A WOMAN in a sparkly dress is standing at a podium in the White House and says: “Jesus taught so many lessons through his death, burial and resurrection. He showed us great leadership, great transformation requires great sacrifice.”

Turning to address Donald Trump personally, she continues: “And Mr President, no-one has paid the price like you have paid the price. It almost cost you your life.

“You were betrayed and arrested and falsely accused. It’s a familiar pattern that our lord and saviour showed us.”

I’m scrolling Instagram and I smile to myself at the latest AI deepfake from Iran designed to take the hand out of Trump, but when I see the post is actually from a mainstream media outlet, I realise this isn’t fake.

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This is Paula White-Cain, a televangelist who has served as Trump’s spiritual adviser across both his presidencies. And she is directly comparing Trump to Jesus and it is completely bonkers, even in terms of what’s become the norm for this administration.

White-Cain’s close relationship with Trump is a visible illustration of the rise of Christian nationalism in the United States and the movement’s efforts to merge a particular interpretation of Christianity with American civic life.

Its proponents argue that the US was founded as a Christian nation and should be governed according to what they see as biblical principles.

At its core, Christian nationalism is less about traditional religious practice and more about identity, power, and cultural preservation.

Many adherents believe that secularism, immigration, and progressive social policies threaten what they view as America’s Christian heritage. This sense of cultural anxiety has made the movement politically active and highly motivated, especially in national elections.

The rise of Donald Trump as a political figure provided a focal point for this energy. Despite not being known for conventional religious devotion, Trump received overwhelming support from white evangelical voters in both the 2016 and 2020 elections.

This apparent contradiction of supporting a leader whose personal life in no way reflects traditional Christian values might be better understood by coining the old adage “my enemy’s enemy is my friend”.

 His racist, xenophobic and sexist comments have probably resonated strongly with some Christian nationalist audiences and many of them will see Trump as a “protector” figure: someone willing to fight cultural battles on their behalf, appoint conservative judges, and resist liberal social change. Trump’s rhetoric often emphasises themes of national strength, religious freedom, and opposition to perceived elites.

For me, one of the most puzzling aspects of Christian nationalism is its relationship with Israel.

Many American Christian nationalists are staunchly pro-Israel and their support is rooted in theological as well as political beliefs. Many subscribe to a framework known as dispensationalism, which at its core believes that the return of Jewish people to the land of Israel is a fulfilment of biblical promises and a precursor to the second coming of Jesus Christ.

Maya Zinshtein’s fascinating documentary “Til Kingdom Come” is an excellent explainer of this and a deep dive into the evangelical/Israeli settler relationship.

The political implications of this theological perspective are tangible. Christian nationalist groups often advocate for strong US-Israel relations, oppose criticism of Israeli government policies, and support measures that affirm Israel’s sovereignty over contested territories.

Trump’s decision in 2017 to officially recognise Jerusalem as Israel’s capital and move the US embassy there was widely celebrated within these circles as both a political victory and a prophetic milestone.

It would be reasonable to expect that people of such deep and abiding Christian faith would therefore “call out” their Israeli allies for preventing Christians from attending Holy Week and Easter ceremonies in the most holy of Christian sites, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.

On Palm Sunday, Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa, head of the Catholic Church in the Holy Land, was prevented from entering the church to say Mass. Following complaints from a number of countries including Italy and France, it was agreed that Holy Week ceremonies could proceed in a “limited way”, according to an Israeli spokesperson.

US Secretary of State Mike Huckabee categorised Israel’s decision as “hard to understand”. Israeli officials have sought to justify restrictions on access to holy sites as necessary in the current security context.

This is nonsense – when they restricted access the same way last Easter, when there was no war with Iran. Access to the Al-Aqsa mosque has been denied for around 40 days to date, including during the holy month of Ramadan and the festival of Eid.

Christian nationalists are prepared to extend a level of moral and political trust to the Israeli state that they might not grant to other governments. Prominent supporters of the Trump administration, such as former Arkansas Governor and appointed ambassador to Israel Mike Huckabee, have stated that the boundaries of Israel “are not given by the United Nations but by almighty God”. Similarly, Trump’s pick for UN ambassador, Elise Stefanik, has stated that Israel has a “biblical right” over the West Bank.

A recent homily by Pope Leo has drawn renewed attention to a growing moral and political divide within global Christianity.

In language that is both stark and uncompromising, the Pope describes Jesus as a “King of Peace, who rejects war:, insisting that God “does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war”. The message culminates in a direct appeal: “Lay down your weapons… remember that you are brothers and sisters.” It is a vision of Christianity rooted in non-violence, human solidarity, and a universal concern for suffering.

This stands in notable contrast to the outlook of many American Christian nationalists, whose strong support for Israel has included backing its military actions, the genocide in Gaza and the annexation of the West Bank.

The tension between these perspectives becomes particularly evident when considering the Pope’s assertion that God rejects “the prayers of those who wage war”.

For Christian nationalists who support Israeli military campaigns, prayer and warfare are not mutually exclusive. Instead, they may pray for victory, protection, or the success of what they view as a just cause. The Pope’s homily challenges this assumption directly, suggesting that violence itself undermines the moral legitimacy of such prayers.

This isn’t a theological disagreement; it reflects broader differences in how religion is applied to public life. For the Pope, faith appears as a critique of power, a voice for the marginalised, and a restraint on violence. For Christian nationalists, faith is more intertwined with national identity, geopolitical strategy, and the defence of perceived cultural or religious interests.

I know who I believe has God on their side.

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