PART II: THE GATHERING
The Rose Garden was immaculate. The flags hung obedient. The podium shimmered like a game show prize — and the prize was propaganda. A sanctified set built for one thing only: to let the architects of cruelty bask in the glow of false redemption.
And there he was at the center — Donald J. Trump, child thief, tyrant, self-anointed messiah of a broken nation — declaring May 1st the National Day of Prayer with the swagger of a man who’s never once mistaken himself for anything less than divine.
This wasn’t a ceremony. It was a crime scene with better lighting.
THE SHOWMAN-IN-CHIEF SPEWS HIS GOSPEL OF LIES
Trump walked out like a conman stepping into his greatest grift. He squinted into the cameras, soaking up applause like radiation, and declared:
“We’re bringing back religion in our country. And we’re bringing it back quickly and strongly.”
Not a whisper of repentance. Not one syllable of regret.
Not for Maikelys, the two-year-old Venezuelan girl his agents tore from her mother’s arms, vanished into foster care, while her parents were deported to different countries under flimsy, unproven allegations.
He didn’t mention her name. He didn’t mention her pain.
Because guilt requires a soul — and Trump sold his a long time ago, likely for stock options and stadium applause.
He didn’t deliver a prayer. He delivered a performance.
And God was not the intended audience.
ENTER DR. PHIL: THE BALDHEAD BUZZARD OF FAKE REDEMPTION
Then came Dr. Phil — America’s most credentialed daytime narcissist — waddling into frame with the sanctimony of a televangelist who never found Jesus, just better ratings.
He stared at Trump like he’d seen the face of God and wanted to license it for syndication. And then he said:
“This is a man of deep faith, a man of deep conviction, and this is a man that wants this country to have a heart and have religion.”
Deep faith? The man holds a Bible like it’s a frozen lasagna. He tear-gassed clergy for a photo op. He’d replace the Beatitudes with branding tips if he thought it would play in Ohio.
And there stood Dr. Phil — sanctimonious, smug, clapping like a seal at a sermon written by Stephen Miller — pretending this was a revival instead of a mockery of everything sacred.
While children languish in ICE custody, while mothers like Yorely Bernal Inciarte are deported alone, while Maikelys spends her toddlerhood learning English from strangers instead of hearing her mother’s voice — Dr. Phil declared Trump a man of God.
Jesus wept. Dr. Phil grinned. And the applause didn’t stop.
“LET THE LITTLE CHILDREN COME TO ME”
That’s what Jesus said.
Not: Let them be caged.
Not: Let them be tagged like luggage.
Not: Let them be used as pawns in a fascist cosplay prayer circle.
Jesus welcomed children. This regime weaponized them.
Trump invoked God. Dr. Phil blessed it. And the rest — the pastors, the pundits, the pew-warmers in MAGA hats — nodded like bobbleheads in a burning chapel.
This wasn’t prayer. It was a sick parody of grace, a counterfeit gospel wrapped in white grievance and cruelty.
DO YOU FEEL SAVED YET?
Do you feel the Spirit? Or just the stench of rot?
Because if you listened hard enough, past the applause, past the cameras, past the smugness, you could still hear it — the desperate wails of a child robbed of her parents, and a mother deported without goodbye.
Maikelys is still alone.
Her mother is still pleading.
Jesus is still weeping.
Dr. Phil cashed the check.
And Trump?
Trump walked offstage to cheers — when what he deserved was a subpoena.
Subscribe to Closer to the Edge for more unflinching coverage, untamed truth-telling, and the kind of writing they wish you wouldn’t read.
Because Maikelys is still in foster care. And too many are still cheering.
This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.