@Franklin_Graham And you would rather have a corrupt, multi-affair man in office. You are a joke and a horrible shame to your father! So glad he didn’t live to see you now.
Today at noon thousands of red rose petals will flutter down through the oculus of the Pantheon in Rome. This spectacular tradition is held each year on the feast of Pentecost.
To my Oklahoma family;
this piece comes straight from the heart.
I hope you’ll take a moment to read it and feel what I felt.
Thank you for allowing me to be a small part of it.
I came to @okcthunder to play basketball. I left carrying 168 lives.
When I was traded to the Oklahoma City Thunder, I was thinking about basketball, nothing more.
I didn’t know that before I ever stepped on the court, this place would show me something that would stay with me far longer than any game.
Like any player, my mind was on the game. A new team, a new city, a new opportunity. I expected the usual routine when I landed in Oklahoma City. Physicals, practices, meetings, and a jersey waiting in a locker.
But before any of that, Sam Presti pulled me aside and told me there was somewhere we needed to go.
He didn’t explain much, and I didn’t think to ask. I was focused on the next step in my career.
What I didn’t understand was that, before I could represent the place I was about to play for, I needed to understand it.
So instead of heading to the facility, he took me to the Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum.
I walked in without knowing what I was about to see, and within minutes, everything slowed down.
There are 168 chairs at the memorial, each one representing a life lost on April 19, 1995. They are arranged in quiet rows, each engraved with a name, each standing where a person once stood in that building. Then you notice something that is impossible to process the first time you see it. Some of the chairs are smaller.
They belong to children.
There is no speech that prepares you for that, no headline that captures it. You simply stand there, and the silence carries a kind of weight that is hard to describe but impossible to ignore.
As you walk through the memorial, you pass between two gates marked 9:01 and 9:03. At first, they seem like simple numbers, but then you understand what they hold. One marks the last minute before the attack. The other marks the first minute after. And in between those two gates is 9:02, the moment when everything changed.
That minute does not feel like history when you are standing there. It feels present.
The reflecting pool stretches across what used to be a city street, its surface calm and still. When you look into it, you do not just see water. You see yourself standing in a place where unimaginable loss occurred, and for a moment, everything else in your life becomes quieter.
Nearby stands the Survivor Tree, an American elm that was damaged in the blast but endured. It is not untouched. Its scars are part of what it represents. But it is still standing, and in that, it carries a kind of strength that does not need to be explained.
We did not speak much while we were inside. It did not feel like a place for conversation. Some places ask for words. This one asks for reflection.
When we stepped outside, Sam Presti looked me in the eye and said, “This is what this state has been through.”
Then he said something I will never forget.
“Every time you step on that court, you are not just playing in front of fans. You are playing for a state that carries this with it. Give them everything you have. They deserve that.”
In that moment, basketball felt different.
Not smaller, but clearer.
Because what I had just seen was not only about what was lost. It was about what remained. A state that had experienced unimaginable pain and still chose to come together, to rebuild, and to move forward without losing its humanity.
From that day on, every time I stepped on the court, I carried that with me.
On the nights when I was tired, when I was hurt, when I was dealing with challenges that felt heavy in the moment, I would think about those chairs, about that minute, about the people behind those names. And I was reminded that what I was going through did not compare to what this state had endured.
https://t.co/XfNLliRVaO
Every pastor who supports this president should have to read this from the pulpit to their congregation. This is the man Paula White compared to Jesus and said he’s the greatest champion of the Christian faith we’ve ever had in the White House. So read his words aloud.
Paula White-Cain didn’t just cross a line, she obliterated it.
To compare Donald Trump to Jesus Christ is not just bad theology, it’s blasphemy wrapped in political propaganda. It’s heresy.
Jesus said, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” Trump deports Black and brown immigrants and cages children at the border.
Jesus said, “Suffer the little children to come unto me.” Trump protects and surrounds himself with men tied to child exploitation, shielding rich and powerful pedophiles while the vulnerable suffer.
Jesus healed the sick. Trump strips healthcare from them.
Jesus fed the hungry. Trump cuts SNAP benefits and calls it policy.
Jesus stood with “the least of these.” Trump neglects, demonizes, and exploits them.
Jesus was a brown-skinned man from the region of Northeast Africa. Trump has a documented history of degrading Black people from that region, calling them “garbage,” and calling their countries “sh*tholes.”
This is a mockery of Christianity and in affront to the Gospel. This is what you call idolatry, the elevation of a corrupt political figure to messianic status.
Every preacher who sat there and nodded, every “spiritual leader” who clapped, every so called Christian who defends this madness, you are not defending Christ, you are betraying Him.
You cannot preach Jesus and promote Trump as His equivalent. You cannot serve God and bow to Caesar.
This is heresy. This is hypocrisy. This is a dangerous distortion of the Gospel.
I don’t know where I’d be, not for the life of me, without Jesus. By the time you’re my age you’ve been through so dang much. Good and bad but you’re just not ready for how shockingly little of it turns out to be within your control.
But it was in his. And he has been faithful.
Let’s call this what it is, it’s not just hypocrisy, it’s moral fraud.
Franklin Graham had no problem demonizing Barack Obama, a faithful husband, scandal-free, disciplined, educated, Black man, the very embodiment of the “bootstraps” gospel white evangelicals preach about, as some kind of threat, even suggesting that he was antichrist.
Yet, the same Graham bows in reverence to Donald Trump, an adjudicated rapist, convicted felon, unrepentant racist, porn star banging, pathological liar, with a trail of infidelity, exploitation, documented racism, and associations with convicted child sex traffickers, and has the caucasity to call him “raised up by God.”
That’s not discernment, that’s deception, dishonesty, and disregard for the sacred text he claims to believe.
The standard didn’t change, the subject did. Obama’s integrity was dismissed because he was Black. Trump’s corruption is sanctified because he is white and politically useful.
Graham isn’t applying scripture, he’s weaponizing it. He ignores sin when it serves power, then quotes the Bible to justify the very wickedness it condemns. That’s not Christianity, that’s idolatry of whiteness, wrapped in religious language and draped in a flag. 
This is hypocrisy at its highest level: Calling evil good when it benefits you, and calling good evil when it threatens your power.
And then having the audacity to say God said it.