Don Lemon Leads Leftist Mob Into Church—Worshippers Terrified, Legal Storm Erupts

Paul Riverbank, 1/22/2026The St. Paul church protest spotlights clashing First Amendment rights, federal law, and deepening divides over immigration enforcement—revealing a fraught intersection of faith, speech, and politics in America’s evolving civic landscape.

It doesn’t take much for a gathering to turn—the congregation, some clutching Bibles, others clasping the hands of their children, looked on as the protest thickened. Claims shot out: accusations that the church’s pastor had sided with immigration enforcement, that his pulpit served policy rather than faith. Protesters, loud and sure, channeled a kind of indignation that turned the atmosphere taut, the kind where an organist’s hands might tremble too much to play.

Reaction splintered almost immediately, both online and in private circles. Mike Davis, never shy with his adjectives, labeled it “a mob of leftist bigots”—invoking Lemon’s CNN tenure as a cudgel and wondering aloud about First Amendment lines most haven’t cared to cross. Here was the question he raised, echoed across talk-radio Monday and, later, in more than one heated thread on local message boards: Is this protected speech, or simply trespass wrapped in protest’s clothing?

The legal context sidesteps easy answers, though on paper the statutes appear unambiguous. The Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act—better known to most as the FACE Act—originated in the tumultuous years of the nineties, a legal shield for women and doctors entering abortion clinics. Yet its language, broad by design, folded houses of worship under its protection. Law’s straightforward on this front: Intimidating or aiming to scare anyone out of practicing religion at a site of worship could land you a federal charge, fine, or between the bars of a jail cell. Odd, perhaps, that a law forged for clinics now has bearing on steepled churches, but the times have changed.

The precedent, ironically, usually worked against pro-life demonstrators—those staging sit-ins outside clinics, who found themselves the subjects of federal prosecution. When activists labeled Lemon’s disruption as a “textbook” FACE Act case, it wasn’t hyperbole but a nod to the statute’s clear terms. Yet, the alignment is awkward; it’s not often you see commentators, once critical of the act’s prior uses, now eager for its protection in the realm of houses of worship.

Another old statute made headlines after Sunday too—the Klan Act, which criminalizes conspiracies aimed at denying civil rights in churches, a throwback to a much grimmer chapter in American history. Whether this law finds relevance in the current moment, or remains largely symbolic, is anyone’s guess.

The protesters, meanwhile, pulled the First Amendment around themselves like armor. A self-described “civil rights lawyer” within their ranks insisted that free speech guarantees extend into the sanctuary. Critics—some citing the slippery slope of precedent—push back: if this sort of demonstration is permissible, what’s left to prevent chaos in every Sunday service in America? It’s not hard to imagine a patchwork of interruptions, religious expression constantly under siege. The Washington Examiner leaned into this angle, casting Lemon not as an iconoclastic journalist, but as an interloper undermining sacred rights.

The story didn’t stay confined to St. Paul. It’s become another front line in the broader, exhausting war over immigration enforcement and sanctuary policies. Minnesota—like other states with progressive cities—rarely stands far from the spotlight when it comes to ICE. Between local officials drawing hard limits and federal agents hunting for cooperation, the relationship is tense at best. One Republican strategist I spoke to compared these scenes to “the inevitable mess” Democrats engineer through policy; not everyone takes such a black-and-white view, but perceptions matter in politics, and images from the church, unsettled children and all, will linger.

Even within the Democratic Party, the protest in St. Paul played out as a microcosm of bigger divides. The progressive wing—represented in Washington by the likes of Ocasio-Cortez and Jayapal—demands ICE’s abolition as both symbol and policy prescription. That rhetoric, though, makes some party moderates wince. “We’re not going to win the Midwest on open borders,” one strategist confessed off the record, “and episodes like this don’t help.”

Minnesota’s Attorney General, Keith Ellison, walked a careful line. He called the protest “an exercise of the protesters’ constitutional rights,” a remark that stirred tempers among cultural conservatives and churchgoers alike. Davis, ever provocative, asked if Ellison would defend a parallel intrusion in a mosque—his point less legal than rhetorical, but illustrative of the culture war fractures underlying so many recent debates.

National press seemed to treat the confrontation gingerly. The New York Times filed a piece that tucked the drama of the sanctuary into broader questions about ICE, declining to dwell on the palpable distress described by worshippers. Some reporters, sensing the spike in online vitriol, took pains not to exacerbate existing divides.

Now the legal gears begin to grind. Federal prosecutors are said to be gathering details; state and local authorities remain circumspect. Whether the Justice Department will pursue charges—and under which statute—is an open question, with significant implications for future protests, inside or outside holy spaces.

Sunday’s scene at Cities Church, in the end, stands as something larger than a localized outburst: a testament to deep currents running beneath American public life. Both protestors and worshippers claim their rights were overridden. Political parties talk past each other. The legal landscape is dense, yet the emotional terrain is just as fraught. And somewhere between the sanctuary and the streets, the rest of us are left to pick through the tangled threads, searching for a boundary that feels both true and fair.

The sun hadn't fully crested the horizon over St. Paul when Sunday worshipers filed into Cities Church, expecting routine liturgy, familiar pews, maybe a homily they’d half-heard before. Instead, some found themselves caught in a scene more suited to a front-page spread than a quiet sanctuary. It started with a low hum—voices echoing off stained glass, merging into a protest that erupted right in the aisle. Among the demonstrators: a face at once startling and impossible to miss—Don Lemon, microphone gripped, as if anchoring a live segment rather than agitating in a place of worship.It doesn’t take much for a gathering to turn—the congregation, some clutching Bibles, others clasping the hands of their children, looked on as the protest thickened. Claims shot out: accusations that the church’s pastor had sided with immigration enforcement, that his pulpit served policy rather than faith. Protesters, loud and sure, channeled a kind of indignation that turned the atmosphere taut, the kind where an organist’s hands might tremble too much to play.Reaction splintered almost immediately, both online and in private circles. Mike Davis, never shy with his adjectives, labeled it “a mob of leftist bigots”—invoking Lemon’s CNN tenure as a cudgel and wondering aloud about First Amendment lines most haven’t cared to cross. Here was the question he raised, echoed across talk-radio Monday and, later, in more than one heated thread on local message boards: Is this protected speech, or simply trespass wrapped in protest’s clothing?The legal context sidesteps easy answers, though on paper the statutes appear unambiguous. The Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act—better known to most as the FACE Act—originated in the tumultuous years of the nineties, a legal shield for women and doctors entering abortion clinics. Yet its language, broad by design, folded houses of worship under its protection. Law’s straightforward on this front: Intimidating or aiming to scare anyone out of practicing religion at a site of worship could land you a federal charge, fine, or between the bars of a jail cell. Odd, perhaps, that a law forged for clinics now has bearing on steepled churches, but the times have changed.The precedent, ironically, usually worked against pro-life demonstrators—those staging sit-ins outside clinics, who found themselves the subjects of federal prosecution. When activists labeled Lemon’s disruption as a “textbook” FACE Act case, it wasn’t hyperbole but a nod to the statute’s clear terms. Yet, the alignment is awkward; it’s not often you see commentators, once critical of the act’s prior uses, now eager for its protection in the realm of houses of worship.Another old statute made headlines after Sunday too—the Klan Act, which criminalizes conspiracies aimed at denying civil rights in churches, a throwback to a much grimmer chapter in American history. Whether this law finds relevance in the current moment, or remains largely symbolic, is anyone’s guess.The protesters, meanwhile, pulled the First Amendment around themselves like armor. A self-described “civil rights lawyer” within their ranks insisted that free speech guarantees extend into the sanctuary. Critics—some citing the slippery slope of precedent—push back: if this sort of demonstration is permissible, what’s left to prevent chaos in every Sunday service in America? It’s not hard to imagine a patchwork of interruptions, religious expression constantly under siege. The Washington Examiner leaned into this angle, casting Lemon not as an iconoclastic journalist, but as an interloper undermining sacred rights.The story didn’t stay confined to St. Paul. It’s become another front line in the broader, exhausting war over immigration enforcement and sanctuary policies. Minnesota—like other states with progressive cities—rarely stands far from the spotlight when it comes to ICE. Between local officials drawing hard limits and federal agents hunting for cooperation, the relationship is tense at best. One Republican strategist I spoke to compared these scenes to “the inevitable mess” Democrats engineer through policy; not everyone takes such a black-and-white view, but perceptions matter in politics, and images from the church, unsettled children and all, will linger.Even within the Democratic Party, the protest in St. Paul played out as a microcosm of bigger divides. The progressive wing—represented in Washington by the likes of Ocasio-Cortez and Jayapal—demands ICE’s abolition as both symbol and policy prescription. That rhetoric, though, makes some party moderates wince. “We’re not going to win the Midwest on open borders,” one strategist confessed off the record, “and episodes like this don’t help.”Minnesota’s Attorney General, Keith Ellison, walked a careful line. He called the protest “an exercise of the protesters’ constitutional rights,” a remark that stirred tempers among cultural conservatives and churchgoers alike. Davis, ever provocative, asked if Ellison would defend a parallel intrusion in a mosque—his point less legal than rhetorical, but illustrative of the culture war fractures underlying so many recent debates.National press seemed to treat the confrontation gingerly. The New York Times filed a piece that tucked the drama of the sanctuary into broader questions about ICE, declining to dwell on the palpable distress described by worshippers. Some reporters, sensing the spike in online vitriol, took pains not to exacerbate existing divides.Now the legal gears begin to grind. Federal prosecutors are said to be gathering details; state and local authorities remain circumspect. Whether the Justice Department will pursue charges—and under which statute—is an open question, with significant implications for future protests, inside or outside holy spaces.Sunday’s scene at Cities Church, in the end, stands as something larger than a localized outburst: a testament to deep currents running beneath American public life. Both protestors and worshippers claim their rights were overridden. Political parties talk past each other. The legal landscape is dense, yet the emotional terrain is just as fraught. And somewhere between the sanctuary and the streets, the rest of us are left to pick through the tangled threads, searching for a boundary that feels both true and fair.