Trump’s Power Obsession: The Dark Struggle with Redemption and Salvation (Part2/2)
In Part 1, we exposed how Trump’s fixation on the left-leaning Pope Francis opened a window onto Trump’s spiritual prisoner’s dilemma—torn between his lust for unlimited power and a craving for divine absolution. Now in Part 2 we descend into deeper terrain: two leaders, two forms of power—and Trump, the sinner, struggling with salvation.
Trump just posted an AI-doctored image of himself dressed in papal attire. Amidst the ensuing uproar, the official White House account retweeted it—to worldwide dismay and fury. Why did he do it? Just a jest, as JD Vance insists? Or yet more proof that he is utterly unserious? Complacency abounds, as always.
But Trump’s Freudian farce is dead serious. We take it seriously here.
Video: Trump’s Pope Fixation: Power, Redemption and Salvation. A Prisoner’s Dilemma.
3. Two Popes
Trump’s fixation on the Pope is truly unusual—and rare.
Normally, he treats political figures, both foreign and domestic, with a crude transactional instinct: submit or be destroyed. He bullies, he panders. He strikes when he feels he can, pulling no punches.
But Trump gets weird with strongmen—part fanboy, wannabe equal, part hustler, supplicant. All theater.
Around tough fellas, he dissolves into a volatile mix of idolization, reverence, transactional obsession, and theatrical loyalty. He viscerally reveres Putin. He vainly tries to mimic Nixon with Kim Jong Un, staging spectacle rather than sensible policy, humiliating himself again and again.
But Pope Francis was a whole different story.
The Pope is the only global figure who can match Trump in stature. Trump sees Francis as a legitimate spiritual rival, and a world leader worthy of his attention. His MAGA base is the largest political movement in America. The Pope’s church is the largest faith on Earth. MAGA cult vs. the Catholic Church, a duel of power.
The U.S. president commands ultimate hard power—military force, economic might, global reach. Trump holds the largest and most awesome arsenal, the biggest economy, and unmatched influence in world affairs.
Francis, by contrast, holds no army, no big treasury. But he wields soft power at its peak. His moral voice transcends 1.4 billion followers. He embodies the conscience of Western civilization. Even Trump dares not belittle that.
Trump reveres brute force, but he also fears religious legitimacy. The Pope’s moral weight made Trump treads carefully. Cozying up to Francis felt like his best deal ever, even if the Pope leaned left. He plays by instinct. This was both a political gamble and a spiritual investment.
In 2016, Trump’s call for a border wall drew veiled criticism from the Pope, who didn’t name him: “A person who builds walls instead of bridges is not Christian.”
Trump snapped back: “No one—especially a religious leader—has the right to question my faith.” Then he softened in the next breath, “I respect the Pope a lot. The Pope actually agrees with me.”
He accused Francis of being “too political,” and then added, “If ISIS ever attacks the Vatican, he’ll be glad I’m president.” Weeks later, he flipped again, calling Francis “a humble, kind man—a good person.”
By 2023, Trump was accusing the “globalist left” of trying to take over the Vatican. He launched a “conservative Catholic” special campaign, wrapped in anti-abortion and traditional marriage rhetoric, branding himself as the “true Christian candidate.” His stance toward Francis was a grotesque mix of flattery and smears.
After his third campaign win in 2024, Trump announced the largest deportation operation in U.S. history. On the eve of Trump’s inauguration, Pope Francis responded: “If this is true, it would be a disgrace—not a solution.”
In February 2025, the Vatican published a papal letter to U.S. bishops. While affirming the right to protect borders, Francis warned that mass deportations would “strip the poor and families of their dignity and safety.”
Trump didn’t retaliate. He didn’t dare offend the Latin Pope and alienate Latino Voter—crucial to both his election and his deportation campaign.
His silence paid off. In 2024, large swaths of Latino voters—especially Latino men—voted Trump. This demographic flip sealed his comeback. Trump played nice. Latino voters played along. Everyone acted. Peace.
Trump’s acting seems adequate. In 2017, he met the Pope at the Vatican. Their famously awkward photo showed Trump’s forced smile and Francis’s grim face. Trump nevertheless posted the photo online with fanfare:
“An unbelievable, great meeting.”
He used it again and again on the campaign trail. It’s his golden ticket: “The Pope says I’m a real Christian!”
MAGA Trumpism is not left or right. It’s a parasite riding the anti-globalization wave. And a quasi-religion. Embracing Vatican tradition gave Trump another shield of invincibility. He devoured the GOP, wrecked the Democrats, and left the far-left adrift.
Now, claiming something close to papal approval, Trump’s flock has knelt to their “MAGA Pope”. Mar-a-Lago became a rival Vatican, drawing pilgrims from all over. Trump grins.
Legend has it that Trump loyalist Witkoff, visiting the Vatican, saw the splendor of St. Peter’s Basilica and exclaimed: “Almost as grand as President Trump’s design for Mar-a-Lago!”
Not a joke—though the original line referred to the Élysée Palace in Paris, where Trump had sent Witkoff to stage another round of his “24-Hour Peace in Ukraine” show.
Trump turned theology into a marketing funnel. He pretends to oppose abortion and LGBTQ, even though he’s never had real views—only fear of losing votes. He poses as devout, even dresses the part, but belief has never entered into it.
Biden the true believer doesn’t play the game. He was once denied communion over his pro-choice stance. Some even called for his excommunication. But Pope Francis treated it as a matter of personal conscience and suggested Biden speak with his own pastor.
Trump’s relationship with God is purely transactional. He just wants to borrow power. He wanted the Pope’s halo for his own crown—depths, legitimacy, sanctity. But it’s always just Trump, as with all nationalist fanatics.
Me. Me. Me. Supreme. Pure. Eternal.
He doesn’t want religion. He wants certification.
He wants the Pope to validate Saint Donald.
Now we understand Trump’s obsession. It’s not about faith. It’s about canonization.
Only the Pope can make him divine.
4. A Sinner Canonized
“Trump should be the next Pope,” deadpanned Senator Lindsey Graham—a Trump critic turned MAGA Pope’s valet-in-waiting.
With Pope Francis’s passing, the world turned to the Conclave. The Vatican has reinstalled the chimney, black and white smoke ready to signal the next Holy Father.
Trump acted.
His poste of “Pope Donald” is anything but a joke. He is a humorless man—as funny as a Soviet Secretary General. He means it. It’s dog-whistling. He means business. Deadly serious. Yet it's a true lie.
With the path to a third term uncertain, the papacy seems like the only sanctuary left from the law. A long, long shot, yes. But the fear is real. So is the delusion—down to the bone. He knows it will never happen. So why bother?
We have arrived at the final question: Trump’s redemption.
The real problem is—Trump doesn’t believe in anything. He’s no churchgoer, doesn’t confess, doesn’t pray. He didn’t even put his hand on the Bible for his inaugural oath.
He commits all Seven Deadly Sins, temples the Ten Commandments, and indulges in every human vice—daily, professionally. He is a sinner running for office only to escape punishment. Even if he conquers the world, he cannot forgive, redeem himself.
He craves the sacred—but won’t repent. He wants to be worshipped, not forgiven. He wants to steal the Pope’s splendor—only to sanctify his own narrative.
Medieval European monarchs had to kneel before the Vatican to be blessed, absolved of their earthly filth. Trump fantasizes the same—but without kneeling, without changing. He wants to be anointed, not judged.
Trump and Pope Francis are ideological opposites, their souls headed in utterly divergent directions. A genuine bond between them is impossible. But Trump has his own method: he doesn’t need to believe—only to exploit.
At his first meeting with the Pope, he wore a face of feigned piety, gripped the Holy Father’s hand tightly, and whispered, “I hear absolution can be bought with a donation? How about a group discount? I have a lot of friends.”
It was a joke. Punchline: Even the sacred can be bought.
To Trump, the Pope is not a spiritual leader, but the final "certification system." His entire life has been about buying names, power, and judges. The one thing he’s never been able to buy is legitimacy. And that—ironically—is the most valuable thing religion offers.
He doesn't want salvation. He wants approval, certification. He doesn't care about God. He wants to be God.
He insults the Pope for being “too left”, but clings to the papal shadow. He mocks religion and ethics of true believers, then begged for the Church’s blessing.
He treated faith like real estate—something to flip and sell.
He is no believer—he’s a broker. Not a shepherd, but a herder. He doesn’t enter the church, but wants to speak from the altar. What he craves is not God’s forgiveness—but God’s stamp of approval.
He turned religion into collateral for his sins. He turned the Pope into a campaign mascot. He turned belief into merchandise, followers into a sales funnel.
This is not a story about Trump’s faith. Not a saga of Trump and the Pope. It’s the script of how Trump is trying to co-opt, annex God.
And here’s the real danger: the people can no longer tell the difference between king and God. And faith becomes the servant of power. And once that happens—what’s left to believe in?
Trump has infiltrated faith, not because he has deep ideas, but because he has been allowed to manipulate minds with fantasies. He wants to hollow out the system, and then invades like a virus, hijacking, parasitizing, and usurping all institutions—the White House, Congress, the Constitution, the Court of Law, even the Church.
Trump has no faith. Nor does he create faith. He feeds off faith.
He is no messenger from God, but an actor claiming divine favor. He doesn’t summon storms—he dances on storm clouds like a con man.
His salvation isn’t a theological quest, but a political power play. His “coronation” has nothing to do with religious glory. It’s all a farce pretending to be legit, the final con.
He doesn’t need salvation. He just needs God’s silence.
Silence.
But for how long?
Whether or not you believe, whether or not you follow—
Silence is not the answer.