01/25/2026
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/17pqP24J8C/?mibextid=wwXIfr
“WE ARE WATCHING A CITY FREEZE OVER, YET BURN WITH A FIRE THAT IS NOT OF THIS WORLD,” Franklin Graham said, his voice low and heavy, cutting through the silence of the broadcast studio.
READ MORE 👉https://tevola.live/posts/pulpit-pavement-graham-defends-federal-action-amid-huyts123-team-son-sntg
The monitor behind him showed footage of Minneapolis—snow swirling around armored vehicles, breath rising in clouds from the National Guard troops stationed on Nicollet Avenue.
“My heart breaks for the family of Alex Pretti,” Graham continued, taking off his glasses and holding them, a gesture of solemnity. “To lose a son, a healer, a nurse... that is a grief no parent should bear. We must pray for them. We must pray for comfort.”
He put the glasses back on, his expression hardening.
“But make no mistake. The tragedy of one man’s death is being hijacked by a spirit of rebellion that seeks to tear this nation apart at the seams.”
The host leaned in. “Reverend, the Governor is calling this a federal overreach. People are saying the agents were out of control.”
Graham didn’t blink.
“Governor Walz is looking at this through a political lens. I am looking at it through a spiritual one. You have federal agents in that city because the local leaders surrendered the streets long ago. When you abdicate your duty to maintain order, you invite chaos. And now, because of a tragic, heartbreaking split-second decision in the bitter cold, we see the forces of anarchy descending like vultures.”
He pointed a finger at the camera, tapping the air for emphasis.
“God has ordained government to wield the sword against evil. Romans 13 tells us that the authorities are God’s servants. Are they perfect? No. They are men. They are fallible. But to take this incident—this singular, painful moment—and use it to demonize the men and women who stand on that thin line between civilization and savagery? That is a lie from the pit.”
“They are calling it justice, Reverend,” the host interjected.
“They call it justice, but it looks like vengeance,” Graham countered, his voice rising with that familiar, textured Southern cadence. “You look at the fruit. Is the fruit of these protests peace? Is it healing? No. It is division. It is hatred against federal officers who wake up every morning to protect this country. They want you to believe that the badge is the enemy. That is the deception.”
He leaned back, shaking his head sadly.
“The enemy of our souls loves a vacuum. He loves it when we tear down our protectors. You remove the federal presence from Minneapolis, you remove the restraint, and what do you have left? You don’t have utopia. You have hell on earth.”
Graham looked directly into the lens, his tone softening but remaining urgent.
“America, do not be deceived by the anger you see on your screens. Mourn for Alex Pretti. Pray for his soul. But do not let your grief be weaponized against the rule of law. Without law, there is no mercy. Without order, there is no justice. We need to stop shouting at the federal buildings and start kneeling before God, because He is the only One who can heal a wound this deep.”
The studio lights seemed to dim around him, the weight of his words hanging in the air—a warning wrapped in a sermon.
