James Talarico, the Texas Democrat running for U.S. Senate, told a progressive podcast in 2021 that he thinks of himself as "a Christian who hates Christianity", a remark now circulating widely after the Republican National Committee resurfaced the episode and dropped it into one of the tightest statewide races in the country.
The comments came during an appearance on the "Activist Theology Podcast," co-hosted by Roberto Che Espinoza, a transgender-identifying author described as a "TransQueer Activist" and "non-binary Transgender Latinx" theologian, and Rev. Anna Golladay, a progressive minister now running for Congress in Tennessee as a Democrat. Talarico, a state lawmaker who identifies as a Presbyterian seminarian, sat for what amounted to an extended theological and political conversation that has handed his Republican opponent, Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, fresh ammunition heading into the general election.
The resurfaced audio, first reported in detail by Fox News Digital, captures Talarico praising Espinoza's book and describing his own faith in terms that few churchgoing Texans would recognize.
The central quote is blunt. Talarico told his hosts:
"I always think of myself as a Christian who hates Christianity."
He went on to explain why he stays in the faith at all, saying he keeps getting "drawn back into it because nowhere else, in no other political philosophy and no other economic theory do I find anything nearly as truly radical or revolutionary as the teachings of that barefoot Rabbi." He compared Christ's teachings to those of the Buddha and other mystical traditions, framing Christianity less as a creed than as a vehicle for political radicalism.
Talarico also described his upbringing as shaped by what he called a "Christian anarchist tradition." He told the hosts he "couldn't contain my inner fanboy" over Espinoza's work and praised the podcast for expanding his thinking.
In one of the more revealing passages, Talarico reflected on what he called the limits of his own perspective. He described himself as a "boring, cis-white man", adding, "I added Presbyterian to spice it up", and said his "whiteness" and "masculinity" constrain his imagination about what is possible.
"My imagination is also just limited by my own background and identity, my whiteness, my masculinity, all those things limit my imagination about what's possible. So, I have to continually press against that to try to expand the limits of what I'm dreaming of for our community."
That was not all. Breitbart reported that during the same podcast, Talarico praised his mentor, Presbyterian minister Jim Rigby, as a "true white traitor", language that will not sit well with most Texas voters, regardless of denomination.
The podcast is not the first time Talarico's theological freelancing has drawn scrutiny. He previously claimed during a 2021 Texas House floor debate that "God is nonbinary." He has also asserted that there are six genders and called reducing meat consumption "existential" to fighting climate change. Each statement, taken alone, might be dismissed as a hot take. Taken together, they form a record, and his opponents are making sure voters see it.
Talarico has already walked back provocative claims after being confronted on camera, a cycle that is becoming familiar in his campaign.
Madison Cercy, spokeswoman for the Paxton campaign, told Fox News Digital that the pattern speaks for itself:
"Every time one of these comments resurfaces, James Talarico claims it's being taken out of context or written off as another 'cringey comment.' But after years of saying the same things, Texans can see the pattern."
Cercy added that Talarico's "record is a long history of fighting for the most progressive causes in the name of Christianity" and said bluntly, "The truth is he uses it as a shield to justify his crazy ideas."
Ken Paxton, the two-term attorney general now seeking the Senate seat as a Republican, weighed in on Fox News' Hannity. As the Washington Times reported, Paxton said of Talarico: "I don't think he understands Christianity in any form or fashion."
The timing matters. Democrats had hoped Talarico could flip one of Texas's Senate seats blue for the first time in decades. But the Washington Times noted that Paxton now leads Talarico 43 percent to 42 percent, after trailing by eight points in April polling. Whether the "hates Christianity" clip is accelerating that shift or merely coinciding with it, the trajectory is moving in the wrong direction for Democrats.
The RNC's Zach Kraft was less restrained. He told Fox News Digital:
"James Talarico is a wolf in sheep's clothing, who has made it clear he intends to destroy Texans' way of life and replace it with his woke socialist utopia where there are six genders, a Green New Deal, and a non-binary God."
Kraft's rhetoric was sharp, but the underlying charge, that Talarico's stated beliefs are far outside the mainstream of Texas Christianity, is one the candidate's own words make difficult to rebut.
Talarico's campaign spokesperson, JT Ennis, pushed back in a statement to Fox News Digital, arguing that "the Christian seminarian who's dedicated his life to the teachings of Jesus Christ obviously doesn't hate Christianity."
Ennis went further, casting Talarico as a fighter against corruption:
"James is a devout Christian who fights religious and political corruption when he sees it, because there's nothing Christ-like about powerful people twisting the teachings of Jesus to justify hate, violence, and greed."
Ennis also took a shot at Paxton, calling him a "billionaire-bought" politician and saying Talarico "will continue encouraging Texans across the political spectrum to come together by loving their neighbors as themselves."
The defense amounts to this: Talarico was criticizing institutional Christianity, not the faith itself. It is a distinction that academic theologians might appreciate. Whether it lands with voters in a state where church attendance remains a defining cultural marker is another question entirely.
Talarico's predicament is not just about one podcast. It is about a candidate who appears to have spent years speaking one language in progressive theological circles and another on the campaign trail. On the podcast, he gushed over a transgender activist's book, lamented his own whiteness, and described Republican colleagues who supported immigration enforcement and the bathroom bill as people whose policies "threaten the existence of people that I love." He called those colleagues "monsters", before walking the word back and conceding he "didn't find monsters" but rather "people who loved their kids, who loved their partners."
That concession is interesting on its own terms. Talarico admitted he arrived in the Texas statehouse expecting villainy and found decency instead. Yet the broader posture, treating mainstream conservative positions on immigration and biological sex as existential threats, is the posture of the progressive activist class, not of a candidate trying to win a general election in Texas.
The fractures within the Democratic Party around Talarico's candidacy are not limited to theology. Fellow Texas Democrat Jasmine Crockett has refused to endorse him, a sign that even within his own party, Talarico's brand of politics generates more friction than unity.
That internal tension echoes a broader Democratic problem. Senior figures like Cory Booker have acknowledged the party desperately needs new leadership heading into the midterms. Talarico may represent the new generation, but his record suggests the new generation has the same old blind spots, just dressed up in seminary language.
Several details remain unclear. No one has identified who specifically resurfaced the podcast episode or precisely when it re-entered public circulation, though the RNC's role in amplifying it is plain. The full episode has not been made widely available with a direct link, making independent verification of the complete context difficult. And Talarico's status as an "active" seminarian, a credential his campaign leans on heavily, has not been publicly clarified.
What is clear is the substance of what Talarico said. He was not misquoted. He was not ambushed. He sat down voluntarily with two progressive hosts and spoke at length about his faith, his politics, and his worldview. The words are his.
Texas is a state where millions of voters take their Christianity seriously, not as a "radical" political philosophy, not as a cousin of Buddhism, and certainly not as something to hate. A candidate who describes his own faith that way has a problem no spokesperson can spin away. And the bipartisan scrutiny now following Texas Senate candidates means Talarico's record will only face more daylight, not less.
When a man tells you he hates something, believe him, especially when he's on tape.
