Meet the evangelicals who are anti-Trump
Pentecostals who feel iffy about President Trump don’t have to hide their misgivings, thanks to the rise of a group of charismatic scholars, religious professionals and activists.
Micael Grenholm holds his book, written in Swedish, about documenting God’s miracles to strengthen people’s faith. Photo by Linus Hugosson.
Known as Pentecostals and Charismatics for Peace and Justice (PCPJ), they are taking on everything from the White House to false coronavirus prophecies. The group presents itself as an alternative to the coterie of Pentecostal and charismatic leaders who have surrounded and advised Trump ever since his 2016 election.
“One of the things we have reacted to is Trump’s rhetoric,” says Micael Grenholm, a Swedish pastor who edits PCPJ’s web site and blog. “Thankfully, he has not started a war. We have criticized his belittling of women, indigenous people, defense of extreme economic inequalities and dishonesty and lying that characterize his administration.
“We have said we were Pentecostal and charismatic and wanted to be guided by the Holy Spirit and while we wish for peace in the world, we did not have peace with how he was acting.”
Pentecostals and charismatics belong to an evangelical sub-group that believes that the supernatural “gifts of the Holy Spirit” are operative today. Of those who are active in politics, the best-known is televangelist Paula White, who says she led President Donald Trump to the Lord before his 2016 presidential run and is known for her fiery sermons on everything from prosperity to “satanic pregnancies.”
But she has been years ahead of her white counterparts on race issues. Earlier this year, White was named as adviser to the White House Faith and Opportunity Initiative.
“Paula was a no one in denominational Pentecostal circles for a long time,” says Erica Ramirez, the Texas-born academic who is the president of PCPJ and director of research at Auburn Seminary in Manhattan. “Just like the election of Trump changed the game in national politics, the elevation of Paula has changed the game in Pentecostalism and evangelicals.”
Trump’s religious cabinet has plenty of detractors, but none were from the same theological camp until the PCPJ — whose members also lay claim to spiritual gifts like prophecy and speaking in tongues — emerged a few years ago.
Although the group was founded back in 2001, it took on new life after Trump arrived at the White House and PCPJ leaders will wryly admit that Trump’s election has hugely benefited them. Pentecostals have earned a reputation for conservative politics and – here in the United States – have acted as mirror images of Trump’s policies. In Brazil, Pentecostals supported one of their own – right winger Jair Bolsonaro – for his successful 2018 run for the presidency.
But worldwide, PCPJ leaders say, Pentecostalism is more focused on racial justice, immigration, peace, gender equality, creation care and economic justice. The last two winners of the Nobel Peace Prize, Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed and surgeon Denis Mukwege, were both African Pentecostals.
The challenge is bringing these two camps together. Pentecostalism has been the world’s fastest-growing form of Christianity for decades and in places like Brazil, it’s taken over Catholicism as the dominant form of spirituality. Globally, it’s gone from six percent of world Christianity in the 1970s to at least 20 percent today – and some estimates are higher.
The PCPJ has a mailing list of 7,000 and a chorus of fans on the group’s web site and Facebook page as its leaders take on theologically questionable pronouncements from prominent Pentecostals and blue-sky meanderings such Jerry Falwell Jr’s statement that coronavirus is actually a North Korean bioweapon.
In March, the PCPJ website featured articles on good Bible teachings for self-quarantine and the worst Christian responses to the pandemic.
Their site includes an open letter to Trump that criticizes his stances on treaties with American Indians, abuse of women, relations with North Korea, trashing the environment and going after immigrants. They end with calling him "to repent, to read and understand what you have described as your favorite book, the Bible, and to be filled with and obey the Holy Spirit. We will pray for you and your administration, and we deeply hope that you will change your ways.”
“We wish to present a positive case for our way of reading the Bible,” says Grenholm. “The Bible chapter most important to Pentecostals – Acts 2 – is not just about speaking in tongues but also about economic equality.”
They’ve gone after some of the most notorious pro-Trump charismatics, such as Rick Joyner, executive director of Morningstar Ministries in Fort Mill, S.C., who prophesied Trump’s 2016 victory and rejects climate change. (His daughter, Anna Jane, a climate change activist, has rebuked his statements on white supremacy and apologized to her black friends for her father “not having stood up for what Jesus stood for.”).
More recently, they’ve tackled religion scams started by Pentecostals; such as a Nigerian pastor recently proclaimed coronavirus protection for everyone who sends him $200 and American televangelist Kenneth Copeland who on his March 11 telecast proclaimed healing to all who were listening. In a recent essay titled “The Five Worst Christian Responses to the Coronavirus Pandemic,” the PCPJ disparaged Copeland as well as several other preachers.
“As the coronavirus pandemic marches on, we’re sad to report that the response of some Christians has been outrageously damaging,” said a March 18 post on PCPJ’s site, “either by using the crisis to earn money, spreading wild conspiracy theories or encouraging their church members to infect each other…
“Just to be clear, we don’t think it’s wrong to pray for healing. That’s what we Pentecostals and charismatics do. But Copeland’s assertion that people definitively are healed even when they have symptoms – something they’re asked to ignore – is extremely damaging.”
What the televangelists don’t realize, says Grenholm, is that pentecostalism’s history as a movement helped the poor and opposed war.
“A lot of Pentecostals are deeply involved in peace and justice work; helping immigrants, poor people and so on,” he says. “I don’t think that prophecy and peace and justice are opposed. The biblical prophets care a lot about helping the poor. John Wimber (founder of the charismatic denomination Vineyard USA) taught a lot about helping the poor, particularly near the end of his life. He was also a pacifist.”
Their site appeals to people like Samantha Lorenzo, an executive recruiter living near Fort Lauderdale who was involved in Palestinian rights groups before she became a Christian in 2014. She gravitated toward Pentecostal and charismatic groups, only to realize that, while she agreed with them on abortion, she differed with them on Israel.
“I was starting to realize my views were different from a lot of Christians and I was looking for community among those with the same perspective on things like human rights,” she says. “In the Trump era, I don’t fit in with a lot of my peers on social media.”
She has found solidarity within PCPJ. Finding similar ties in her local church has been more difficult.
“I haven’t found a church that matches my beliefs and values,” she says. “A lot of what Bernie Sanders says is closer to what Jesus says than what Donald Trump says.”
Yet, it is possible for social change pentecostals to thrive in a conservative Christian culture. Vincent Mossberg, a Swede who has a BA in political science and an MA in sustainable development, is in his second year at the Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry in Redding. It’s connected to Bethel Church, whose leaders have backed Trump and even prophesied he’ll get a second term.
“At Bethel, you are allowed to think differently,” he says. “There are American students who are Bernie (Sanders) supporters here. Being from Sweden, I love what Bernie is saying. Conservatives care about social justice but it just looks different here.”
He admits that students are more into helping the homeless, discussing race and opposing abortion and sex trafficking at Bethel than some of the causes he espouses, such as climate change, political activism and being a vegetarian. Mossberg has written for the PCPJ site on how climate activism and spiritual gifts aren’t an either/or proposition.
“Some people believe climate change is not an important issue which is scary to me,” he says. “But that is not a reason to not be here. Sometimes you need to be a part of something to help change it. I think my presence here has added that flavor.”
PCPJ’s leaders say their faith’s radical roots have been eclipsed by the current American political scene. Modern-day Pentecostalism erupted onto the scene in early 1900 in a Topeka, Kansas prayer meeting and got the world’s attention during a two-year gathering known as the 1906 Azusa Street Revival in downtown Los Angeles. The Assemblies of God, which incorporated in 1914, was once a pacifist organization, as was the Church of God in Christ and the Church of God (Cleveland, Tenn.), two other Pentecostal denominations.
Erica Ramirez, the president of PCPJ and director of research at Auburn Seminary in Manhattan.
“We are not a ragtag army of upstarts,” says Ramirez. “We are laying claim to a historic tradition.” Speaking truth to power, seeking justice may seem like strange bedfellows for today’s Pentecostals, she says, adding, “So we say we are being true to our roots. The first Earth Day was started by a Pentecostal. We have always had women preachers. There’s tons of stuff you can make a historical argument for.”
Pentecostals are big Old Testament readers, she adds, and Israel’s story is theirs as well.
“They understand Israel is symbolic of their history. They understand nationhood from Old Testament Israel. Which is why Paula is considered as an Esther and Trump is considered to be Cyrus.” Cyrus the Great is the 5th century BC Persian king who ended the Jews’ captivity under Babylon.
Referring to Oval Office photos that show Pentecostal and charismatic leaders placing their hands on Trump while praying, she says a lot of the religious world considers Trump’s election as miraculous.
“I think Trump will get a second term,” she says, “as his election is something which Pentecostals will see as a prophecy that worked. There’s no logical reason why he should be in office, so they see the hand of God as putting him there.
“If you consider someone as Cyrus and put your hands on him and anoint him for the presidency, you are king-making. It is the making of sacred culture. What I find incredible,” she mused, “is Trump lets them lay hands on him. Would Hillary (Clinton) have allowed that kind of intimacy? People laying hands on her and directing spiritual energy toward that person?”
Probably not, which makes the religious-leaders-at-prayer-with-Trump photos quite significant.
“Without those kinds of people assigning Trump spiritual authority, he could not have appealed to the Pentecostal rank and file,” she says. “Pentecostals do not believe in civil disobedience. Protest culture is not a thing for them.”
Fuller Seminary’s Amos Yong, a sympathizer with the PCPJ and the author of “In the Days of Caesar: Pentecostalism and Political Theology,” says Pentecostals and charismatics of color are much more into activism.
“For many, their faith is about justice and looking for marginalized folks across society,” he says. “Pentecostals exist across a wide spectrum. It’s a complicated spectrum, just like evangelicals.” One indication of the growth of the movement is Fuller itself. Once a bastion of mainstream evangelicals, Fuller’s student body is now 30 to 40 percent Pentecostal or charismatic.
Although modern Pentecostal history is barely a century old, much of it remains undiscovered.
“We’ve had a lot of Christians refusing to bear arms historically in Sweden and Pentecostals were a big part of that,” said Grenholm, who is compiling a history of Swedish Pentecostal conscientious objectors. “No one has researched that.”
He knows that PCPJ may not appeal to the bulk of American charismatics and Pentecostals, but he’s hoping to draw in those on the outskirts.
“One goal is that we wish to show Pentecostals and charismatics in the U.S,” he says, “that they are not alone in feeling an uneasiness about Donald Trump.”
Julia Duin is a veteran journalist who has worked as an editor or reporter for five newspapers, has published six books and has master’s degrees in journalism and religion. She currently freelances out of Seattle for the Seattle Times, Washington Post and other outlets.