Possibly the best, and least reported, news of the week appeared in Monday’s New York Times, below the headline, “I.R.S. Says Churches Can Endorse Candidates From the Pulpit.” It’s another Trump promise, fulfilled.

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The Johnson Amendment is a 1954 statute that says nonprofit organizations —501c3’s, including churches— may not endorse or oppose political candidates if they want to keep their tax-exempt status.

It was introduced by then-Senator Lyndon B. Johnson, mostly to stop some Texas nonprofits from attacking him during a campaign. It passed quietly, with no debate, and over time, it became a kind of political muzzle for religious groups: preach all you want, but you can’t stump.

In theory, the rule applied to all tax-exempt nonprofits, but in practice, the IRS almost never enforced it, especially against churches. It was more of an effective threat than an actual hammer— used selectively, inconsistently, and often politically. For years, conservative churches complied but argued that the rule violated free speech and religious freedom, while critics said repealing it would turn churches into partisan fundraising machines.

Now, thanks to a lawsuit by conservative Christians and a recent IRS court filing supporting their position, the Johnson Amendment is basically dead. Pastors may now legally endorse candidates from the pulpit without risking their tax-exempt status.

The IRS didn’t (couldn’t) rescind the statute. Instead, it reinterpreted the statute, saying that 501c3’s may legally endorse or oppose political candidates within their own membership. When a church speaks to its own members —like during services or through internal communications— it’s not considered “campaigning,” but rather a kind of private religious expression. In other words, pastors can now legally endorse candidates from the pulpit to their own congregations, and the IRS won’t treat it as a violation. The law still bans public political campaigning by nonprofits— but if it happens inside the family, it’s now fair game.

This reinterpretation could detonate like a depth charge under the 2026 midterms. For the first time in decades, thousands of churches —many with deeply engaged, highly motivated congregations— are now free to openly endorse candidates from the pulpit without fear of IRS reprisal.

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That means Sunday sermons could become de facto campaign rallies, especially in battleground districts where church networks outnumber party operatives. Expect to see a surge in pastor-led voter mobilization, church-hosted candidate forums, and entire sermon series that walk right up to the line— and now, legally, cross it. If even a fraction of evangelical or conservative-leaning churches activate politically, the electoral map could shift in ways pollsters won’t see coming until it’s too late.

It won’t just affect voters. This quiet rule shift will force candidates to rethink their entire ground game. Churches—especially large, politically active ones—will suddenly look less like community partners and more like strategic assets.

Candidates will start courting pastors the way they court union leaders or big donors: with tailored messaging, one-on-one meetings, and campaign promises more aligned with moral or cultural concerns.

Expect to see campaign stops during Sunday services, Scripture-laced speeches, and a new class of faith-based campaign surrogates and influencers. Candidates will also sharpen their righteous rhetoric; not just for policy, but for pulpit appeal. Sermon-friendly soundbites will become the new currency of stump speeches.

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And for campaigns in redder or more religious districts, a strong church endorsement might carry more weight than even party affiliation or PAC backing— especially in off-year or non-presidential elections, when turnout is low and every vote is magnified.

In those particular cycles, elections are often decided through small margins by motivated, organized political minorities. And nobody does motivated and organized quite like a church with a mission. A pulpit endorsement isn’t just a signal; it’s a mobilization directive. It comes with built-in infrastructure: mailing lists, volunteer armies, vans for rides to the polls, child care during early voting, and a moral framing that transforms voting into a spiritual duty, not just a civic one.

This single rule change could completely reshape the entire landscape of how America votes, especially over time. It’s not just a tactical shift. It’s a structural rebalancing of political influence, moving influence away from elite institutions, tech platforms, and campaign consultants, and toward local, trusted authority figures, many of whom already have weekly access to hundreds or thousands of voters.

Nearly half (around 40%) of U.S. adults say they attend religious services at least once or twice a month. That’s roughly 130 million people. Even if just 10–15% of regular-attendance churches begin actively endorsing candidates, that’s a massive national influence network.

🔥 If this feels weird, different, or even a little scary to you, it’s only because we’ve spent the last 70 years inside an artificial bubble. Before 1954, pastors routinely endorsed candidates from the pulpit. Churches were political engines during abolition, Prohibition, and the Civil Rights era. This isn’t some radical innovation— it’s a reversion to the mean. The Johnson Amendment interrupted centuries of civic engagement under the false flag of neutrality. Now, that hypnotic spell is breaking.

Just consider this hypothetical: Had this new Johnson Amendment reinterpretation been in effect during the pandemic, the government’s ability to impose lockdown orthodoxy on the American public would’ve been dramatically weaker, and the resistance would’ve been far more organized, louder, and politically effective.

If pastors had been legally free to endorse candidates and activate congregations in 2020, then politicians—especially in swing states—would’ve had to think hard before casually declaring churches “non-essential” while greenlighting liquor stores, weed dispensaries, and “spiritual massage” parlors.

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Imagine a county commissioner debating whether to fine a pastor for reopening early, while also knowing that same pastor’s endorsement could swing the next local election by 500 votes. It would’ve been political suicide.

The selective authoritarianism only worked because they assumed the faithful couldn’t fight back electorally— at least, not directly, not from the pulpit, and not without risking their churches’ tax status. With that fear gone, the incentive structure flips. Suddenly, it’s not the church that’s afraid of the state— the state must worry about the church.

Given the Democrat party’s mounting pre-election problems, this is the latest worst possible news. It’s no wonder that the media is under-reporting this story. Our job is to make sure pastors get the message. We’re back, baby.