Christ

As one way to keep tabs on President Trump’s state of mind, I’m on his email fundraising lists. Lately his 79-year-old mind has seemed to be on his mortality.

“I want to try and get to heaven” has been the subject line on roughly a half-dozen Trump emails since mid-August. Oddly, one arrived earlier this month on the same day that the commander in chief separately posted on social media a meme of himself as “Apocalypse Now” character Lt. Col. Bill Kilgore, satisfyingly surveying the hellish conflagration that his helicopters had wreaked, not on Vietnam but on Chicago. “Chipocalypse” was Trump’s warning to the next U.S. city that he might militarize.

Mixed messages, to be sure.

The president hasn’t limited his celestial contemplations to online outlets. “I want to try and get to heaven, if possible,” he told the hosts of “Fox & Friends” in August, by way of explaining his (failed) effort to bring peace to Ukraine. “I’m hearing I’m not doing well.”

Well, Mr. President, here’s some advice: I don’t think you’ll get to heaven by wishing that many of your fellow citizens go to hell.

The disconnect between Trump’s dreams of eternal reward and his earthly avenging — against Democrat-run cities, political rivals, late-show hosts and other celebrity critics, universities, law firms, cultural institutions, TV networks and newspapers, liberal groups and donors, government employees, insufficiently loyal allies and even harmless protesters at a Washington restaurant — was rarely so evident as it was at the Christian revival that was Sunday’s memorial for the slain MAGA activist Charlie Kirk at State Farm Stadium in Glendale, Ariz.

Mere minutes after Erika Kirk, Kirk’s widow and successor as head of the conservative group Turning Point USA, had tearfully forgiven her husband’s accused killer, the president explicitly contradicted her with a message of hate toward his own enemies, and his continued determination to exact revenge.

Erika Kirk spoke of “Charlie’s mission” of engaging his critics and working “to save young men just like the one who took his life.” She recalled the crucified Christ absolving his executioners on Calvary, then emotionally added: “That young man. I forgive him.”

“I forgive him because it was what Christ did and what Charlie would do,” she said to applause. “The answer to hate is not hate. The answer, we know from the Gospel, is love and always love. Love for our enemies and love for those who persecute us.”

Then it was Trump’s turn.

Just one minute in, he called the 22-year-old suspect “a radicalized cold-blooded monster.” And throughout, despite investigators’ belief that the man acted alone, Trump reiterated for the umpteenth time since Kirk’s death that “radical left lunatics” — his phrase for Democrats — actually were responsible and that the Justice Department would round up those complicit for retribution.

Trump acknowledged that Charlie Kirk probably wouldn’t agree with his approach: “He did not hate his opponents. He wanted the best for them.” Then Teleprompter Trump went off script, reverting to real Trump and ad-libbing: “That’s where I disagreed with Charlie. I hate my opponent and I don’t want the best for them.” He spat the word “hate” with venom. And he got applause, just as Erika Kirk had for a very different message.

Jesus counseled “turn the other cheek” to rebuke those who harm us. Trump boasts that he always punches back. “If someone screws you, screw them back 10 times harder,” he once said. Love your enemies, as Christ commanded in his Sermon on the Mount? Nah. You heard Trump in Arizona: “I hate my opponent.”

Trump might have some explaining to do when he seeks admittance at the pearly gates.

The Bible’s words aside, a president is supposed to be the comforter in chief after a tragedy and a uniter when divisions rend the American fabric. Think of President Clinton, whose oratory bridged partisan fissures after antigovernment domestic terrorists bombed a federal building in Oklahoma City in 1995, killing 168 people, and of President George W. Bush, who visited a mosque in Washington after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, in a healing gesture intended to blunt rising anti-Muslim reactions. (Later, of course, Bush would cleave the nation by invading Iraq based on a lie about its complicity.)

Trump, by contrast, is the inciter in chief. Just hours after Kirk’s death on Sept. 10, and before a suspect was in custody, he addressed the nation, blaming “radical left political violence.” He has repeated that indictment nearly every day since, though the FBI has reported for years — including during his first term — that domestic right-wing violence is the greater threat. “We have to beat the hell out of them,” Trump told reporters. When even one of his friends on “Fox & Friends” noted radicals are on the right as well, Trump replied: “I couldn’t care less. … The radicals on the left are the problem, and they’re vicious and they’re horrible.”

All of this vituperation and vengeance suggests a big “what if”: What if Trump were more like Charlie Kirk? To ask is not to gloss over Kirk’s controversial utterances against Black Americans, gay and transgender Americans and others, but he did respectfully deal with those who disagreed with him — as he was doing when he was shot.

What if Trump, since 2016, had sincerely tried to broaden his political reach, as presidential nominees and presidents of each party historically did, to embrace his opponents and to compromise with them? What if he governed for all Americans and not just his MAGA voters? He might well have enacted bipartisan laws of the sort that Trump 1.0 promised on immigration, gun safety, infrastructure and more. In general we’d all be better off, less polarized.

And with a more magnanimous approach like that, Trump just might have a better chance at getting into heaven.

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By day, he helps audience members find their seats. By night, he’s onstage, commanding them. For actor Tyrone Huntley, the hustle is part of the role in Los Angeles.

Less than 48 hours after raising his voice to the heavens as Simon in the Hollywood Bowl’s electric, weekend-only production of “Jesus Christ Superstar,” Huntley was back at the iconic amphitheater — not under the lights, but beneath them — wearing a white polo and usher’s badge, guiding concertgoers to their seats.

“It was surreal getting back to work and being on the other side of the stage,” Huntley said, overhearing people talk about the early August show days later. “They didn’t know who I was, so I was just listening and smiling and knowing that we certainly made an impression.” Even marketing staff at the Bowl noticed, posting him on TikTok in a clip seen by some 30,000 viewers so far.

Tyrone Huntley, center, performs as Simon in “Jesus Christ Superstar” at the Hollywood Bowl, alongside Cynthia Erivo as Jesus, left.

(Farah Sosa)

Huntley is one of many working actors caught between ambition and survival. As film and TV production in the region drops to historic lows, many industry workers have turned to service jobs or side gigs to stay in the entertainment capital. The region’s slowdown has been brutal: the twin strikes of 2023, studio belt-tightening, productions lured out of state and wildfires that shuttered work this year. The result is fewer auditions, shorter runs and a scramble for survival jobs — even for performers who’ve just taken center stage.

The U.K.-born actor knows both sides. Trained at Mountview Academy of Theatre Arts, Huntley leaped immediately into a U.K. tour of “Sister Act” — alongside his future co-star Erivo — spending more than a decade in London original casts such as “Memphis,” “Dreamgirls” and “The Book of Mormon.”

Coincidentally, his breakout role came in 2016 when he landed the co-lead as Judas in “Jesus Christ Superstar” at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre. The performance earned him an Evening Standard Theatre Award and a Laurence Olivier Award nomination. “It gave me the confidence to think big,” Huntley said. He later reprised Judas on the North American tour in 2021 after the previous lead was arrested for his role in the Jan. 6 insurrection at the Capitol.

Huntley moved to Los Angeles in 2022 with an eye on the silver screen but found himself arriving in a city still wobbling. “Artistically, it just feels like everyone is struggling,” he said. For the last three years, Huntley’s flown back and forth to London — most recently for an acclaimed “Hello, Dolly!” revival with Imelda Staunton — using steady West End paychecks to bankroll life in L.A. And being a member of Actors’ Equity Assn., the stage actors’ union in the U.S., helps cover health insurance costs here, not a consideration he may have in the U.K. where coverage is free.

Tyrone Huntley stands in his usher uniform in front of the stage where just a few weeks earlier he played Simon alongside Cynthia Erivo’s Jesus in “Jesus Christ Superstar.”

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

For actors like Huntley, the financial backdrop is hard to ignore. California nearly scrapped its new Performing Arts Equitable Payroll Fund, which subsidizes nonprofit programs, this year before lawmakers restored it. L.A. County trimmed back its arts grants, forcing small theaters to do more with less. And in Washington, the Trump administration has moved to roll back federal arts funding, leaving some local companies without crucial National Endowment for the Arts support.

Determined to stay in L.A., Huntley auditioned for the Bowl’s “Jesus Christ Superstar” 2025 production, this time as Simon Zealotes, the fiery apostle with one of the show’s most rousing anthems. The casting was headline-making: Erivo, fresh off “Wicked,” as Jesus, and Adam Lambert as Judas. The production was hailed as “the musical theater version of the Avengers,” with theater critic Charles McNulty praising the supernova of talent that lit up the Bowl like a rock concert.

A few months before opening night, Huntley picked up usher shifts at the same venue. The Bowl granted him three weeks off for rehearsals in July, where he also understudied as Erivo’s Jesus. He also got time off to fly back across the pond for a series regular spot on Channel 4’s upcoming “A Woman of Substance.” He described working at the Bowl as fair, easygoing work that keeps him close to live performance, with the added perk of watching Bob Dylan, Earth, Wind & Fire, and the L.A. Phil. “They know a lot of us are working actors, musicians, writers, so they’re very flexible in giving us time to pursue our careers,” he said.

One highlight of working as an usher is that Tyrone Huntley gets to see acts like Herbie Hancock perform at the Hollywood Bowl.

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

At the Bowl, ushers perform the invisible choreography that keeps the night in motion — steering picnic baskets and seat cushions toward the right rows and soothing the occasional ticket snafus or crises. It’s common for the ushering job to be summer gigs — or even first jobs. There are anywhere from 300 to 400 ushers for the season, with more than 100 working per night.

Huntley sees his dual roles as emblematic of the life of an artist here. “I have to support myself, that’s the case for most of us, especially in L.A.,” he said. “Sometimes you can have a proper job and do the acting as well. It’s not all showbiz parties and award shows. Sometimes incredible opportunities come along, you do them, and then you get back to normal. You can do both — and the pressure isn’t always to be on the stage.”

Pete Hegseth, widely considered the least qualified Defense secretary in American history, is hardly anyone’s version of the ideal Christian husband and father.

Only 45 years old, he’s been married three times.

His first marriage — to his high school sweetheart — lasted a mere four years, deteriorating after Hegseth admitted to multiple extramarital affairs.

A couple of years later, he married his second wife, with whom he had three children. During that marriage, he fathered a child with a Fox News producer who eventually became his third wife.

He paid off a woman who accused him of sexual assault (he denies the assault). He routinely passed out drunk at family gatherings and misbehaved in public when inebriated, according to numerous witnesses. His own mother once accused him of being “an abuser of women,” though she later retracted her claims when Hegseth was facing Senate confirmation.

Still, the Senate’s Republican majority, cowed by President Trump, confirmed his appointment. Hegseth has two qualities that Trump prizes above all others. He is blindly loyal to the president, and he looks good on TV.

After his installation, Hegseth proceeded to fire top military brass who happened to be Black or women or both. He has restored the names of Confederate generals to Army bases (Bragg and Benning). His petty “anti-woke” crusade led him to strip the name of the assassinated gay rights leader Harvey Milk, a former Naval officer who served honorably, from a Navy ship. And he has considered doing the same to a ship named in honor of the abolitionist and Civil War hero Harriet Tubman. He has said that women do not belong in combat roles, and has kicked out transgender soldiers, cruelly stripping them of the pensions they earned for their service.

In March, he shared classified information about an impending American airstrike in Yemen on an unsecured Signal group chat that included his wife, on purpose, and the editor of the Atlantic, by accident.

He is, in short, the least serious man ever to lead this nation’s armed forces.

As if all that weren’t dispiriting enough, Hegseth is now in bed (metaphorically) with a crusading Christian nationalist.

Earlier this month, Hegseth made waves when he reposted on social media a CNN interview with Douglas Wilson, the pastor and theocrat who is working hard to turn the clock back on the rights of every American who is not white, Christian and male.

In the interview, Wilson expounded on his patriarchal, misogynistic, authoritarian and homophobic views.

Women, he said, should serve as “chief executive of the home” and should not have the right to vote. (Their men can do that for them.) Gay marriage and gay sex should be outlawed once again. “We know that sodomy is worse than slavery by how God responds to it,” he told CNN’s Pamela Brown. (Slavery is “unbiblical,” he avowed, though he did bizarrely defend it once, writing in 1990 a pamphlet that “slavery produced in the South a genuine affection between the races that we believe we can say has never existed in any nation before the War or since.”)

When a new outpost of his church opened in Washington, D.C ., in July, Hegseth and his family were among the worshippers. CNN described Hegseth’s presence as “a major achievement” for Wilson.

“All of Christ for All of Life,” wrote Hegseth as he endorsed and reposted the interview. That is the motto of Wilson’s expanding universe, which includes his Christ Church in Moscow, Idaho, the center of his Communion of Reformed Evangelical Churches, a network of more than 100 churches on four continents, parochial schools, a college, a publishing house and media platforms. “All of Christ for All of Life” is a shorthand for the belief that Christian doctrines should shape every part of life — including government, culture and education.

Wilson is a prolific author of books with titles such as “Her Hand in Marriage,” “Federal Husband,” and “Reforming Marriage.” His book “Fidelity” teaches “what it means to be a one-woman man.” Doubtful it has crossed Hegseth’s desk.

“God hates divorce,” writes Wilson in one of his books.

Given the way sexual pleasure is celebrated in the Old and New Testaments, Wilson has a peculiarly dim view of sex. I mean, how many weddings have been graced with recitations from the Song of Solomon, with its thinly disguised allusions to pleasurable sexual intimacy? (“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! For your love is better than wine.”)

Wilson’s world is considerably less sensual.

“A man penetrates, conquers, colonizes, plants,” he writes in “Fidelity.” “A woman receives, surrenders, accepts.” Mutual sexual pleasure seems out of the question: “The sexual act cannot be made into an egalitarian pleasuring party.” Ugh.

There is nothing particularly new here; Wilson’s ideology is just another version of patriarchal figures using religion to fight back against the equality movements of the late 19th and 20th centuries. They are basically the hatemongers of the Westboro Baptist Church dressed up in respectable clothing.

“Some people may conflate Christian nationalism and Christianity because they both use the symbols and language of Christianity, such as a Bible, a cross and worship songs,” says the group Christians Against Christian Nationalism on its website. “But Christian nationalism uses the veneer of Christianity to advance its own aims — to point to a political figure, party or ideology instead of Jesus.”

What you have in people like Hegseth and Wilson are authoritarian men who hide behind their religion to execute the most unchristian of agendas.

God may hate divorce, but from my reading of the Bible, God hates hypocrisy even more.

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Cynthia Erivo, a noted theatrical divinity, redeemed the title of “Jesus Christ Superstar” at the Hollywood Bowl last weekend in a magnetic, heaven-sent performance that established God the Savior as a queer Black woman, as many of us suspected might be the case all along.

Divine dispensation allowed me to catch the final performance of this revival of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s 1971 breakout musical. I returned from vacation just in time to join the pilgrimaging hordes carting cumbersome picnic baskets and enough wine for a few dozen Sicilian weddings. The vast number of attendees caused bottlenecks at entry points, prompting one wag to crack, “What is this, the Second Coming?”

The headliners, Erivo as Jesus and Adam Lambert as Judas, certainly have sizable fan bases. But so too does the subject of this Greatest Story Ever Told, a messiah whose following has few equals in the history of the world. Suffice it to say, it was a supercharged evening, comparable more to a rock concert than one of the Bowl’s forays into the musical theater past.

The hard-charging exuberance was appropriate for a production that went back to the concept album roots of a rock opera that, like other countercultural musicals of the period — such as “Hair” and “Godspell” — preached peace and love while rebelling against oppression and conformity. “Jesus Christ Superstar” reminds us that Lloyd Webber wasn’t always a symbol of the bourgeois establishment.

Yes, the composer behind “Cats,” “The Phantom of the Opera” and “Sunset Boulevard” had an early revolutionary streak, challenging authority and testing social taboos. What made “Jesus Christ Superstar” controversial wasn’t simply the depiction of Jesus of Nazareth as a man with vulnerabilities and doubts. It was the blast of guitars and vocal shrieks that accompanied the telling of his last days and crucifixion in a manner more akin to the Who’s “Tommy” than the church organ interludes of a traditional Sunday service.

Cynthia Erivo delivered a heaven-sent performance in “Jesus Christ Superstar” at the Hollywood Bowl last weekend.

(Farah Sosa)

Director and choreographer Sergio Trujillo leaned into the concert nature of “Jesus Christ Superstar.” The metallic scaffolding staging, the mythic scale of projections and the rhythmic flow of cast members, moving from one musical number to the next, freed the production from literal illustration.

The religious meaning of the story was communicated through the intensity of the performances. Erivo and Lambert are incapable of ever giving less than 100% when translating emotion into song. But the human drama was most evident in the handling of duets, the musical give and take that showcases the richness of all that lies between lyrics.

The conflict between Erivo’s all-seeing, all-feeling Jesus and Lambert’s competitive yet remorseful Judas was thrillingly brought to life in their different yet wholly compatible musical styles. In “Strange Thing Mystifying” and “The Last Supper,” Lambert, a Freddie Mercury style-rocker, and Erivo, a musical theater phenomenon who can pierce the heavens with her mighty voice, revealed a Judas who can’t account for all his actions and a Jesus who understands the larger destiny that is both sorrowfully and triumphantly unfolding.

Phillipa Soo provided sublime support in a cast that had considerable Broadway depth.

(Farah Sosa)

Phillipa Soo’s Mary Magdalene brought a probing, tentative and profound intimacy in her adoration of Erivo’s Jesus. In her exquisite rendition of “I Don’t Know How to Love Him,” the tenderness between Mary Magdalene and Jesus, at once earthy and ethereal, deepened the expressive range of the love between them.

Soo, best known for her graceful lead performance in “Hamilton,” provided sublime support in a cast that had considerable Broadway depth. Raúl Esparza, whom I can still hear singing “Being Alive” from the 2006 Broadway revival of “Company,” played Pontius Pilate with lip-smacking political villainy. Josh Gad, who missed Friday’s performance because of illness but was in sharp comic form Sunday, turned King Herod into a Miami-style mobster, dressed in a gold lamé getup that would be just perfect for New Year’s Day brunch at Mar-a-Lago.

Raul Esparza as Pontius and Cynthia Erivo as Jesus in “Jesus Christ Superstar.”

(Farah Sosa)

The acting company distinguished itself primarily through its galvanic singing. Music director and conductor Stephen Oremus maintained the production’s high musical standards, bringing out the extensive palette of a rock score with quicksilver moods.

One could feel Erivo, a generous performer who understands that listening can be as powerful as belting, building up trust in her less experienced musical theater castmates. The way she registered Lambert’s bravura moments bolstered not only his confidence in his non-singing moments but also the miracle of her own fully realized performance.

Ultimately, Jesus’ spiritual journey is a solitary one. In “Gethsemane,” the path of suffering becomes clear, and Erivo’s transcendence was all the more worshipped by the audience for being painfully achieved. Unmistakably modern yet incontestably timeless, abstract yet never disembodied and pure of heart yet alive to the natural shocks that flesh is heir to, this portrayal of Jesus with piercings, acrylic nails and tattoos met us in an ecumenical place where all are welcome in their bodily realities and immortal longings.

Lloyd Webber is undergoing a renaissance at the moment. Fearlessly inventive director Jamie Lloyd has given new impressions of “Sunset Blvd.,” which won the Tony for best musical revival this year, and “Evita,” which is currently the talk of London’s West End.

Trujillo’s production of “Jesus Christ Superstar” deserves not just a longer life but more time for the actors to investigate their momentous relationships with one another. The drama that occurs when Erivo’s Jesus and Soo’s Mary Magdalene interact should provide the model for all the cast members to lay bare their messy human conflicts. “Jesus Christ Superstar” depends as much upon its interpersonal drama as its rock god swagger — as Erivo, in a Bowl performance that won’t soon be forgotten, proved once and for all.

It felt like 2022 all over again when Josh Gad took to Instagram to express his heartbreak about contracting a “virus known as COVID” and announce his decision to pull out of playing King Herod in the highly anticipated production of “Jesus Christ Superstar” at the Hollywood Bowl, which staged its first night of a three-night run Friday.

Gad hinted that maybe — if he tested negative — the situation might change. The following day, however, John Stamos announced on social media that his weekend “just got biblical” and that he was stepping in for Gad in the show.

On Friday, things got extra dramatic when Gad said that he had tested negative. Fans on his social media clamored to know what that might mean, but he stayed mum until Saturday when he posted a photo of himself in an elaborate gold lamé costume with the words, “See you all Sunday night.”

A rep for the Los Angeles Philharmonic said that final confirmation that Gad will step onto stage won’t come until noon Sunday.

Stamos appeared onstage as Herod on Friday night, bringing some comic relief to an electric, deeply emotional show.

After one of star Cynthia Erivo’s solos, the audience clapped so loud, long and reverently, that tears came to the singer’s eyes — which only caused the crowd to cheer harder. The moment of symbiotic love lasted for at least 3 minutes, maybe more.

The Bowl was packed with marquee names, including former Second Gentleman Doug Emhoff, Jim Carrey and Ted Neely (who played Jesus in the 1973 film adaptation of the musical). Erivo brought composer Andrew Lloyd Webber onto the stage as a special guest during curtain call.

Still, Gad fans were many — you could tell because they held Olaf dolls and wore Olaf jewelry — and they could be heard expressing their sorrow at the absence of Gad in the crush of the crowd after the show.

Gad’s addition to the cast, which included Erivo as Jesus, Adam Lambert as Judas and Phillipa Soo as Mary Magdalene, was hailed by fans; and in an interview with The Times during rehearsal, Gad spoke about being beyond excited to perform at the Bowl for the very first time with a stellar cast that he called the Avengers of musical theater.

“I’ve wanted to play the Hollywood Bowl forever,” said Gad. “But I never thought I was good enough to play the Hollywood Bowl,” he added with a self-deprecating smile

Even though the role of King Herod entails a single song — a kind of comic interlude that Gad likened to the part of King George in “Hamilton” — Gad showed up at as many rehearsals as possible before he came down with COVID. He just liked sitting on the sidelines, soaking up the scene and the incredible talent on display, he said.

At a Saturday rehearsal before the show, he filmed numbers on phones for various cast members and cheered his heart out. His sense of excitement was palpable. Now he’ll get one night to give “King Herod’s Song” his all.