The Great Rehab

The quiet rebranding of failed leaders and institutions after COVID—sometimes coordinated, mostly organic.

All right, let’s talk a little bit about what I call the Great Rehab. I’m thinking here especially of my own circles: Reformed Protestant Christianity and the networks that overlap with it.

The Great Rehab is, in some cases, coordinated. But for the most part, it’s an organic effort to rehabilitate the public reputation of institutions and leaders who were once considered conservative, but who revealed their true colors during COVID. These were the people and organizations that enforced heavy-handed measures, pushed wokeness (whether racial or feminist), or openly advocated for Democratic presidential candidates. At the time, they were rightly seen as cowardly or complicit in America’s aggressive reshaping away from biblical principles.

In short, over the course of a few years, large portions of what many thought were conservative or moderate institutions, and their leaders, were exposed as something else entirely. Ordinary Christians were angry and wanted accountability, especially as the Biden-Harris administration came to power. These institutions lost money, influence, and followers. Their decline seemed inevitable.

But three things happened.

First, Trump was reelected. Ironically, that took pressure off. Many who had been eager to hold compromised leaders accountable suddenly felt relief and took their foot off the gas. A few voices continue to say, “We won’t forget,” but they’re small, scattered, and have little or floundering influence.

Second, new voices rose in the Reformed world. Early on, they thrived in the chaos by asking the questions others wouldn’t. But once the dust settled, many pivoted hard into racial issues or werid interests that didn’t resonate broadly. They also splintered into endless fights and factions. What could have been a unified movement with real staying power fractured into a dozen little tribes. Instead of becoming major winners, they ended up as minor players.

Third, the compromised leaders had powerful friends. Former colleagues, seminary buddies, and allies who had avoided the same landmines began quietly helping them back into the spotlight. A sermon clip here, a book blurb there, a conference invitation... it all adds up. Meanwhile, these institutions themselves have been cautiously shifting away from overt wokeness, aligning with cultural currents just enough to fit back in.

Now, let me be clear: I’m all for real repentance. But the Great Rehab isn’t about repentance... it’s about restoring the status quo as quickly as possible, with as little accountability as possible.

And personally? I think it’s going to work.

But there is some good news. A huge portion of those in their mid-20s and younger were shaped permanently by the last several years. What felt like just two or three disruptive years for us adults was, for them, a massive chunk of their childhood or formative season of life. And they’re not attached to these institutions at all. They don’t care about them. These institutions and leaders have no influence over them.

Even more, since the rehabbed institutions are desperate to hold the largest audience possible, they always drift toward moderation. But this younger generation isn’t moderate. They see the world differently, and there’s a change coming.

One more related point: Zoomers generally don’t look up to millennials. If anything, they despise them, or at least don’t respect them. Millennials are like the older brother who became trans, or the Never Trumper aunt who makes Thanksgiving miserable. And here’s the twist: the people clamoring hardest for this Great Rehab are mostly millennials, hoping to inherit the reins of the old boomer-built institutions. Which means pretty soon, the very institutions this rising generation doesn’t care about will be run by people they don’t even like.