Opinion
Since arriving to the White House, the richest man in the world, Elon Musk, has been on a destructive whirlwind through the federal government. At the behest of President Trump, the South African billionaire and chief of the Department of Government Efficiency has led an effort to illegally gut numerous federal agencies, fire tens of thousands of federal workers, and perpetrate fraud while claiming to root it out.
Regarding the seemingly intentional turmoil of Musk’s actions, Trump bragged at the Conservative Political Action Conference that his administration had “effectively ended the left-wing scam known as USAID. The agency’s name has been removed from its former building, and that space will now house agents from Customs and Border Patrol.” Taken alone, these actions have the makings of an oligarchic heist or a coup that cripples the government’s capacity to provide and protect public goods.
But within a wider aperture of the administration’s priorities — ripping apart families, hoping to establish concentration camps, offering refugee status to white Afrikaners, attacking trans people, and engaging in a “war on woke” across institutions — a coherence comes into focus amid the chaos. These are men who destroy to build a racial hierarchy in service of their own wealth and profit. Or as political commentator Elie Mystal of The Nation has framed it, they are bringing a “a neo-apartheid economic agenda to the US government.”
When I reread the prologue of my 2021 book, A More Perfect Union, I’m reminded just how badly so many of us underestimated the backlash that followed the racial awakening of 2020 — and how durable the forces of grievance, fear, and economic dislocation have become. I wrote about my hope that Trump’s Big Lie and his corresponding efforts to overturn the 2020 election results would serve as a wake-up call to protect and strengthen our democracy. Yet that lie only got worse and our urgent calls to save our democracy failed to break through. I hoped that lessons from the pandemic would inspire a greater commitment to build a more equitable economy, yet the backlash against shutdowns and vaccines seemingly exacerbated our culture wars and individualism.
President Donald Trump has signed an executive order setting up a task force to counter “anti-Christian bias.” Trump claims that the task force is necessary to fight discrimination against Christians. But in practice it seems designed to enforce a very narrow version of conservative Christianity. The task force will counter efforts to prosecute demonstrators who block access to abortion care and to allow for discrimination against LGBTQ+ people on campus. It will encourage the federal government to elevate right wing Christianity as a national ideology.
Imposing Christian morality on the U.S. seems out of step with the separation of church and state. But it’s not exactly out of line with American tradition. For example, at the height of the postwar Red Scare in March 1953, leftist poet and activist Langston Hughes was hauled before Sen. Joseph McCarthy and the Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations. PSI was looking to root out communist influence. But in that regard, many of the questions centered on religion — and on a poem which the subcommittee believed showed that Hughes was anti-religious and therefore pro-communist.
The poem in question was “Goodbye, Christ,” which Hughes wrote on a trip to Soviet Russia in 1932.
A few months before he was arrested, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote an essay on Christian responsibility under authoritarianism. Reading it today is both eerily relevant and illuminating.
These first few weeks of President Donald Trump’s administration have already been grueling, with a blizzard of executive orders that run the gamut from trolling to hurtful to alarming. We all remember this feeling from the last time around — there are so many shiny objects of outrage for us to chase that after a little while it’s easy to just throw up our hands, admit defeat, and decide to wait out the maelstrom by streaming our favorite television series. So many people are hurt and scared; many are just exhausted.
During Trump’s inauguration in 2017, many responded by attending one of the hundreds of Women’s Marches around the country. Those who participated in these marches set the record for the largest single-day protest in United States history. During Trump’s inauguration this January, the protesters were sparse. It’s easy to feel isolated, alone, and hopeless. For us to get through Trump 2.0 together, we need to figure out new ways to organize.

Rev. Mark Knutson (white robe) stands amid faith leaders. Augustana Lutheran, a sanctuary Church in Portland, Oregon, was completely filled to overflowing on January 26, 2025 with faith leaders, community leaders, and elected officials planning to support the immigrant community in the face of Donald Trump's threatened onslaught against "illegals." Credit: ohn Rudoff/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect.
What does it look like for churches to act faithfully in the current tumultuous political crisis? Prophetic witness and speaking up for justice matters; acting faithfully goes hand in hand with speaking faithfully. Whatever policy priorities churches focus on, they should always look to go deeper into solidarity with those in need in their communities — especially marginalized people who are in danger due to unjust government actions.
Solidarity isn’t affection. Solidarity is, instead, a recognition that our destinies are intertwined because of our common humanity. As Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote in his 1963 “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” “We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.”
In the halls of empire, men sit at gleaming tables untouched by war, they speak of peace as though it is theirs to grant. But they have never gathered their children into one room to sleep at night so that if death comes, it takes them together. They have never watched the sky split open with fire, felt the air convulse after the blast, felt the wind howl past — hot, violent, and thick with the dust and scent of obliteration. And yet, they sign their names to ceasefires, shake hands, and expect the world to applaud. They do not blush as they bankroll the demolition of homes, the bombing of hospitals, and the erasure of entire families .
During the first week of February, U.S. President Donald Trump hosted Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, whois the subject of an International Criminal Court arrest warrant for committing war crimes and crimes against humanity. This meeting took place as the fragile ceasefire agreement between the Israeli occupying forces and the Palestinian militant group, Hamas, hung in the balance. Trump, never one to concern himself with the nuances of international law (or any law, really), originally floated the idea of the U.S. “owning Gaza” on Feb. 4 and then has since doubled down on this colonial fantasy, one so crude and reckless that his own administration scrambled to downplay it.
Even while wrestling with lament, I’ve wanted to move toward contributing to addressing injustice to counter the pervasive injustice that occupies so much of our news. But I’ve just not known how. I’ve felt that nothing in my sphere of direct influence is grand enough to move any kind of needle.
But being a faithful follower of Christ is, in fact, less about giving a virtuoso solo performance and more often playing a small part in a great work we cannot fully comprehend.
Autocracies begin at the ballot box. Donald Trump is the legitimately elected president of the United States who, in his first weeks in office, has used illegitimate and illegal actions to solidify his power. He has brazenly declared, “He who saves his country does not violate any Law.”
But while he is the first U.S. president to display such public contempt for the structures, institutions, and civil servants he has been elected to lead, his tactics aren’t unique.
Amid the fragile ceasefire, the exchange of hostages, and the temporary pause in Israel’s genocidal onslaught against Gazans, nearly six hundred Christians huddle together in one of Gaza’s battered churches, their prayers rising above the rubble as a defiant testament to their faith and resilience. Among them, Gazan Christian George Antone boldly declares, “For us, as Christians, we are not leaving Gaza. We will remain in Gaza and help people in Gaza reconstruct their houses, rebuild the streets. Yes, we will stay in Gaza. We are not leaving.”
Antone’s words stand in stark contrast to the explosive press conference at the White House on Feb. 4, when President Donald Trump brazenly suggested that the United States should “effectively own” Gaza, proposing to turn it into a real estate venture while displacing Palestinians from their homeland and relocating them to neighboring countries.
In June 2023, Metropolitan AME successfully sued the Proud Boys, winning a $2.8 million judgment through default judgement for trespassing and vandalizing our property. But because they have yet to pay, our church creatively sought to ensure payment by stripping the hate group of its trademark, meaning they can no longer sell merchandise to fund their hate — unless our church allows it. Any profits the Proud Boys earn from using the trademark must be paid to Metropolitan to help fulfill the multi-million-dollar default judgment.
In the weeks leading up to the inauguration, Sojourners’ 41st class of fellows gathered to study bell hooks’ prophetic book All About Love . In her writing, hooks not only exposes the structures underpinning systems of oppression but illuminates paths toward dismantling them. Her primary tactic is one we don’t hear much about these days: love.
Published in 1999, All About Love could just as easily have been written amid today’s political upheaval. Hooks calls out fear as a defining issue of our time: “As a culture we are obsessed with the notion of safety. Yet we do not question why we live in states of extreme anxiety and dread. Fear is the primary force upholding structures of domination.”
I’ve been caring for the dying since I was 22 years old. Before the rise in death doula work, I was a caregiver for my mother, who died of primary peritoneal carcinoma at 58 –years old. I sat with her during her chemotherapy appointments. I took notes at appointments with doctors. I created a rapport with her medical team so that I could be in the best position to advocate for her up until the very end.
The fight to save the planet isn't over yet, but it will look different under Trump. Can Christians lead the charge?
With Trump’s blessing, Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency has created an unprecedented crisis at an agency that oversees lifesaving assistance to some of the poorest and most vulnerable people in the world. Despite issuing limited humanitarian waivers, the administration has frozen nearly all new foreign assistance funding for the next 90 days, fired many senior leaders, and put the entire agency’s staff of more than 10,000 people on leave, two-thirds of whom work in field locations around the world.
This January, Trump was once again sworn in as president of the United States, propelled to office by the unwavering support of countless evangelical Christians.
For me, the results of the 2024 presidential election felt like the punchline to an incredibly cruel joke. I grew up in the church and still remember the lessons taught to me by my old mentors. I was told that following Jesus meant that truth mattered, justice mattered, how I treated women mattered, and how I treated my neighbor mattered. Later, when I came out as a gay man, my Christian peers insisted that I put aside my personal feelings and desires in the name of biblical fidelity. I spent years of my life making painful and irreversible sacrifices in order to do what I thought was right at the time. Then Trump came along, and suddenly the narrative changed — truth was pliable, character was irrelevant, and justice was getting in the way of “winning.”
In an interview with Fox News, Vice President JD Vance claimed that the old Christian teaching of "ordo amoris" justifies the Trump Administration's treatment of immigrants. But a closer look at the writings of Augustine show that "ordo amoris" doesn't mean what Vance claims it does. In fact, it teaches almost the exact opposite.
Trump's barrage of executive orders, policy decisions and campaign appointments is overwhelming in its extremism. It is designed to provoke a feeling of panicked helplessness among those who oppose his plans for immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, and other targets of his vision for our country. But we do not have to give Trump what he wants and, by staying rooted in our faith, can undermine his campaign of shock and awe.
Democratic Party leadership presented the 2024 presidential election as a choice between Donald Trump and democracy. That messaging seemed not to resonate with the majority of voters as Trump is now president. Despite his extreme policy stances, Trump captured nearly two-thirds of the Christian vote. Trump and his ilk will accelerate the nation’s lurch toward authoritarianism, Christian nationalism, and fewer rights for already marginalized communities. The campaign promises of then-candidate Trump — many of them already being enacted — will devastate millions.

An American flag and a pride flag wave from a demonstrator's pole during a queer and transgender youth rally near the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C. on March 31, 2023, calling for autonomy following recent legislation and threats of violence directed towards transgender people. Credit: Reuters/Bryan Olin Dozier/NurPhoto.
Progressive churches or worship communities often present as accepting places — displaying LGBTQ+ flags or signs on their property or preaching messages that emphasize accepting and affirming LGBTQ+ people. Those are good places to start. But as the U.S. government escalates its discrimination against trans people, it is also necessary that religious communities escalate their support of the trans community. For communities that want to stand in solidarity with trans people, here are five additional action steps that you and your religious community can take.