Consider the red lobster. Consider the red herring. Consider the red heifer.
Consider the Holy City, the Second Coming, the Apocalypse of St. John The Divine.
Now consider Donald Trump. Consider him quietly.
When we awoke in a brave new world on November 9th of the Year Of Somebody's Lord 2016 and discovered that the impossible and inconceivable had, doggedly perversely, come to pass, there were two general responses: first, a widespread collective nervous breakdown among those who had any skin in the game of politics whatsoever not involving fanatical nihilism, racist triumphalism or gang-rape capitalism, and second, a widespread question openly voiced: "Who the hell voted for this shitheel, anyways?"
It was clear from the beginning that Fump Truck had been banking (in so far as he held with such timid institutions) on the Stupid Vote, and indeed, they flocked to him in red MAGA ball-capped multitudes. He also attracted a substrate of the populace that might be termed the Robber Baron Wannabes or perhaps the Embarrassedly Not Wealthy Yet. And then there were the apparatchiks, the lockstep minions of the Gross Old Party, reflexively punching the ticket just before it punched them back.
But it was one particular bloc that raised the most hackles and choler among the majority whose will was summarily hijacked by greasy gerrymandering and the tottering Electoral College. What in literal heaven could Christians, followers of the King Of Peace, expounders of the Religion Of Love, possibly find attractive in a crooked businessman, a sleazy tv personality, lying, bigoted, traitorous, greedy, selfish, abusive, lying, self-aggrandizing, lustful, lazy, lying, a walking panorama of the Seven Deadly Sins plus a few more of his own devising?
And yet, somehow, something they found. The Evangelicals voted for the LSD (that's Lying Sack of Dung to you) in droves! Shoals! Hordes! Megachurchfuls! Pastors pounded their pulpits over his Godly qualities, swallowing camels and straining at gnats. Public religious figures entoned their support. And the fundamentalist nation closed their holy eyes, held their sanctified noses, and voted for Not A Woman Nor A Liberal But A Man Like Us.
At this point in our little presentation, it behooves us to darken the theater and thrust one blazing spotlight upon the empty stage, into which charges, gasping, a ragged clown vaguely reminiscent of the unholy lovechild of Bozo and Ronald McDonald, who falls upon his threadbare knees, clasps his hands together in front of him so tightly his knuckles turn blue, scorches the audience with a rictus of terror-stricken condemnation disfiguring his tear-stained mien and screamgasps in a tone suitable for shredding fabric or shattering glass, "WHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY??????"
Consider the red heifer.
You can find plenty of opinions online as to what the devil the fundies think they're doing supporting the unsupportable, turning their backs on the teachings of their church. They mostly boil down to "brainwashing and racism," and that's all fine and dandy and truthy enough, and it leaves a nice foul residue in the mouths of those who taste it, but it might just be missing the point, the barbed hook hidden in the frothing unconscious subcurrents of hard-line Christian theology, the worldview that these folks swim in like fish in polluted waters.
A friend once told me he had a acquaintance, the father of one of his schoolmates, who was severely, implacably Christian, and would always carry on about the joyful moment when he would Go Meet Jesus in the Middle Of The Air, ie when the rest of the world would go to hell in a fruitbasket. My friend, who was a freethinker at the time, made some attempts to talk with the man, and eventually reconciled himself to living with his beliefs in peace, as a gentleman should. But he also dove into the Book Of Revelations and came up (don't ask me how) with a conclusive sign of the End Times: if Russia invades Israel on horseback, it's time to Go Meet Jesus in the Middle Of The Air.
My friend is now a devout Lutheran, so take this story as you will.
Still, there's a certain literalness that many Christians practice with regards their mythos, an almost magical attitude of manifestation thru ritual. In fact, the late '60's best-seller The Passover Plot tried to argue that Jesus Himself had attempted to precipitate the coming of the Jewish messiah by imitating or impersonating the signs of that personage as interpreted by rabbinical scholars from the Torah. And given the results, who's to say He didn't succeed?
Thus, many Christians are unwaveringly devoted to the nation of Israel, regarding it as symbolic of the coming of the Tribulation, the culmination of all history and the Plan Of God. Thus, the red heifer, another symbol of the end times as a necessary ingredient for the rebuilding of the First Temple, bred by true believers on a farm in Israel from frozen cow embryos smuggled in and gestated in utero.
Now, just like you can't have a circus without monkeys, you can't have an Apocalypse without you gots yourself an Antichrist. And the Big A is quite the guy. He can "show great signs and wonders to deceive, if possible, even the elect." You'd think that right there would be a good reason for the elect (who else, if not devout Christians?) to run far far away from a paragon of unvirtue like Dirty Donnie.
Or—maybe not? Maybe that streak of sympathetic woowoo is kicking in, and all the church-goers backing him know darned good and well he's bent as a hundred year old oak, but they're hoping that maybe, just maybe, he's bent enough to fulfill the ancient prophecies and bring on the Big Undoing, the Final Judgement, the Glorious Advent of the King Of Kings and He Shall Reign For-Ev-Er And Eeeeeeeeever.
And the rest of us? We're all going to Go Meet Jesus In The Middle Of The Air. Ready or not.
Assuming, of course, Russian invades Israel on horseback.