Driving along Highway 27 in Fort Oglethorpe, Ga., in mid-September 2021, motorists were surprised to see a billboard bearing a phrase from the Bible they had often heard during the Christmas season in their churches: “Unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulders.”
The quotation is taken from the King James Version of Isaiah 9:6 and is also the text of one of the beloved choruses of Handel’s Messiah. But this billboard was not an early Christmas message of hope. It was instead a partisan political trope.
Robert Sellers
Seeking to identify the “anointed one … who would restore the glories of the golden age” – the very definition of the Hebrew term Mashiah, or “Messiah,” the billboard bore the image of Donald J. Trump.
The strangely connected Scripture quotation and campaign photo was a shameful assertion in the very “buckle” of the Bible Belt, where Baptists and other evangelical Christians comprise a heavy majority of the population. Incensed, retired Chattanooga pastor Bill Bond tweeted, “Georgia (is) seeking to redefine blasphemy.”
It is possible Trump himself suggested this bizarre and blasphemous billboard. He had been satisfied in the past to be identified with King David, King Cyrus and Queen Esther. He was pleased to be compared to the Chosen One, the King of Israel, the Second Coming of God and the Savior.
Barry Loudermilk, a Georgia Republican in the U.S. House of Representatives and a graduate of Wayland Baptist University, no doubt scored points with Trump when he compared the president’s impeachment hearings to the “sham trial” of Jesus Christ.
Or, perhaps the former president himself didn’t know about the billboard before it became national news. Maybe it was the misguided inspiration of some political action committee that thought using a Bible reference in the Deep South would connect well with Trump’s evangelical base (and maybe it did). Even if the Georgia highway message was unknown to Trump, it is hard to imagine he wouldn’t have been stroked by the flattery and could applaud its assertion.
What can we hope for?
I have no shred of hope that Donald Trump can be convinced, persuaded, instructed, enlightened, reasoned with or even cajoled to stop the blatant worship of his cheering admirers. There is no scenario in which I visualize his telling an audience: “I am simply a person, just like you. Please stop treating me as if I am extraordinary. And, for the love of God, stop comparing me with Jesus Christ or any of the other Bible characters we grew up admiring. That comparison is embarrassing to me. It is wrong. Don’t do it. I deserve to be aided, taught, corrected and partnered with, but never worshiped.”
Such a feet-of-clay self-acknowledgment is not in the vocabulary, much less the character, of Donald Trump.
On the other hand, I do have a fleeting wisp of a dream that supporters of the former president who identify as Christians — especially evangelicals — might be persuaded personally to enthrone once again the real Chosen One and Savior.
“My purpose is not to change Republicans into Democrats.”
My purpose is not to change Republicans into Democrats. Rather, it is to challenge Christian supporters of Trump to think about their political loyalties in light of the life and teachings of Jesus.
A ‘bare withered stump’
Miguel De La Torre — Cuban American, progressive Baptist professor and author or editor of more than 30 books — gathered a diverse group of scholars to contribute chapters in a compendium of religious responses to the 45th president of the United States, a 2017 book with the title Faith and Resistance in the Age of Trump. In his introduction to the work, De La Torre wrote:
A month after the 2016 election, I found myself in Cuba doing research for my next book project. One evening, while sitting at the hotel lounge, I struck up a conversation with a couple from Seattle. Eventually, the exchange turned to religion and the election of Trump. Commiserating over shots of Havana Club, the husband — a self-professed agnostic — looked me straight in the eye and told me that after an election where religious leaders supported and campaigned for a misogynist, xenophobic, adulterous casino and strip-club owner, he “never again wanted to hear religious leaders question any politician’s morality.” If a tree is indeed known by its fruit, suffice to note Trump presents us with a very bare, withered stump.
The reaction of this couple from the Pacific Northwest is not unlike the puzzled, critical responses of millions across America, both people of faith and those who claim no religious affiliation — voters who cannot reconcile Trump’s character, behavior and beliefs with what they understand to be the central ethical demands of Christianity.
I am one of these incredulous persons also.
Why?
Why indeed did public Christians like Franklin Graham, Mike Huckabee, Robert Jeffress and Jerry Falwell Jr. — interestingly all Baptists who claim Jesus as Lord of their lives — dote on Trump and thereby betray the most basic claims of their lifelong faith?
Why did members and visitors at First Baptist Church of Dallas stand in line almost three hours to enter the sanctuary on Dec. 19, 2021, the fourth Sunday of Advent dedicated to love, and cheer Donald Trump but not Jesus? Why did Pastor Jeffress, in his sermon that day, choose to illustrate the way God pardons sin through Christ by coyly and ingratiatingly noting how Trump pardoned Alice Johnson in the Oval Office, as the president sat nearby listening and smiling.
“Why are these Christians and so many other followers of Jesus willing to set aside the standards they preach and claim to follow?”
Why are these Christians and so many other followers of Jesus willing to set aside the standards they preach and claim to follow? As Michael Gerson wrote in The Atlantic in 2018:
Trump’s background and beliefs could hardly be more incompatible with traditional Christian models of life and leadership. Trump’s past political stances (he once supported the right to partial-birth abortion), his character (he has bragged about sexually assaulting women), and even his language (he introduced the words “pussy” and “shithole” into presidential discourse) would more naturally lead religious conservatives toward exorcism than alliance. This is a man who has cruelly publicized his infidelities, made disturbing sexual comments about his elder daughter, and boasted about the size of his penis on the debate stage. His lawyer reportedly arranged a $130,000 payment to a porn star to dissuade her from disclosing an alleged affair. Yet religious conservatives who once blanched at PG-13 public standards now yawn at such NC-17 maneuvers. We are a long way from The Book of Virtues.
Was support of Trump a one-issue decision — for example, a stand against abortion rights bolstered by the perception that he was pro-life? Was it because Trump promised to appoint conservative judges, even Supreme Court justices, who might stem the tide of feared cultural change? Was his popularity based upon his status as a Washington outsider and his willingness to attack D.C. insiders with words they themselves had thought but never voiced aloud? Was it simply a way to ride on his coattails into the halls of power — to be photographed surrounding the most powerful man in the world or invited to overnight in the Lincoln bedroom at the White House?
The whore of Babylon
Whatever the reason Christians massively support Donald Trump, the church and state alignment is not a recent occurrence. De La Torre says that “Christian support of politicians diametrically opposed to what church leaders profess to believe is a phenomenon as old as the biblical text.” He cites the passage in Revelation 17:1-6, which refers to “the whore of Babylon” who was “drunk on the blood of God’s holy people.”
The whore of Babylon, De La Torre notes, has been identified differently over the course of Christian history, first associated with the Antichrist of Revelation — “where the word ‘whore’ had less to do with any sexual transgression and was more a reference to the act of idolatry; specifically, ‘whoring’ the church to serve the political interests of secular rulers.” Babylon was traditionally identified with the Roman Empire, although during the medieval period, some reformers and others within the Catholic Church identified the whore of Babylon with the papacy.
The point De La Torre is making, which has relevance for today’s election season, is the following summary statement:
As knotty as the sign “whore of Babylon” might be, it does raise a valid critique for a church, any church, of any faith tradition, that exchanges a radical call of justice for the status quo of oppressive social structures in hopes of obtaining political power and privilege. The cry “God is on our side” is responsible for more bloodletting in the form of crusades, wars, colonialism and genocide than any other human-caused catastrophe. Within different societies, various faith leaders have played the “whore,” falling into the temptation of tailoring a religious message to sell a political ideology, a political party, or a political candidate as ordained by God, a temptation existing for those who consider themselves among the religious right, the religious center, or the religious left.
Then De La Torre asks if the “whore of Babylon” could possibly be Christians, particularly white Christians.
There was a time when white Christians had great influence in American politics, but during the past several decades, demographic and religious diversity and a more pluralistic environment have collaborated to reduce the power of white American Christians. Many Christians don’t realize their culture war allegiance, fear of difference and perceived threat of insignificance have led them to identify with Christian nationalism, which is a looming threat to democracy.
So, De La Torre concludes: “The 2016 election was marked by self-proclaimed faith leaders rushing to present Trump as God’s faithful servant. We were left to wonder if once again the church was being pimped to the highest political bidder. Let’s be clear: no political party, especially the Republican or Democratic, is ordained by God.”
Screenshot from “God Made Trump” video
‘God Made Trump’
In the past few days, Trump has posted a fan-created tribute, “God Made Trump.” Clearly sycophantic, the video is nonetheless a lesson in how praise for a politician can morph into idolatry. It contains such assertions as, “On June 14, 1946, God looked down on his planned paradise and said: ‘I need a caretaker.’ So God gave us Trump.” It continues by asserting that because God was aware we needed someone to control the Economic Forum and intimidate repressive and dangerous enemies of the United States, and because we deserved someone who respects women and works late into the night, God gave us Trump. Using biblical and religious imagery, the film asserts: “God had to have someone willing to go into the den of vipers. … So God made Trump.” It suggests: “God said, ‘I will need someone who will be strong and courageous. Who will not be afraid or terrified of the wolves when they attack. A man who cares for the flock. A shepherd to mankind who won’t ever leave or forsake them.”
“The implication is not even subtle.”
The implication is not even subtle: God created Trump, selected Trump, endorses Trump, gifted Trump to God’s needy people. Praise God and Donald Trump!
Sunday, Jan. 14, was the final day of campaigning before the Iowa caucuses. While leading by some 30 points in the advance polls, Trump nonetheless made an appearance, although his opponents have been crisscrossing the state for weeks seeking supporters. Despite incredibly low temperatures in Iowa and a wind chill of 31 degrees below zero, the faithful came.
One man exclaimed, “It’s not about the weather but about making America great again.” A woman exulted to an ABC news reporter: “We would walk through broken glass to see Trump.”
Although they couldn’t have articulated it, this couple came to see the son whom some have said must rightfully have the government resting upon his shoulders, the gift God decided to give to the world as its shepherd-king. They would do whatever it cost them just to be able to cheer joyfully and gaze lovingly on him, high and lifted up on the dais.
That sounds like worship of a false god to me.
Rob Sellers is professor of theology and missions emeritus at Hardin-Simmons University’s Logsdon Seminary in Abilene, Texas. He is a past chair of the board of the Parliament of the World’s Religions in Chicago. He and his wife, Janie, served a quarter century as missionary teachers in Indonesia. They have two children and five grandchildren.
