Waiting on the Wicked to Weep

This is in response to Tim Whitaker’ recent post.

Tim’s post

Let’s finally stop pretending this is about revelation.

Let’s stop clinging to the illusion that there exists, somewhere out there, a magic headline, a silver-bullet indictment, a final straw so unbearable that it will break the back of MAGA delusion and send the white evangelical faithful into fits of repentance and sackcloth.

You could chisel a courtroom fresco of Trump groping a child into the marble walls of the National Cathedral and they would still show up Sunday morning to praise him as God’s chosen.

This is not about not knowing.

They know.

They knew when he bragged about assaulting women on a hot mic. They knew when sixteen women came forward. They knew when he was found liable in court for sexual abuse. They knew when he said he’d date his own daughter. They knew about Epstein. Hell—they heard him say Epstein liked girls “on the younger side” and they still nodded along and called it locker room talk. They’ve seen the pictures. Watched the tapes. Read the transcripts. They know.

And they Do. Not. Care.

So we need to stop acting like we’re breaking news to anyone. We’re not.

White evangelicals didn’t sell their souls to Trump. They traded them. Eagerly. Eyes wide open. And the going rate was Supreme Court seats, tax breaks, and a four-year license to sanctify cruelty.

Trump is not a stain on the church. He’s its crown jewel.

He is the culmination of a movement that long ago stopped following Christ and started worshiping dominion. His depravity isn’t a flaw—it’s a feature. His boastful misogyny, his violence, his lust, his hunger for domination—it is the theology now. That’s why they cheer him. That’s why they lay hands on him. That’s why they baptize him in gold and call it righteousness.

There will be no reckoning. Not from them.

And we must stop organizing our resistance around the hope that they will suddenly grow a conscience.

They won’t.

Not the pastors. Not the bureaucrats. Not the ICE agents at the cages. Not the DOJ staffers greasing the gears of fascism. Not the low-level functionaries who say “I’m just doing my job” as they fingerprint asylum seekers and hand their children to strangers. These people didn’t start this regime. But they are what makes it run.

We are surrounded by the banality of evil in polo shirts and press passes and perfectly memorized Bible verses.

The evangelical movement has spent decades softening the collective mind for this exact moment. First came purity culture. Then came authoritarian masculinity. Then came prosperity gospel. Then came Trump. The moral collapse was incremental. The fallout, absolute.

What we are witnessing now is the institutionalization of depravity, carried out by men and women who believe themselves to be moral. It is no longer hypocrisy. It is theology.

And here’s the part no one wants to say:

Our outrage means nothing to them.

Your tears, your pleas, your prophetic lamentations from the mountaintop—all of it falls on ears that long ago stopped listening. They don’t give a damn about your grief. Your disgust is a badge of honor to them. Your shock is proof they’re winning. Every time you say, “I can’t believe they did this,” they smirk, because you still haven’t understood.

We’re not dealing with the dissonance of good people in moral confusion. We’re facing the triumph of a death cult that has chosen to die with their monster, rather than admit they were wrong.

They will walk into the flames holding his hand and smiling.

And so I say this now without flinching: We must stop mistaking moral performance for moral strategy. Stop shouting into the void like a broken fire alarm. They are not asleep. They are awake. They want this world.

And unless you are ready to post—on every screen, every street, every schoolyard wall—a picture of Trump in bed with a child, smiling for the camera, cigarette in hand, nameplate on the door behind him reading “Epstein Suite”—they will never turn. And even then, even then, they will say it was doctored by George Soros.

They will say it was AI.

They will say the child seduced him.

They will say Jesus forgave him—so why won’t you?

This is the part of the story where we stop expecting the villains to apologize.

This is the part where we stop gasping in disbelief that evil looks like your neighbor or your cousin or your Sunday school teacher.

This is the part where we stop expecting our collective horror to matter.

It doesn’t. Not to them.

What matters now is what we do with our disgust—how we redirect it from futile cries to unflinching resistance.

No more sermons for the soulless.

No more pleading with those who built their pulpits out of children’s bones and lined them with non-disclosure agreements and hush money checks.

No more pearl-clutching about the purity of our message.

We are not here to be palatable.

We are here to stop the machine.

If we cannot outnumber them, we must outlast them.

If we cannot change their minds, we must outfight their power.

If we cannot break their spell, we must break their hold on this country.

Because God help us all—if we fail—this will not just be remembered as the fall of a republic.

It will be remembered as the moment a people knew evil, named it, documented it, catalogued it in painstaking moral detail—and let it walk free anyway.

Not because they couldn’t stop it.

But because they were still hoping the perpetrators would eventually feel bad.

They won’t.

So let’s stop wasting time waiting on the wicked to weep.

Let’s start building a world where they never touch the levers of power again.

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