Donald Trump’s Bible costs $59.99, which puts it at the more expensive end of the King James editions, but it does have extra content: it’s called the God Bless the USA Bible, and includes a copy of the US constitution, the Bill of Rights and handwritten lyrics to the chorus of God Bless the USA, by Lee Greenwood. If you thought that chorus was “God bless the USA”, you’re getting it mixed up with “Born in the USA”, idiot; Greenwood’s lyrics have a load of other stuff about freedom, death and defence, which obviously makes them the ideal anthem to scripture.

Trump has always said the Bible is his favourite book, on one occasion going on to name his favourite bit, “an eye for an eye”, elaborating “if you look at what’s happening to our country … how people are taking advantage of us, and how they scoff at us and laugh at us. And they laugh at our face, and they’re taking our jobs, they’re taking our money, they’re taking the health of our country. And we have to be firm and have to be very strong.”

You would think Christians would object to this repurposing of their sacred text in the service of Maga, but the further Trump goes, the more like Jesus he appears to the evangelical right, with one conservative newspaper over Easter describing his court cases as a crucifixion, from which the only fitting resurrection is for him to become president again. Will his Bible sales bring in enough to cover his almost half-billion-dollar court damages, plus legal fees? Or is the money beside the point, in an elaborate provocation to the handwringers who still care what words mean? As his rallies get weirder and weirder, full of God-beseeching solemnity from the high priest of the Church of Trump, the best way to stay calm and sane in 2024 is to not think too hard about the boiling mess of wounded ego and jaw-dropping audacity that is Trump’s subconscious. But it’s tricky when it’s right there, gaping open.

Zoe Williams is a Guardian columnist