On this Sunday, March 29 — Palm Sunday on the Christian calendar — the Rev. Rachel Kirk will be among a procession of Christians gathering at the state Capitol building in Madison to assert their spiritual resistance to the actions of the administration of President Donald Trump.

Kirk, associate pastor for Community and Faith Formation at Middleton Community United Church of Christ, is one of the organizers for the Palm Sunday Path in Madison, an initiative promoted by the Wisconsin Council of Churches that will have variations across the state. 

It will take place the day after Saturday’s No Kings rallies across the country protesting Trump, and Kirk says the two events share similar objectives: “to challenge unjust power structures and the deterioration of democracy.” But she expects the Palm Sunday Path to offer a different experience — “a celebratory, but also a serious thing, more prayer than protest,” she says.

“The story of Palm Sunday is of Jesus processing into Jerusalem in what would become the final week of his life, and it’s a story told in all four of our gospels,” says Kirk. Some religious scholars have suggested that the Palm Sunday procession in the Bible purposefully echoed another parade: a triumphal march through the city by the Roman leaders whose army occupied the land of Israel.

In that light, for Christians such as Kirk, Jesus’ ride on a donkey has a pointed, anti-imperial meaning.

“Palm Sunday is his journey into that center of power to assert a different kind of power — one that doesn’t dominate and doesn’t exclude,” Kirk says. “We are trying to echo that original message of Palm Sunday — that it is Jesus’ legacy of confronting power that oppresses and excludes and is violent, and we’re trying to assert what we believe is the message of Christ, which is love and inclusion and belonging and peace.”

‘I cannot turn aside…’

The first year of Trump’s second administration has generated  recurring protests of increasing size, channeling public opposition to the administration’s sweeping attacks on immigrants, the reversal of policies that promote diversity and inclusion, the promotion of discrimination against LGBTQ and transgender people and cuts to health care and social supports for poor people. 

Among those resisting the Trump administration’s policies, faith groups and faith leaders have taken an increasingly high profile — across the country and in Wisconsin.

“My baptismal promises include following the works and words of Jesus and to resist evil. The ordination promises by which I became a minister echo that,” says the Rev. Kerri Parker, executive director of the Wisconsin Council of Churches, an ecumenical organization representing churches from more than 20 distinct Christian traditions.

“It means I cannot turn aside when I see evil being perpetrated, when I see vulnerable people being actively victimized by power, by what I would at this point call Capital E Empire,” adds Parker. “I have a duty to engage the tools of my faith, what platform I have, the skills I have been given, to say this is not right.”

At the height of the occupation in Minneapolis this winter by federal immigration agents, hundreds of faith leaders gathered in the city  to join the community’s resistance to the federal incursion. Among them was the Rev. Zayna Thomley, the lead pastor at the Middleton Community UCC church.

She attended a mass gathering of clergy in a large Minneapolis church and joined a protest in the lobby of the Target corporate headquarters the next day criticizing the store chain’s cooperation with Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents. 

“It felt really powerful to know that everybody who was in the room and who was on the street had the understanding to be a part of a bigger vision of what it means to be part of community, what it means to be held by God and what it means to show up for justice,” she says. “It was a deeply holy experience.

Religion and social justice

Religious groups have long taken part in social justice movements. The Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was a Baptist minister who invoked his faith in his commitment to nonviolence as essential to the struggle for civil rights for Black Americans.

In Milwaukee, the interfaith organization MICAH — Milwaukee Inner-city Congregations Allied for Hope — has operated for nearly four decades, working to address the issues of justice in “a city afflicted with radicalized and concentrated poverty,” in the words of the organization’s website.

MICAH’s president, Rev. Richard Shaw, says he has seen more faith leaders and organizations getting involved in pushing back on federal policies in the current administration, as they are “looking at the families being broken up, looking at innocent people being arrested and put in detention without due process.”

He welcomes newcomers to the work. “I do believe that there’s power in numbers,” says Shaw, pastor of St. Matthew C.M.E. Church in Milwaukee. “If we truly follow the Jesus of scripture, to not get involved is to deny the earthly ministry of Christ.”

Christian groups are part of a broader coalition of faith groups standing up to the Trump administration. In January the Interfaith Conference of Greater Milwaukee, which represents 22 faith organizations — Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Sikh, Hindu and more — issued a statement in defense of immigrants and of peaceful protest after the fatal shooting of Renee Good in Minneapolis by a federal agent. 

“We consider the exploitation of human beings, the separation of families, and the use of violence and intimidation, to offend the human dignity not only of the oppressed but the oppressor,” the Interfaith Conference statement declared. “The rights of all people, including neighbors, immigrants and asylum-seekers, to humanitarian treatment is explicit in our national foundation, and our international treaty obligations.”

“There is a deep respect for human dignity in all of our religious traditions, and what has been happening on our streets is something that is observable to all people of faith who care about human rights and respect dignity,” says Ahmed J. Quereshi, the Interfaith Conference executive director.

At a vigil in Minneapolis for Renee Good after she was killed, Imam Mowlid Ali told Good’s neighbors, “Today is the day that we send a message to everyone in this nation. That we are united. We reject any dehumanization of any person in this city, in this state, or anywhere in our nation.”

“We Jews know from history what happens when people are kidnapped, deported, detained, and given no human dignity or rights,” Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum said at a flash mob protest at a Minneapolis Target store. “We know what God demands of us. God demands that we be with the worker, with the vulnerable, with the immigrant … We are all created in God’s image, without exception.”

The morning after inauguration

Religious individuals, groups and leaders were among those who stood up to the policies and practices of the first Trump administration. Their role in response to Trump’s second term has been even more prominent.

“It arguably began the first day of Trump’s second term,” said Jack Jenkins, a Washington, D.C.-based reporter for Religion News Service, during an online round table discussion RNS conducted March 24.

At a prayer service the morning after Trump was inaugurated, Bishop Mariann Budde spoke directly to the president from the pulpit, urging him to “have mercy” on frightened gay, lesbian and transgender children as well as on “the vast majority” of immigrants, regardless of documentation, who are not criminals.

“That sermon that was given to him at the Washington National Cathedral by Bishop Mariann Budde, the Episcopal Bishop of Washington, made clear very quickly that there was going to be religious pushback to several parts of his agenda,” Jenkins said.

Trump was elected in 2024 with the support of more than 80% of white evangelical Protestant Christians, 60% of white Catholics and 57% of white non-evangelical Protestants, according to data compiled by the Public Religion Research Institute. And Trump has garnered favor among Christian groups that oppose abortion and LGBTQ+ rights.

But Christians cover a much broader spectrum of ideologies and perspectives on social issues.

“The loudest voice of Christianity in the United States is what we’re starting to really understand as white Christian nationalism,” says the Rev. Julie Burkey, senior pastor at Orchard Ridge United Church of Christ on the west side of Madison.

Burkey sees a religious revival emerging among Christian traditions that emphasize “the beloved community that we’re working towards, which includes all people,” regardless of gender, sexual orientation or other dividing categories.

When the immigrant advocacy group Voces de la Frontera and U.S. Rep. Mark Pocan (D-Black Earth) decided to hold a news conference in late January to announce their intentions for a peaceful but firm resistance to a possible federal immigration enforcement surge in Wisconsin, they chose the Orchard Ridge church for the event.

Burkey says engagement with social justice has been a core part of her ministry and faith since her seminary years in New York City.

“So it doesn’t feel new to me necessarily,” Burkey says — but, she adds, people may be noticing it more now.

“I just think it’s so important that we’re speaking up for human dignity and for just very basic things that are tenets of our religious faith, like loving one another,” Burkey says. “That golden rule of treating each other like we would like to be treated is a very deeply agreed upon value in the world and all faith traditions, and it’s being violated right now.”

Protests, lawsuits, immigrant support, nonviolence training

The faith-based resistance to the Trump administration has taken many forms.

During the Minneapolis gathering, nearly 100 faith leaders were arrested at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport on Jan. 23 after going there to protest the ICE detention of workers and commuters as well as the involvement of airlines in transporting people taken into ICE custody.

After Trump reversed a 30-year policy that put schools and houses of worship largely off-limits for immigration raids, the Greater Milwaukee Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America joined the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) and other church groups in a lawsuit to block the change.

A federal court ruling in February that granted the groups a preliminary injunction against the administration’s change is currently under appeal.

The Milwaukee synod joined the suit because church officials could see the impact of the administration’s aggressive stance towards immigrants on their congregations, says Bishop Paul Erickson.

“People were not coming to church because they’re afraid of ICE. People were not going to the food pantry at the church because they’re afraid of ICE,” Erickson says. “We felt a strong belief that the behavior of our federal government was interfering with the free expression of religion.”

At Christ Presbyterian Church in Madison, church members were among people in the community who years ago identified the need for an immigration legal aid service and helped raise the funds for it to operate, says the Rev. Will Massey, an associate pastor at the church. The church went on to host the service, the Community Immigration Law Center.

That relationship has gone back more than a decade. In the last year, however,  CILC has been ramping up its operations significantly in response to the Trump administration’s policies to remove immigrants. 

“Right now one of the church’s highest priorities is providing for the work of the law center — making sure that we are acting and we are managing our building in ways that allow their work to continue,” Massey says.

The Rev. Jennifer Nordstrom, senior minister at the First Unitarian Society in Milwaukee, helped lead a training in non-violent civil resistance for faith leaders in January.

“We have a long tradition as people of faith of being the moral voice in society against unjust laws and being willing to take a moral stand, a non-violent moral stand, against injustice in the world — even when it’s our government promoting that injustice, which is what we’re seeing today,” Nordstrom says.

“I see faith leaders who have always been siding with love, faith leaders who have always understood God and the Holy as a loving God that believes that all human beings are made in the image of God,” Nordstrom observes. “And in this moment, because the assault on human dignity is so pointed and aggressive, those folks are bringing that Imago Dei — the image of God, the holiness and sacredness of every human being — theology out into the community and even out into the streets.”

‘Loving our neighbor’

Other forms of support are less visible, but participants say, no less important. Some of it grows out of a longer history of assistance to refugees and immigrants in less fraught times.

“There’s been work that has happened quietly in an everyday manner that people have been proud of and comfortable participating in,” says Parker of the Wisconsin Council of Churches. “The everyday work of resettling refugees, feeding hungry people, helping folks learn the language of the place where they’re living now.”

In the current political climate, “folks who have been doing this quietly are being more direct and public about the need,” Parker adds. “And folks who may not have been engaged in it before are diving in.”

Much of that work now has also become much more discreet, to protect families and individuals who those involved fear could be targeted indiscriminately  by immigration authorities.

“I see so much organizing happening locally,” says the Rev. Kendra Grams, a Presbyterian pastor in Hudson. “It just doesn’t get as much visibility for various reasons. But it is happening and from my perspective that’s been wonderful to see.”

Erickson says friends, colleagues and family members in the Twin Cities, where he previously lived and worked for 13 years, have told him that protests and other public actions are only a fraction of the work people are undertaking to help the most vulnerable people in the community. 

“It’s the networking of providing mutual aid and food and money and support,” Erickson says. “Helping people get rides to the doctor’s office because they’re afraid to go out by themselves, and showing up in restaurants and committing to eat in the same restaurant every day and spend two hours there just in case ICE shows up in an immigrant-owned restaurant or a restaurant that employs significant numbers of migrants.”

Those are not “a centralized, coordinated, highly orchestrated effort,” Erickson says. “It’s simply baked into the fabric of how do I love my neighbor?”

That underlying tenet is found in “any religion that I’m aware of, whether it be Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Jewish,” he says.  “And so I think that’s really what we’re trying to lean into and recognize, that the actions of the federal government are getting in the way of us loving our neighbor. And we’re not going to sit back quietly and let that continue.”

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