Trump Evangelicals Choose Worldly Power Over the Gospel

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There is a line of dialogue in Werner Herzog's film Aguirre, The Wrath of God that should stand as a warning for Christian organizations throughout all time.

As the insane Aguirre, who has led a Spanish expedition into disaster, is preparing to execute a rival, the cowardly priest Gaspar de Carvajal tells the doomed man's mistress: "You know, my child, for the good of our Lord, the Church was always on the side of the strong."

American evangelicals are now displaying a similar attitude of power-worship in the age of Donald Trump. More than the result of this election is now on the line, as the mounting hypocrisies may herald the last time that the evangelical voice will even matter in the public square.

After a quarter-century of believing that "character counts" and insisting that President Clinton pay the stern price of impeachment for his adultery, most evangelicals (if polls are to be believed) are ready and even delighted to pull the lever for a man who made his money through stiffing contractors, repeatedly lied to public officials, profited from gambling, divorced two women, dodged the draft, was credibly accused of raping his first wife and has bragged of seducing the married wives of others. Instead of caring for the lame, the halt and the blind, he gives almost nothing to charity and has ridiculed a disabled reporter in front of a crowded hall.

Trump's religious literacy is surface-level when it is even existent. Despite laughable boasts like "nobody reads the Bible more than me," he cannot cite a favorite Bible verse, he boasts that he never asks God for forgiveness, he famously tried to quote "Two Corinthians" during a rally, and seemed to be so unfamiliar with the communion plate at First Christian Church in Council Bluffs, Iowa, that he tried to put money into it, which was perhaps a fitting move for the real estate promoter who once referred to the Eucharist as "my little wine" and "my little cracker."

This would make for a fine 21st century reenactment of Mark Twain's "The Man Who Corrupted Hadleyburg" were the stakes not so high for the continuing relevance of evangelicals in the public square. Their alliance with Trump may be the triggering "deal with the devil" that scuttles their credibility and moral authority for a generation or more — and not just on matters of politics.

Despite some fuzziness about what the term "evangelical" means to pollsters, approximately 78 percent of white evangelical voters say they will support Trump in November. Many infrequent churchgoers — the amorphous group sometimes derided as "NASCAR Christians" whose beliefs are more cultural than deeply theological — probably account for much of this majority, but a significant number of figures in the conservative religious pantheon have joined them, including James Dobson, Jerry Falwell Jr., Ralph Reed and Tony Perkins.

One of Trump's most vociferous pastor-apologists is Rev. Robert Jeffress, who holds the pulpit at the powerful First Baptist Church of Dallas. Contradicting forty years of evangelical shouting that "character counts" in a president, he has said he does not even want a president who embodies the values that Jesus taught in the gospels.

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"I would run from that candidate as far as possible, because the Sermon on the Mount was not given as a governing principle for this nation," he told right-wing talk show host Mike Gallagher. He added: "Government is to be a strongman to protect its citizens against evildoers. When I'm looking for somebody who's going to deal with ISIS and exterminate ISIS, I don't care about that candidate's tone or vocabulary, I want the meanest, toughest, son of a you-know-what I can find — and I believe that's biblical."

(Given his newfound lack of concern for Biblical values in the public sphere, one wonders why Rev. Jeffress even bothered to conceal his profanity with a "you-know-what," but never mind).

Despite his comical boast that the IRS decided to audit him because he is somehow viewed publically as "a strong Christian," Trump is not tied to any serious religious thought-movement whatsoever, except perhaps, as Peter Wehner has theorized, a Nietzschean glorification of the self — hardly a follower of the Savior who said "blessed are the meek," and who commanded us not to strike back again a rival instead of striking them back "ten times as hard," in Trump's favorite formulation.

Through his constant praise of dictators like Vladimir Putin of Russia, Abdel Fatah al-Sisi of Egypt and, incredibly, even Saddam Hussein of Iraq, with admiring words like "strong" and "tough," without any regard for liberty or democratic values, Trump has made it plain that raw strength is the only virtue he worships. His rhetoric has no patience for basic norms of fairness or due process, and certainly not the "love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control" spoken of in Galatians 5:22-23.

What is it, then, that would drive a believer to throw in their lot for him over Hillary Clinton, who has given multiple and persuasive accounts of how her Methodist upbringing and concern for the poor inspired her to seek public service?



Tom Zoellner is an Associate Professor of English at Chapman University in Orange, Calif.