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After all the chaos of Monday’s presidential inauguration and subsequent Trump actions, the most remarkable moment of the second Trump administration so far might be one of near silence. It was also one in which the man who has returned to the center of our politics, our media, and our lives was uncharacteristically quiet, his bombast briefly dulled as he was forced to listen.
During an inaugural prayer service at the National Cathedral Tuesday, Rev. Mariann Budde, the Episcopal bishop of Washington, used her sermon to issue a direct plea to the new president, who sat stone-faced but also almost chastened in a front pew. Noting how he had told the nation during his swearing-in that he had “felt the providential hand of a loving God,” by virtue of his surviving two assassination attempts, Budde invoked the compassion and mercy of God as she called on Trump “to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now.”
“There are gay, lesbian, and transgender children in Democratic, Republican, and independent families, some who fear for their lives,” Budde told the congregation, which included the new president and vice president, as well as members of the first and second families, who had gathered not long after Trump’s first-round attacks on transgender rights during his initial hours in office.
Cameras caught the moment that Trump and Vice President J.D. Vance seemed to perk up and listen intently as Budde began her entreaty. There, too, were Melania Trump and Usha Vance, staring directly at the bishop. As Budde mentioned those feeling fear, Trump briefly looked down, perhaps in contemplation, perhaps just in realization of what was unfolding. When Budde mentioned young LGBTQ+ people, Vance looked to his wife, as Tiffany Trump and husband Michael Boulos exchanged glances behind them. There, too, were Eric Trump and wife Lara, both frozen. Behind them, Donald Trump Jr. appeared to begin mumbling something to himself. Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner swapped looks.
Speaking directly to the president, Budde also called for compassion for refugees fleeing war and persecution, as well as undocumented immigrants, who, she said, pay taxes and are good neighbors. “The people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings, who labor in poultry farms and meatpacking plants, who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shifts in hospitals—they may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals,” Budde said.
Vance, clearly displeased, muttered something to his wife, who continued to stare straight ahead. Trump, meanwhile, had begun to shift in his seat and fiddle with his order of service. When the bishop finally finished, the president and vice president could do nothing more than look at one another, as Vance briefly shook his head.
The moment, broadcast live on television and soon shared in viral clips across social media, felt astonishing not just for Budde’s bravery and for the soft, lilting style in which she delivered her plea, as if she were purposefully lowering Trump’s defenses through a gentle whisper. Indeed, what was most striking was how strange it felt to watch Trump and his coterie have no choice but to sit in silence and listen.
The Trumps’ ability to generate noise—to positively drown us in it—is one of their superpowers. It is deafening by design. But for a brief moment on Tuesday, the country was treated to the same sight that perhaps only the reporters and spectators who attended Trump’s Manhattan criminal trial had previously seen: one of the loudest people of our lifetimes forced into contrite quietness. There can be great power in silence.
