Trump is clowning his evangelical base
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Donald Trump’s approval rating hit a new low this month, but there’s one group that still staunchly stands by him.
According to a recent Pew poll, 69 percent of white evangelical Christians approve of his job performance. That number has dropped slightly from last year, but the investment Trump made in winning over religious conservatives continues to pay dividends.
The question is what any self-proclaimed religious person gets out of the deal.
During his first presidential campaign, Trump made active outreach to Christians. Those efforts were mostly farcical: He claimed the Bible was his “favorite book” but he couldn’t recall a single verse from it when asked. During a speech at Liberty University, he referred to “Second Corinthians” as “Two Corinthians.” He even told a group of social conservatives that he’d never sought forgiveness from God: “I think if I do something wrong, I think, I just try and make it right,” he said. “I don’t bring God into that picture. I don’t.”
Despite his transparent phoniness, it wasn’t long before Trump pulled ahead of Ted Cruz among evangelical voters in the GOP primary. Eight years later, neither Ron DeSantis or Nikki Haley could break his hold on this demo, even after he’d been found liable for sexual assault and was about to stand trial for making an illegal “hush money” payment to adult film star Stormy Daniels.
Back in 2017, Trump continued to go through the motions. Weeks into his first term, he attempted to play the part of a normal religious person, but he’s obviously no method actor. At the 2017 National Prayer Breakfast, he was subdued — low energy even — as he dutifully recited words that at least seemed like a functioning adult had written them.
“I was blessed to be raised in a churched home,” Trump said, fresh off his upset victory. “My mother and father taught me that to whom much is given much is expected. I was sworn in on the very Bible from which my mother would teach us as young children. And that faith lives on in my heart every single day.”
Then Trump practically went woke: “The people in this room come from many, many backgrounds. You represent so many religions and so many views. But we are all united by our faith in our Creator and our firm knowledge that we are all equal in His eyes. We are not just flesh and bone and blood. We are human beings, with souls. Our Republic was formed on the basis that freedom is not a gift from government, but that freedom is a gift from God.”
Trump did veer off script with some digs at Arnold Schwarzenegger, who’d replaced him as host of The Apprentice. He still produced the show, so this blatant self-promotion actually made headlines. But it was a mild offense compared to any random Thursday during his second term.
Back then, Trump’s handlers — and maybe even Trump himself — did a better job containing his true, repulsive nature. Now, what was once occasional miscues have become the entire production. There are no better angels surrounding Trump in his current administration, and his growing lack of inhibition was on full display during his remarks at this year’s National Prayer Breakfast. It was a shamelessly partisan rant that made his hate rallies seem like statesman addresses.
Trump didn’t even offer up Old Testament-style fire and brimstone for his evangelical supporters — just an extended remix of his greatest hit grievances. He sounded like he was presiding over his own involuntary group therapy session.
“They rigged the second election,” Trump whined. “I had to win it. I had to win it. I needed it for my own ego. I would’ve had a bad ego for the rest of my life. Now I really have a big ego. Beating these lunatics was incredible … the first time they said I didn’t win the popular vote. I did.”
The closest Trump ever comes to genuine religious conviction is his insistence, despite all contrary evidence, that the 2020 election was stolen from him. Otherwise, he sees religion through the same distorted funhouse mirror that he views the world. It’s all about dominance and power, never humility and compassion.
For instance, Trump boasted about his administration’s effectiveness killing people in countries that are far less powerful than our own.
“We knocked the hell out of them the other day in Nigeria because they were killing Christians,” he blathered. “When Christians come under attack, they know they’re going to be attacked violently and viciously by President Trump.”
Trump’s speech was littered with grossly inappropriate smears of his enemies. He called GOP Rep. Thomas Massie a “moron” and blasted Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz and Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey for resisting his federal occupation. He said, “I don’t know how a person of faith can vote for a Democrat. I really don’t.”
Only the truly naive would expect a message of Christian love and charity from this president, and it’s worth considering why self-proclaimed evangelicals aren’t continually disgusted by a thrice-married, serial adulterer, and adjudicated abuser, who personifies all seven deadly sins at once.
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The version of Christianity that Trump and his most devout supporters embrace has no room for Christ’s actual teachings. Anyone who references Jesus’s declarations to aid the sick, poor, and vulnerable is quickly labeled a socialist.
Pope Leo recently condemned Trump’s inhumane immigration policies, but that didn’t cause Trump’s most loyal soldiers, such as Speaker Mike Johnson, to pause for a moment and consider whether they might be the baddies.
Peter Wehner at The Atlantic argues that Trump’s evangelical supporters regard his “viciousness as a virtue,” and at the prayer breakfast, Trump invoked Southern Baptist Pastor Robert Jeffress’s cynical description of him: “He may not have ever read the Bible, but he will be a much stronger messenger for us.”
Explaining his support for Trump in 2016, Jeffress said at the time, “I want the meanest, toughest SOB I can find to protect this nation.” Along similar lines, Jerry Falwell Jr. claimed that Christian conservatives — the only kind that matters to him — had backed too many “nice guys” in the past who couldn’t fight the “liberal fascists” who play for keeps and they needed a true “street fighter.” Mike Huckabee absurdly compared Trump in 2016 to the crusty sea captain in Jaws (who gets eaten): “He’s vulgar, he’s salty, he might even get drunk. … [But] he’s the guy who’s gonna save your butt and save your family.”
Hillary Clinton was the killer shark in Huckabee’s tortured metaphor, but despite Trump defeating her, social conservatives apparently still think they need a bigger boat against the rising tide of liberalism. They don’t actually consider Trump their savior. Instead, he’s a devil in the flesh they’ve unleashed to make life hell for their liberal foes.
But this perception of Trump is fundamentally flawed. He’s not a grizzled anti-hero or fierce warrior. He’s a weak, mentally unstable narcissist who serves no cause greater than his personal aggrandizement.
In many ways, Trump has become a parody of a 1980s televangelist, openly grifting his followers for massive amounts of cash. (Trump’s ballroom is practically his own Heritage USA.) Of course, Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart put on a more convincing show. Trump can’t bother to stay on topic these days.
Rather than truly fighting on behalf of his evangelical base, Trump’s recent behavior indicates he’s taking their support for granted. Like any schoolyard bully, he reads their unwavering, docile backing as weakness and can’t resist seeing how far he can push them.
For instance, at the 2017 breakfast, he made a point of praising his discarded first Vice President Mike Pence, who’d once served as his personal credential among skeptical religious conservatives. But this year, he openly mocked invertebrate toady Mike Johnson and his faith.
“Mike Johnson is a very religious person,” Trump said. “He does not hide it. He’ll say to me sometimes at lunch, ‘Sir, may we pray.’ I’ll say, ‘Excuse me? We’re having lunch.’”
Trump even flexed his mobster muscle at this year’s breakfast — not so subtly threatening his own supporters if they don’t stay in line.
“We worked hard on getting rid of the Johnson Amendment,” he said. “You can say anything you can. Now, if you do say something bad about Trump, I will change my mind and I will have your tax exempt status immediately revoked.”
As Nietzsche said, “How evangelical!”
Weaponized religion
There is no clear blueprint for religious faith. People can choose to find in the scripture either moral inspiration or callous vindication. Religious conservatives had long sought someone who’d help them justify their own selfishness and cruelty. This makes Trump their ideal leader. He wields religion as a blunt instrument, one that can only injure and never heal. He’s incapable of even trying to seek grace through his faith, as that would require admitting his sins and working toward genuine redemption.
The reason Trump’s unhinged, hateful remarks at this year’s prayer breakfast don’t disgust his far-right evangelical supporters is that they share his seething cultural resentment and endless persecution complex. For them, his unrestrained rage and open contempt for their mutual enemies resonates greater than a true sermon.
Back in 2017, Trump read from the script he assumed was necessary to maintain his support among evangelicals, who he probably didn’t fully understand. Almost a decade later, Trump knows religious conservatives and their motivations well enough that he doesn’t feel a need to perform anymore. Like his supporters, he’s stopped pretending he’s anything other than his worst self.
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