This opinion piece by Jerushah Duford, Billy Graham’s granddaughter, is an interesting read. I will scratch my head for some time to come as to how any evangelical supports President Trump.
Here’s a snip:
I feel homeless. Like so many others, I feel disoriented as I watch the church I have always served turn their eyes away from everything it teaches. I hear from Christian women on a daily basis who all describe the same thing: a tug at their spirit.
I feel it every time our president talks about government housing having no place in America’s suburbs. Jesus said repeatedly to defend the poor and show kindness and compassion to those in need. Our president continues to perpetuate an us-versus-them narrative, yet almost all of our church leaders say nothing.
I feel this tug every time our president or his followers speak about the wall, designed to keep out the very people scripture tells us to welcome. In Trump’s America, refugees are not treated as “native-born,” as scripture encourages. Instead, families are separated, held in inconceivable conditions and cast aside as less then.
I understand that one is supportive of one’s political affiliation. It doesn’t mean one cannot be critical of it. To defend Trump as somehow worthy of Christian support, let alone admiration, is completely beyond my purview of the world. He embodies what I was taught not to be in all aspects of life, from business to personal.
To me, he’s nothing more than the same kind of asshole Washington attracts. And to give him a pass because he wasn’t a politician or a military man … and he’s not fake, says it like it is … that’s why he’s “cool.”
When you come from a faith-based background, there is more of a chance that there is a willing resolve toward concepts like second guessing one’s stance on, say, violence. Do not murder becomes Do not murder except in these situations. Help the poor becomes help them, but don’t help them too much or they won’t need help anymore.
At the recommendation of a friend, I just started reading “The Case for Trump” by Victor Davis Hanson. This 2019 book attempts to paint Mr. Trump as the result of the inevitable. The history of politics paved the way for an outsider to come in and shake things up. And people who don’t agree have concentrated on his failures before presidency and not as a titan of greatness that he has proven himself to be as a president.
Not seeing his greatness is the result of a liberal leftist plot to convince half of America that Trump is evil and they’re all falling for it like media led sheep.
I’m perplexed. Hanson admits to Trumps failures and willingly accepts them as okay.
It comes at no surprise that the support quotes on the back of the book are from Rush Limbaugh, Newt Gingrich and the like.
It comes as no surprise that this book is 5-stared by the darling lovers of Fox News, a station that Hanson frequents as a contributor. What is generally overlooked is that each party right now is making a gigantic mockery out of the other.
What is happening is the squeaky wheels are getting the oil. The reward is not toward people in the center who can reach across the aisles. It’s toward people with such fantastic out there ideas that get the attention these narcissists so greatly pine for.
I have the same disease. Admittedly. I would love to reach a level of public adoration, name recognition. I understand it.
I also get the feeling sometimes if I wanted to become famous, I could embrace an Atheist turned Christian persona and it would catapult me and my name into some form of popularity. Christians eat that shit up. “Look, that guy lived as an atheist to the point that he blogged heavily about it. Then he turned back to JESUS!” I’d be able to speak in Zoom churches all over the world. I’d be invited to schools and colleges. So long as I kept the ruse alive that I was a reformed atheist turned Jesus lover, man, I’d be rolling in all kinds of book deals.
But it would suck, because I’d probably have to go to church again. Ugh. What a bore.
And then I’d have to convince Tina to wrap her lips around a shit sandwich, which she would never do … well, maybe when she started seeing the money roll in. And all the pool boys she could finally hammer down like a pornstar.
She’d see the cash, tax free, start rolling in, because I’d hide behind some church foundation and buy planes trains and automobiles. Houses. Penthouses. Fine dining and the clothes! The shoes! The glitz. The feeling of celebrity. The intoxicating grandeur of magical thinking. She’d retire phrases like “go fuck yourself” and “that’s a bunch of bullshit” for “glory be” and “bless your heart.”
And when the healing touch enters my body, and we started selling food buckets for the apocalypse, I’d pay for that teeth capping white stuff to give me that glimmering smile every time the spotlights crossed over my smiling face, especially watching that plate pass from hand to hand.
Or I’ll settle for none of it, and be pleasantly happy.