The Faustian Bargain: How Evangelicals Took the Deal Jesus Rejected
The Faustian Bargain
When Jesus wandered the desert for forty days and forty nights, Satan appeared, offering dominion over the world. “All will bow before you,” Satan tempted, “if only you bow to me.” But Jesus, rejecting the allure of power, wealth, and ego, replied, “Away from me, Satan!” and turned away.
In 2016, American evangelical leaders faced their own temptation—one that tested the very soul of their faith. Unlike Jesus, who stood firm in a desolate wilderness, these leaders didn’t.
The cost of their response? Whatever remained of their moral compass.
At Liberty University, Jerry Falwell Jr., the scion of a powerful Christian Right dynasty, endorsed a man whose life starkly contradicted the values he once claimed to hold sacred. This was no ordinary endorsement. It was a transaction—a moral and spiritual bargain that would echo far beyond the walls of that auditorium.
Falwell, a man who had long wielded Christianity as a tool to exclude and condemn, did the unthinkable: he endorsed Donald Trump—a self-proclaimed billionaire casino mogul and reality television star. Trump’s life, both public and private, seemed to oppose everything Jesus stood for. But this was not just an endorsement; it was a calculated exchange.
Evangelical Leadership
The Faustian nature of this bargain became unmistakable as other evangelical leaders quickly followed suit. James Dobson, the revered founder of Focus on the Family, blessed Trump just hours before the Republican National Convention. Dobson, who had built his career on promoting family values, described Trump as “America’s only choice,” suggesting that the thrice-married, boastful man had recently become a “baby Christian.” This rationalization was meant to soothe the consciences of evangelical voters who might have recoiled at Trump’s glaring contradictions with their faith. Yet, it hinted at a deeper transformation—one where the pursuit of power began to eclipse the moral convictions that had ostenisbly defined the evangelical movement.
Pastor Mark Burns, a demagogic televangelist from South Carolina soon emerged as one of Trump’s most vocal supporters. From his pulpit, Burns thundered that Trump would restore America’s Christian heritage, framing him as a divinely appointed leader, handpicked by God despite his obvious flaws. In Dallas, Robert Jeffress, pastor of the First Baptist Church, echoed this sentiment, dismissing concerns about Trump’s character by asserting that God often uses imperfect leaders to fulfill divine purposes. In their eyes, Trump was a modern-day King Cyrus—an unlikely savior anointed to carry out a sacred mission.
Beneath these endorsements lay a temptation as ancient as time itself. The story of Jesus resisting Satan’s offer of dominion over the world is a cornerstone of Christian teachings. Jesus, presented with the allure of power, wealth, and influence, turned away, choosing the path of sacrifice and divine love. Yet here, in the corridors of American evangelicalism, that same temptation reappeared. This time, however, the outcome was different.
Unlike Jesus, these evangelical leaders embraced the promise of power and influence, because for many of them, it was something they had always wanted. They accepted the bargain that Jesus had rejected, descending into the inferno of moral compromise, each step marked by the erosion whatever values they had somehow retained.
A Plague Upon the Nation
Trump’s presidency can be likened to a biblical plague, bringing darkness to the United States and enveloping the nation in despair. Just as the plagues were divine retribution upon Egypt, Trump’s reign seemed to visit calamity after calamity upon the American people, culminating in the devastating COVID-19 pandemic.
As the pandemic spread, Trump showed complete indifference to the suffering it caused. He lied about the severity of the virus, downplayed its risks, and actively encouraged people to congregate in large settings, including churches for Easter. His reckless decision to continue holding rallies, even as the virus’s deadly nature became clear, turned these events into super-spreader gatherings. Trump was not just a leader; he became a caravan of death, carrying misery across the nation. A study revealed that his rallies, driven by his need for self-aggrandizement, led to the deaths of hundreds of his own followers, leaving behind a trail of orphans, widows, and the metaphorical skeletons of a nation in mourning.
Trump’s mishandling of the pandemic extended beyond reckless rallies. His administration’s push to prematurely reopen the economy, combined with his constant downplaying of the virus’s risks, exacerbated the crisis. Trump’s repeated claims that the virus would “disappear like a miracle” and his promotion of unproven treatments further eroded public trust in science and medicine. The consequences of his actions were not abstract; they manifested in the loss of lives and the disintegration of public health systems under the strain of a leader who prioritized image over human life.
At a 2024 rally in Mississippi, former President Donald Trump made a shocking revelation: he had suggested to UFC President Dana White the creation of a “migrant league of fighters.” In this grotesque proposal, Trump envisioned migrants—many of whom are fleeing repressive regimes, hunger, and famine—battling UFC champions in a brutal spectacle. He even speculated that the migrant fighters might prevail, noting how “tough” they are.
The crowd, gathered at a meeting of Christian conservatives, responded with enthusiastic cheers, seemingly oblivious to the bitter irony of the moment. The crowd, gathered at a meeting of Christian conservatives, responded with enthusiastic cheers, seemingly oblivious to the profound irony of the moment. This unsettling scene evoked images of ancient Rome, where gladiators—often slaves or captives—were believed to have been forced to fight Christians and other marginalized groups for the entertainment of the masses. (However, while this belief is frequently retold, it is more a product of myth and popular storytelling than verifiable historical fact, with little evidence to support it.)
Nevertheless, the Mississippi crowd, captivated by Trump’s suggestion, mirrored the Roman mob’s thirst for violent spectacle, finding amusement in the dehumanization of the vulnerable.
A Modern Herod
Despite this devastation, evangelical leaders continued to praise Trump, almost as if he were the golden calf worshipped by the Israelites in the desert. In this moral wilderness, Trump led them astray, leaving them lost in a barren landscape of their own making. The darkness he cast over the nation was not just a physical affliction but a profound moral void, where long-held values were sacrificed on the altar of political expediency and blind allegiance.
Trump’s policy of separating children from their parents at the border was perhaps the most chilling parallel to Herod’s cruelty—a deliberate act of inhumanity that tore families apart and left thousands of children to languish in squalid detention centers. Just as Herod’s murderous decree forced Jesus, Mary, and Joseph to flee as sojourners to Egypt, Trump’s actions inflicted deep, enduring wounds on the most vulnerable. In betraying the very teachings of Jesus, who once sought refuge as a child, Trump sought not to protect the sojourner but to destroy families, permanently scarring lives in the process. This was not merely the misstep of a leader; it was the calculated cruelty of a man who wielded power with blatant disregard for the sanctity of life.
Even in the face of such moral transgressions, evangelical leaders remained steadfast in their support, twisting scripture to justify their allegiance. The true teachings of their faith—compassion, mercy, and protection for the vulnerable—were sacrificed for the fleeting rewards of political influence. In embracing Trump, they did not just lose their moral bearings—they led countless others into a moral abyss, where the line between righteousness and wrongdoing blurred into obscurity, and where the pursuit of power eclipsed the fundamental call to compassion and justice.
Symbols of Moral Compromise
In the New Testament, Jesus warns of false prophets, cautioning that “you will know them by their fruits.” It is not their words, but the results of their actions that reveal their true nature. This teaching resonates powerfully when considering the glaring examples within the modern evangelical movement.
Far from leading lives of humility and sacrifice, Jerry Falwell Jr. and Paula White have embraced lives of luxury, more reminiscent of Caesar than Jesus. Falwell Jr., like his father before him, saw the political arena not as a place to practice Christian virtues but as a stage to amass power and shape society according to his vision—a vision that often meant restricting the rights of women and marginalized groups. His endorsement of Donald Trump was less about faith and more about the opportunity to consolidate influence and impose his will on the nation.
The fruits of Falwell Jr.’s life reveal deeper contradictions. The scandal involving his wife and Giancarlo Granda, a young man who claimed to have had a years-long affair with her while Falwell Jr. watched, laid bare the stark dissonance between Falwell Jr.’s public persona and his private actions. This scandal, which ultimately led to his resignation from Liberty University, exposed a pattern of behavior that contradicts the very values he claimed to uphold.
Paula White’s path, though less complex, is equally telling. Her ministry has often resembled an economic enterprise more than a spiritual mission. Lawsuits and controversies have surrounded her “soul seeds,” which she sells for $1444, promising divine favor in exchange for financial contributions—essentially, indulgences rebranded for the modern age. For White, Christianity seems to be a means to fund an opulent lifestyle, rather than a calling to serve others.
These lives of excess, their pursuit of political power, and the scandals surrounding them stand in stark contrast to the teachings of Jesus, who called for humility, compassion, and love for the least among us. In seeking the power of Caesar, Falwell Jr. and White have revealed the fruits of their works—fruits that, by Jesus’ measure, expose the true nature of their ministries.
January 6, 2021: The Reckoning
January 6, 2021, was more than a mere insurrection; it marked the moment when a Faustian bargain reached its inevitable denouement. As the Capitol’s hallowed halls were overrun by a mob brandishing crosses and Bibles, the symbols of faith were perverted into instruments of violence. Evangelical leaders, who had for so long tethered their hopes to Donald Trump, found themselves staring into the abyss—a betrayal of the very principles they had vowed to uphold.
During those frantic hours, as chaos reigned, appeals for Trump’s intervention echoed through the corridors of power. From his inner circle to members of Congress, voices implored him to act. Trump, ever the aloof Caesar, remained unmoved, reportedly delighting in the spectacle. As the mob bayed for the blood of the Vice President and lawmakers alike, Trump’s silence spoke volumes.
Trump’s conduct during the pandemic further crystallized this disturbing alignment. In the spring of 2020, as the virus swept through the nation, Trump retweeted an image that likened him to Nero—the emperor who, according to legend, fiddled while Rome burned.
For Christians, Nero is infamous for his brutal persecution of early believers, including the widespread torture and execution of Christians after the Great Fire of Rome in AD 64. This comparison was not lost on the public, as it evoked the image of a leader indifferent to the suffering of his people, much like the emperor who watched as his city burned and scapegoated an innocent population to deflect blame. In Christian contexts, likening Trump to Nero implied not only incompetence or apathy but also a profound moral failing, aligning Trump’s behavior with that of one of the most reviled figures in Christian history.
The High Cost of Compromise: Trump’s Evil As Contagion
The consequences of this Faustian bargain are now apparent. The public perception of evangelical Christians has been irrevocably damaged, with many seeing them as hypocrites who traded their faith for political gain. The moral authority that once defined evangelical leadership has eroded, leaving behind a sense of betrayal and disillusionment among their followers.
William Barr, Trump’s former Attorney General, once expressed deep disgust over Trump’s behavior, stating that “loyalty is a one-way street for [Trump]… He leaves in his wake ruined lives — the people who went up to Capitol Hill, these individuals, many of the people who served him in government who got sucked into things…” Despite this harsh criticism and his firsthand witness of the destruction Trump has caused, Barr has since returned to Trump’s corner, even claiming he would vote for him again. Barr’s return exemplifies the profound and unsettling loyalty Trump commands, drawing back even those who once condemned him, regardless of the moral cost.
Numerous individuals who participated in Trump’s failed coup against American democracy now face severe consequences. Lawyers like Rudy Giuliani and John Eastman are under disbarment proceedings, and state officials in Georgia, Wisconsin, Michigan, Nevada, and Arizona have been indicted for their roles in efforts to overturn the 2020 election. These legal challenges underscore the destructive consequences of following Trump down a lawless path.
Trump’s influence has proven deadly in other ways as well. His promotion of hydroxychloroquine during the COVID-19 pandemic—a drug later found to be ineffective and harmful—led to widespread misinformation and thousands of unnecessary deaths. Furthermore, Trump’s insistence on reopening churches and holding indoor rallies during the pandemic, even as the virus spread uncontrollably, directly contributed to the deaths of his supporters.
A Stanford University study linked Trump’s rallies to at least 700 deaths due to COVID-19, drawing chilling comparisons to mass killers like Jim Jones, who led his followers to their deaths through blind loyalty. Trump’s lies during the pandemic were multifaceted and severe. He downplayed the virus, claiming it would “disappear” and pushed for churches to be packed on Easter Sunday, exacerbating the spread.
A Parable for Our Times: Faustian Bargains Never Work Out
In the end, the evangelical leaders who embraced Trump did not just gamble with their political influence; they gambled with the soul of their faith. Now, as they survey the wreckage left in the wake of their alliance, a singular question remains: Was it worth the price?
The answer is not likely to be found in the corridors of power but in the quiet solitude of introspection, where the true cost of their Faustian bargain must finally be reckoned.
This tale of evangelical support for Trump is not just a political saga; it is a moral parable, a cautionary story for those who would trade eternal truths for fleeting power. In their pursuit of influence, these leaders strayed from the narrow path, only to find themselves lost in a wilderness of their own making—a place where the promises of control and dominion have dissolved into mirages, leaving behind a legacy of spiritual ruin and moral compromise.
As the dust settles on the Trump era, what remains is not just a fractured nation, but a faith that has been tarnished by its association with a man whose life and leadership stood in stark opposition to the teachings it claimed to uphold.
