When evangelical leader James Robison heard the words this weekend, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” the first thing on the Lord’s mind would have been the tens of millions of souls Robison brought into the kingdom over his 60 years of ministry. Not so much the 2016 election.
Still, what happened that year is something for the history books, if not the Book of Life.
According to Pew Research data, Donald Trump almost certainly would have lost the razor-thin race to Hillary Clinton if not for the support of white evangelical Christians. That support almost certainly would not have turned out in winning numbers if not for Robison’s Herculean behind-the-scenes efforts.
I had a front row seat to this political thriller, as I was then working for James (as I knew him).
A Primary Full of Friends … and ‘That Man Trump’
The story begins with the GOP primary. Of the dozen-plus Republican candidates, James was friends with about 10. Close to about seven. A father figure to two or three. Trump was not one of those friends—far from it. In fact, for about a year, I swear James never referred to him as anything other than “That Man Trump.”
When some faith leaders started endorsing Trump, oh, boy. I remember the Rev. Robert Jeffress, pastor of First Baptist Dallas, an early endorser of Trump, coming on “LIFE Today.” Between segments, James chewed his ears like they were beef jerky.
Mike Huckabee, who owed his first professional job (and his first-ever suits) to James called from the campaign trail. “James, you’re not going to believe this. But Trump listens.” That caught James’ attention, because another candidate he’d known since he was young man was not listening.
But still … “That Man Trump.”
Then James got word that Ben Carson, a spiritual son, was set to endorse Trump. James immediately called Carson backstage at the Trump rally to give him chapter and verse. Carson cooly replied, “I told Trump I’d endorse him if he spent an hour with you.”
James would rather have had teeth removed without Novocain than go to Trump Tower to meet “That Man Trump.” But the evangelist in him couldn’t resist. “I hit him with everything I had,” James recalled. “I told him, ‘You might know how to be a father to these boys, but you don’t know anything about being a father to this nation!’” To James’ amazement, Trump was incredibly gracious and receptive to what he was saying.
Still, James didn’t trust the billionaire reality star. Too many other candidates schmoozed him for support only to disappear after Election Day. But Trump had taken a liking to James and suggested another meeting. Then another with a group of evangelical influencers. Next thing you know, they’re buds, with James even doing a campaign event. He also began counseling other evangelical leaders that while Trump may not be “our” choice, get used to the idea he’s the people’s choice.
Fast-forward to the general election. Trump had worked hard to win over evangelical leaders. Although some remained vehement Never-Trumpers, many had started to support him, if only as an alternative to Clinton.
And then …
The ‘Access Hollywood’ Tape
On Oct. 7, one month before the election, the “Access Hollywood” story broke, shattering the fragile alliance Trump had been building among evangelical leaders—shattering even long-term relationships between leaders who held onto their Trump support and those who saw it as immoral to back such a crude, ungodly character.
One nationally-known leader of a Christian conservative political organization was so distraught over the Trump drama that he told James he was retiring. Another leading pastor-author was near tears, broken over the rancor within his congregation. Meanwhile, the Trump campaign was in crisis mode.
James got busy. The man who could convince a leopard to lose his spots spent 17 exhausting hours a day on the phone. One minute, talking leaders off the ledge. “With Trump you don’t know what you’re going to get. With Hillary you KNOW what you’re going to get.” The next minute, praying with leaders who were at odds, healing rifts before they became insurmountable. The minute after that, counseling the campaign, ministering to the Trump family.
Hour after hour, day after day, James kept at it, the voice that could thunder across stadiums reduced to a raspy, exhausted whisper, pulling by force of will and argument the fragile evangelical coalition back together. A coalition, not incidentally, that included people who, for doctrinal reasons, would “never have even been in the same room together,” who were now banding together. This “miracle,” as James called it, would become the basis for President Trump’s Faith Council.
By the third debate, 12 days later, the alliance had mostly reformed, if held together only by Scotch tape and prayer.
Then, partway through, Trump and Clinton had an exchange over abortion, particularly partial-birth abortion. Trump let loose:
“Well, I think it’s terrible. If you go with what Hillary is saying, in the ninth month, you can take the baby and rip the baby out of the womb of the mother just prior to the birth of the baby. Now, you can say that that’s OK and Hillary can say that that’s OK. But it’s not OK with me, because based on what she’s saying, and based on where she’s going, and where she’s been, you can take the baby and rip the baby out of the womb in the ninth month on the final day. And that’s not acceptable.”
I could almost feel a jolt through the TV set. Never had a presidential candidate, Republican or otherwise, spoken so bluntly, forcefully, and even passionately against abortion. Strategic or from the heart? I don’t know. Something James had put on his mind? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised.
But in that moment—having been on some of those calls with James, having a strong sense of the heart of those evangelical leaders—I knew Trump had just struck a nerve and sealed the deal. What was that old “Access Hollywood” tape compared to the prospect of protecting new life?
It wasn’t about Trump. It was about rescuing the unborn, rescuing the nation from the curse of secularism—heck, rescuing the ability to say “Merry Christmas” without getting grief for it.
What was fragile would now be a force.
Trump would go on to ride the support of white Christian evangelicals to victory.
Mere hours after being declared the winner, the president-elect called James. After jokes about how remarkable their wives were for putting up with them, Trump closed with this:
“James, never let me forget what you did for me.”
I certainly won’t. Nor should the nation ever forget James Robison.
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