On March 12, 2016, I stood on stage at a Donald Trump rally in Sharonville, Ohio and prayed. Not because I was a Trump supporter. Not because I was seeking his approval or his platform. But because fear has never been my politics — and I have always believed that if you want to understand power, you have to get close enough to see it clearly.
At the time, I had been spending time around Republicans through Jeff Pastor, a fellow Central State graduate who was running for Cincinnati City Council. Jeff hosted political meetups at his home on the east side — rooms filled with Jews, Christians, atheists, all Republicans. Some thoughtful, some less so, but everyone engaged. The red hats weren’t everywhere yet. Most people still didn’t believe Trump could actually win.
But sitting in those rooms, I could feel something shifting in the country.
Jeff told me he might be able to get me the opening prayer at the rally. He asked if I would do it.
I said yes immediately.
My mother hated the idea. She warned me not to go. But I wanted to see the moment up close — and I knew what I could do with that microphone.
I could have protested. I could have shouted something that got me arrested and made national headlines as the man who disrupted a Trump rally.
But protest comes in many forms.
So instead, I prayed.
“Order my steps in Your word, dear Lord.
Lead us.
Guide us every day.
Send Your anointing, Father, I pray.
Order our steps in Your word.”
That was it.
A simple prayer asking for God’s will — not Trump’s will, not any party’s will. God’s will.
The crowd gave a standing ovation. Thunderous applause. Everyone in that room assumed God was on their side.
That’s the thing about prayer. It doesn’t belong to any political tribe. It never has.
When word got out, people who once trusted me began questioning my loyalty. I understood the reaction. But I want to be clear about something: I will never let fear of political consequences decide where I stand or who I’m willing to stand beside. The moment a politician starts calculating every move based on who might criticize them, they’ve already lost something more important than an election.
And here’s what history showed not long after.
The same local political world that questioned my integrity soon revealed its own. Federal investigations. Corruption cases. Convictions.
Three people from that era went to prison — P.G. Sittenfeld, Tamaya Denard, and Jeff Pastor, the same Jeff Pastor who first brought me into those political rooms.
The same circles that questioned my loyalty had been playing in the voters’ faces the whole time.
Today, I’m running for Congress against Greg Landsman — another figure who rose during that same political era in Cincinnati.
And yesterday, at an iftar dinner, I prayed for him.
Not as a political stunt.
As a genuine act of faith.
Because that’s what I believe: the people we disagree with the most are often the people who need our prayers the most.
If you’re looking for a politician who only shows up in rooms where everyone already agrees with them, I’m probably not your candidate.
But if you want someone who will walk into any room, pray with any crowd, and answer to God before they answer to a political party — then you already know where I stand.
You’ve known since Sharonville.
Damon Lynch IV is a Democrat candidate for the District 1 Congressional seat that represents parts of Hamilton, Warren and Clermont counties.