Trump: Don’t You Dare Make the “Good Book” Look Bad!

Could there be a more shameful money-stealer in the temple?

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

From the other room, I heard that familiar, hateful voice. I reflexively laughed at what was being said. But wait. It wasn’t Saturday, so it couldn’t be an SNL skit. It couldn’t be a ridiculous a humorous clip. But it sounded hilarious.

Then I realized that it was real. And I felt ashamed.

Donald Trump, who couldn’t quote a line of scripture, who denied the need for personal forgiveness, who couldn’t even hold the Bible the right side up, was hawking a combo Bible and Constitution, wrapped in the flag and a country music song.

He was enlightening us about the country’s need to usher God and Jesus back into the picture by plunking down sixty bucks worth of salvation. As much as he wanted everyone to get a religious vibe, it was clear that Christians were really that the only ones he cared about — forget about my religious Jewish relatives and my sweet Muslim nephews.

His is a special Bible. Perhaps the most outrageous statement about it was that it was the only edition “endorsed” by Trump, as if it is holier, Jesus is blonder, and slaves really are supposed to obey their masters.

If I’m honest, I will admit that despite 12 years of Catholic school, I’m nowhere near a “good” Catholic, or even Christian. And yet the only non-psychological or non-poetry book on my desk is my father’s worn and treasured Bible.

While I doubted everything growing up, I felt safe within my parents’ faith. Not the “heaven and hell” faith, but the quest to live a moral life, a generous life of honor.

And what better way to guide us than through the richness of biblical stories. Stories that encapsulated our exalted and humble lives. Stories that articulated devastation and loss, weakness and constancy. Stories that knocked us off our high horses and warned, “You’re not anything so great. Why do you see yourself as better? Give it all up to the people you call vermin.”

The stories were fleshed out with the language of saints and sinners. It was the anthology of second chances. Of wonder and joy. Of absolute “down and out- just let me die” hopelessness of Job at…