Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde speaks as US President Donald Trump, first lady Melania, and US Vice President JD Vance with second lady Usha attend the National Day of Prayer Service at the Washington National Cathedral in Washington, DC, Jan. 21, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Kevin Lamarque

Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde isn’t just any church leader. She’s the Episcopal Bishop of Washington, DC, overseeing 86 congregations, ten Episcopal schools, and — most notably — the Washington National Cathedral. In other words, she’s the face of Christianity in the US capital, with a pulpit perfectly positioned to inspire people of faith.

And to be clear, the National Cathedral isn’t just some grand old church. It’s the nation’s most prominent Christian place of worship — America’s cathedral, serving as an iconic backdrop for state funerals, presidential prayer services, and moments of national reflection.

Teddy Roosevelt laid the foundation stone. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. preached his last Sunday sermon there. Reagan, Ford, Bush 41, and just a couple of weeks ago, Jimmy Carter, had their funerals under its towering arches. If there’s one place where national unity is supposed to take precedence over political point-scoring, it’s here.

Which brings us back to Bishop Budde. This week, she had one job. A simple one, really. Stand at the lectern, offer a prayer, bless the moment, and step aside. That’s what clergy are supposed to do at national events — bring a touch of solemnity, a moment of reflection, and maybe even a bit of spiritual elevation. But Budde? She just couldn’t help herself.

Budde has a history of using her religious platform for political commentary. During the George Floyd protests in June 2020, she was one of the loudest voices condemning President Donald Trump’s visit to St. John’s Episcopal Church in Washington, DC, which took place after law enforcement cleared protesters from Lafayette Square, a routine security measure when a sitting president moves through an area.

But rather than acknowledging the practical realities, Budde framed the visit as a cynical political maneuver, accusing Trump of exploiting religious imagery for his own ends.

This week was no different — except this time, President Trump was sitting just a few feet away as Budde launched into a politically charged critique at his expense. Rather than honoring the occasion with dignity, she hijacked the post-inaugural prayer service, turning it into a political spectacle.

Her pulpit became a platform for protest instead of prayer. The US presidential inauguration — what should have been a unifying moment, regardless of political affiliation — descended into yet another tiresome lecture, chastising Trump for carrying out the mandate given to him by the American electorate.

US President Donald Trump stands near Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde as he attends the National Day of Prayer Service at the Washington National Cathedral in Washington, DC, Jan. 21, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Kevin Lamarque

Of course, Bishop Budde is entitled to her opinions. But taking what should have been a celebration of democracy and twisting it into a sermon scolding the president was tasteless at best, manipulative at worst. Then again, should anyone really be surprised?

In the modern Episcopal Church, the religious leader’s primary job — namely, to guide souls, offer comfort, and teach faith in God — has been replaced by something else entirely. Increasingly, its clergy seem more interested in being political activists than spiritual shepherds.

And the rot runs deep. For decades, the Episcopal Church has been a haven for “progressive” clergy who see religion as little more than a vehicle for their ideological crusades.

Some have gone even further — questioning, reinterpreting, and in some cases outright rejecting the very faith they were ordained to uphold. Take Bishop John Shelby Spong, who led the Episcopal Diocese of Newark from 1979 to 2000. He famously declared that “theism is dead” and dismissed the very idea of talking about God as meaningless.

Then there was William Montgomery Brown, the Episcopal Bishop of Arkansas, who began his career preaching the Gospel and ended it preaching communism — before abandoning even that and embracing full-blown atheism, proudly referring to himself as a “Christian atheist,” whatever that is meant to mean.

Brown holds the dubious distinction of being the first Protestant bishop to be tried for heresy since the Reformation and the first of any creed in America to be officially deposed for heretical teachings. Yes, an Episcopal bishop who, in the end, didn’t believe in God at all. You can’t make this stuff up.

And it doesn’t stop there. The Episcopal Church has long been at the forefront of anti-Israel activism, always cloaked in the noble language of “humanitarian concern.” The Episcopal Peace Fellowship Palestine Israel Network eagerly parrots the same tired narratives as the pro-Palestinian woke mob, dismissing Israel’s security concerns and opposing the designation of six Palestinian NGOs as terrorist organizations — even when clear evidence linked them to terror groups. It’s as if they believe launching rockets at civilians or intimidating Jewish students on college campuses is some kind of moral high ground.

Meanwhile, Episcopalian activists have been among the loudest voices pushing for divestment from Israel, all while conveniently turning a blind eye to far worse human rights abuses across the Middle East and beyond.

And now, Budde has used her national platform not to offer a message of hope or faith, but to take cheap political shots under the guise of religious solemnity. Strangely enough, for anyone familiar with biblical narrative, this all feels eerily familiar. In Parshat Va’era, we get to know Pharaoh — the vain, self-absorbed ruler of Egypt who considered himself a god.

To Pharaoh, religion wasn’t about truth or faith — and it certainly wasn’t about God. It was a tool, a convenient means to impose his version of right and wrong on everyone around him. He cloaked himself in divine authority, much like Budde drapes herself in a bishop’s red and white vestments. But he didn’t use his role to bring people closer to God. He used it to push his own warped agenda — one that ultimately brought misery to everyone around him.

Pharaoh didn’t serve truth. He didn’t serve God. He served only himself.

Like Pharaoh, Budde is using her religious authority to push a distinctly liberal political agenda. She wraps it in piety, but the goal isn’t faith. Instead, it’s about using a sacred moment to make a partisan point.

In the biblical narrative, Pharaoh thought he could control reality, bending it to his will. But in the end, he learned the hard way that there are forces beyond his grasp. Those who twist faith to fit their own agendas — whether in ancient Egypt or in modern America — eventually find that it doesn’t end well.

Religious leaders have every right to their personal convictions. I’m a religious leader, and I have strong views on just about every subject imaginable. But when we step up to the pulpit, our job is to lead people to God — not to the latest round of progressive talking points.

If clergy want to be politicians, they should run for office. If they want to be shepherds of faith — whether in churches, synagogues, or mosques — they should stop weaponizing the pulpit and turning sacred spaces into platforms for political grandstanding.

Because when faith leaders act more like politicians and protest campaigners, they don’t just lose credibility — they risk losing the very soul of the institution they claim to represent.