Perched atop the storied Canterbury Pulpit, towering over the President on Tuesday, Bishop Mariann E. Budde felt a quiver of apprehension. As the helm of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington, she had meticulously prepared for months to preach on the trio of unity's pillars: dignity, honesty, and humility. Yet, mere 24 hours prior, she had witnessed President Trump declare his agenda from the inaugural podium, while conservative Christians blessed him with fervent prayers. He was no longer a candidate but a ruler, she reflected. His nascent presidency, accompanied by a flurry of executive orders, had encountered little opposition thus far. Compelled by an inner voice, she decided to introduce a fourth facet to her sermon: a heartfelt plea for mercy, on behalf of all those trembling under the shadow of his threatened wield of power.
"I sensed that eyes were upon the unfolding events, pondering, 'Will anyone utter a word?'" she murmured introspectively during an interview on Tuesday evening. "Will anyone address the nation's trajectory?" Gathering her breath, she spoke forth.
Seated seven feet beneath and approximately 40 feet to her right, President Trump made direct eye contact. A representation of American Christianity addressed another, and the planet's most potent leader was momentarily captivated by the words of a silver-haired female bishop perched in the pulpit. Until he turned away.
For the spectators, the grandeur of Washington National Cathedral was instantaneously condensed into an intimate tableau. Alongside it emerged the existential battles, transcending mere politics and delving into the very essence of morality. In an instant, the war over spiritual authority in America erupted into an unprecedented public confrontation. The Canterbury Pulpit confronted the bully pulpit on the grandest stage conceivable.
For nearly a decade, American Christianity has been shattered in myriad ways. Christians have clashed over women's right to preach, the role of gays, the definition of marriage, the separation of church and state, and Black Lives Matter. At the core of these conflicts lies Mr. Trump's ascent as the de facto leader of the modern American church and the surge of right-wing Christian power asserting itself as the sole authentic voice of God.
Many of these battles have been isolated, devoid of dialogue. Christians of opposing views rarely worship in the same sanctuary, fail to listen to each other's sermons, or heed the other's prayers. Mainline Protestants have questioned the authority of their voice. At a juncture where conservative Christians stand poised to gain even greater power through Mr. Trump's second term, Bishop Budde dared to tread a different path at the interfaith service.
Mr. Trump remained unperturbed. As the sermon concluded, he exchanged glances with Vice President JD Vance, a conservative Catholic, who shook his head in apparent disapproval. On Wednesday morning, Mr. Trump retaliated on his social media platform Truth Social, demanding an apology from the "so-called Bishop" and "Radical Left hardline Trump hater."
"She dragged her church into the realm of politics in an ungracious manner," Mr. Trump declared on Wednesday. "Her tone was nasty, and her message neither compelling nor intelligent."
Bishop Budde, 65, the first woman elected to her position, had previously collided with Mr. Trump in 2020 when he held a Bible aloft at St. John's Church, following officers' use of tear gas against protesters advocating for racial justice in nearby Lafayette Square. She penned an opinion piece for The New York Times, expressing her "outrage" and "horror" at his exploitation of sacred symbols to espouse "positions antithetical to the Bible."
On Wednesday, Representative Mike Collins, a Republican from Georgia, suggested that Bishop Budde should be "added to the deportation list." Others contended that her gender inherently undermined any claim to spiritual authority.
"Female bishop—that's all you needed to know how it would unfold," Kristan Hawkins, a Catholic anti-abortion activist, wrote on social media.
Conversely, progressive Christians felt that their convictions had finally found a voice in the fray. Former President Joseph R. Biden Jr., a practicing Catholic embodying the resurgence of liberal Christianity post the first Trump presidency, has departed Washington, taking an era with him. Catholic power in America has significantly shifted to the right since Pope Francis, now 88, was welcomed to Washington during the Obama era.
Within four hours, over 14,000 people signed an online petition thanking Bishop Budde. Episcopalians across Washington proudly posted their gratitude online, asserting that Bishop Budde was their spiritual leader, embodying their Christianity.
In her own capacity, Bishop Budde perceived her sermon as "a viewpoint that was currently underrepresented in the public discourse, a Christian perspective that had somewhat been silenced in the public sphere," she elaborated. Acknowledging her limited authority within the distinguished gathering, she remarked, "I didn't wield much clout in that room, for I am not a member of the spiritual circles that encircle the president and his administration."
The setting itself carried immense significance, endowing her words with the weight of Christian history. Washington National Cathedral has long served as a witness to pivotal American political moments – services marking the cessation of wars and state funerals for presidents ranging from Eisenhower to Carter. Moreover, the Canterbury Pulpit, an awe-inspiring podium even when not addressing the leader of the nation, held a special place in Bishop Budde's heart. Crafted from Caen limestone, reportedly brought to England by William the Conqueror and utilized in the construction of Canterbury Cathedral, this pulpit was once the stage where Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his final Sunday sermon, mere days before his assassination. Its central carving portrayed the signing of Magna Carta, an 809-year-old document that established the principle that the king of England was not above the law.
Perched atop this lofty platform, Bishop Budde possessed little tangible power beyond the spiritual authority bestowed by her position and the privilege of speaking uninterrupted for 14 minutes. Dressed in her liturgical vestments, a red and white rochet and chimere reserved for prayer services sans the Eucharist, her academic hood signified her seminary doctorate. The black tippet adorning her neck was embroidered with the Cathedral's emblem.
Bishop Budde clarified that she did not speak directly on behalf of the Almighty. "I'm presenting the best interpretation I can muster from our teachings, scriptures, and what the Holy Spirit might wish us to hear," she said. In the tapestry of America's diversity, she emphasized the importance of discerning spiritual authority. She pondered over the words of Howard Thurman, the American theologian, who spoke of "the sound of the genuine."
"What is authentic?" she pondered. "What commands authority because it resonates as truthful and touches upon fundamental principles that we perhaps all agree upon?" Prior inaugural prayer services, hosted by the Cathedral but planned in tandem with the Presidential Inaugural Committee, often saw the president-elect choosing the participants. However, this tradition underwent a shift last year when the Cathedral assumed full control of the planning well ahead of Election Day, a move towards religious autonomy ensuring the service remained devoid of partisan influence and was not perceived as a coronation or sacred consecration.
After Mr. Trump's victory in November, the Cathedral presented his team with a selection of proposed music and readings for consideration. However, the choice of preacher remained solely within the Cathedral's purview, according to a spokesman.
The most compelling portion of Bishop Budde's sermon, however, was crafted mere hours before the service. "To plead for mercy is indeed a humbling act," she reflected. "I wasn't demanding anything of him. I was imploring him, asking him to see the humanity of these people, to acknowledge the fear that grips many in this country… If not him, if not the president, then who else?"
On Wednesday afternoon, Bishop Budde was still grappling with the aftermath. She hadn't anticipated the wave of fury and personal attacks her words had provoked. Her character, qualifications, and even her eternal soul were questioned, with people wondering about the timing of her spiritual redemption and her belonging in this country. "Perhaps it was naive of me to think that pleading to the president would be received differently," she conceded, "for it was an acknowledgment of his position, his power, and the millions who entrusted him with it."
Yet, she was equally unprepared for the overwhelming gratitude Pouring in from countless others. "These are sentiments I express regularly," she said. "But in public, people seldom pay heed." From the pulpit, she remarked, "one can never accurately predict how words will resonate."
