I woke up this morning with the distinct, metallic taste of despair in my mouth, a sensation usually reserved for election years or the day after the Super Bowl. But no, today’s nausea wasn’t induced by a hangover; it was induced by the news. Specifically, a report detailing how Pastor Travis Johnson—a man whose smile presumably costs more than your annual rent—is crediting Donald Trump with "reviving" Evangelicalism.

Let that marinate in your brain for a moment. The man who treats the Ten Commandments like a "Pick 3" lunch special at Applebee’s is apparently the defibrillator for American Christianity. If you listen closely, you can actually hear the sound of irony shooting itself in the head.

Here we are, trapped in the dumbest timeline imaginable, witnessing the unholy matrimony of two distinct breeds of American grifter: the political strongman and the corporate preacher. Johnson, acting as the mouthpiece for this "new class" of evangelists, claims that this revival is due to "direct access" to the White House. Let’s translate that from Sanctimonious Gibberish to English, shall we? "Direct access" means they traded their moral compasses for a lanyard. It means that in exchange for delivering a voting bloc of terrifyingly credulous sheep, these pastors get to walk through the West Wing, sniff the drapes, and pretend they have a say in whether we nuke a hurricane.

I find it fascinating, in a morbid, picking-at-a-scab sort of way. You have the Right, foaming at the mouth, convincing themselves that a man who has likely paid for more silence than a librarian is actually King Cyrus reborn. They don’t want a president; they want a mascot. They want a golden calf that hates the same people they hate. And in Trump, they found the perfect vessel: a hollow, gilded ego that will say absolutely anything for applause. It is a transactional relationship so nakedly cynical it would make a Wall Street hedge fund manager blush. Trump gets the adulation he craves—the blind, unthinking loyalty of the masses—and the pastors get to feel important. They get to go back to their mega-churches, stand amidst the fog machines and laser light shows, and tell their flock, "I spoke to the Emperor, and he assured me that Jesus loves capital gains tax cuts."

And let’s not let the Left off the hook here, either. They’re sitting there clutching their pearls, screeching about the separation of church and state as if that concept hasn't been dead since the Reagan administration. They act shocked—shocked!—that religious leaders are power-hungry hypocrites. Where have you been? The only difference between a politician and a televangelist is that the politician occasionally has to pretend to care about potholes. Both industries are built on the same foundation: finding desperate people, telling them everything is someone else's fault, and asking for money.

Pastor Johnson speaks of this "revival" as if it’s a spiritual awakening. It’s not. It’s a merger. It’s a corporate acquisition. Evangelicalism hasn't been revived; it’s been rebranded. It’s no longer about that hippie from Nazareth who suggested feeding the poor and not being a judgmental prick. That business model is outdated. The new model is about power. It's about "winning." It's about turning the other cheek only so you can get a better angle for the camera.

According to the reports, this new class of evangelists supports the President "without question." That’s the key phrase. "Without question." Since when is faith about shutting off your brain? I thought the whole point of free will was to use it, not to hand it over to a guy who colors his face with Tang. But this is the genius of the grift. If you can convince people that their political allegiance is tied to their eternal salvation, you have them locked in forever. You can rob them blind, destroy their healthcare, and pollute their water, and they’ll thank you for it because Pastor Travis told them it’s all part of the Divine Plan to own the libs.

So, congratulations, America. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully merged the stupidity of modern politics with the fanaticism of performative religion. The White House is now a confession booth where no one confesses anything, and the Church is a Super PAC with a tax exemption. Pastor Johnson and his ilk are thrilled with their "access," Trump is thrilled with his disciples, and I am thrilled that liquor stores open at 10 AM.

We aren't witnessing a revival. We are witnessing the final, trashy season of a reality show that should have been canceled years ago. The script is bad, the actors are worse, and the moral of the story is that everything is for sale—even God.