Preaching Before a President: The Moment that Bishop Budde Missed

Why Not Open A Door Instead of Slamming One Shut

Yesterday, I listened to the sermon delivered by Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde at the National Cathedral. The President, the Vice President, and their families were there for a prayer service—a moment steeped in tradition and significance. If you’d like to hear the sermon, a clip is included at the end of this post. I don’t plan to listen again. I heard it once, and my thoughts remain unchanged.

When I listen to a sermon delivered in such a grand setting, for such a rare and pivotal moment, I ask myself one question: Did the preacher meet the moment?

It’s a good question to ask, I think. Not every sermon meets its moment. A pastor blessing a meal who launches into a three-point sermon with an altar call has missed the point entirely. The moment called for simplicity, yet the preacher droned on, deaf to what was needed.

Or a wedding homily. A couple stands radiant before their families and friends, hearts full of promise, and the preacher tried to tackle a fine point of eschatology. The moment was calling for joy, hope, and blessing—but the preacher missed it entirely.

So, what was this moment?

The President and Vice President, accompanied by their families, entered the house of the Lord to pray. That alone is worth reflecting on—a public act of humility, whether it was a photo-op, a tradition observed, or a genuine desire to seek God’s guidance.

It was an extraordinary moment, ripe for a message that could transcend politics and remind all in attendance of the eternal truths that undergird all human and political power.

The bishop could have spoken of kings and magistrates, reminding us of how God bends history to His will. She could have spoken about life’s brevity—which Trump so nearly learned about first hand this summer. She could have spoken about the fleeting nature of governments and kingdoms. But she didn’t.

Instead, at the end of her message she closed a door. She delivered a lecture—aimed not at the congregation, but at a single member in it. The pulpit became a podium, the sanctuary a platform for ethical and political instruction.

In that choice, she missed a moment. The people (or the person, really) who came for guidance and hope were included as subjects of the message. The subject of every sermon should always be Jesus Christ and noone else.

I understand that she feels deeply about immigration and the rights of sexual minorities. What she said would be hard to disagree with. I don’t disagree. As we sort out all of the issues that everyone knows need sorting, we must maintain mercy. We need to show mercy. Mercy is an advanced human characteristic that God loves to see in us!

What she said to him would better have been said in another place at another moment. She has been hailed as a courageous bishop speaking truth to power. She is courageous, I’ll agree. But sometimes truth needs not to be delivered in a sermon to a single man in the middle of church, but carried to him over a time of fellowship and pastoral concern.

The sermon was an opportunity—a singular, sacred one—to speak to the hearts of those gathered and to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ to those in attendance and around the world.

Consider another moment: When Jesus entered Jericho, He encountered Zacchaeus, a man whose reputation as a tax collector preceded him. Zacchaeus had swindled many, filling his coffers at the expense of the vulnerable. Sitting in a sycamore tree, desperate to catch a glimpse of the passing Rabbi, he was a man in need of repentance.

Jesus knew that. And Jesus could have called him out, shaming him before the crowd. He could have delivered a fiery condemnation, demanding immediate restitution. But He didn’t. Instead, He looked up into the branches and said, “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.”

That simple invitation transformed Zacchaeus. Without a public rebuke, he saw his sin and vowed to make things right. And Jesus, with clarity, declared His purpose: to seek and save the lost.

Now imagine if Bishop Budde had followed that example.

Imagine if she had preached the Gospel—a message that calls both the mighty and the lowly to repentance, that speaks to the pauper and the president alike. Imagine if she had reminded the President of his need for prayer, for wisdom, for counsel. She could have acknowledged the complexity of leadership, the weight of decisions, and the frailty of human nature.

She could have invited herself to the White House—not as a critic, but as a pastor, a shepherd willing to offer guidance and prayer. That would have been meeting the moment.

How often does a bishop preach to a president at the start of a term? Likely only once. It is a fleeting opportunity, a rare moment to shine the light of the Gospel into the corridors of power.

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The Rev. David Roseberry, an ordained Anglican priest with over 40 years of pastoral experience, offers leadership services to pastors, churches, and Christian writers. He is an accomplished author whose books are available on Amazon. Rev. Roseberry is the Executive Director of LeaderWorks, where his work and resources can be found.