Trump White House: From Chaos to the Cross

Last year, the White House “celebrated” Easter Sunday by aligning it with “Transgender Day of Visibility.” Instead of reflecting on the single most pivotal moment in human history—the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ—the people’s house featured shirtless biological men identifying as women, flaunting themselves on sacred ground, and drawing attention not to God, but to themselves.

The most visible declaration from the Biden White House on Easter 2024 wasn’t “He is Risen,” but rather “Look at me.”

This year, that’s all changed.

With President Donald J. Trump restored to the White House, Holy Week has reclaimed its dignity. Gone are the cheap theatrics of political agendas masquerading as progress. In their place: reverence, Scripture, prayer, and humility.

Instead of drag queens and narcissistic influencers, we’re seeing solemn observance. Instead of the glorification of confusion and chaos, we’re witnessing a national moment of reflection. Last year it was about exposed body parts. This year, it’s about exposed hearts.

And the message is clear: America is returning to God.

President Trump’s administration is recognizing Holy Week not as an inconvenience on the calendar but as a chance to point the nation back to the One who offers real hope. That shift alone marks a sharp, refreshing contrast with the spiritual despair that saturated the previous presidency.

And it’s not just the events themselves—it’s the tone.

In a week that saw Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt mocked for praying before a press briefing, the new White House refused to flinch. She didn’t apologize, retreat, or hide her faith. She simply did what every sane, grounded person in public life should do: she prayed for wisdom. And they couldn’t stand it.

The shrieking Left, already triggered by her posture of humility, got another wave of offense when Saturday Night Live trotted out its tired routine, accusing Trump of trying to “supplant the actual Messiah.” It was cheap. It was dishonest. It was projection.

President Trump has never claimed to be the Messiah. But he has recognized Him. And in this Holy Week, the contrast couldn’t be clearer.

Because what our country doesn’t need is another narcissist with a social media platform. What we need is a spiritual reset. A moment to pause. To reflect. To remember what Holy Week actually means.

We rage about mean tweets. We bicker over talking points. We fume at the “state of our politics.” But what if part of the problem isn’t politics at all? What if it’s spiritual?

What if the chaos in our culture is the natural outflow of a society that has forgotten its source of hope?

Consider the Man at the center of Easter. Jesus didn’t rage. He didn’t riot. He didn’t retaliate. When mocked, He stayed silent. When tortured, He endured it. When crucified, He forgave.

And in the closing hours of His life, hanging between two criminals, He offered His greatest miracle.

One of those criminals hurled insults, full of bitterness. The other, though, came to a quiet realization: “This man has done nothing wrong.” And then he whispered the simplest, most sincere prayer of all time: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

That was it.

No elaborate creed. No perfect theology. Just belief.

And Jesus, bloodied and dying, turned His eyes to that man and said the words that echo through eternity: “Today, you will be with me in Paradise.”

He didn’t just forgive. He welcomed him in.

That man was likely the most despised criminal of his day. And yet, he became the first soul Jesus received into Heaven following His death.

That is the power of Holy Week. That is the message of the Cross. That is the hope of Easter.

And that hope stands in stark contrast to the message we were given just a year ago. When the White House was preoccupied with celebrating delusion and division, Easter was stripped of its majesty.

But not this year.

With President Trump back in office, and his team unafraid to bend the knee before Almighty God, there is a tangible shift in tone and truth. This year’s Holy Week is a declaration—not of identity politics, but of spiritual identity. Not of confusion, but of clarity. Not of performance, but of peace.

America is not perfect. We are still divided, still hurting, still wandering. But this Holy Week, there is a whisper—calling us home.

And maybe, just maybe, if we return to the foot of the Cross—like that thief did—we’ll find what we’ve been missing all along.

Forgiveness. Purpose. And real hope.