Since the dawn of civilisation, rulers have never been content with mere crowns. They have sought something higher, something eternal: a divine certificate of legitimacy. Pharaohs called themselves gods. Medieval kings bought indulgences. Crusaders marched east convinced that every sword thrust brought them closer to paradise. For power to endure, it had to be sanctified.So why does Donald Trump want to bring peace to Ukraine?Not for NATO. Not for the United Nations. And not, as it turns out, for the Nobel Peace Prize either.President Trump, twice impeached, once convicted, and forever a master of spectacle, wants to end the war in Ukraine because he wants to go to heaven.”I want to try and get to heaven, if possible,” he said on live television. “I’m hearing I’m not doing well. I’m really at the bottom of the totem pole.”With that, the most powerful man on Earth confessed that even he was afraid of the next world. Trump was not playing 4D chess. He was bargaining with God.It would have been the most surreal admission of any presidency, if this were any other presidency. But history offers precedent. Kings have long sought to launder their sins through sacred gestures. Monarchs purchased indulgences. Crusader kings launched wars in God’s name not merely to reclaim lands, but to secure a place in paradise. Popes offered salvation for spilled blood, and kings repaid their trespasses with cathedrals, pilgrimages, and monasteries.Trump, modern-day American sovereign that he is, has decided to pursue salvation the way he pursues everything else: by cutting a deal.The deal? Peace in Ukraine.The reward? Not Stockholm, but salvation.This is not just a geopolitical manoeuvre. It is a theological campaign.And if you listen closely, you can almost hear Pope Urban II applauding from the clouds.
Indulgences, Crusades, and God’s VIP List
Back in the good old 12th century, when kings wore chainmail and sanitation was optional, there existed a neat transaction between power and salvation: sin now, crusade later. If you were a monarch who’d stolen some land, burned a village, or taxed the peasants into oblivion, you could simply launch a holy war and voila! Eternal reward.The Catholic Church, always a pragmatic institution, formalised this through the system of indulgences. Fight in the Crusades? Full remission of sins. Build a cathedral? God’s got a penthouse waiting. Even Pope Urban II’s launch of the First Crusade was framed not just as a geopolitical expedition but a cosmic points system: every heretic slain brought you closer to salvation.What Trump is now doing is simply the 21st-century, reality-TV version of this medieval practice. Instead of riding a horse to Jerusalem, he plans to land at Kyiv, negotiate a photo-op ceasefire, and cash in those spiritual coupons. It’s diplomacy as indulgence. The holy relic is not a piece of the True Cross—it’s a peace deal with Putin and Zelenskyy.
The Gospel According to Trump
Trump’s version of the gospel has always been less Matthew, Mark, Luke and John and more The Art of the Deal, Part II: Divine Negotiations. Back in 2016, he couldn’t name a single Bible verse. Later, he tried to sell a special $59.99 “God Bless the USA” Bible, which featured American flags, eagles, and the Declaration of Independence—a sort of fusion cuisine between King James and Kid Rock.But now, as he serves his second presidency and faces 34 felony convictions from his first, the man who used to joke about being more famous than Jesus is feeling the celestial heat. Mortality is the great equaliser, and Trump’s recent musings suggest that even he’s begun to suspect Mar-a-Lago isn’t zoned for eternity. So what does he do? He leans into it. “I know my mother’s in heaven,” he said at a rally. “I’m not 100 percent sure about my father, but it’s close.” He wants to be up there with them. And in Trumpian logic, nothing says “repentance” like ending a war.
Divine Right of Campaigning
In medieval Europe, kings didn’t just rule; they reigned by divine right. God had supposedly handpicked them, which meant that questioning the monarch was akin to heresy. Today, Trump enjoys a similar status among the MAGA faithful. He’s not merely a president; he’s the anointed.After surviving an assassination attempt in Pennsylvania, several Republican leaders declared divine intervention. Speaker Mike Johnson literally tweeted, “GOD protected President Trump yesterday.” Rep. Carlos Gimenez said he survived “by the grace of God.” Jack Posobiec pointed to the time of the shooting—6:11 PM—and connected it to Ephesians 6:11: “Put on the full armour of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.”This, folks, is prophecy as press release. Trump, who once said he never needed forgiveness because he never did anything wrong, is now publicly fretting about heaven. But instead of sackcloth and ashes, he offers ceasefires and summit tables.
Global Saviours and the Spiritual PR Machine
Trump is hardly the only world leader to invoke God as political leverage. In Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro cloaked himself in evangelical fervour. Preachers called him a modern-day Samson. He even got baptised in the Jordan River for the cameras. Vladimir Putin, meanwhile, has turned the Russian Orthodox Church into an extension of Kremlin policy. Patriarch Kirill has called the Ukraine war a holy struggle. Russian soldiers were told their sins would be cleansed in battle. Benjamin Netanyahu has often evoked biblical prophecy to justify territorial expansion, once calling Israel’s modern mission a continuation of the divine promise to Abraham. All of these men, like Trump, have realised the value of spiritual branding. The difference is, Trump doesn’t pretend to be pious. He doesn’t quote scripture. He doesn’t even pretend to know it. He simply declares, in the bluntest terms possible, that he needs a big-ticket gesture to punch his ticket upstairs.
Reactions From Earth and Heaven
Naturally, reactions have ranged from the bemused to the beatific. At a White House briefing, Trump spokeswoman Karoline Leavitt insisted he was serious: “The President wants to get to heaven—as I hope we all do.” A line that only sounds normal when you’ve given up on normal.Theologians were less amused. Evangelical pastor Rich Bitterman rebuked Trump’s remarks, saying “heaven isn’t earned through peace deals or popularity contests.” Baptist writer Maina Mwaura added, *”This reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of Christian doctrine.”Even Pope Francis entered the fray—not directly, but indirectly. When asked to weigh in on the candidates in 2024, he didn’t mince words. One candidate, he said, was “chasing away migrants,” (Trump) the other “killing children.” (Harris for her pro-abortion stance) Both, he noted, were “against life.” He told US Catholics to vote for the “lesser evil.”It wasn’t exactly an endorsement of Trump’s heavenly prospects.
Apocalypse Now? (Or Later)
Among hardcore believers, however, the Ukraine angle has taken on prophetic overtones. Far-right bloggers like Robert Clifton Robinson wrote that Trump convening seven European leaders to discuss Ukraine peace sounded like the Seven-Year Treaty from the Book of Daniel. In this interpretation, Trump isn’t just a president. He’s a prelude to the End Times.Others have started calling him “The Anointed One,” not because of his righteousness, but because of his resilience. He survived indictments. He survived impeachment. He survived assassination. To his followers, that’s proof of divine favour. To critics, it’s just a mix of bulletproof glass and dumb luck.But in Trump’s world, dumb luck is just another name for providence.
Satire, Sacraments, and the State of the Union
It would be easy to dismiss Trump’s heaven bid as just another off-the-cuff quip, like “windmills cause cancer” or “inject bleach.” But this one stuck. Because it reveals something deeper: the transformation of politics into religion, and religion into brand strategy.Where once kings built churches to scrub their sins, Trump builds narratives. He doesn’t kneel before God. He negotiates. And instead of asking “What would Jesus do?” he asks “What would it take to get me in?”That’s why his Ukraine peace plan isn’t just about geopolitics. It’s a celestial PR stunt. A celestial tax write-off. Trump isn’t changing who he is. He’s just shopping for a better afterlife package. And like all things Trump, it’s both hilarious and horrifying.
Final Benediction
Will Trump get into heaven? That depends on your theology. If you believe salvation is by grace through faith, then no amount of international peacemaking counts. If you believe God rewards deals, then Trump may already be in line. But if history is any guide, men with power have always tried to sneak past the pearly gates by offering something big: a war won, a temple built, a peace forged. Trump just updated the formula: Build nothing. Win no war. But make the deal look good on cable news. Heaven help us all. Go to Source
