The Roosevelt Room echoes with a cappella hymns, voices rising like a revival tent under a starry sky. In the Cabinet Room, pastors proclaim prayers “in Jesus’s name,” invoking divine favor over a nation they believe has strayed. And in the Oval Office, hands stretch toward President Donald Trump, as evangelical leaders anoint him with Bible passages about kings established by God. This isn’t a megachurch in Tulsa or a tent meeting in rural Georgia. This is 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., and in Trump’s second term, it’s becoming a cathedral of conservative Christianity.
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The scene may be jarring to some, but it’s no surprise. Trump, the thrice-married, casino-building, reality TV star who once fumbled the pronunciation of “2 Corinthians,” has leaned hard into faith, transforming the White House into a beacon for evangelical Christians and a stage for a broader religious resurgence sweeping America. From extravagant Easter celebrations to a new Religious Liberty Commission, Trump’s administration is doubling down on God, and evangelical leaders are relishing an open door to power they haven’t seen in decades. Add to this the seismic shock of the first-ever American pope ascending to the Vatican throne, and you’ve got a moment that could reshape religion in America for generations.
A resurgent faith in a fractured nation
America is no stranger to religious revivals, but the one brewing now feels different. Pew Research Center reports that while Christian identification had dipped from 78% in 2007 to 63% in 2024, the decline has now started to slow, and among younger people, there’s a surprising uptick in spiritual curiosity. Social media buzzes with #FaithInAmerica posts, and megachurches are packing pews again. Some call it a reaction to a secularizing culture. Others see it as a backlash against “woke” ideologies. Whatever the cause, Trump has seized the moment, positioning himself as the high priest of this revival.
On Easter morning 2025, Trump took to Truth Social, his digital pulpit, declaring, “We are, together, going to make America bigger, better, stronger, wealthier, healthier, and more religious, than it has ever been before!!!” It was a bold promise, a riff on his “Make America Great Again” mantra, but with a divine twist. For a man who rarely darkened a church door in his first term, Trump’s newfound comfort with religious rhetoric is striking. He’s not just nodding to his base; he’s preaching to them.
The evangelical open door
Walk through the West Wing today, and you’ll find evangelical leaders such as Franklin Graham, Paula White-Cain, and Robert Jeffress practically holding court. The White House Faith Office, now led by White-Cain, Trump’s longtime spiritual adviser, has prime real estate in the West Wing — a far cry from its more symbolic role under past administrations. The Rev. Samuel Rodriguez, president of the National Hispanic Christian Leadership Conference, called it “unprecedented access” and an “unparalleled commitment to affirming our Judeo-Christian value system.”
This access isn’t just ceremonial. Trump’s team has hosted listening sessions in which pastors air concerns ranging from religious liberty to human trafficking to the “breakdown of the nuclear family.” Jeff Schwarzentraub, pastor of BRAVE Church in Denver, spoke at one such session, lamenting the lack of “godly men” leading America. When White-Cain and Jennifer Korn, a faith office official, responded with “amens,” Schwarzentraub felt a surge of hope. “There’s a different level of intensity with the church,” he told the New York Times. “We have a window of time to do whatever the Lord wants us to do.”
For evangelical leaders, this is more than politics — it’s a divine mandate. Many, like Oklahoma pastor Jackson Lahmeyer, founder of Pastors for Trump, see Trump as a vessel for God’s will. Lahmeyer, who dined at the White House Easter event, gushed, “He preached the gospel to us pastors, and I thought that was amazing.” Never mind that Trump’s Easter Truth Social post also railed against “Radical Left Lunatics” and “Murderers, Drug Lords, Dangerous Prisoners.” For Lahmeyer, the message was clear: “You cannot unify with evil.”
This open door has critics on edge. Shannon Fleck of Faithful America calls it an attempt to “tear down the wall between church and state,” warning of increased bullying and religious discrimination. Bishop Dwayne Royster of Faith in Action sees it as wielding religious freedom “as a weapon of fear or domination.” Yet for Trump’s base, this is precisely the point: a White House that unapologetically champions their values.
Trump’s divine pivot
Trump’s religious evolution is one of the more improbable arcs of his career. Raised Presbyterian, he confirmed in 2020 that he now identifies as a nondenominational Christian. His biographers, such as Timothy O’Brien, insist he’s “never been a spiritually or religiously serious person.” Yet something shifted after surviving an assassination attempt in July 2024. Trump, who once seemed allergic to theological nuance, now speaks of being saved by “the grace of almighty God.” At the National Prayer Breakfast in February 2025, he told lawmakers his relationship with religion had “changed” after the attempt, urging Americans to “bring God back” into their lives.
This isn’t the Trump who awkwardly held up a Bible for a photo-op at St. John’s Church after protesters were tear-gassed. This is a Trump who, in the words of Intercessors for America leader David Kubal, “seems more resolute,” striving to “accomplish God’s mission for him.” Whether it’s genuine conviction or political calculus, Trump’s rhetoric resonates with a base that sees him as divinely anointed. Polls show 82% of white evangelical Protestants backed him in 2024, along with 61% of white Catholics and 58% of white non-evangelical Protestants.
His critics, though, see a transactional faith. Trump’s embrace of prosperity gospel figures such as White-Cain, who equates wealth with divine favor, aligns neatly with his brand as a successful mogul. His reluctance to dwell on humility or repentance, core Christian tenets, raises eyebrows. When Episcopal Bishop Mariann Budde called for mercy toward immigrants and the LGBT community at Trump’s inaugural prayer service, he dismissed her as a “so-called Bishop” and a “radical Left hard line Trump hater.” For Trump, faith seems less about theology and more about power.
Easter extravaganza
Nowhere was this power on display more than during the White House’s 2025 Easter celebration. Gone were the subdued egg rolls of the Biden era. Trump’s team turned Holy Week into a spectacle, with a livestreamed prayer service, worship events, and a lavish dinner attended by evangelical heavyweights. The White House issued a statement proclaiming Jesus as “the living Son of God who conquered death, freed us from sin, and unlocked the gates of Heaven for all of humanity” — a far cry from the anodyne Ramadan greeting issued weeks earlier.
Social media lit up with praise. “We’re Honoring Jesus Christ, And We’re Going To Honor Jesus Christ Very Powerfully Throughout Our Lives,” Alex Jones posted on X, while Mario Nawfal hyped the “Big Easter energy” with “hymns and opera.” The contrast with former President Joe Biden’s 2024 Easter, overshadowed by a coincidental Transgender Day of Visibility, was stark. Evangelicals, still stinging from that perceived slight, saw Trump’s celebration as a triumphant reclamation of Christian primacy.
The Religious Liberty Commission
The capstone of Trump’s faith agenda came on May 1, 2025, during a National Day of Prayer ceremony in the Rose Garden. Surrounded by faith leaders singing “Amazing Grace,” Trump signed an executive order establishing the Religious Liberty Commission, chaired by Texas Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick and vice-chaired by Ben Carson. The commission’s mission: to produce a report on religious liberty’s foundations, current threats, and strategies to protect it, focusing on issues such as parental rights, school choice, and voluntary prayer in public schools.
The commission’s roster reads like a who’s who of conservative Christianity: Franklin Graham, Paula White-Cain, Eric Metaxas, Cardinal Timothy Dolan, and Bishop Robert Barron, with Rabbi Meir Soloveichik as the lone non-Christian. Critics such as Kristin Kobes Du Mez, author of Jesus and John Wayne, pointed out the lack of diversity, noting the absence of Muslims, Sikhs, Hindus, and progressive Christians. “It’s a pretty narrow slice of rightwing, predominantly, but not exclusively, white conservative Protestantism,” she told the Guardian.
The commission’s formation, alongside a task force led by Attorney General Pam Bondi to combat “anti-Christian bias,” has raised alarms about church-state separation. Rachel Laser of Americans United for Separation of Church and State warns that the task force could “misuse religious freedom to justify bigotry, discrimination, and the subversion of our civil rights laws.” Yet supporters such as Kelly Shackelford of First Liberty Institute see it as a bulwark against government overreach that will enable Americans to “exercise their faith without intrusion.”
The American pope and the road ahead
As Trump elevates faith in Washington, a parallel seismic shift is unfolding in Rome. The election of the first American pope last month has sent shock waves through the religious world. For American Catholics, who make up 20% of the U.S. population, it’s a moment of pride and possibility. New York’s Cardinal Timothy Dolan, known for his affable conservatism, and Chicago-born Pope Leo XIV could amplify Catholic influence in a nation where evangelicals have long dominated the religious Right.
But the implications are complex. The Vatican’s new American face might embolden Catholic conservatives to align more closely with Trump’s agenda, particularly on issues such as abortion and religious liberty. Yet it could also deepen divides with progressive Catholics, who fear a drift toward Christian nationalism. Trump’s foray into papal imagery, an artificial intelligence-generated Truth Social post depicting him as pope, drew ire from the New York State Catholic Conference and others, who called it blasphemous. Trump’s response? “The Catholics loved it.”
TRUMP VS. THE COURTS — LESSONS FROM AN UNLIKELY SOURCE
What does this mean for religion in America? Trump’s faith-driven agenda, paired with the historic rise of an American pope, could spark a spiritual renaissance, uniting conservative Christians, evangelical and Catholic, in a shared mission to restore traditional values. The Religious Liberty Commission, with its focus on protecting parental rights and voluntary prayer, signals a White House committed to empowering believers to live their faith boldly. Leo’s papacy, rooted in his heartland conservatism, offers a chance to elevate Catholic voices in this revival, possibly bridging divides between denominations and inspiring a new generation to embrace faith over atheism.
For now, the White House is a beacon for this awakening, a platform for Trump’s crusade to “bring God back” that’s as much about power as piety. Whether it’s hymns in the Roosevelt Room or a pope from Chicago, the message is clear: Faith is back, and it’s fueling America’s soul. Evangelicals are energized, pastors are empowered, and the nation stands at a crossroads, poised for a revival that could redefine its moral core. One thing’s certain: In Trump’s America, religion isn’t just personal — it’s presidential.
Daniel Ross Goodman is a Washington Examiner contributing writer and the author, most recently, of Soloveitchik’s Children: Irving Greenberg, David Hartman, Jonathan Sacks, and the Future of Jewish Theology in America.