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People not attuned to the evangelical world may have missed the growing prominence of hyper-politicized churches such as Mercy Culture, which have become a key wing of the MAGA coalition. Compared with the religious right of previous generations, this cohort of pastors, influencers, and self-described prophets offers up a version of worship that’s at once more mystical, with an emphasis on supernatural powers, and more militaristic, with heightened political rhetoric. Many adopt a Christian-nationalist framework, arguing that the United States was founded as a Christian nation and should be governed as such.

The Johnson Amendment, a long-standing provision in the U.S. tax code, prohibits nonprofits, including churches, from endorsing or opposing political candidates. Houses of worship aligned with both political parties have long flirted with defying the rule, but, after Trump was first elected, that defiance became more overt. Mercy Culture’s pastors hung a candidate’s banner behind the pulpit, endorsed politicians during Sunday services, said that people who vote for Democrats weren’t truly Christian, and described Kamala Harris as a demonic Jezebel taking the form of a snake encircling the White House. “Big whoop,” Schott said, responding to an investigation by ProPublica and the Texas Tribune that questioned whether his statements from the pulpit might undermine the church’s tax-exempt status. After the 2016 election, Trump told leaders at the National Prayer Breakfast that he would “totally destroy” the Johnson Amendment; last July, the I.R.S. announced that it was weakening the enforcement criteria. (Joshua Moore, the chapter coördinator at For Liberty & Justice, told me that, though the organization has to his knowledge only ever supported Republicans, it is nonpartisan: “If you find me a Democrat that shares our values, we’ll happily put them on our list.”) The move was interpreted by many, including Schatzline, as permission for churches to endorse candidates to their congregations. “What’s your excuse now?” he said on his podcast. “Why will you not get loud now?”

The undermining of the Johnson Amendment was a boon for Mercy Culture. For Liberty & Justice announced plans to expand to a dozen states, partnering with like-minded churches. But the mood at the event that February evening was notably sombre. The previous day, North Texas had been rocked by an upset in a special election for a state Senate seat. In a solidly red district, an underfunded Democrat defeated the Republican candidate, a Mercy Culture ally, by nearly fifteen points. That marked a more than thirty-point swing from 2024, when Trump won the district handily. Although the election was largely symbolic—the Texas legislature is currently not in session, and the candidates will run again in November—it was widely seen as evidence that voters were repudiating the current Republican agenda. (Last week, James Talarico, a state legislator who rose to prominence with his public criticism of Texas’s Christian-nationalist faction, won the Democratic primary for the U.S. Senate. Paxton did worse than expected, and will face a runoff election against Senator John Cornyn in May.)

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Christian nationalism is arguably the dominant political force in Texas today, thanks, in part, to multimillion-dollar donations from two West Texas billionaires, Tim Dunn and Farris Wilks. It has become routine to hear Republican leaders proclaim that the principle of separation of church and state is not aligned with the Founding Fathers’ true wishes. In the past few years, Texas has mandated posting the Ten Commandments in public-school classrooms, approved an optional “Bible-infused” curriculum for public elementary schools, and forced school boards to vote on instituting a daily prayer program. The Christian-nationalist wing of the state’s Republican Party has pushed the legislature’s recent crackdown on L.G.B.T.Q. rights and its passage of a multibillion-dollar school-voucher program, the largest of its kind. (The voucher program was widely considered a boon to Christian schools; so far, no Islamic schools have been approved for funding.) For Liberty & Justice’s chapter coördinator, Joshua Moore, told me that, though some people consider “Christian nationalist” to be a derogatory term, it’s an accurate descriptor of the organization’s philosophy. I asked him whether non-Christians should hold positions of power in the U.S. “As a general rule, I would say no,” he said