Rev. James Robison, the Texas-based televangelist who founded LIFE Outreach International and spent more than six decades in ministry, died Sunday at the age of 82. The ministry's board of directors confirmed his death in a statement posted on social media, calling him a man who devoted his life to sharing the Gospel.

No cause of death was disclosed. The board asked supporters to pray for Robison's wife, Betty, and the broader ministry family.

Robison's passing closes a chapter in American evangelical life that stretched from tent revivals to television studios to humanitarian relief work spanning the globe. More than 20 million people heard him preach over the course of his career, his ministry's website states. He hosted "LIFE Today," a program that carried his voice into homes nationwide, and built an outreach operation that delivered food and clean water to vulnerable communities worldwide.

From hardship to the pulpit

Robison spoke openly about growing up in hardship. At 14, he had what he described as a life-altering encounter with Jesus. By 18, he had accepted a call to be an evangelist, a calling he pursued without pause for more than sixty years.

In 1963, he married Betty Robison. The two became partners in ministry as well as marriage, building LIFE Outreach International together and working side by side for over six decades. That kind of sustained partnership in public ministry is rare, and it formed the backbone of the organization Robison leaves behind.

His legacy extends through his children. Son Randy and daughter Rhonda carry on his work. Another daughter, Robin, predeceased him, as noted in an online tribute posted by Bunni Pounds, president of Christians Engaged. The loss of a child is a grief that colors everything that follows, and Robison bore it while continuing to preach and serve, a fact that speaks to the man's character more than any eulogy could.

In the broader world of faith-based leadership, personal loss often deepens rather than diminishes a minister's connection to the people he serves. Other pastors who have mourned children publicly have found that shared sorrow binds congregations together in ways prosperity never can.

Huckabee: 'His death hits hard'

Among the most personal tributes came from Mike Huckabee, the U.S. Ambassador to Israel and former Baptist pastor. Huckabee posted remembrances on X, revealing a relationship that predated his political career by decades.

"I worked for James Robison in the 70's as Dir of Comms. He & wife Betty were huge influences in my life."

That a future governor, presidential candidate, and ambassador got his start handling communications for a televangelist says something about the pipeline between evangelical ministry and conservative public life. Robison was not merely a preacher. He was a mentor and a connector, the kind of figure whose influence rippled outward through the people he shaped.

Huckabee made the depth of that bond plain in a second post:

"My middle son's middle name is James after him. His death hits hard. He mentored me in so many ways."

Naming a child after someone is not a casual gesture. It marks the kind of debt that cannot be repaid in words. Huckabee's tribute was brief and unvarnished, the kind of statement that carries weight precisely because it doesn't strain for eloquence.

The ministry's next chapter

LIFE Outreach International's board signaled that the work will continue. The organization's food and clean water programs, along with its broader outreach efforts, will press forward. The board's statement framed Robison's life in terms drawn straight from Scripture.

"James devoted his life to sharing the Gospel and bringing hope, help, and healing to those in need around the world."

The board closed its statement with words from Matthew 25:21, "Well done, good and faithful servant", a verse that Christians reserve for those who have finished the race.

Whether the ministry can sustain its momentum without its founder is an open question. Organizations built around a single charismatic leader often struggle with succession. But the Robison family's deep involvement and the board's immediate public commitment suggest a plan is in place. Faith communities have shown time and again that they can rally through grief and emerge stronger on the other side.

A life measured in reach

Twenty million people. That number, drawn from Robison's own ministry website, captures something about the scale of what he built. He was not a megachurch pastor confined to a single campus. He was an evangelist in the older mold, a man who traveled, who preached to crowds, who used television to multiply his reach long before social media made that easy.

His humanitarian work gave the ministry a tangible dimension that pure preaching sometimes lacks. Food programs and clean water initiatives translate faith into action in ways that are hard to argue with, regardless of one's theology. Robison understood that feeding the hungry and giving water to the thirsty is not a political statement. It is a biblical command.

That combination, Gospel preaching and practical relief, defined Robison's brand of evangelicalism. It was muscular but not angry, outward-facing but rooted in Scripture. In an era when public Christianity is often reduced to culture-war shorthand, Robison's career is a reminder that the tradition runs deeper than any news cycle. Faith leaders who speak plainly about repentance and service continue to shape American life in ways that secular commentators frequently underestimate.

The tributes that followed Robison's death came from ministry leaders, political figures, and ordinary believers alike. Bunni Pounds's note about Robin, Robison's daughter who died before him, added a layer of private sorrow to the public remembrance. It is a detail that humanizes a man who spent his life on stages and in front of cameras.

Pioneers in broadcasting have long understood the power of the medium to shape public life. AP News has chronicled how figures who mastered television, from news anchors to evangelists, left marks on American culture that outlasted their time on air. Robison was one of those figures. He grasped early that a camera could carry the Gospel further than any revival tent.

What remains

James Robison did not leave behind a political dynasty or a corporate empire. He left behind a ministry, a family, and a record of service that stretches across continents. His wife of more than sixty years survives him. His children carry his name and his mission forward. The organization he built still operates. Stories of faith in action, whether on a bridge, in a church, or in a village receiving clean water for the first time, are the kind of legacy that outlasts headlines.

The cause of his death has not been made public, and no funeral details have been announced. For now, the ministry's message is simple: pray for Betty, carry on the work, and remember the man who started it all at eighteen years old with nothing but a calling and the nerve to follow it.

In a culture that measures influence in clicks and clout, James Robison measured it in wells dug, meals served, and lives changed. That math still holds up.