. S. Lewis.

Jeffress often tells his flock that God sends us tests and trials. I want to ask Jeffress if he thinks there’s any chance Donald Trump is a test from God—and if maybe he’s failing.

I’m also forthright: about my curiosity, about my dismay at the many things he says and does that have the potential to hurt so many people. He knows what I’m talking about, and he laughs and nods. We discuss my writing something about him and his friendship with the president. He likes the idea. Then he jokes, “Now, don’t pull a Michael Cohen on me!”

So for months, I attend Sunday services, hang out at church events, spend hours talking politics with religious conservatives, and meet over and over with Jeffress himself. The unlikelihood of the Trump presidency has occasioned much ink and froth about the many purported reasons that white evangelicals supported him: economic and racial fears, Supreme Court picks, abortion, the fact that he wasn’t Hillary Clinton, and so on. It’s also provoked condemnation of Jeffress and his fellow Trump-supporting religious leaders for seemingly abandoning Christian principles in exchange for power—for becoming “court evangelicals,” as historian John Fea, the author of Believe Me: The Evangelical Road to Donald Trump, puts it. Fresh-faced 2020 presidential hopeful Pete Buttigieg, a gay military veteran and a Christian, likes to say that support for Trump is in tension with much of the New Testament, including, for example, the way Jesus condemns those who truckle to the strong while neglecting the poor. Closer to home, Eric Folkerth, the senior pastor at the much more liberal Woods United Methodist Church, in Grand Prairie, writes an open letter to Jeffress in May, calling him “a Pharisee of our time.”

And so I press Jeffress to explain the choices he makes, to explain the things he says in front of the cameras. Jeffress has told me he was drawn to Trump’s leadership and intellect. “He’s a very smart person,” he’s said. “You don’t become a billionaire and president of the United States by being an idiot.” But none of that quite explains why a pastor goes out of his way to publicly defend the president’s every indiscretion. He could easily vote according to his views on the Supreme Court or according to his conscience on abortion without also going on TV, over and over, in front of hundreds of thousands of viewers, to explain away things like Trump’s adultery and language that inflames foreign policy. He could be in favor of immigration reform, for example, and not feel compelled to rationalize the separation of families. He could believe that God has put someone in power and still hold that person to a high moral standard.

Jeffress often tells his flock that God sends us tests and trials. I want to ask Jeffress if he thinks there’s any chance Donald Trump is a test from God—and if maybe he’s failing.

Here’s Robert Jeffress on a Sunday morning, surrounded by lights and cameras and flat screens the size of school buses, taking the stage with the confident stride of a talk show host. He’s looking out on an audience of roughly 1,600, with thousands more watching and listening in, delivering a sermon that’s at turns funny and thoughtful and ripe with references to pop culture and historic events and scholarly interpretations of biblical passages. Jeffress is wearing a dark suit with faint pinstripes, a red tie that glimmers under the lights, and a nearly imperceptible wireless microphone over his right cheek, and he’s nailing the timing of every joke and pausing for laughs and modulating his voice in just the right way to create connection.

Today’s sermon is about “the antidote to worry,” and it unfolds like a forty-minute brimstone-scented TED talk. In the first few minutes alone, he mixes in quotes from obscure authors, anecdotes from World War II, and the etymology of the word “worry.” Sprinkled throughout are also copious references to supporting Scripture; there are more than ten, from the Old Testament and New, in the first twenty minutes. After each citation, he pauses to let his words linger. His reasoning is based on the fact that every word of the Bible is literally true.

Jeffress agrees with the popular comparison evangelicals draw between President Trump and Cyrus the Great, the ancient Persian king who, according to Jewish tradition, allowed the exiled Hebrews to return to Jerusalem. Cyrus is thought of as a secular agent of God’s divine plan, and this oft-cited parallel is useful to Trump’s most enthusiastic backers as a way of explaining their support: they can champion him, they say, because there is a difference between the earthly realm and the heavenly one, between government and church. In an interview with the Washington Post, Jerry Falwell Jr. put it this way: “In the heavenly kingdom, the responsibility is to treat others as you’d like to be treated. In the earthly kingdom, the responsibility is to choose leaders who will do what’s best for your country.”

But keeping your realms separate is not so clear-cut when you’re both a pundit and a pastor. Jeffress, unlike his peers, is the full-time shepherd of a flock. In the lustrous sanctuary of First Baptist—the church has multiple six-story garages and crowded escalators and feels a little like one of the theaters or music halls a few blocks away in the Arts District—Jeffress preaches two sermons nearly every Sunday. He attends luncheons and prayer meetings and Bible studies. He visits people in the hospital and performs weddings and funerals. He helped raise more than $135 million for a renovation that included a new children’s building, sky bridges, and a dancing, LED-loaded fountain. At special events, visitors are given not a Bible but a copy of one of his books. “He is so right,” one of his members, a black mother in her thirties, tells me. “It is time to stop being wimpy about Christianity. I wish more Christians had the heart for the Lord that he does.”

Jeffress studiously insists that his politics and his pastorate are separate. “We don’t check green cards or passports at First Baptist Dallas,” he’s fond of saying. When he’s at the podium in church, he seldom utters a word about the president. And while some of the older men in the pews are wearing American flag and Israeli flag pins on their suits—and there’s at least one bumper sticker in the parking garage for QAnon, a far-right conspiracy theory alleging a “deep state” plot against Trump—it’s not like members are debating legislative policy in the halls. It’s more that there’s a general celebration and commingling of patriotism and piety. I recently attended services on and off for five months and never heard Jeffress mention politics explicitly in a sermon. I heard him talk about how heaven is a real place and what people do there: enjoy the relief of a job well done, share fellowship with loved ones, get to better know their Lord.

Though First Baptist doesn’t keep records on its racial demographics, the congregation seems as diverse as that of any megachurch in North Texas. Affluent older white people dressed in stiff suits and flowery dresses with matching hats. Young couples, the men in jeans and tucked-in button-downs, the women in cotton dresses. A black family spanning four generations. Immigrants from Latin America and Africa and Eastern Europe and East Asia. At the other end of the building, in a separate sanctuary, hundreds more people—mostly younger—watch Jeffress on a live broadcast.

About twenty minutes into his sermon about worry, Jeffress says something that makes me perk up a bit. He’s hoisting an open Bible in his left hand when his tone changes for just a moment, and he stares into the camera, his right hand gesturing to the breast of his pinstriped suit. “I can tell you from personal experience: God’s discipline is never pleasant,” he says. “There are times in my life—don’t ask for details, I’m not gonna give ’em to you—but I can tell you, there are times that I have not been doing the right thing, and God put his heavy hand upon me. And I can tell you for sure, I never want to experience that again.”

He explains that we don’t have to experience God’s discipline if we live our lives the right way. He makes another emphatic gesture with his right hand, this time with his thumb out in a way that evokes Bill Clinton.

“Today,” he says, we can “start walking in a new direction.”

As he always does, Jeffress invites anyone who wants to be saved to come forward and dedicate their life to Jesus Christ. His voice is soft. Even in a crowd of some 1,600 people, for a split second it can feel as if he’s talking to you personally. 

“It’s no coincidence that you’re hearing my voice today,” he says.

When he’s done this morning, there are at least a dozen people walking down the aisles, ready to be born again.

Robert Jeffress at First Baptist Dallas

Robert Jeffress at First Baptist Dallas on March 27, 2019.

Photograph by Trevor Paulhus

Here’s Robert Jeffress in his office again, on a weekday afternoon in early fall. He’s sitting flat-footed in a blue leather chair, wearing one of his usual dark suits and satiny ties, like he’s ready to appear on camera at a moment’s notice, should the need arise. I’m sitting at the end of a big leather couch, a few feet away, with my recorder between us.

We’re talking about the distinction he makes between what he considers spiritual and political. I want to know if it’s really tenable, if it’s really honest. On Twitter, he promotes his sermons and events at the church right next to his appearances on Fox News. When his choir performed “Make America Great Again” in D.C., it was a de facto Trump rally—and now the song is in the church hymn database. He doesn’t just invite Fox personalities like Sean Hannity and politicians like Ted Cruz and Greg Abbott into his sanctuary; the church often uses their appearances as bring-a-friend promotions.

Our conversations over the months often return to this topic, and he agrees it’s an important one.

“If someone asks me to talk on a subject,” he says, “I ask myself the first question: Does the Bible have a particular point of view on this?”

The Bible has a point of view on many things, he explains. Some things, like capital punishment or whether a country’s leader has a right to defend its borders, he thinks, are clear. Other issues, like marginal tax rates and public health-care policy, are less clear. And besides, when Hannity was there to promote a Christian movie, they didn’t say much about politics at all.

What about when you call Democrats the “party of immorality”? I ask. Isn’t that crossing the line into politics?

“I think, in a lot of ways, the Republican party is just as spiritually bankrupt as the Democratic party, but at least at this point in time they are championing some moral principles like the right to life and the right of religious liberty.”

It’s an interesting equivocation, and I’m reminded how, in our exchanges, he has emphatically insisted that he’s not a Republican or a Democrat. He has also told me his congregation has plenty of Democrats, though I haven’t met one. When I ask him if he’d ever invite a Democrat or someone from CNN to speak at his church, he laughs.

“You know, I would have to think about it,” he says. Then he adds, “But if we haven’t, it’s not because they are Democrats. It’s because of the point of view they would articulate on these basic core spiritual issues. I mean, try to find me a pro-life Democrat leader. You can’t find one.”

“Basic core spiritual issues” is usually his answer when I press him on why he goes out of his way, again and again, to defend Trump. He cares about religious liberty—which for him essentially boils down to whether churches and businesses should be required to provide birth control for employees and whether businesses can deny service to gay or trans people. And nearly every policy discussion eventually comes back to what he sees as the national battle that started in Dallas when he was a teenager. He believes Roe v. Wade, not the issue of sexual assault or of judicial temperament, was at the heart of the fight over the nomination of Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court. The Democrats were worried that Kavanaugh’s rulings would “somehow lessen the number of babies being murdered every year in the womb through abortion.”

Gun rights is one of the two main issues on which he disagrees with the Republican party. The other is health care. He has been a vocal critic of Obamacare, but Jeffress does tell me, “The GOP is on the wrong side of this.”

This is why Trump is the sort of warrior evangelicals have long craved, a warrior who will fight for their beliefs regardless of whether he holds those beliefs himself. This is why Jeffress doesn’t worry about Trump’s personal behavior. “When you’re in a war, you don’t worry about style,” he explains. “Nobody would have criticized General Patton because of his language. We’re in a war here between good and evil. And to me, the president’s tone, his demeanor, just aren’t issues I choose to get involved with.” (When I look this up later, I learn that some top commanders and many members of Congress did criticize—and discipline—General Patton for verbally abusing and slapping two soldiers. He was suspended from his command and made to apologize.)

I ask Jeffress why, since he believes all sin is equal, abortion is more important than every other issue. Criswell, his mentor, and other past religious leaders didn’t feel nearly as strongly about the topic. Criswell stated publicly that life begins at birth and didn’t change his stance until after the widespread use of ultrasound technology. “Criswell and other evangelicals were just ignorant of the science,” he says. “We didn’t have the ability to view a life inside the womb as we do today and understand that that’s a real, live human being.”

What about children at the border and the administration’s policy of separating families? Doesn’t he think we should protect babies at our borders too?

“Look,” he tells me, “if you have a woman who is convicted of a bank robbery and she has an infant child and she’s sent to prison, I mean, her baby is going to be ripped from her.”

But of course, we have gradations of crimes in this country, and crossing a border—even if it’s illegal—is a far different thing than robbing a bank. This policy was instituted as a deterrent. I remind him that many people, including some Baptists, believe it’s a callous way to treat children.

“If we don’t secure our borders, we’re enticing the needy people, the persecuted people, to make a dangerous journey to come to this country or try to enter illegally, and I think, in part, we are morally responsible for doing that,” he tells me. He compares it to laws that hold homeowners responsible when a child strays into an unfenced pool and drowns. “We’ve got to figure out a way to secure our borders and at the same time deal equitably and justly with people who want to enter this country for legitimate reasons.”

I bring up some other children: the survivors of mass shootings. After the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High, in Parkland, Florida, when students organized marches across the country to protest U.S. gun laws, Jeffress told Fox News viewers that changing the laws would not help because laws couldn’t change the evil in someone’s heart—though maybe displaying the Ten Commandments in schools could. Talking with me, though, he admits that mass shootings weigh on him heavily. He points out that, in Genesis, the primary reason God floods the earth is violence. “God hates those who harm others,” he says. “I don’t believe that the Bible or even the Constitution gives a unilateral, unconditional, unrestrained right for guns. The government has a right and responsibility to control that.”

Gun rights, in fact, is one of the two main issues on which he disagrees with the Republican party. The other is health care. He has been a vocal critic of Obamacare, but Jeffress does tell me, “The GOP is on the wrong side of this.” He says, “There ought to be a safety net” and “Americans want coverage for preexisting conditions” and that “before we dismantle something, we ought to have something better ready in its place.”

I ask Jeffress if he’d be critical of, say, someone like Democratic senator Cory Booker, if the public learned he’d had an affair with a porn star.

“I have to be consistent,” he tells me. “And consistent would say that my objection to Cory Booker would not be his personal life but his public policies.”

Here’s Robert Jeffress in January 2016, sitting on Trump’s plane between campaign stops in Iowa, and the pastor and the presidential candidate are finishing their lunch of Wendy’s cheeseburgers when Jeffress says, “Mr. Trump, I believe you’re going to be the next president of the United States. And if that happens, it’s because God has a great purpose for you and for our nation.” Jeffress quotes from the book of Daniel, chapter two, and explains, “God is the one who establishes kings and removes kings.”

Trump looks at the pastor and says, “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” Jeffress says.

Trump asks, “Do you believe God ordained Obama to be president?”

“I do,” Jeffress tells Trump. “God has a purpose for every leader.”

This is certainly not the way Jeffress talked about Barack Obama when he was president. Jeffress wasn’t a fan. Shortly before Mitt Romney secured the Republican nomination in 2012, Jeffress said he’d “hold [his] nose” and vote for him instead of Obama, despite believing that Mormonism is a cult and Romney is going to hell. (He’s also said that Jews, Hindus, Muslims, and nonbelievers are destined for hell.) He criticized both Obamacare and National Security Agency surveillance as violations of Americans’ freedom. In 2014, citing Obama’s support for same-sex marriage, Jeffress declared that the president was “paving the way for the Antichrist.”

Jeffress very much believes that an Antichrist will rise to power one day—possibly soon—before Jesus returns to earth. This isn’t entirely surprising. After graduating from Baylor, he attended Dallas Theological Seminary, a hub of twentieth-century dispensational theology, where he was taught, and embraced, the idea that God reveals himself progressively through different dispensations, or ages, and that these would culminate in an epic showdown between Christ and a fearsome enemy. Key events of this apocalypse would occur in Israel, went the thinking, and it was common for dispensationalists to publicly identify people they thought might be the Antichrist. Henry Kissinger was a popular pick; so was Mikhail Gorbachev, whose prominent birthmark looked suspiciously, to some, like the mark of the beast. Eventually most religious figures stopped trying to identify the Antichrist and the exact date of Christ’s return, but they didn’t stop believing that the supernatural confrontation was imminent.

At one point, not long after Trump meets with Kim Jong-un and it feels like we might be closer to nuclear annihilation than we have been in half a century, I ask Jeffress, mostly as a joke, whether evangelicals support this president because they secretly think he’s hastening the end times and the return of Jesus.

Jeffress lets out a quick chirp of a laugh. Actually, he explains, a lot of evangelicals view Trump as a brief reprieve from a downward moral spiral: everything from the removal of Ten Commandments monuments to restrictions on prayer in schools to the ways our culture flaunts sex and corrupts minds. He’s under no illusion that the Democrats won’t return to power again one day. Trump, he says, is a way to push in the other direction, if only temporarily.

He anticipates my follow-up.

“Why would Christians want to put off the return of Christ?” he asks. “To give us more time to save people.”

The truth for him personally, though, is that he also just likes Trump. Jeffress insists that theirs isn’t just a quid-pro-quo sort of friendship, a calculated, cynical partnership. He says he genuinely enjoys Trump’s company. He’d like to think they’d be friends regardless of the presidency.

Jeffress says Trump isn’t as impulsive as he might seem. He says the president has told him how he workshops insulting nicknames he plans to call opponents on Twitter. He says he watched as Trump agonized at the White House over what to do about DACA recipients. He’s seen the president demonstrate diligence and control, unlike the raging character often depicted in the press.

Several times in our conversation, Jeffress plays it a little safer and parses his words, saying that he and the president “aren’t bosom buddies.” Is he protecting himself in case one day his association with Trump becomes toxic?

“Not at all,” he says. “I just want to be as accurate as possible.”

A few months after his inauguration, Trump boasts about issuing an executive order instructing the Department of the Treasury not to pursue religious organizations when they violate the Johnson Amendment, which prohibits nonprofits from making partisan political statements, a restriction Jeffress has spoken out against for more than a decade. Then, in May 2018, the Trump administration does something even more important for evangelicals: it officially relocates the American embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, much of which is regarded under international law as occupied territory.

Jeffress, the lifelong dispensationalist, is invited to give the opening prayer at the new embassy’s dedication. He’s there, in Jerusalem, standing at the lectern with his eyes closed. He’s just feet from Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Ivanka Trump, and Jared Kushner—all Jewish, all going to hell in Jeffress’s view, all sitting together in the front row.

After thanking God for the blessing and protection of Israel, and for the work of both Netanyahu and the U.S. ambassador to Israel, Jeffress thanks God for the “tremendous leadership” of Donald Trump. “Without President Trump’s determination, resolve, and courage, we would not be here today,” Jeffress says. “We thank you every day that you have given us a president who boldly stands on the right side of history but, more importantly, stands on the right side of you, O God, when it comes to Israel.”

A few months after that, in August, the White House hosts an elaborate dinner for a hundred or so evangelical leaders from across the country. Franklin Graham is there. So are James Dobson and Paula White, a TV host and pastor of a Florida megachurch. Jeffress is one of the preachers Trump thanks by name.

Reading prepared remarks, the president lists his evangelical-friendly accomplishments: issuing orders limiting government funding for groups that provide abortions, helping to free an American pastor being held in Turkey, moving the embassy to Jerusalem. Of course, there’s no record of him mentioning any of these issues before campaigning for president and meeting people like Jeffress.

At the end of his short speech, Trump thanks the religious leaders. He calls them “special people.” Then he looks up from his script.

“The support you’ve given me has been incredible,” the president says. “But I really don’t feel guilty, because I have given you a lot back.”

Here’s Robert Jeffress at a Maggiano’s in North Dallas, standing in front of two hundred or so people at an event called Dinner With the Pastor. Every few months, prospective church members are invited to have a meal and conversation in a private room, all on First Baptist’s tab. The massive serving plates on each table are full of ravioli slathered in cream, balsamic-glazed chicken, and meaty lasagna. There are Frisbee-size crème brûlées and gallons of iced tea. The highlight of the evening, though, is when attendees are invited to ask the pastor anything they want.

One woman says she campaigned for Trump and wants to know if Jeffress really told him he knew he would be president. Jeffress recounts the conversation they had over Wendy’s cheeseburgers. But he adds that he doesn’t consider himself a Republican. First Baptist, he says, has “plenty of people who love President Trump and people who don’t love President Trump.”

To watch him find new ways to justify his support is as impressive as it is exasperating.

Someone wants to know when Jeffress finds time to read the Bible. Someone has a specific question about a verse in the book of Isaiah. Then a woman with an Australian accent asks Jeffress if Trump is saved. The room gets quiet.

Jeffress explains that early on in his relationship with Trump, he asked, “Mr. Trump, what do I say when people ask me about your faith?” He says Trump responded, “Tell people that my faith is very important to me but that it’s also very personal.”

Then someone asks if he agrees with the president about the news media. Jeffress looks right at me and smiles. He tells the audience that his mother was a high school journalism teacher. Her former students went on to work for some of the best newspapers in the country. “I honestly believe that most of the media tries their hardest to get it right,” he says, adding that the freedom of religion and freedom of the press are inextricably linked by the First Amendment.

Over the following weeks, Jeffress and I discuss Russia and the forthcoming Mueller report, the joys of raising children (he has two daughters), the #MeToo movement and the church’s relationship with women. Every time we talk—no matter the headlines, no matter the president’s latest inflammatory remarks—Jeffress is steadfast in his defense of Trump. When the Mueller report is released in April and shows ample evidence of obstruction of justice, Jeffress says he still believes the entire investigation has been a political ploy to damage the president.

To watch him find new ways to justify his support is as impressive as it is exasperating. I ask him if he’s bothered when the president tells easily disprovable lies—like when he claims, contrary to the evidence, that special prosecutor Robert Mueller is a Democrat. 

“I operate under the assumption that the president knows more than we do,” he says. “I think he probably has insight into that investigation that I don’t have.”

Not once, in all the months we’ve met, has Jeffress criticized Trump. I want to know if he is at all concerned by the cost of this allegiance. I ask if he worries about turning off seekers with what they might perceive as his hypocrisy. Even Billy Graham ultimately regretted his involvement with Richard Nixon.

He tells me he isn’t concerned. He endorses the president’s policies and not necessarily his behavior, he says, and most people are smart enough to know the difference. I ask if he worries that Trump is driving deeper the wedges in our society or stoking dangerous ideologies and emboldening nefarious actors. He tells me he believes the president has merely exposed the division in our country and that a public figure isn’t responsible when someone misinterprets a message as a call for violence. “There have been screwballs and zealots throughout history who have taken the truth and twisted it,” he says.

I ask if he at least holds Trump accountable. Does he ever criticize the president in their private meetings? “If it had happened, I wouldn’t tell you about it,” he replies, “because I just feel like friends don’t do that to one another.”

I ask him whether Trump might be a test from God, a test of whether Jeffress’s devotion is to the Bible’s teachings and requirements or whether it’s to a powerful leader whose policies he finds agreeable.

“You have to operate on the best information that you have, and what we had in 2016 was the choice between two diametrically opposed candidates,” he says. “One was pro-life, pro–religious liberty, pro–conservative judiciary. His name was Donald Trump. One was a pro-choice candidate who would not stop an abortion or limit an abortion for any reason at all. It could not have been a more clear choice at that point.”

Did he consider any of the sixteen other Republican candidates, most of whom would have appointed pro-life judges?

“I don’t think any of them could have won,” Jeffress says.

Jeffress is often asked what it would take for evangelicals to walk away from the president. If the economy collapses, he tells me, people will probably want a change. And if the president were caught being unfaithful to his wife while in office, he could see people having a problem with that. But more than anything, it would take a change in policies.

“If he said, ‘You know, I think we’ve got enough conservatives on the Supreme Court. It’s time for us to have some more moderate views and balance things out.’ Or if he suddenly decided, ‘You know what, I used to be pro-choice, and then I turned pro-life. I’m gonna go back to pro-choice again.’ I mean, those would certainly be deal-breakers, I think.”

Then he clarifies. He knows his audience. What he meant was that these changes would be deal-breakers for evangelicals politically, not for his own relationship with Trump.

“I’m his friend,” he says. “I’ll never walk away.”

This article originally appeared in the August 2019 issue of Texas Monthly with the headline “The Pastor and the President.” Subscribe today.

Tags: Longreads, Politics, Religion, Donald Trump, lou dobbs, robert jeffress
Tags: Longreads, Politics, Religion, Donald Trump, lou dobbs, robert jeffress


  • Walt Longmire

    I am a true evangelical [former pastor myself, but retired due to medical condition], but the word “evangelical” is manhandled in this article by those who know exactly nothing about what the words means when speaking about the Bible and its authority. Here it is used as a quasi-political movement, which it is not. Be that as it may, perhaps a few words from a real evangelical might be appropriate.

    Jeffress is something of a clown to many of us who are serious about our evangelical faith. Indeed, the very blind allegiance to Trump is a strong indicator that Jeffress may not even be an evangelical in the genuine religious sense. He and his church pretty much exemplify the vacuous content of the modern entertainment-based church movement. They are NOT focused on the evangel! Former pastors George W. Truett and W.A. Criswell would likely turn over in their graves if they were to see the superficiality of First Baptist today. Sadly, it has joined the party of the modern false church, focused more on celebrity than upon the evangel, and music more than teaching or preaching the evangelical Gospel.

    So, those of us still following the Lord’s commands are far too busy to waste our time trying to rehabilitate Jeffress and his political activities.

    • Donna Ross

      I agree with much of what you said but I see nothing remotely wrong with music being an important part of any service of any kind…religious or secular. Isn’t it said that “music soothes the savage beast”? We need less savagery in this savage world.

      • Victor Edwards

        Donna, you sound like a fine person trying to engage your church, and I like that idea. Let me respond to your comment regarding the importance of music in the faith.

        Music, while an important part of participatory worship, is by necessity a secondary factor. It is not necessary to worship, but usually accompanies worship when we examine the Scriptural evidence — which, by the way, ought to be determative of our position on this matter. Yes, we see the saints singing, and the Old Testament examples have God even providing for singers and musicians in the Temple worship. Goodness, music has been a vital party of the Christian faith from its beginnings.

        But it was never dominate in worship. The Apostle Paul does not tell him to make sure the choir is chosen carefully, but rather to “preach the word,” be “instant in season and out of season to give a reason for the hope that is in you.”

        The preaching and teaching of the Word of God is the center of Christian worship, and all the other things are but to be supportive of the primary mission of that preaching. In such a spirit as that, Christian music has been quite wonderful throughout the centuries, with songwriting being part of some wonderful Christian ministers, such as John and Charles Wesley, those old Methodists, whose hearts were for Christ and their devotion found expression through song lyrics. Who could sing “And Can It Be?” and not have tears in their eyes? If you have not sung that hymn in a while, at least go read the lyrics and rejoice as if it were you saying the words. THAT is Christian hymnology!

        Today I am afraid that church music of the modern mega church is almost secular music over rather sloppy sentimentalistic lyrics that are repeated over and over again assuming apparently that Christian are rather dumb people and just need what I call “slogans” set to music. We do not draw near to God while imitating the wicked world we live in. And the music of the world is just like their dark minds. Why would we dare to imitate them?

        As for your notion that “music soothes the savage beast,” is a bit trite, but I understand what you are saying. Perhaps that works for the world, but I suspect that drugs plus music is what soothes their souls. The music even to them is superfluous to their human experience and may well be a devilish ploy to take our attention from the Gospel, which is not music. What helps the Christian is the Spirit of Christ, not some numbing of the mind with music. Also, when music is used to “soothe the soul” [not a Biblical teaching, for sure!], that soothing is but for a moment and then they require more and more, like an addicted person. The “beast” the world is trying to soothe is the depraved soul of man, and I can assure you that nothing will soothe THAT unless and until the Spirit of God empowers and draws the heart of the lost person to Him.

        How does that happen, you may ask. By the preaching of the word. Period. Man cannot and will not come to God because it makes sense to him; it doesn’t. The only way that a man is to come to God is through the preaching of the Word, which in turn God uses to regenerate [that’s the new birth of which the Bible speaks]. The old hymn by Phillip Doddridge captures the meaning, in a line which says, “Tis done, the great transaction’s done [a reference to the Christian doctrine of subsitutionary atonement], …” I am my Lord’s and He is mine…” [the Christian notion that we become God’s own children upon conversion]. “He drew me and I followed on…” a reference to the Christian doctrine of effectual calling by the Spirit of God [“He drew me…”] My “following on” with Christ is a result of God’s work in my soul, not the CAUSE of my following on. The verse finishes with the line “…charmed to confess the voice [or “call” in some versions of the song] divine.” You notice that God does the charming, not music,

        Christian music MUST, by the very nature of the thing, support, promote, repeat, teach the truth of the Gospel, and if it does not do so, it is essentially worthless to the listener, as they can gain the “soothing of the beast” from listening to secular music, as I myself did before the Lord “drew me,” and before “I followed on.” I too used to soothe my beast by listening to Janis Joplin belt out “Oh, Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz…”

        But that was Satan’s ploy to keep me from God.

        Conclusion? If you are going to incorporate music into worship, be sure, I repeat, BE SURE it magnifies Christ and communicates Biblical truth. That will give you a pretty good guide for Christian music. It is not about soothing the savage beast but about proclaiming the glorious Gospel of God.

    • KOinSF

      I am no evangelical, but I know some. And they are not Trump fans by any means. They are also not bigots nor racists. I believe Jeffress is just a guy looking to make a bunch of money. Just like Trump it seems!

  • Chris Ladd

    It’s really not that hard to understand:

    “However, seen through the lens of white evangelicals’ real priorities, Jeffress’ disinterest in Trump’s sordid lifestyle makes sense. Religion is inseparable from culture, and culture is inseparable from history. Modern, white evangelicalism emerged from the interplay between race and religion in the slave states. What today we call “evangelical Christianity,” is the product of centuries of conditioning, in which religious practices were adapted to nurture a slave economy. The calloused insensitivity of modern white evangelicals was shaped by the economic and cultural priorities that forged their theology over centuries.”

    • EBEE

      No, my Ladd, it is not that hard to understand. To cope with the Trump era, liberals must understand that Trump is to American evangelicals what King Henry VIII was to the English Reformation. King Henry certainly had his sexual problems but his dust up with the Catholic Church was so intertwined with the one the Protestants were having over matters of faith that an alliance came about that changed history for the better. Evil news readers in the media presented a false dilemma during the 2016 election when they self righteously declared their disdain for Christians who supported Trump. What would Jesus say? Trump was not running against Jesus. Trump was running against an anti-Christian Jezebel. Evangelicals got this and with Trump’s sensitivity to Christian values (even though he had his issues) voted accordingly. This new clown college of secular humanist liberals running for 2020 give biblical Christians an even easier choice to vote Trump enthusiastically.

      • Dgm02

        You are so wrong. First of all there are many religions in this country, not just Christians. The ones who support Trump have no idea what Jesus true message is. Trump is a womanizer, has been accused of rape by a child, had an affair while his wife was home with their newborn, lusts after his own daughter and does not care about the poor. How can you call yourself Christian when you support a man like this, isn’t that hypocritical and should go against anything you supposedly believe in? I’m sorry I am a Catholic and if my church supported a man like Trump, I’d leave it. Trump is tied to pedophiles as well. You dare to call anyone a jezabelle when you support a man like this? You are not a Christian you just despise gay people, want to control women and want to corrupt our government with your phony religion. Religion does not belong in politics, it is a personal relationship with those who believe. Those of you who support Trump will not be raptured. The god I believe in doesn’t hate the way you do.

        • EBEE

          Digmo, you have a very shallow understanding of what Christians have gone through living in this sinful world. Ultimately, Christians are not of this world, but our Lord has us live in it to spread his love and light. In a democracy we do not always get what we want in candidates, but nonetheless I firmly believe that most true Bible believing Christians made the right choice for president in 2016 even though so many of us had to hold our nose as we voted. The sad part is that it appears that we will go through the same trial in 2020. Christians must also look out for wolves in sheep’s clothing who attempt to divide the flock by, for example, conflating voting for a particular candidate with living the morals of that candidate. But Jesus said “my sheep hear my voice” and it is affirming that the sheep seem to have heard the same thing pretty much in 2016 as they did in the 16th century. Again, though, the sheep must commit to their unity with Christ and beware of false teachers who would trap Christians into approving a regime that would actively persecute Christians were it loosed within our nation. Hope you are on board praying and hoping for the gospel of Jesus to be spread without hindrance in the United States.

          • Susan Rice

            I think you confuse the sheep and the wolf. Listen to Yeshua. Trump is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The evangelical right has confused him with our savior. Trump is no savior. He is only out for Trump. “You will know them by their fruits”. Lying. Greed. Hate monger. Sexual immorality. Nope. The tree is no good and needs to be cut down.

          • EBEE

            Susan, you keep losing the original point. Look at the alternative to Trump in 2016. It was not Jesus, but Jezebel. Jezebel BAD. Trump, not as bad at least since he respected biblical evangelical Christianity and its Christians. Today there is a purely evil element in American culture and politics that wants real Christians aborted. We vote accordingly. That was and remains the voter issue as we roll in to 2016.
            BTW, I am assuming you are not the famous Susan RIce whose son is the chairman of the Trump for President campaign at Stanford. Check it out.

          • Chasdwitt

            There were 3 million more voters that saw through Trump as the lying, adultering, self serving pig that he is. Get your numbers straight.

          • EBEE

            Yes, indeedy do, let’s get your numbers straight. In the 2016 US presidential election, the Hillafrump did not garner a majority of the popular vote. She received 48.2%. That means that more people voted against the Hillafrump than voted for her. Same with Trump who received 46.1% of the popular vote.
            Yet, the US Constitution has a republican form of government at the federal level whereby we employ an Electoral College from which Donald Trump received 56.5% of the vote. The Frump received 42% of that vote.
            You’re welcome. Stay safe.

          • WestTexan70

            I’ve lived among your type of folk for almost sixty years (brought up in a West Texas Church of Christ in the 60s and 70s). and you are like them — self-righteous and either pig-ignorant or just mean. Y’all are just terrible people.

          • EBEE

            West, you have the great privilege to be blogging with the Chief of Sinners, who BTW spent many formative years in West Texas. But as chief I am eternally saved through Jesus’ atonement and His righteousness which is imputed by grace to me. You too can know this by putting your faith and trust in Jesus and what He would do for you. The self righteous are those who do not believe in the gospel of Christ, trusting their own works and self-righteousness to save them. Where are you?

        • EBEE

          There is only one true and living God. And believers typically capitalize His name as a token of reverence and respect.

  • Thanks you for the quote in this story.
    As a slight addition, while I was pastor of The Woods UMC at the time I wrote the open letter, at time of publication, I am now pastor at Kessler Park UMC in Dallas.
    Thanks again.

  • Unfortunately I think that Jeffress is like most Christians being duped by the GOP, who will justify and explain away every action by this president and put a righteous spin on it.

    His callousness towards the border and bringing Nehemiah into it is blasphemy – Even though Jerusalem had a wall, it was never designed to keep foreigners from coming in and taking Israelites jobs and prevent crime, it was designed for literal wartime strategy. In fact, they were instructed to welcome those who were suffering into their walls and care for them.

    It’s good to see Jeffress is for something like gun control and healthcare for all- but the fact that he is anti-democrat because of abortion empowers his followers to follow suit- and the NRA, insurance companies, drug companies and mega-millionaires run the GOP- so any bend towards policies like healthcare for all, a safety net for the poor, or gun control are DOA.

    • Dgm02

      Agreed. These people are not Christians, they are sick,

    • WestTexan70

      He ain’t being duped — he loves this.

  • EBEE

    To cope with the Trump era, liberals must understand that Trump is to American evangelicals what King Henry VIII was to the English Reformation. King Henry certainly had his sexual problems but his dust up with the Catholic Church was so intertwined with the one the Protestants were having over matters of faith that an alliance came about that changed history for the better. Evil news readers in the media presented a false dilemma during the 2016 election when they self righteously declared their disdain for Christians who supported Trump. What would Jesus say? Trump was not running against Jesus. Trump was running against an anti-Christian Jezebel. Evangelicals got this and with Trump’s sensitivity to Christian values (even though he had his issues) voted accordingly. This new clown college of secular humanist liberals running for 2020 give biblical Christians an even easier choice to vote Trump enthusiastically.

    • Dgm02

      Religion and politics don’t mix.

      • EBEE

        Tell that to the secular humanists. According to the SCOTUS, secular humanism is right up there with Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism., etc. as a valid religion. The mixes occur daily. Happy hour is today at 5. Don’t miss it.

        • Susan Rice

          So. If secular humanism, Judaism, Buddhism, Muslim, and Christianity are valid religions in the US today. Why should Christianity be the LAW of the land?? The constitution declares. Freedom OF religion. That no one religion is the governmental law. Changing lives starts with changing hearts of people. No one can legislate morality. Only a heart for G can change our land. Legislation with “christianize” cannot.

          • EBEE

            Susan, ALL legislation reflects the morality and values of the society, culture, and government that enacted said legislation. This is true whether you are speaking of the United States, North Korea, the Third Reich, California, New York, etc. ALL.

      • EBEE

        Digmo, you say the same thing as wolves in sheep’s clothing who would discourage Christians from exercising their right to vote by promoting a false guilt trip over who they vote for.

  • EBEE

    Michael Mooney makes a gaffe in this article when he says that General George S. Patton was suspended as a part of his discipline for slapping two soldiers. World War II Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson stated it best when he said that Patton must be retained as a commander because of the need for his “aggressive, winning leadership in the bitter battles which are to come before final victory.” Translation: We still want to win this thing. And remember that Stimson’s quote came long before D-Day. No, Patton was sidelined, but only to become the center of the “Phantom Army” that fooled the Germans into believing that Patton, the American commander they feared most, would lead the D-Day invasion. After D-Day, Patton would be a key in making the “breakout” a success and in rescuing the trapped troops at Bastogne, et al. Mike, there was a movie about this starring George C. Scott. Might wish to rent it on Netflix. Won a couple of Oscars.

  • MM

    I am shocked that Michael J. Mooney perpetuates the “very fine people” hoax in this article. His ethos as a writer just went in the tank. Shockingly ignorant.

    Here is the quote (from politifact), minus the interruptions from the press:
    Trump: “and you had some very bad people in that group, but you also had people that were very fine people, on both sides…… You had people in that group that were there to protest the taking down of, to them, a very, very important statue and the renaming of a park from Robert E. Lee to another name…….. And you had people — and I’m not talking about the neo-Nazis and the white nationalists — because they should be condemned totally. But you had many people in that group other than neo-Nazis and white nationalists. Okay? And the press has treated them absolutely unfairly.”

    ….just as the press — Michael J. Mooney included — treats Trump unfairly. The issue of evangelical support for Trump relates to his character. But any treatment of his character has to deal with the press’ portrayal of his character, as well as his real character. Those are two very different things because of the press is generally in error on Trump because of its deceit and its incompetence. I tend to think that it is just blatant incompetence in Michael J. Mooney’s case. He just never looked at the real quote, assuming it to be fact because it is has been repeated so much in the mainstream press, at least some of which is being deliberately deceitful. Nobody can look at the real quote with an objective mind and come up with the conclusions of the press, which Michael J. Mooney swallows hook, line, and sinker.

    Hence, the press’ deceitfulness and its incompetence must be included in any assessment of Trump’s character.

    Regarding his character, apart from the press, I am uncomfortable with it. He may prove me wrong, but I don’t think he will use his position to have sex with political interns as did Bill Clinton. I am betting that he would have stayed in Hollywood if he wanted to do that and that he has the respect for the country and the self-control to clean up his act for the oval office. History will tell. Apart from that, he is transparent and his policies seem right. He also has a work ethic that is second to none. He may be narcissistic, but I have not seen that cripple him in his ability to renegotiate and to make deals.

    As a father must look out for the good of his children first, but others second. Likewise, a country must look out for the good of its citizens first and others second. “America first does not mean America alone,” as Trump says. All of Trumps reasons for limiting and controlling immigration come right reasoning, a clear concept of the national common good within the overall common good of humanity. This is evident to anyone who is being objective. He must have some very good advisers.

    I am not writing this to dialogue with Michael J. Mooney, but for his readers, to clean up his mess. Having lost his authorial ethos due to incompetence, he has to sit the bench for any further discussion of the topic.

    God bless America. God save us from being subject to the incompetence and deceit of a powerful media. Peace.

    • appalled1

      The march in Charlottesville was organized by white supremacists. True they were from different factions. Some were Nazi’s some were KKK….. None were history buffs or art historians, and none were “good people.” They were chanting “Jews will not replace us” and “Blood and Soil.” Exactly what Nazi’s chanted in Germany in the 30’s. Trumps character speaks for itself. He has none. He was never in Hollywood. He was a grifter in NY and Atlantic City before he became a reality show personality.

      • MM

        Although you are wrong, I am not going to discuss who was actually in Charlottesville. It is clear from Trump’s comment that he did not praise, but condemned white supremacists. His comments referred to four groups of people: 1) non-fascist people supporting statue removal; 2) non-white supremacist people protesting the statue removal; 3) fascist people supporting statue removal (antifa, etc.); 4) white supremacist people protesting statue removal (KKK, etc.). Trump’s comments praised #1 and #2, and condemned #3 and #4. It is false to say that his comments praised white supremacists (#4). He clearly condemned them (#4). Maybe you could say that he praised group of people who were not actually present. Regardless of whether #2 class of people were present (and they were), it is still false to say that he praised #4. He condemned #4. Clearly. There is no discussion. “I’m not talking about the neo-Nazis and the white nationalists — because they should be condemned totally.”

        Your problem, appaled1, is that you do not distinguish between #2 and #4. You do not accept the factual existence of non-white supremacists who rationally protest statue removal. You deny the existence of a class of people, trying to force existence into your intellectual categories.. Your ideology is so strong that it has to deny certain facts.

  • John Bernard Books
  • Christopher Richard

    Oh my. The depiction of the pastor as an Orthodox Icon either is a smear to Orthodox Christianity, or a smear to the by definition iconoclast Evangelicals, or both.

    • EBEE

      Welcome to Texas Monthly’s notion of freedom of the press.

  • Nationoflaws1776

    This article is a thinly veiled partisan piece of drivel. It’s obvious the author has an agenda as he pretends he is writing unquestionably mainstream sentiment that is anything but.
    Furthermore if this author thinks he understands what it means to be a born-again Christian with a relationship with our Creator he needs to do some more research.

    Can’t believe I wasted 10 minutes of my life reading this….

  • Chasdwitt

    Simple. .Money It’s all about money, power, corruption and greed.