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exclusively at Santa Fe Goldworksthe fact that every word of the Bible is
literally true.
Jeffress agrees with the popular com-
parison evangelicals draw between
President Trump and Cyrus the Great,
the ancient Persian king who, according
to Jewish tradition, allowed the exiled
Hebrews to return to Jerusalem. Cyrus
is thought of as a secular agent of God’s
divine plan, and this oft-cited parallel
is useful to Trump’s most enthusiastic
backers as a way of explaining their sup-
port: they can champion him, they say,
because there is a difference between
the earthly realm and the heavenly one,
between government and church. In an
interview with the Washington Post,
Jerry Falwell Jr. put it this way: “In the
heavenly kingdom, the responsibility is
to treat others as you’d like to be treat-
ed. In the earthly kingdom, the respon-
sibility is to choose leaders who will do
what’s best for your country.”
But keeping your realms separate
is not so clear-cut when you’re both a
pundit and a pastor. Jeffress, unlike
his peers, is the full-time shepherd of
a flock. In the lustrous sanctuary of
First Baptist—the church has multiple
six-story garages and crowded escala-
tors and feels a little like one of the the-
aters or music halls a few blocks away
in the Arts District—Jeffress preaches
two sermons nearly every Sunday. He
attends luncheons and prayer meet-
ings and Bible studies. He visits people
in the hospital and performs weddings
and funerals. He helped raise more than
$135 million for a renovation that in-
cluded a new children’s building, sky
bridges, and a dancing, LED-loaded
fountain. At special events, visitors are
given not a Bible but a copy of one of his
books. “He is so right,” one of his mem-
bers, a black mother in her thirties, tells
me. “It is time to stop being wimpy about
Christianity. I wish more Christians
had the heart for the Lord that he does.”
Jeffress studiously insists that his pol-
itics and his pastorate are separate. “We
don’t check green cards or passports at
First Baptist Dallas,” he’s fond of saying.
When he’s at the podium in church, he
seldom utters a word about the presi-
dent. And while some of the older men
in the pews are wearing American flag
and Israeli flag pins on their suits—and
there’s at least one bumper sticker in the
parking garage for QAnon, a far-right
conspiracy theory alleging a “deep state”
plot against Trump—it’s not like mem-
bers are debating legislative policy in
the halls. It’s more that there’s a gener-
al celebration and commingling of pa-
triotism and piety. I recently attended
services on and off for five months and
never heard Jeffress mention politics
explicitly in a sermon. I heard him talk
about how heaven is a real place and
what people do there: enjoy the relief
of a job well done, share fellowship with
loved ones, get to better know their Lord.
Though First Baptist doesn’t keep
records on its racial demographics,
the congregation seems as diverse as
that of any megachurch in North Tex-
as. Affluent older white people dressed
in stiff suits and flowery dresses with
matching hats. Young couples, the men
in jeans and tucked-in button-downs,
the women in cotton dresses. A black
family spanning four generations. Im-
migrants from Latin America and Afri-
ca and Eastern Europe and East Asia. At
the other end of the building, in a sep-
arate sanctuary, hundreds more peo-
ple—mostly younger—watch Jeffress
on a live broadcast.
About twenty minutes into his ser-
mon about worry, Jeffress says some-
thing that makes me perk up a bit. He’s
hoisting an open Bible in his left hand
when his tone changes for just a mo-
ment, and he stares into the camera,
his right hand gesturing to the breast of
his pinstriped suit. “I can tell you from
personal experience: God’s discipline
is never pleasant,” he says. “There are
times in my life—don’t ask for details,
I’m not gonna give ’em to you—but I can
tell you, there are times that I have not
been doing the right thing, and God put
his heavy hand upon me. And I can tell
you for sure, I never want to experience
that again.”
He explains that we don’t have to ex-
perience God’s discipline if we live our
lives the right way. He makes another
emphatic gesture with his right hand,
this time with his thumb out in a way
that evokes Bill Clinton.
“Today,” he says, we can “start walk-
ing in a new direction.”
As he always does, Jeffress invites
anyone who wants to be saved to come
forward and dedicate their life to Je-
sus Christ. His voice is soft. Even in a
crowd of some 1,600 people, for a split
second it can feel as if he’s talking to you
personally.TEXAS MONTHLY 109