If Donald Trump is remembered for anything, it may be as a war president: His enemies so far have included migrants, trade, Venezuela, Iran, maybe Cuba—and now religion. His latest full-on assault was against Pope Leo XIV, whom he called “weak on crime” and a “very liberal person” who caters to “the radical left,” accusing the pontiff of wanting Iran to have a nuclear bomb.
Trump’s verbal attack on the Holy See followed a series of posts that were equally offensive not just to Catholics, but to the full spectrum of Christians. Those posts included a profane Easter-morning missive about Iranian leadership; a day later, a threat to perpetrate genocide against the Iranian people; and, perhaps most offensive of all, an AI-generated image of himself as a Christ-like figure performing a miracle.
Added to this affront to Christians, as well as believers of other faiths, was Vice President JD Vance’s brazen attempt to justify Trump’s lambasting of the pope with a lecture on how the pontiff should speak about moral and spiritual issues. Vance delivered his remarks at an event by Turning Point USA, the highly politicized, quasi-religious, MAGA-friendly youth organization. To underscore the religious nature of the vice president and recent Catholic convert’s impertinence, the event was held in an evangelical megachurch.
This escalation in Trump’s conflict with religious constituencies comes as a slow but tectonic stress is occurring in his normally unified conservative Christian base. I’m a scholar of evangelical Christianity, so I’ll do my best to stay in my lane as I offer some analysis as to why I believe the MAGA religious base is deteriorating—possibly denying Trump, his cronies, and MAGA successors the extraordinary reliability of the right-wing religious vote they’ve enjoyed to date.
To understand how we got here, we first need to get into the theological weeds. For all the complexities of various denominations, American evangelicals can basically be divided into two groups: the Reformers—or Calvinists—and the Arminians. They’re named for two very important players in the 16th-century European Reformation. While we usually associate the Reformation with Martin Luther or even Henry VIII, there were figures who loomed just as large—and, at times, even larger than Luther. One of these figures was the Dutch theologian John Calvin, who taught that God preordains some people to go to heaven and others to hell and that no one can do anything about it. On the other hand, a rival of Calvin’s, James Arminius, taught that every human being has a path to salvation and can choose to embrace or reject it.
Until recently, Arminians dominated American evangelicalism. For at least 50 years, and arguably much longer, they’ve had the largest churches, maintained enormous ministries, and organized massive conferences, conventions, festivals, and other events—while wielding considerable political influence and prospering handsomely in the process. Think Billy Graham, Pat Robertson, and Jerry Falwell. It’s this wing of evangelicals that also controls most of the still very popular and highly effective old media platforms: radio and broadcast television, paper book publishing, and direct mail houses, many with millions of donors.
But that generation is aging out, and the younger evangelicals coming up, particularly male multi-campus pastors, podcasters, and conference-circuit speakers, are becoming increasingly Reformed in their orientation, and they’re taking over the internet-based media. The most vocal sect of Reformers is the new Calvinists, sometimes referred to as TheoBros, many of whom follow Idaho-based pastor Doug Wilson, famous as Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth’s spiritual mentor. Many of them promote strict interpretations of gender roles, rail against immigration, and champion Christian nationalism.
One key point on which Reformers and Arminians disagree is the biblical importance of Israel and the Jewish people. Reformers espouse “fulfillment theology,” a Protestant tradition that began during the Reformation and holds that the Christian church fulfills God’s promises to Abraham. Some experts call this “replacement theology.” This crew sees Israel and the Jewish people as no longer occupying a central role in the divine plan; God has little to no interest in them because the church has replaced ancient Israel as the divine homeland, and Christians have replaced the Jews as God’s chosen people.
Arminians, on the other hand, see history as a series of divinely orchestrated and distinct eras, or “dispensations,” and in the current one, God means for the Jews to occupy the land deeded to Abraham’s progeny and to manage it until Christ’s second coming. While there are differences within this subset when it comes to how Jews can ultimately find salvation, the consensus is that they retain a special status as God’s chosen bloodline to bring the messiah to humanity and that Christians are obligated to bless and celebrate them—meaning, in practice, that most Arminians are Christian Zionists. (Their friendliness toward Jews can have a dark side, though. Many of them believe Jews will be given a last chance to accept Christ as their savior before facing perdition.)
The Reformer-Arminian divide was on full display during an incident that occurred in February, when right-wing broadcaster Tucker Carlson sat down opposite US Ambassador to Israel Mike Huckabee in Tel Aviv. Doctrinally, Huckabee, while a Baptist, hews to the Arminian tradition. Carlson was raised Episcopalian—a denominational product of the British side of Reformation history (think Henry VIII’s break with Rome)—which makes him a kissing cousin of the new Calvinistic Reformed folks.
“It is unjust to attribute the violent actions of a few to entire communities based on nationality or ethnicity,” read a statement from a major evangelical group.
In a clip that went viral, Carlson pressed Huckabee to explain what exactly it means to be a “Christian Zionist,” a label that the former Arkansas governor uses to describe his own faith and position within evangelical Christianity. In response, Huckabee insisted that the Bible explicitly states that the Jewish people have a right to a homeland, and therefore, that belief should be a tenet of Christian faith. Among Christian Zionists, this worldview includes the hastening of the end times, in which Jews will return to Israel and embrace Jesus Christ as their savior—a subject that was not broached during the interview. What they did get into, however, was the geography. Carlson cited the Old Testament passage in which God promises Abraham that his descendants will possess land “from the Nile to the Euphrates.” Did Huckabee literally believe that Israel had a right to claim the entire Mideast? “It would be fine if they took it all,” Huckabee replied, before acknowledging that the question was hypothetical.
While the Reformed group mostly objects to Trump’s cozy relationship with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, the Arminian Christian Zionists are unhappy with Trump’s boorish personal disposition and heartless policies toward immigrants. The Roys Report, a Christian investigative media outlet, noted that while most prominent evangelicals have remained silent or approving of Trump, some have recently publicly criticized him. They include stalwart Trump supporter Tony Perkins of the Family Research Council. When Trump launched that obscenity-laden screed on Easter Sunday, Perkins objected to the “decline in language and decorum” on X, noting it is “very troubling and should not be acceptable.”
Earlier in the year, Pastor Erick Salgado of the Brooklyn-based Iglesia Jóvenes Cristianos and a prominent leader among Arminian-leaning Hispanic evangelicals, broke from his previous support for Trump after ICE detained one of his longtime congregational lay leaders. During a January news conference, he remarked: “It is not true that ICE is coming for people who have criminal records. They’re coming after everyone.”
And even before the ICE surge wreaked havoc in Minneapolis, the National Association of Evangelicals, whose core constituency is largely Arminian, had already issued a call for an end to the inhumane treatment of immigrants. “Most immigrants in the United States are living peacefully and working productively in their communities,” the group’s statement said. “It is unjust to attribute the violent actions of a few to entire communities based on nationality or ethnicity. We believe refugees and immigrants deserve safety, dignity, and fair treatment.” After reports that ICE had detained Minnesota immigrant families that had legal status, Myal Greene, president and CEO of the National Association of Evangelicals-affiliated World Relief, released a stronger statement, saying: “This shameful and unpatriotic operation preys on our basest fears and manipulates the truth. Enough. ICE must be held accountable, and this operation must cease.”
Again, it is Arminian doctrine and church polity that inform this reaction to Trump’s immigration policies and practices. These evangelicals emphasize God’s love, grace, and compassion. The teachings of John Wesley, the 18th-century Arminian founder of Methodism, regarded by many as the first modern evangelical religious movement and eventual denomination, are summarized in the adage, “Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as you ever can.”
Arminian sects have long maintained “mercy ministries” that provide food, clothing, and shelter to needy populations and have generously funded global medical and public health programs. The Salvation Army, with its residential addiction treatment programs and extensive emergency relief services, is the quintessence of Arminian polity.
Many of these hybrid human services–spiritual outreach entities have suffered under the Trump administration’s disastrous cuts to foreign aid and domestic social services. World Vision, a prominent international evangelical relief organization, lost more than $400 million in government grants after Elon Musk’s DOGE purge of foreign assistance in 2025, leading to some of the first public expressions of evangelical discontent with the Trump administration. The Reverend Eugene Cho, president and CEO of Bread for the World, denounced the cuts as a “policy failure,” and National Association of Evangelicals President Walter Kim warned they would be “damaging and wasteful.” On the other hand, there was little to no pushback on DOGE actions from the new Reformed evangelical groups.
In contrast, Reformed evangelicals, much in the fire-and-brimstone tradition of Jonathan Edwards, tend to focus on God’s law. Consider them analogous to Supreme Court constitutional originalists, only with the Bible as their key document. A theological belief known as “theonomy” holds that biblical laws, specifically Old Testament judicial laws, remain binding on all modern nations and should form the basis for civil government. It’s a sort of “law-and-order” ethic, with a spiritual zing to it.
Cutting foreign aid and domestic social programs is in keeping with the long-standing conservative argument that such government largesse is counterproductive, in that it creates dependency rather than independence. Government entitlements also violate biblical mandates regarding work and wealth creation, reflecting the so-called “Protestant work ethic.”
Playing to this same script has been Trump’s director of the White House Office of Management and Budget, Russell Vought, a Reformed Baptist with deep ties to the New Calvinists. He is best known as a principal author of the Project 2025 master plan for neutralizing what right-wingers call “the deep state.” As ProPublica reported in a comprehensive profile piece, Vought “wanted spending on foreign aid to be as close to zero as possible.”
I began hearing from many on the Arminian side who expressed shock and horror at Trump’s unlawful cruelty.
Reformed opposition to government foreign aid can be extreme. For example, in September, Christian Reconstructionist Radio posted an audio excerpt from the late new Reformed theologian R.J. Rushdoony’s volume, Threatened Freedom: A Christian View on the Menace of American Statism, in which he argues for an end to all American foreign aid because, according to him, among other atrocious things, it has funded rituals of human sacrifice.
This division within Trump’s exclusively evangelical sector continues apace, separating congregations, clergy, and even family members from one another. What was once a near uniformity of opinion that the only candidates worthy of a Christian’s vote were MAGA Republicans utterly loyal to Trump has started showing signs of unraveling.
For all their profound theological disagreements, Reformers and Arminians seemed ready to bury the hatchet when it came to supporting Trump. When he emerged as a credible presidential prospect in 2015 and then the eventual Republican nominee in 2016, tens of millions of American Christians were ready to accept such a highly unlikely champion, even a morally suspect one, provided Trump offered what conservative religious voters wanted.
For years, conservative Christians had heard their pastors, guest preachers, and innumerable television and radio personalities exhort them to pray that God would give them bold leaders who would bring an end to baby killing and stand unapologetically against gay rights, same-sex marriage, and transgender people. Multipage fundraising letters warned donors that Satan—embodied by Democrats—was determined to destroy their families, communities, and country if they didn’t vote for righteousness. My organization and numerous others sent out millions of letters and emails every year telling Christian Americans that what we needed was a strong leader who would appoint Supreme Court justices who would defend religious liberty, return prayer to public school classrooms, allow crosses and Ten Commandments monuments to stand in public spaces, and, most importantly, reverse Roe v. Wade.
Virtually all evangelicals, and many Bible-literate Catholics, were familiar with the story of King David, who committed both adultery and murder but whom God forgave and came to be known as “a man after God’s own heart.” Those who grew up attending Sunday school likely had teachers who lionized figures like the Persian King Cyrus. Although he was a pagan, Cyrus ordered the badly war-damaged holy city of Jerusalem rebuilt and the sacred Temple sacrifices restored. As a way to assuage any discomfort their congregants may have felt or ease their own pesky consciences, self-proclaimed prophets and pastors across the country announced Trump was just like these biblical figures. He may be an imperfect vessel, but really, aren’t we all? Notwithstanding his past failings, they believed Trump would accomplish God’s work, most importantly bringing down Roe v. Wade and recriminalizing abortion. That was enough to convince an overwhelming majority of religious voters to cast their ballots for the unfaithful, thrice-married former playboy and financially and morally bankrupt casino magnate. Thus was born the meta-narrative of grand redemption, helping to make Trump an inspiring symbol of hope for moral transgressors.
After almost 40 years of conservative evangelical ministry, I broke with my religious tribe’s orthodoxy on abortion, same-sex marriage, and the Second Amendment in 2016. There were many reasons for my defection, but the final straw was the overwhelming support by conservative evangelicals for Trump. My refusal to jump on the MAGA bandwagon left me an exile in my own community. In my thinking, for me to support Trump as I had Ronald Reagan, the two Presidents Bush, and Mitt Romney would have meant abandoning the most important core beliefs taught and modeled by Jesus Christ—love of God and neighbor—which were most important to me. I wanted no part of Trump’s fake religion and contempt for humanity, and I publicly said so. Some of my constituents accused me of dissing God’s man of the hour, while others admitted they found Trump revolting but would support him because he could get things done for us. That year, Trump managed to convince the vast majority of American evangelicals that electing him would deliver the world they longed for.
And then, in 2024, he did it again. During his bid for a second presidential term, Trump addressed the conservative National Religious Broadcasters convention in Nashville. In his hour-and-15-minute speech, sprinkled liberally with the word “hell” in a nontheological context, he assured his well-churched listeners: “I fought for Christians harder than any president has ever done before. You know that. You know that. And I will fight even harder for Christians with four more years in the White House.”
In yet another contradiction of the Christian ethic of humble service to others, Trump declared: “You have such power. But really, you weren’t allowed to use that power, and you’re now allowed to use it. I get in there, you’re going to be using that power at a level that you’ve never used it before. It’s going to bring back the churchgoer.”
In his conclusion, and using a term dear to Bible-believing American Christians, Trump promised his reascendancy to power would be the start of a great “revival.” Just as many of the televangelists in the room conclude a broadcast with an appeal to their audiences for financial support, Trump ended his appearance with an appeal for their political support: “With your help and God’s grace, the great revival of America begins on November 5, 2024. It’s a great revival.”
Until Trump’s second term, I felt very alone in my dissent. Then came his dismantling of USAID, his vilification of Haitian and Somali immigrants, and ICE’s abductions and killing of US citizens. In what seemed to be a sudden shift, I began hearing from many on the Arminian side who expressed shock and horror at this unlawful cruelty.
And it’s not just Arminians who are beginning to speak out against Trump. Over the past few weeks, I’ve seen many Reformers and Arminians agree on one thing, at least: that Trump’s behavior is beginning to look increasingly blasphemous. His Easter Sunday profanity-laced ultimatum directed at Iran regarding the Strait of Hormuz, in which Trump threatened to bomb civilian infrastructure and kill a 3,000-year-old civilization, was over the top for even the most enthusiastic Trump evangelicals.
In response, the Reverend Patrick J. Mahoney, a minister of the ultra-conservative Reformed Presbyterian Church and director of the Christian Defense Coalition, posted on Facebook, “In no way does this kind of language or spirit represent Christianity or the church and should be condemned by believers…it is very concerning to have our Commander in Chief making military decisions with this kind of attitude.” Bryan Kemper, longtime director of the anti-abortion youth movement Rock for Life, also posted on Facebook: “While I’m still happy that we have Trump over Harris I’m not going to put my head in the sand about this. This is unacceptable and makes me cringe. President Trump please stop this garbage and learn what Christianity actually is. This isn’t it.”
The subsequent post by Trump threatening “a whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again,” amped up the religious criticism even more. To that, Russell Moore, the former Southern Baptist Church leader and editor-at-large of Christianity Today, responded on X: “Rhetoric calling for war crimes is a moral horror, under any circumstances. Using the Bible to try to justify targeting civilian populations makes it even worse. It comes from, and leads to, hell.”
Following criticism from Pope Leo on the Iran bombing campaigns, Trump denounced the pontiff as “weak on crime” and “terrible for foreign policy.” He also claimed credit for the election of Leo XIV by the College of Cardinals. Seeming to troll the first American pope, Trump reposted the AI-generated image of himself dressed in a white robe with a red cape draped around his shoulders, leaning over to touch the forehead of an ill man. Most Christians recognize such raiment as belonging to Jesus. Trump’s sacrilege blew up my social media pages, with numerous conservative influencers and a broad spectrum of religious leaders decrying it, including Pete Hegseth’s Reformed spiritual mentor, Doug Wilson. He told the Washington Examiner that Trump’s image constituted “blasphemy.” David Brody of the Christian Broadcasting Network posted on X: “You’re not God. None of us are. This goes too far. It crosses the line.” Still, Trump’s most reliable Arminian clerics, like First Baptist Dallas pastor Robert Jeffress and his Pentecostal senior White House religious adviser, Paula White-Cain, remained silent as of this writing.
It remains to be seen whether Trump’s latest offenses to conservative Christian sensibilities (not to mention Catholic sentiments when it comes to respect for the Holy Father), together with the Arminian-Reformed internecine conflicts, will change right-wing religious voting habits. But the revulsion over Trump’s boorishness, the respective anger over Iran and immigration enforcement practices, the charges of blasphemy from several quarters, and the growing number of influential anti-Trump voices may be just enough to deny Trump’s political toadies and his eventual MAGA successor the same overwhelming level of evangelical support they’ve enjoyed to date. After all, the Jesus at the center of all versions of the Christian faith admonished that “every kingdom divided against itself is laid waste, and no city or house divided against itself will stand.” And that, we can take as gospel.
