Let's Talk About Trump

Let's talk about Trump.

I know, I know — half of you just tensed up and the other half are already cheering.

Every time I scroll through Twitter or sit through another “conversation” about faith and politics, I see the same thing — believers foaming at the mouth over Donald Trump. Some with adoration, some with disgust.

It's crazy how one man — a brash New York billionaire with a bad filter and a knack for saying out loud what other people only mutter in corners — has split us in two. Politically, and I would suggest, spiritually. It's as if the man personally holds the keys to heaven or hell.

And maybe we should be asking why.

1. The Weirdness in the Room

A few weeks ago, at Charlie Kirk’s memorial, his young widow stood up in front of the world and did something unbelievably beautiful, incredibly difficult (see Luke 17), and altogether rare. She forgave her husband’s killer. Through tears, with no theatrics — just clear-eyed grace, the kind you can’t fake.

And then... Donald Trump got up to speak. Now, you’d think the Christian world would be talking about Erika’s courageous act of forgiveness. Instead, the think pieces started rolling out about Trump’s “tone,” the “spirit” of the event, and the “danger of Christian nationalism.”

When forgiveness doesn’t move us but a politician’s personality does, maybe the problem isn’t him anymore.

I watched the same thing everyone else did, and if I'm being candid? I much prefer Trump’s blunt honesty — even his rough edges — to the polished politicians who can fake empathy while lying through their teeth. After Erika’s speech, Trump did what Trump does. He made it about him. He cracked a line. He talked about autism for 5 minutes. And then he told everyone he didn't see eye to eye with Erika's forgiveness — which was wildly honest. I heard a man saying what millions of ordinary, wounded people might think but would never dare admit out loud.

It was awkward and human and unscripted — and, in a strange way, refreshing. Because at least it was real. By the way, Jesus demanded that we forgive. And all of us struggle with it too. Though privately. Of course, it's hypocrisy to cry "Foul!" while guilty of the same thing (Matthew 7:3-5). At least we knew where Trump stood. And we knew his speech wasn’t written by a PR team trying to win the evangelical vote.

2. Christianity’s Trump Problem

I keep asking myself what so many Christians actually find so intolerable about Trump.

It doesn’t add up. Is it the tweets? The bravado? The Queens accent? His roughness? His moral failures? Fair enough — Donald definitely isn't your Sunday school poster child. But the complete outrage — the moral panic every time he breathes — feels deeper.

Because policy-wise, it’s not complicated. He's pro-life, pro-peace (which your Bible is), pro-religious freedom, pro-parental rights. He strengthened the economy, has stood up to tyrants, brokered unbelievable peace deals, pushed back on gender ideology, and nominated judges who (love them or hate them) actually read the Constitution.

If you only knew Trump through his policies, you’d think evangelicals would be sighing in relief.

Meanwhile, the “other side” celebrates child mutilation as compassion, drags kids into sexual confusion, applauds abortion up to the point of birth, and calls the destruction of the nuclear family “progress.”

One side, however imperfect, still believes in objective morality; the other seems intent on erasing it.

So forgive me if I’m confused. What gives? What’s driving the obsession, the hatred, the frothing articles about “Christian nationalism” and “MAGA idolatry”? Is there that much liberalism in the church? Or is it actually a form of Trump Derangement Syndrome?

3. The Real Divide Is Around Jesus

I think what we’re watching is bigger than Trump. He just exposed the crack that was already there. The real divide is around Jesus.

For years, the Canadian church (both progressive and supposedly conservative) has been more discipled by the evening news than by the Scriptures. All the while, Biblical illiteracy is alive and well. As a result, we’ve embraced what I call Life Coach Jesus — gentle, therapeutic, endlessly tolerant, makes great suggestions. He feeds the poor, heals the wounded, and asks nothing that might offend modern sensibilities. He fits neatly into our cultural moment: generous, emotional, politically harmless. He’s nice. Safe. And marketable.

But the Life Coach (He is that too!) is not the whole picture when we look at the Jesus of Scripture.

The real Jesus is also King. He’s merciful, yes — but also majestic. He weeps for sinners, and then drives money-changers out with a whip. He doesn’t just comfort — He commands. His mercy is fierce, and His authority is absolute. Life Coach Jesus makes you feel good. King Jesus evokes a facedown posture. Life Coach Jesus comforts the guilty but might not confront the guilt. King Jesus does both. And when King Jesus walks into a culture, everything that pretends to rule — ideology, identity, empire, ego — has to kneel. That’s why the world hates Him.

And that’s why so much of the church prefers His softer cousin.

4. The Trump Test

So when Trump came along — brash, masculine, unashamed of borders, unapologetic about strength — he became the living embodiment of everything the modern church has been taught to distrust: power, conviction, clarity. They didn’t see a flawed leader trying to steer the nation toward sanity. They saw a dragon. Because somewhere along the line, masculine leadership became demonic and moral conviction became violent.

I wonder if Trump isn't simply exposing which Jesus we really follow?

If you’ve built your faith on the idea that truth matters, that nations matter, that righteousness actually exalts a people — you might see through the bluster and recognize the moment we’re in. You might see through the noise and recognize something else: a flawed instrument being used by God to restrain greater evil.

That possibility shouldn’t make us idolize him.

5. Meanwhile, in the Conservative Corner

Of course, there’s another ditch. On the other side, we’ve got Christians who treat Trump rallies like revival meetings — that’s a problem too. Trump isn’t the Messiah. He’s more like the pagan king Cyrus: useful to God’s plans, even without the sanctified vocabulary.

And to be honest — some believers have wrapped too much of their hope around the guy. They see Trump as the only thing standing between the world and the abyss. Maybe that’s true politically, but it’s still dangerous spiritually. Because when we think salvation comes from a political party instead of the Cross, we’ve already lost our discernment — and maybe even our witness.

But the overreaction from progressives isn’t holiness either — it’s hysteria. And hysteria isn’t discernment. It’s fear.

6. The MAGA Scarecrow

You can’t talk about Trump without someone invoking the bogeyman of “Christian nationalism.”

When you strip away the derangement, it usually just means “Christians who love their country and vote their values.” That’s not extremism — that’s citizenship. Loving your country doesn’t make you a nationalist. Wanting your borders secure doesn’t make you a fascist. Praying for righteous leaders doesn’t make you an idolater.

The scarecrow of “Christian nationalism” gets built every election season so that one side can feel morally superior while the other feels muzzled. And for many Canadian evangelicals, the phrase has become a lazy way to say “Christian I disagree with.” It’s all straw, no substance. You can beat on it all day and feel holy while doing it, but it’s still just hay in a field.

7. What the Kirk Memorial Actually Revealed

I recently read an article by Danielle Strickland about the Charlie Kirk memorial.

Honestly, I was shocked by what was in it. Strickland’s piece wasn’t just critical of the event’s tone; it went far beyond that. She described feeling “spiritual dissonance,” as though the whole atmosphere of the memorial carried a spirit contrary to Christ. And then, in what felt like a breathtaking leap, she connected that service — Erika forgiving her husband’s killer and a political figure giving remarks — to centuries of violence and abuse done in the name of religion. She threaded the moment through the Crusades, Nazi Germany, Rwanda’s genocide, even Canada’s residential schools, concluding that what happened at that memorial could even be labelled as blasphemous — that it wasn’t the gospel at all but a dangerous fusion of empire and faith.

Blasphemy?! Wow.

So let’s pause on that for a second.

A widow forgives her husband’s killer on live television, and the reaction from a respected Christian voice is to write a substack essay linking the event to Hitler’s iron cross and medieval crusaders. Somehow, the sight of worship songs, flags, and political commentary became evidence of a corrupted gospel — as if forgiveness, worship, national grief (it was real, trust me) and pride in what Charlie stood for (the conviction that faith, freedom, and moral clarity still matter in a culture losing its bearings) cannot coexist without summoning the spirit of empire.

Let me say it again:

• Erika forgave.

• Trump was…well, Trump.

• And somehow the takeaway became “blasphemy?!”

That’s not discernment. That’s personal politics coming through loud and clear. If discernment means we can’t recognize the gospel when it’s staring us in the face, it’s not the Spirit we’re listening to — it’s the algorithm. And it’s proof that a lot of modern Christians can’t tell the difference anymore.

8. The Church Needs Its Sanity Back

Here’s what worries me: the Church has stopped being the conscience of the culture and has become just another echo chamber in it. We’re so busy reacting to each other’s politics that we’ve forgotten the Kingdom’s politics — righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit. That’s the government we’re supposed to carry.

When Christians can’t talk about Trump without hissing, something’s wrong. We need believers who can say, “Yes, Trump’s rough around the edges, but he’s right about some things,” and others who can say, “Yes, he’s done good, but he’s still wrong about some things.” We need to stop measuring holiness by tone and start measuring fruit.

And I honestly wonder if what the world is calling Trumpism might just be the last gasp of moral clarity before the fog rolls in completely.

9. What We Should Actually Do

Let’s stop treating Trump like a saviour or a demon. Let’s test everything — not by how it feels, but by whether it is true, measures up against the truth of God's word, and bears good fruit. Let’s refuse to call cynicism “prophetic.” Let’s recover the courage to see good where it’s good, wrong where it’s wrong, and Christ where He’s Lord.

Because at the end of the day, Trump is temporary. Policies change. Presidents come and go. But the Kingdom keeps advancing.

The question isn’t “Whose side is God on?” It’s “Are we on His?” (see Joshua 5:13–15).

And maybe, just maybe, let’s let the widow’s forgiveness preach louder than our politics.

Because that’s what actually looked like Jesus.

10. The Last Word: Awe

Paul said it best in Romans 11. He warned us not to get arrogant when we think we understand how God works in history — not to imagine that we’re royalty and everyone else is rabble. God is always doing something bigger than we see, weaving mercy through judgment, humility through power, and redemption through chaos.

“I want to lay all this out on the table as clearly as I can, friends. This is complicated. It would be easy to misinterpret what’s going on and arrogantly assume that you’re royalty and they’re just rabble, out on their ears for good. But that’s not it at all… God’s gifts and God’s call are under full warranty—never canceled, never rescinded… In one way or another, God makes sure that we all experience what it means to be outside so that he can personally open the door and welcome us back in… Everything comes from him; Everything happens through him; Everything ends up in him. Always glory! Always praise! Yes. Yes. Yes." ~ Romans 11:25–36, The Message

That’s where this conversation needs to end — not in outrage, or analysis, or self-assurance, but in awe. Because history, politics, and personalities are just threads in a tapestry we can’t yet see the full shape of.

And when we finally do, it will all resolve into one word: glory.

— from the back forty, Romans 12:9

“Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil; cling to what is good.”