What Happens When Orange Jesus Fades?

You remember the story: Moses takes off for a bit to get some divine downloads, and the Israelites lose their patience. They melt down their jewelry, fashion themselves a shiny golden calf, and proceed to worship the thing like it’s the latest cultural craze. Fast-forward a few millennia, and here we are again—but this time, the golden calf is covered in bronzer and has an obsession for authoritarians.

Yep, I’m talking about Donald J. Trump, the chosen idol of a chunk of American Christianity that decided the gospel of “grab ‘em by the p***y” somehow lined up with their Sunday sermons. They didn’t just elect him; they baptized him as their political messiah. And now, as the Trump movement starts to stumble, I can’t help but wonder—what happens when Orange Jesus no longer walks on the political waters?

Signs of the Shine Fading

You might not hear it from the MAGA faithful—they’re louder than ever, rallying with a confidence only emboldened by their own echo chamber. But look a little closer, and you can see the signs of wear. Trump’s rallies just aren’t what they used to be. The crowd sizes have dwindled, the enthusiasm wavers, and fans are slipping out before he even wraps up. It’s as if even they’re realizing that the greatest showman/grifter’s act has a shelf life.

Then there’s Trump himself, rambling and increasingly incoherent. Recently, he spent 40 minutes at a rally, not stumping, not hyping his vision—just swaying onstage to his favorite playlist, leaving the crowd to wonder if they were there to hear him speak or to watch some kind of bizarre performance art. Performance art? Mental decline? Take your pick. His surrogates are still out there, struggling to rationalize every incoherent outburst, but even the faithful must be feeling the strain as Trump’s rants get darker and harder to defend.

Maybe they’re clinging on because they’ve invested so much. Maybe they think a victory at the polls will be enough to breathe life back into this flagging movement. But it’s clear that the shine has dimmed, and the cracks are starting to show, even if they’re still wearing red hats and waving flags like it’s 2016.

The Cognitive Dissonance Hangover

Here’s where things get messy. Remember when the Israelites had to face the awkward reality that their golden cow was, well, just a cow? Trump’s devotees are staring down a similar reckoning. How do you admit that the man you hailed as your savior was really just a guy with a sharpie and an ego the size of Texas? The mental backflips are already hitting Olympic-levels. “He’s still in charge behind the scenes!” “It’s all part of the plan!” Bless their hearts—conspiracy theories are the last refuge of the disillusioned. But eventually, reality has a way of crashing the party, and the hangover from this particular fever dream is going to be a rough one.

The Search for a New Savior

So, where do they go when the magic wears off? When they realize that their Orange Jesus was never quite the messiah they made him out to be? Maybe some will cling tighter, carving his likeness into every GOP talking point until the end of time. Maybe they’ll find the next demagogue who promises to pick up the tiki torch. But there’s a chance—a slim one, but a chance—that a few will wake up. Maybe they’ll take a long, hard look in the mirror and realize that the teachings of Jesus were never about tax breaks, border walls, or owning the libs. Maybe they’ll remember that Christianity, at its core, was about radical love, compassion, and humility. You know, all the stuff that got buried under red hats, slurs, and rally chants.

Final Thoughts

The big question isn’t just what happens when Orange Jesus fades. It’s whether his followers will finally find their way back to a faith that doesn’t need a golden calf, a fake tan, or a red hat to feel relevant. And if they do, maybe, just maybe, we’ll see something genuinely miraculous: a Christianity that looks a little more like Christ and a lot less like the gilded idols we’re so good at building.