Embarrassing Our Guest: When Christian Nationalism Protects the Crown Instead of the Cross
What an Oval Office photo-op with Trump and Mohammed bin Salman reveals about our loyalties.
The most revealing line in yesterday’s Oval Office press conference with Donald Trump and Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman wasn’t about 9/11 or Jamal Khashoggi.
It was this:
“You don’t have to embarrass our guest by asking a question like that.”
ABC’s Mary Bruce had just done something that used to be fairly uncontroversial in American life. She asked Trump whether it was appropriate for his family to be doing business with Saudi Arabia while he is president, and then asked MBS why Americans should trust him given that U.S. intelligence concluded he orchestrated the murder of journalist Jamal Khashoggi and that 9/11 families are furious he’s being honored in the Oval Office.
That’s not a “gotcha” question. That’s what accountability looks like in a democracy.
Trump’s instinct was immediate and very familiar:
Attack the journalist: “ABC fake news, one of the worst in the business.”
Defend his business interests: he has “nothing to do” with the family business, they’ve done “very little” with Saudi Arabia, and whatever they have done has been “very good.”
Exonerate the crown prince: “As far as this gentleman is concerned, he’s done a phenomenal job… things happen, but he knew nothing about it.”
And finally, scold the reporter: you don’t have to embarrass our guest.
If you’re a Christian who has spent the last decade cheering Trump on as a defender of “Christian America,” this scene is not a side issue.
This is the fruit of that project, on live TV.
What Actually Happened in That Room
Let’s name the basics as plainly as we can.
A man our own intelligence community says approved an operation to capture or kill Jamal Khashoggi sat comfortably in the Oval Office.
The American president publicly contradicted those findings and said the crown prince “knew nothing about it,” brushing off the killing of a journalist with the phrase, “Whether you like him or didn’t like him, things happen.”
Families of 9/11 victims—many of them people of faith—had just begged the president to press Saudi Arabia for accountability, pointing to years of evidence about Saudi-linked support for the hijackers.
The only person in the room who spoke on behalf of the dead was the reporter, and she was treated as the problem.
And a huge chunk of American Christianity will watch that clip and, almost by reflex, line up behind Trump:
“The media was disrespectful.”
“The relationship with Saudi is important.”
“We don’t know what really happened anyway.”
“This is why we needed a strong man in the White House.”
That’s Christian Nationalism in real time. Not just crosses on flags and Bible verses in campaign ads, but a heart-level reflex that says:
If my guy is in power and says the deal is good for America, then the ethics are a secondary issue.
The problem is that Jesus doesn’t give us “secondary” victims.
“Things Happen” in the Kingdom of God?
The facts here are not especially murky.
In 2018, Khashoggi—a U.S. resident and Washington Post columnist—was lured into the Saudi consulate in Istanbul, killed, and dismembered.
In 2021, the Office of the Director of National Intelligence declassified an assessment that Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman approved the operation to capture or kill him.
Yesterday, sitting next to that same crown prince, Trump said he “knew nothing about it” and reduced the murder of a journalist to: “Whether you like him or didn’t like him, things happen.”
That’s not just political spin. That is a moral statement.
“Things happen” is the exact opposite of the Christian view of human life.
The God we claim to worship counts the hairs on our heads. Jesus says not even a sparrow falls to the ground unnoticed. In Scripture, the blood of Abel cries out from the ground and demands an answer.
But in the Oval Office, the death of a man made in God’s image became a PR inconvenience that needed to be smoothed over for the sake of a relationship and some investment headlines.
And many Christians cheered—or at least, didn’t flinch.
The same Christians who tell their teenagers that every life is precious and rail against a culture of death will turn around and applaud a president who shrugs off a bone-saw murder because “this gentleman has done a phenomenal job” and there are big deals on the table.
At some point we have to say the quiet part out loud:
That’s not “pro-life.” That’s idolatry of power wrapped in Bible language.
“Don’t Embarrass Our Guest” as a Kind of Theology
I keep coming back to Trump’s line: “You don’t have to embarrass our guest.”
He’s talking about a man U.S. intelligence says ordered the killing of a journalist. He’s talking to a reporter whose job is literally to ask uncomfortable questions on behalf of the public. And his gut reaction is to protect the prince’s feelings.
Then MBS reinforces the move.
He tells 9/11 families he feels their pain, but quickly pivots: Osama bin Laden used Saudis on 9/11 to destroy the U.S.–Saudi relationship. That, he says, was the main purpose of the attacks. And then the knife-twist: anyone who questions the U.S.–Saudi relationship now is “helping Osama bin Laden’s purpose.”
Read that slowly:
Your loved ones were murdered.
You want accountability.
But if you push too hard, you’re “helping bin Laden.”
It’s an emotional booby trap: Your grief is valid… unless it threatens our alliance. Then it’s dangerous.
Here’s where Christian Nationalism slides in almost unnoticed. Many of us have been discipled to believe that loyalty to “our side” and “our relationships” is a Christian virtue all by itself. So we hear this kind of thing and think it sounds reasonable:
Don’t embarrass the guest.
Don’t weaken the alliance.
Don’t give ammo to “our enemies.”
We have effectively baptized “don’t embarrass the king” as Christian ethics.
But the Bible tells the opposite story.
The prophet Nathan doesn’t pull David aside so he won’t be “embarrassed” about arranging a man’s death to cover up his own abuse of power. Nathan confronts him in a way that pierces him: “You are the man.”
John the Baptist doesn’t worry about “embarrassing” Herod when he calls him out for his sexual sin. He loses his head over it.
Elijah doesn’t protect Ahab’s honor when Naboth is murdered so the king can seize his vineyard. He shows up and pronounces judgment on the palace that did it.
In the biblical imagination, the person who brings the uncomfortable truth to the king is not the rude one. They are the faithful one.
The rude thing is shedding innocent blood and then expecting everyone around you to smile and nod for the sake of the alliance.
When we tell the reporter not to embarrass the guest, we’re not defending “Christian values.” We’re playing the courtier—tidying up after the king and shushing the prophets.
The Double Standard We Don’t Want to Admit
Let’s be painfully honest for a second.
If the exact same press conference had happened with a Democratic president:
Openly secular,
Defending an autocrat who murdered a journalist,
Downplaying U.S. intelligence reports,
Shrugging “things happen,”
And telling a reporter not to embarrass the man next to him,
most of the white evangelical world I grew up in would be on fire about it.
Your favorite Christian pundits would be asking how you can be a Christian and vote for someone who cozies up to a murderer. Your inbox would be full of fundraising emails about “moral clarity” and “standing with the persecuted.”
Because the man doing it now talks our language—“Make America Great Again,” “I love the Bible,” “we’re going to say Merry Christmas again”—we swallow it. Sometimes we even defend it.
That’s the tell.
When our outrage tracks party more than it tracks the Sermon on the Mount, we’ve revealed what really disciples us.
We get worked up about corporations saying “Happy Holidays,” but not about a president dismissing a journalist’s murder.
We boycott a store over rainbow merch, but shrug when 9/11 families are told they’re helping bin Laden if they keep asking for the truth.
We will cut off relationships over masks and vaccines, but keep donating to politicians who protect their friends from accountability.
That’s not just hypocrisy. That’s formation. Our hearts have been trained to feel things in the wrong places.
Trump Is Not Just “Flawed”; This Is Corruption
Christians love the word “flawed.”
All leaders are flawed. Every president is sinful. That’s not news.
What we saw in the Oval Office goes beyond “flawed” into corrupt:
He misled about his family’s business ties—“very little with Saudi Arabia”—despite years of documented deals and investment talks.
He contradicted an intelligence assessment about Khashoggi’s murder and publicly exonerated the man at the top.
He minimized the killing with “things happen.”
He attacked the reporter instead of dealing with the issue.
He has threatened media outlets and licenses because he doesn’t like the questions they ask.
If your kid’s youth pastor behaved like that at church—lied about his finances, downplayed credible abuse allegations against a powerful friend, attacked anyone who asked hard questions—you wouldn’t keep calling him “flawed.”
You’d call the elders and demand he be removed.
But somehow, when it’s a man who promises us Supreme Court seats and tough talk about “evil,” we soften our vocabulary.
At some point, that stops looking like maturity and starts looking like compromise.
A Word to My Fellow Christians Who Still Support Him
If you’re a Christian who still supports Trump, I’m not writing this to own you.
I know some of you. I’ve worshiped next to you. You love your kids. You care about your communities. You really do want to honor Jesus.
I also know many of you don’t cheer everything he does. You wince at the name-calling. You wish he’d tweet less. You tell yourself you’re holding your nose because of judges, abortion, religious liberty, Israel, or the border.
I get that. I’ve heard those arguments. I’ve even made some of them in earlier seasons of my own life.
But yesterday’s press conference should force a deeper question:
At what point does your loyalty to this man require you to look away from behavior you would condemn in anyone else?
When he mocks disabled people?
When he brags about sexual assault?
When he lies as easily as breathing?
When he incites a mob that carries “Jesus Saves” banners into the Capitol?
When he shrugs off a murder and protects a foreign autocrat from embarrassment?
How many lines have to be crossed before we admit that whatever else we’re doing, we are no longer bearing faithful Christian witness?
In practice, Christian Nationalism often functions as if there is no line. As long as the nation is “great” and your team holds power, almost anything is negotiable. The crown must be protected. The guest must not be embarrassed. The prophet at the mic is the real threat.
Jesus tells a different story: there is a line, and it runs right through the people we are willing to sacrifice for our preferred ruler. Khashoggi is on one side of that line. So are the 9/11 families being emotionally blackmailed into silence. So are the journalists Trump keeps threatening for doing their jobs.
If our “Christian” politics requires us to stand on the other side of that line, we are not standing with Christ, no matter how many Bible verses we quote.
I say “we” here because I recognize some of these instincts in myself—the pull to defend “my side” first and ask hard questions later.
Over the course of my life, I’ve had to admit I was wrong about more than a few political and religious fights. I’ve gone from a teenage culture warrior convinced my tribe was carrying God’s banner into battle to an adult who has had to repent, change my mind, and say out loud, “I was wrong about that” more times than is comfortable.
It’s painful. It’s humbling. But it’s also the only way forward.
Choosing the Right Embarrassment
Christians are going to be embarrassed by someone in this story. We don’t get to avoid that.
We can be embarrassed…
that a reporter pressed a president and a crown prince about murder, money, and 9/11 in the Oval Office,
or we can be embarrassed…
that the man many of us have called “God’s chosen” sat next to an accused murderer, dismissed a journalist’s life with “things happen,” and scolded the one person in the room who tried to speak for the dead.
We can be embarrassed by tough questions that make “our guy” squirm.
Or we can be embarrassed that our movement has become so addicted to access and influence that we defend this as normal, even Christian.
If the story of Jesus means anything politically, it means this:
We would rather embarrass a crown prince than abandon a murdered image-bearer.
We would rather embarrass a president than betray the truth.
We would rather embarrass ourselves by admitting we were wrong than keep baptizing what is clearly corrupt.
We really can become the kind of church that cares more about a murdered journalist and grieving families than about whether our favorite politician looks strong on TV.
The King Who Won’t Be Spun
Jesus calls Himself the truth; we act like He’s the communications director.
We invoke His name to help our side “message” better rather than letting His words judge every side—especially ours.
There is a King coming who will not be impressed by our access to the Oval Office or the size of our defense deals. He will ask what we did when the powerful said “things happen” about a man whose blood cried out from the consulate floor.
On that day, He will not ask whether we successfully avoided embarrassing our guest.
He will ask whether we stood with the widows, the orphans, the journalists, and the grieving families who begged us to remember.
Given that choice, I’d rather risk embarrassing a crown prince—or a former president—than explain to them why I helped keep the prophets quiet.