Donald Trump on Heaven
On August 19, 2025, in a live Fox & Friends interview about Ukraine, Donald Trump made a remark that instantly grabbed many people’s attention. The conversation was supposed to be about the possibility of a peace settlement, the number of lives that could be spared if the fighting stopped. But in the middle of it, Trump took a… characteristically unexpected turn, and he quipped:
“If I can save 7,000 people a week from getting killed, I think that's pretty – I want to try and get to heaven, if possible. I’m hearing I’m not doing well. I am really at the bottom of the totem pole. But if I can get to heaven, this will be one of the reasons.”
It was one of those Trump moments — humorous (or not, depending on who you are), off-the-cuff, yet revealing. I realize he was improvising. I realize he wasn’t preaching a sermon or laying out a theological position. But all the same, he let slip something significantly telling about how he thinks heaven works. And for Christians, that’s worth pausing to consider.
A Possible Epiphany
As I’ve sat considering the President’s remarks about heaven, a thought flashed through my mind: What if this dynamic is more indicative of what’s going on inside Donald Trump’s heart than we realize?
What do I mean? Of all the things Donald Trump is infamous for — his constant bragging about accomplishments, uncharitable comparisons to his predecessors, pontificating about how awful everyone else is and how great he is —
What if it’s not just arrogance, or bluster?
What if his rhetoric is actually screaming the quiet part out loud? What if, deep down, there’s a hidden fear that he’s not good enough? A fear that he’s not measuring up to some standard — whether self-imposed or placed on him by others?
It certainly doesn’t excuse his brazenness. But it might explain it. And it might even reveal something deeper: a heart that knows it can’t measure up.
Flashback to 2016
I remember the first Sunday after Trump was elected in 2016. Our service was like any other — singing, prayer, Scripture, preaching. But as I led the congregation in prayer that morning, I paused to thank God for another peaceful transfer of power in our nation. I prayed, as Paul instructed Timothy, for “kings and all who are in authority, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life.”
And I prayed something else — that God would show His grace to Mr. Trump. That He would bring Christian people into the new president’s life. That he would have the opportunity, and the grace, to repent and believe the Gospel.
I thought it was an uncontroversial prayer. Scripture tells us to pray for those in authority, and that includes their salvation. But that week, I received not one but two very strongly worded emails from parishioners. Both were astounded that I had the temerity to suggest Donald Trump might not already be a Christian.
But I hadn’t pulled that out of thin air. Just the year before during an exceedingly tumultuous election cycle, at the 2015 Family Leadership Summit in Iowa, Trump had been asked point-blank by moderator Frank Luntz: “Have you ever asked God for forgiveness?” His response was memorable:
“I am not sure I have. I just go on and try to do a better job from there. I don’t think so. If I do something wrong, I think I just try and make it right. I don’t bring God into that picture. I don’t.”
Then in a 2016 CNN interview with Jake Tapper, he elaborated further:
“I like to be good. I don’t like to have to ask for forgiveness. And I am good. I don’t do a lot of things that are bad. I try to do nothing that’s bad.”
Those statements don't sound like repentance. They sound like textbook self-righteousness.
Repentance, biblically, is the exact opposite. When David confessed his sin in Psalm 51, he cried out to the Lord: “Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight.” To repent is to bring God into the picture — to agree with Him about our sin and to turn to Him for mercy.
Trump’s answer — “I don’t bring God into that picture” — could hardly be further from repentance. It is, in fact, the opposite.
Now, I’m not expecting our President to be a theologian. He’s not the Pastor-in-Chief of our country. But to pretend that his answers do anything other than betray a heart that has never received the Gospel of grace is foolishness. He spoke with disarming honesty about where he stood: trusting in his own goodness, not in God’s grace.
Two Ditches
And here we are nine years later, with Trump still framing heaven in terms of performance. Back then it was “I don’t need forgiveness because I’m good.” Now it’s “I’m probably low on the totem pole, but maybe if I save 7,000 lives a week, I’ll get in.”
But our President isn’t the only American framing salvation this way. Far too many of we the people are rabidly measuring Donald Trump’s eternal security using the exact. same. metric; his performance.
- One ditch: Some presume Trump must be a Christian because of his strong positions on gender or on Roe v. Wade, etc. Surely his defense of “biblical values” proves his faith.
- The other ditch: Others presume he can’t possibly be a Christian because of his position on immigration, or his harsh rhetoric, or his sexual past. Surely his sins disqualify him.
But both want to evaluate Trump’s Christianity without ever asking what he has done with Christ! Both sides are making the same mistake: they’re using political stances and moral performance, not Jesus, as the litmus test for salvation.
What the Gospel Actually Says
The Bible tells us something far different. “By grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Ephesians 2:8–9).
If we think Trump’s pro-life record earns him heaven, we’ve reduced Christianity to culture war points.
If we think his sins disqualify him from grace, we’ve reduced Christianity to moral gatekeeping.
Either way, we’ve missed the Gospel.
Jesus told the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector (Luke 18:9–14) precisely for people like us — people tempted to measure faith by performance.
- The Pharisee stood tall and prayed, “God, I thank you that I am not like other men — extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.”
- Meanwhile the tax collector, standing far off, wouldn’t even lift his eyes to heaven. He beat his chest and prayed, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
And Jesus said it was the tax collector, not the Pharisee, who went home justified.
That story would have shocked Jesus’ listeners. The Pharisee had the résumé. The tax collector had only repentance. But that’s the point: the Gospel cuts both ways. It humbles the proud moralist. It raises up the repentant sinner. And it centers us not on what we’ve done, but on what Christ has done.
Of course, repentance is never just words. Genuine faith and repentance necessarily bear fruit. As James reminds us, “faith apart from works is dead” (James 2:26). When the tax collector in Jesus’ story cried, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner,” his plea was real — and if he were real (not invented for Jesus' story), it would have reshaped his life. The Gospel never tells us that fruit is optional. But it does insist that fruit is evidence, not the root, of salvation.
In other words, we’re not saved because we’ve racked up enough visible change; we’re saved because Christ bore our sin. True repentance will always lead to a changed life — but we don’t measure salvation by tallying good deeds.
As a pastor, I’ve sat with many people near the end of life (and even in the middle of life for that matter) who quietly hope the scales of judgment will tip in their favor, with their good deeds outweighing the bad. It’s a heartbreaking but common misconception. And it’s the same mistake President Trump is making when he ties saving lives in Ukraine to “trying to get to heaven.”
A Call to Prayer
So what should we do with Trump’s heaven remark? Laugh? Roll our eyes? Condemn him?
For Christians, the better move is to pray.
Pray for the president, not only in the typical 1 Timothy 2 sense — that he would govern wisely, that peace would be preserved. But remembering that Paul grounds that instruction in something deeper: “This is good, and it is pleasing in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth” (1 Tim. 2:3–4). Even world leaders. Even presidents.
Even Donald J Trump.
It’s striking when you remember who was in power when Paul wrote those words: Caesar Nero. Hardly a friend to Christians. Yet Paul urged believers to pray for him. Why? Because God’s desire for salvation isn’t confined to the people we like, or the leaders we admire. His mercy reaches as high as the emperor’s throne and as low as the tax collector’s table.
So pray more specifically: that God would open Mr. Trump’s eyes to grace.
That he would move from where he was 10 years ago; "I don’t need forgiveness”
to what he stated today; “I hope I’ve done enough to get in”
to one day, “Have mercy on me, O God — a sinner.”
And let’s remember: God loves Donald Trump. To the same degree He loves you, me, and every person made in His image. His mercy is not limited by status or stained by scandal. His invitation is the same: come, repent, believe.
Here’s how we might pray:
Lord, you hold the hearts of kings in your hand. Show Donald Trump your mercy. Bring faithful witnesses into his life. Strip away his trust in his own works. Confront him about his sin. Lead him to see Christ as his only hope. Do this not only for him, but for our nation, for your church, and for your glory. Amen.
Because that’s the only way any of us gets to heaven.
Not by racking up accomplishments, not by being good enough, not by standing for the right issues.
But by falling on the mercy of Christ.
