Trump Issues MORE Pardons – Kicks Off Thanksgiving Week

When a baseball legend stands before a church congregation and credits a presidential pardon with setting him free, you’re witnessing something far more significant than a simple thank-you speech—you’re watching American redemption play out in real time, complete with all its messy contradictions and genuine hope.

Quick Take

Former New York Mets star Darryl Strawberry publicly thanked Donald Trump for a presidential pardon during a November 23, 2025 sermon at Sheridan Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma
Strawberry received Trump’s pardon call on November 6, clearing decades-old tax evasion and drug charges that had haunted his post-baseball life
The moment represents the culmination of Strawberry’s transformation from a scandal-plagued athlete into a Christian minister focused on sobriety and faith
The event highlights the intersection of sports, politics, and religion in contemporary American culture, raising questions about presidential power and second chances

From Scandal to the Pulpit

Darryl Strawberry was supposed to be a cautionary tale. The talented outfielder who won four World Series titles and electrified crowds at Shea Stadium became synonymous with wasted potential. Tax evasion convictions in 1999 for failing to report $350,000 in income, followed by an 11-month prison sentence in 2002 for a probation violation, seemed to cement his legacy as a gifted athlete who couldn’t get out of his own way. Yet here he stood, three decades later, in a church pulpit crediting both his Christian faith and Trump’s pardon as instruments of liberation.

The Call That Changed Everything

On November 6, Trump called Strawberry directly with news of the pardon. The timing matters. Strawberry had spent years rebuilding his life through faith and ministry work, but the legal cloud never fully lifted. When Trump’s voice came through that phone line, it represented more than bureaucratic relief—it was validation that transformation was real, that someone with power believed in his redemption. Strawberry’s gratitude wasn’t performative; it was the gratitude of a man who had genuinely changed but carried the weight of his past regardless.

The Sermon Heard Across America

Standing before Pastor Jackson Lahmeyer’s congregation in Tulsa, Strawberry delivered words that cut through the noise of contemporary politics: “God just completely set me free when he gave me a pardon from President Donald J. Trump. Other presidents had opportunities, but they didn’t do it.” The statement was both personal testimony and political observation. Strawberry wasn’t making a case for Trump’s presidency; he was simply acknowledging that this particular president chose to use his power for his redemption when others had not.

The sermon itself became a masterclass in American storytelling. Strawberry didn’t hide from his failures. He owned them. He discussed his substance abuse, his legal troubles, his time in prison. But he framed these not as final judgments but as waypoints on a journey toward grace. The congregation—and by extension, the millions who would later hear about this moment—received a message that resonates deeply with faith-based audiences: redemption is possible, transformation is real, and sometimes mercy comes from unexpected places.

Politics Meets Faith in Tulsa

The event’s location and participants reveal something important about contemporary American politics. Pastor Lahmeyer isn’t simply a spiritual leader; he’s founder of Pastors for Trump and sits on Trump’s National Faith Advisory Board. The church itself became a stage where political and spiritual narratives converged. This wasn’t accidental. The intersection of Strawberry’s personal redemption with Trump’s political interests created a moment that satisfied multiple audiences simultaneously: faith communities seeking proof of mercy and second chances, Trump supporters looking for evidence of his compassion, and sports fans witnessing a fallen hero’s restoration.

The Uncomfortable Questions

Yet beneath the inspiring narrative lie harder questions that reasonable people must consider. Presidential pardons are extraordinary powers, and their selective application matters. Strawberry’s case involved personal connections—he appeared on Trump’s Celebrity Apprentice years earlier—which raises legitimate concerns about whether pardons serve justice or favor. The pardon wasn’t controversial in the way some others proved to be, but it does illustrate how presidential mercy often flows toward those with existing access to power and prominence rather than toward less visible individuals with equally compelling redemption stories.

What Redemption Actually Looks Like

What remains undeniably true is that Strawberry’s transformation is genuine. Whether the pardon came because of political calculation or sincere belief in his redemption becomes almost secondary to the fact that he has spent years rebuilding his life through faith and service. The pardon removes a legal impediment, but it doesn’t create the character that Strawberry has clearly developed. That work was his alone. The sermon in Tulsa wasn’t a politician using a celebrity; it was a man sharing his actual experience with an audience hungry for proof that people can change.