Recently, I finished reading Rebel with a Cause. Interestingly, I didn’t purchase this book—it arrived unexpectedly after I tried to remove myself from the mailing list of Samaritan’s Purse. That’s when I learned that Franklin Graham is the organization’s president. Given his well-known alignment with Donald Trump, I was curious about what his book would reveal.
The first third of the book delves into Franklin’s rebellious teenage years. He was consumed by drugs, travel, and a thirst for adventure—so much so that he struggled academically. Yet, thanks to his father Billy Graham’s prominence in Christian ministry, Franklin still managed to graduate from high school. In 1970, he landed a remote construction job in Alaska earning nearly $100 a day—an extraordinary sum for an unskilled teenager, especially considering the federal minimum wage was only $1.60 an hour at the time. It’s clear he benefited from opportunities that were far beyond the reach of most young people—he was, in many ways, a privileged firstborn.
His transition into ministry seemed shaped largely by the involvement of other faithful and influential figures—many of them founders or leaders of prominent Christian organizations. With the resources and connections available to him through his father’s network, Franklin eventually became president of Samaritan’s Purse and gained wider recognition through his television appearances.
While it's hard to measure exactly how much of his success is due to his father's legacy, it's fair to say that without Billy Graham’s name and influence, Franklin’s path would have likely been much more difficult. The book offers insight into a life deeply shaped by privilege, faith, and the power of connections—inviting readers to consider how personal legacy and public leadership intersect.
Billy Graham was a man worthy of respect. He traveled to places many ordinary ministries struggled to reach—Russia, China, and other spiritually closed nations. One key to his global success was his conscious decision to stay out of politics. As Franklin Graham himself writes:
“He didn’t speak about anything political. Instead, Daddy simply talked from his heart about his relationship with God.” (Rebel with a Cause, p. 205)
This apolitical, heart-centered approach was evidently something Franklin once admired and tried to emulate. When reflecting on his own experience entering war zones, he described the purity of mission when politics didn’t get in the way:
“No politics to contend with—just the reality of hopelessness. The door was wide open.” (p. 295)
He even expressed frustration when political forces blocked humanitarian work:
“To think that they would put their political agendas before the welfare of the refugees made me angry.” (p. 288)
“One of the great human tragedies of our century is lives lost during crises because of political red tape.” (p. 289)
These words—passionate, sincere, and clear—show that he understood how politics could obstruct and even derail God’s work. He acknowledged that suffering increases when agendas are prioritized over human life.
Which is why, as I read this book written thirty years ago and compare it to Franklin Graham’s actions today, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of irony—and grief.
How could someone who once condemned political interference in humanitarian work now use his platform, and God’s Church, to support political agendas that hurt the very people he once claimed to serve? How can he endorse a leader whose policies have separated immigrant families, turned away refugees, and allowed women and children to suffer in Gaza and Ukraine—all while claiming to represent the love and compassion of Christ?
I just don’t understand.
While reading Rebel with a Cause, I couldn’t help but feel God’s presence woven throughout the story—even through all its contradictions. One particular moment moved me to tears.
Franklin Graham wrote that Samaritan’s Purse usually left child care to other agencies during their humanitarian missions. But something changed in Rwanda. Amid the devastation of the genocide, he encountered a young girl who sang “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so”—in French. He didn’t know where she learned the song. He didn’t know who sang it to her. He didn’t know what pain had led her to sing it. And yet, that moment touched him deeply—and it touched me too.
That small voice in the darkness was a seed someone had planted long before, and now it was blooming—evidence of God’s grace and mercy at work in even the most broken corners of the world. It reminded me that God often works quietly, invisibly, through unknown people, in unimaginable places. And when the time comes, He calls others—like Franklin and his team—to continue what He started. It’s a powerful reminder: God is always working, even when we don’t see it.
At the same time, this book also forced me to confront difficult questions about mission, privilege, and consistency. As Americans, missionaries carry enormous advantages—resources, influence, and access that those in poorer nations often lack. Looking back at China’s modern history, many missionaries built hospitals and schools to help communities facing poverty and political oppression. These were beautiful acts of compassion. But I still wonder: did they fully understand the people’s suffering?
This question becomes even more complicated when I consider Franklin Graham’s more recent public stance. In his book, he strongly criticized political systems that block aid to refugees—calling it a tragedy and a moral failure. And yet, in recent years, he has supported political leaders and policies in the U.S. that did exactly that: turning away immigrants, separating families, and closing the door on refugees.
It feels inconsistent—and painfully ironic.
Sometimes, I wonder if the comfort of wealth and religious privilege makes it easy for Christians to boast about their faith without truly living it. When war drives refugees toward America, do we embrace them with compassion, or do we reveal a selfish, fearful heart through our actions and words?
And still—despite all this—God continues to use imperfect people to accomplish His perfect will. That doesn’t excuse arrogance or hypocrisy, but it shows the depth of God’s grace. He uses the broken. He works through contradiction. He redeems even what we fail to understand.
But let this be a warning: don't let pride cloud your witness. Don’t let your wealth or political allegiance make you forget your calling. As Jesus said, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven...” (Matthew 7:21).
Let us live with humility. Always pray for wisdom and strength from God. Be a true witness of Jesus—not just with words, but with a life that reflects His love, His justice, and His mercy. Let the world see Jesus through us—not in who we admire or support politically, but in how we serve, how we love, and how we live.