The castration of Christendom



In Ireland, the priest was once as vital to a village as the pub or the post office. He baptized the babies, buried the dead, and kept the farmers from killing each other.

If the neighbors were at war over a hedge, he’d settle it before Mass and still have time for a fry-up. The priest wasn’t just a man of God but also a referee of rural life — part Joe Rogan in a cassock, part St. Patrick with a whistle. The church bell was the town clock. The confessional was the psychiatrist’s couch. And the parish hall was the beating heart of the community.

You can now 'attend' Mass online, complete with comment sections and buffering hymns. It’s efficient, yes — but as spiritually satisfying as watching someone else eat your dinner.

That Ireland is disappearing. This year, the entire country produced just 13 new priests — barely enough to fill a choir, let alone a nation. The waves of eager new recruits who poured forth from the seminaries are no more, leaving weary veterans to cover half a dozen parishes, driving from one church to the next like overworked delivery drivers of the divine.

What happened? "This is an immense question, requiring a book-length answer," Irish journalist John Waters tells Align, after which he kindly attempts a summary anyway:

The explanations include: Ireland’s history of kindergarten Catholicism; the damage done by simplistic moralization; the liberal revolution; the infiltration of the Catholic clergy; the escalating implausibility of transcendent ideas (a contrived not a naturalistic phenomenon); the moral inversion unleashed by the LGBT revolution; the confusion created by the church leadership for the past 12 years and counting; et cetera.

Irish goodbye

The outlook is bleak. The number of priests in the capital is expected to fall by 70% over the next two decades. Since 2020, only two priests have been ordained in Dublin’s archdiocese.

Across Ireland, the average priest is now over 70, long past retirement age. Some say the Church’s only hope is to let priests marry. It would make more sense than flying in bewildered clerics from Africa, men who can quote Scripture but not survive small talk in a Kerry kitchen.

It’s not that people stopped believing in God (though Ireland’s Catholic population has fallen to just 69%, down from nearly 78% less than 10 years ago). They just stopped believing the Church was worth the effort.

The pews that once held families now hold the few who remember when everyone came. Ireland changed faster than the Church could follow. Confession replaced by podcasts, pop psychology, and Pornhub. It’s a lethal mix of heresy and habit — busy souls, distracted minds, and a generation convinced that salvation can be streamed, scheduled, or outsourced.

Flickering faith

At the same time, people like my mother still light candles. They still bless themselves on long drives. They still mutter prayers when the doctor calls with bad news. Faith is still there; it has just learned to keep its head down. Weddings and funerals still draw a crowd, if only because even the most lapsed Irishman can’t stomach the thought of being buried by a stranger in a suit. The flame is still there, but it’s more a pilot light than a blaze.

The fading of show-up-every-Sunday faith has mirrored the fading of everything that once made Ireland feel Irish. The language is vanishing, the music sanitized, the dances replaced by drill rap and dead-eyed TikTok routines.

Even the local watering hole — the unofficial annex of every parish — struggles to stay open. What’s vanishing isn’t just religion; it’s ritual, the sense that life meant something beyond the week’s wages.

Mass exodus

Technology promised connection but delivered solitude. You can now “attend” Mass online, complete with comment sections and buffering hymns. It’s efficient, yes — but as spiritually satisfying as watching someone else eat your dinner.

Once, the whole community walked to church together, children skipping ahead, neighbors chatting along the road. After Mass came tea, gossip, and maybe even a few sneaky pints. These days, the only communion most share is over brunch — order taken by a Filipino, processed by a Nigerian, cooked by a Ukrainian, and blessed by a middle manager named Ahmed.

In rural towns, churches stand like sentinels — beautiful, empty, and slightly ashamed of their own magnificence. Some have become cafés or concert halls, serving flat whites where once they served faithful whites. It’s called progress, though it feels more like repurposed reverence.

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Photo by DANIEL LEAL/AFP via Getty Images

Let us spray

The same could be said across the pond. In Canterbury Cathedral — the cradle of English Christianity — artist Alex Vellis recently staged “HEAR US,” a graffiti-style art project inviting visitors to ask, with spray-can sincerity, “What would you ask God?”

The answers, splattered across medieval stone, came from “marginalized communities” — Punjabi, black and brown Britons, the neurodivergent, and the LGBTQIA+ faithful. A veritable clown car of the aggrieved, somehow granted front-row parking in the house of God. It was meant as inclusion; it landed as intrusion — like stringing jockstraps across the Vatican altar.

When critics like Elon Musk and U.S. Vice President JD Vance rightly accused the project of desecrating beauty in the name of diversity, Vellis fired back not with argument but with anatomy, accusing his detractors of “small d**k energy.”

Virile virtue

The phrase, unserious on the surface, hinted at something deeper: Both sides — the artist and the church that hosted him — seem afflicted by the same crisis of conviction. The Church, once roaring with moral certainty, now offers apologies to everyone and inspiration to no one. Its critics, meanwhile, confuse provocation for courage. Between them lies a vacuum where virtue used to be.

And this isn’t just an English problem. Across the Christian world, churches of every stripe — Catholic, Protestant, evangelical — have lost their fortitude. Too timid to offend, too eager to trend, they’ve traded conviction for comfort. "Small d**k energy" has gone liturgical.

Even in Ireland, where the Church once thundered with certainty, cowardice now calls the homily. The pulpit peddles activism instead of absolution, politics instead of prayer. No wonder so many stay home. And no wonder young men won’t answer the call. Who wants a life devoid of sex, love, and laughter?

If Catholicism is to last, it needs less talk and more testosterone. The next revival won’t come from a press release but from those who still believe life means something. If the Church in Ireland and beyond wants people back in its pews — and its pulpits — it best man up.

Blue-state city battles ACLU to install archangel Michael statue honoring police



Thomas Koch, the mayor of Quincy, Massachusetts, commissioned two 10-foot-tall bronze statues to complement his city's new public safety headquarters, a 122,000 square-foot facility that will ultimately house both the police department and the fire department's administration offices.

One of the statues that the city asked renowned sculptor Sergey Eylanbekov to design depicts the winged archangel Michael stepping on the head of a demon. The other statue depicts Florian, a third-century firefighting Roman soldier, dumping water on a burning building.

'The statues of Michael and Florian honor service — not a creed.'

Despite the broader cultural significance of both figures and their longstanding association with first responders, groups loath to see any public signs of Christianity joined a number of local residents in suing to block the installation of the statues.

While the Norfolk Superior Court granted a preliminary injunction last week blocking the installation of the two statues, the city of Quincy, evidently unwilling to surrender to iconoclastic secularists, has teamed up with the Becket Fund for Religious Liberty to file an appeal.

"We respect every citizen's beliefs, religious or not. But the statues of Michael and Florian honor service — not a creed," Quincy Mayor Thomas Koch said in a statement to Blaze News. "We’re hopeful that the court will reverse this order and allow our city to pay tribute to the men and women who keep our city safe."

The lawsuit

The lawsuit filed in May by the American Civil Liberties Union, the ACLU of Massachusetts, the Freedom from Religion Foundation, and Americans United for Separation of Church and State, names a number of Quincy residents as plaintiffs including

  • a Unitarian social justice warrior;
  • a self-identified Catholic who finds the "violent imagery" of good triumphing over evil to be "offensive";
  • a local synagogue member who suggested the images "may exacerbate the current rise in anti-Semitism";
  • an Episcopalian who believes that walking past such statues would amount to "submission to religious symbols";
  • several Catholics turned atheists apparently keen to avoid some of the imagery they grew up with; and
  • a lapsed Catholic who suggested the image of Michael stepping on the head of a demon was "reminiscent of how George Floyd was killed."

The lawsuit states that "affixing religious icons of one particular faith to a government facility — the City's public safety building, no less — sends an alarming message that those who do not subscribe to the City's preferred religious beliefs are second-class residents who should not feel safe, welcomed, or equally respected by their government."

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Quincy City Hall. Photo by Lane Turner/The Boston Globe via Getty Images.

The complaint hammers home the significance of Michael in Catholicism, where he is recognized as the patron saint of police, yet neglects to note that Michael also features prominently in Christian, Jewish, and Islamic religious texts and traditions as well as in the Western literary canon and pop culture.

While the suit hints at possible civic or professional accomplishments on the part of Florian that could be recognized with a statue, it again suggested that as the patron saint of firefighters, a statue of the historical figure would similarly "send a predominantly religious message."

The plaintiffs alleged in their lawsuit that the city violated Article III of the Massachusetts Declaration Rights, and suggested that the installation of the statues "will not serve a predominantly secular purpose," but rather to "promote, promulgate, and advance one faith, subordinating other faiths as well as non-religious traditions."

The allegation of a violation of state law as opposed to a violation of the Establishment Clause of the U.S. Constitution appears to have been strategic. After all, the U.S. Supreme Court has made expressly clear that "simply having religious content or promoting a message consistent with a religious doctrine does not run afoul of the establishment clause."

Mayor Koch rejected the plaintiffs' thesis, underscoring in a sworn affidavit that he regarded it as "appropriate to erect statues of two internationally recognized symbols of police and fire service, an act which would also serve to inspire the men and women who work in the building."

"There was nothing religious about this decision," continued Koch. "The fact that Michael and Florian each happen to be saints venerated in the Catholic Church is ancillary to their significance in the Police and Fire services, respectively."

The injunction

Quincy suggested in the suit that the plaintiffs lacked standing because they were "simply offended by the planned statues, and, unwilling to confine themselves to the ordinary means for airing ideological disagreements with the government — the political process — have sought to make a lawsuit out of it."

Norfolk Superior Court Justice William Sullivan, who was put on the court by former Democratic Gov. Deval Patrick, was evidently not persuaded.

On Oct.14, Sullivan denied the city's motion to dismiss the lawsuit and granted a preliminary injunction against the erection of the statues, noting that the plaintiffs had demonstrated "that they are likely to succeed at proving that the permanent display of the oversized overtly religious-looking statutes have a primary effect of advancing religion."

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Photo by: Claudio Ciabochi/UCG/Universal Images Group via Getty Images

Speaking to Koch's suggestion that the statues have secular significance and purpose, Sullivan wrote, "To the extent a statue of Saint Michael provides inspiration or conveys a message of truth, justice, or the triumph of good over evil, it does so in his context as a biblical figure — namely, the archangel of God. It is impossible to strip the statue of its religious meaning to contrive a secular purpose."

Rachel Davidson, a staff attorney at the ACLU of Massachusetts, celebrated the ruling, stating, "We are grateful to the court for acknowledging the immediate harm that the installation of these statues would cause and for ensuring that Quincy residents can continue to make their case for the proper separation of church and state."

"Massachusetts citizens are free to practice their personal religious views by placing statues of saints or other religious iconography on private property," said Annie Laurie Gaylor, co-president of the Freedom from Religion Foundation. "But such religious iconography emphatically does not belong on government buildings where all must feel welcome."

The appeal

Becket, a firm focused on protecting religious liberty, announced on Tuesday that it will join the city of Quincy in appealing Sullivan's decision.

"If allowed to stand, the decision would push cities across the Commonwealth to strip historic symbols from civic life whenever they carry religious associations," the firm said in a statement. "But the Supreme Court has upheld the use of symbols with religious roots in public life, including a World War I memorial featuring a cross, when they carry historical, cultural, or commemorative significance."

Using private funding in the 1920s, the American Legion constructed the 40-foot-tall Peace Cross in Bladensburg, Maryland, to honor soldiers who perished in World War I. The sight of the cross evidently enraged iconoclastic secularists, who sought to have it toppled. While the Fourth Circuit proved more than happy to oblige them, the U.S. Supreme Court determined in its 2019 American Legion v. American Humanist Association ruling that the cross did not violate the Establishment Clause.

The court also rejected the relevance of the test articulated by SCOTUS in its 1971 Lemon v. Kurtzman ruling as a way of guiding the court in identifying Establishment Clause violations, noting that the Lemon test presented "particularly daunting problems" in such cases that "involve the use, for ceremonial, celebratory, or commemorative purpose, of words or symbols with religious associations."

While the Supreme Court has effectively rejected the Lemon test, Justice Sullivan leaned heavily on it in the Quincy case.

"Everyone is free to have their own opinions about public art, but in America, the fact that something may have religious associations is not a legitimate reason to censor it," said Joseph Davis, senior counsel at Becket.

"Our nation, like many others, has long drawn on historic symbols — including those with religious roots — to honor courage and sacrifice. The court should reject this lawsuit’s attempt to block these symbols of bravery and courage," added Davis.

Quincy Police Chief Mark Kennedy's office indicated the police department will have no comment as the issue remains in the hands of the court.

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LA Dodgers pitcher Blake Treinen puts Christian faith front and center ahead of World Series: 'Make heaven crowded'



Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher Blake Treinen is putting his Christianity front and center yet again.

Treinen is part of a pitching staff that, along with star Clayton Kershaw, has stood up for religious freedoms in the face of disturbing times in California.

'Every single one of us have been given a gift ...'

When a transgender-promoting, anti-Christian activist group was invited to Dodger Stadium in 2023, Treinen accused the group of "mocking the religious habits of nuns" and "mocking what [Catholics] hold most deeply."

Now, ahead of the Dodgers' second straight trip to the World Series, Treinen made it clear how important his Christian faith is in his life.

"I think my family's name is great in the eyes of God, but in the eyes of the world, nobody really knew the Treinens," the pitcher told CBN Sports.

"I don't really care if they do," he continued. "I want them to see Christ's greatness and what he's accomplished in my career."

Treinen said he wanted to see everyone go to heaven while also expressing care for others, saying, "I don't want to see any of my teammates or anybody in the stands or anybody in this world face the alternative."

"How do we make heaven crowded?" Treinen asked. "That's really my goal."

"Every single one of us have been given a gift, and our way of repaying it to the Lord is how do we honor Him with that gift?" he concluded. "When I am welcomed into the gates of heaven, I want to hear 'job well done, good and faithful servant.'"

RELATED: Christian LA Dodgers pitcher defies Pride Night with subtle in-game protest

Teammate Kershaw, meanwhile, stood out for his own religious fervor earlier this season when the Dodgers celebrated gay Pride Night.

While Kershaw took issue with the same event as Treinen in 2023, on Pride Night this June, the pitcher participated in wearing his team's rainbow-themed cap — but added a caveat.

"Gen 9:12-16," Kershaw's hat read. The player had written a Bible passage next to the Pride logo.

In the King James Bible, the passage states the following:

And God said, This is the token of the covenant which I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for perpetual generations: I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth. And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be seen in the cloud: and I will remember my covenant, which is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall no more become a flood to destroy all flesh. And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.

The Dodgers have been mired in controversy all year as the team seemingly battles the ethics of a far-left California setting with its generally conservative baseball fan base.

Also in June, an activist singer purposely sang the national anthem in Spanish at a Dodgers game to protest against the deportation of illegal immigrants who are Hispanic.

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Photo by Josie Lepe/MLB Photos via Getty Images

There were also reports in June of Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents using Dodgers property as a staging area; the team and ICE gave conflicting reports on the matter.

Furthermore, in July, the Dodgers were hit with an anti-discrimination lawsuit over alleged diversity hiring initiatives.

Lastly, a Make-A-Wish foundation executive resigned in October after being caught on camera threatening to call ICE on a Dodgers fan at a playoff game against the Milwaukee Brewers.

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Satan has a mix tape — and Taylor Swift is on the playlist



Taylor Swift is back with a new record, and with her return come the old accusations.

For years, people have suggested that she hides strange symbols in her songs and videos. Even other pop stars have said the same thing — and they’re not wrong. From the serpent motif that slithered through her "Reputation" era to the witchy forest rituals of "Willow" and the tarot-like imagery of "Midnights," Swift has long played with the language of mysticism.

What faith once offered in family and devotion, the industry now mimics through sexualization and self-display.

It’s seductive, deliberate, and deeply disturbing.

Rock once wore its rebellion openly. Ozzy Osbourne feasted on bats. Led Zeppelin flirted with the occult. Alice Cooper strutted across stages like the devil in drag. But pop is subtler, sweeter — and far more dangerous. Rock shouted “Hell!” for the shock of it. Pop smiles, takes your hand, and leads you there.

Billie Eilish, the Beetlejuice of pop, floats through a fog of depression, her music drowning in melancholy: songs about mutilation, numbness, and detachment from reality. Lil Nas X, a raving homosexual who seems to revel in depravity, enjoys grinding on Satan. Doja Cat smears herself in blood and calls it expression.

None of this is random. The industry has learned that darkness sells because emptiness is a vacuum that needs to be filled. Rhythm reaches where reason can’t, and belief can be rewritten one beat at a time.

Unfortunately, no audience is more vulnerable than young girls.

They listen on repeat, absorbing lyrics like liturgy. Pop has always known how to reach them. In the 1960s, the Beatles sang of love as liberation. By the 1980s, Madonna turned it into a marketing campaign. Britney Spears wore innocence like a costume, then tore it off — literally and figuratively — knives in hand. There is something unmistakably demonic in her descent, a possession of the spirit that fame so often brings.

The same story repeats itself across the pop pantheon.

Once the cherubic choirboy of global pop, Justin Bieber now fluctuates between repentance and relapse, his body scarred by tattoos and abuse. There’s also Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, Katy Perry, and Ariana Grande, each one a pathetic version of their former selves.

The pop idol is no longer a musician but a model for imitation. The results are visible: depression, anxiety, disordered eating, and a generation that sings about love but cannot define it or identify it. Young people are raised on a rotation of heartbreak and hedonism, told to celebrate the very things that destroy them.

Pop today preaches a gospel of transaction. Every desire is for sale. Love is no longer a covenant but a contract. Sex is not intimacy but advertisement. Artists sing about bodies the way brokers talk about stocks — measured in clicks, hype, and fleeting returns.

The message is clear: Everything is currency, even the body.

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Frazer Harrison/Getty Images

What began as entertainment has evolved into indoctrination. The language of romance has been replaced by the “logic” of the marketplace. Pleasure is product, people are platforms, and purity is just another brand to discard once it stops selling. The line between pop music and OnlyFans is straighter than most want to admit. Both peddle illusion — connection without commitment, desire without depth.

What faith once offered in family and devotion, the industry now mimics through sexualization and self-display. The result is a culture fluent in indulgence, obsessed with pleasure but ignorant of purity. What once pointed upward now drags us down. The language of heaven has been rewritten in the dialect of hell.

Even the visuals echo it. Neon crosses. Angel wings stitched from latex. Horns hidden beneath halos. The symbolism, evident to anyone with functioning vision, is always dismissed as “art.” But art without virtue stops telling the truth and starts selling the lie. And history reminds us that deception has always been the devil’s favorite instrument.

Pop’s greatest trick is pretending it’s harmless. Rock scared parents into vigilance. Pop lulls them into complacency. It sounds innocent enough, but beneath the cute choruses lies the same poison. When every song preaches self-worship, when every lyric mocks modesty, when every beat celebrates bondage, the playlist becomes a pilgrimage into perdition.

The industry calls it entertainment. But look closer and you’ll see a darker design: music that numbs, not nourishes, and beats that bind, not liberate.

It’s no accident that the idols of this age are called “idols.”

Tens of millions stream them, worship them, and defend them with evangelical ecstasy. They shape the moral mood of the young more than any preacher ever could. And yet while they sell songs about love and light, the world they create grows darker by the day. Broken homes. Hookup culture. Teenage pregnancies. Gender confusion. Isolation and self-harm. Faith mocked. Fatherhood maligned. Motherhood treated as an outdated inconvenience.

The irony is that Swift and several other artists were raised in the church. They know the cadence of a hymn, the thrill of a crowd, the longing for transcendence. They just redirected it. The altar became a stage, and the worship didn’t stop but changed direction.

But here's the truth: Mocking religion is a poor substitute for meaning. You can dance in devil horns for only so long before realizing there’s nothing on the other side of derision and disdain. No culture that mocks the sacred can remain strong.

The industry calls it entertainment. But look closer and you’ll see a darker design: music that numbs, not nourishes, and beats that bind, not liberate. The melodies are catchy because the message must be smuggled in softly. That’s the genius — and the evil — of pop music.

And so we arrive where we began. Taylor Swift has released another record. Millions have listened. But few have stopped to wonder what’s being worshipped.

Satan no longer hides in the dark. He performs under a spotlight.

Trump's heaven question shocks critics — but they missed the real story



President Donald Trump is no stranger to dropping jaws and turning heads with his rhetoric, bombastic commentary, and sometimes shocking statements.

While these reactions are typically sparked by the comical names he concocts for his opponents, his hot political takes, and other bold moves, the commander in chief has recently made headlines for some of his more theological proclamations and curiosities.

'I'm not sure I can make it, but he's going to make it. He's there. He's looking down on us right now.'

Trump was aboard Air Force One when he told reporters last Sunday that he’s unsure if he’ll make it to heaven. He prefaced his words by noting he was being “a little cute,” but proceeded to drop some thoughts about the afterlife.

“I don’t think there’s anything going to get me in heaven,” he said. “I think I’m not maybe heaven-bound. ... I’m not sure I’m going to be able to make heaven.”

Just a few days later, while giving the late Charlie Kirk a posthumous Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor, Trump again brought up heaven.

“In his final moments, Charlie testified to the greatness of America and to the glory of our Savior, with whom he now rests in heaven,” he said. “And he is going to make heaven. I said I'm not sure I can make it, but he's going to make it. He's there. He's looking down on us right now.”

There have been other similar instances. Trump once pondered whether ending the Ukraine war would help secure his eternal glory. And at Charlie Kirk’s memorial service last month, the president made another headline-grabbing comment. Heralding Kirk’s love for his enemies, Trump painted a disparity between himself and the late Turning Point USA founder.

“[Charlie] did not hate his opponents. He wanted the best for them,” Trump said. “That's where I disagreed with Charlie. I hate my opponent and I don't want the best for them. I'm sorry.”

Responses to these proclamations have been swift and harsh. They have also rightly raised some questions about “earning” eternal salvation and the biblical command to love enemies. While some of those questions are fair, much is being missed in the mix of commentary and conjecture about Trump’s theology.

RELATED: Christian call to action: Pray for President Trump

Joe Raedle/Getty Images

First, it’s often tough to discern when Trump is being facetious or comical, making it almost impossible to know his real intent behind these remarks. Beyond that, the critics lambasting Trump should consider a different approach: prayer.

Anyone can be an armchair critic, but if Trump vociferously continues to bring up heaven, eternal salvation, and other related theological topics, there’s a solid chance it’s something he’s been contemplating personally. This seems incredibly likely in the wake of the attempts against his own life and after Kirk — a staunch friend and ally — was killed so publicly.

Some people seem to have missed the glaring reality that now is the time to move ceaseless critique to the side and double down on prayer for Trump to discern, comprehend, and embrace the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

But there’s another element being missed amid the mix of reactions.

Some people claim that Trump needs better faith advisers, deriding the Christians who have coalesced around him. The assumption is that these leaders aren’t sharing biblical truth with the president.

But I know for a fact that Trump has heard the gospel. The late Phil Robertson of “Duck Dynasty” fame once personally told me how he shared Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection directly with Trump leading up to the 2016 election.

“[I discussed] God becoming flesh … dying for the sins of the world, and, in his case, I said, ‘Dying for your sins, Donald, all of them, I figure there’s a lot — what do you think?’” Robertson told me. “He didn’t disagree with me.”

Robertson also drew an image of “an arrow coming down out of heaven … God becoming flesh, a cross, where Jesus took away the sins of the world.”

The point is: Trump has heard the gospel, and rather than trashing him, we should be doubling down in prayer that he comes to a place of full repentance and understanding.

Still, we must consider the deeper theological issues at the center of Trump’s remarks.

In the New Testament, James makes it clear that “faith without works is dead.” Interestingly, Trump has been talking a lot about peace deals and good deeds, pondering whether those acts can get him to heaven. The Bible has much to say about this topic.

“What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him?” James 2:14 reads, with verses 15-17 continuing: “If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled,’ without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.”

James’ words are important not because works save us, but because the Holy Spirit, which dwells in us when we accept Christ and live a life for him, sparks in us a quest to live out Jesus’ call to love God and love others.

Simply stated: We do good because we’re guided by the Lord and His heart for others.

This message is boiled down beautifully by Christ himself in John 3. In that chapter, Jesus tells Nicodemus, a religious leader, that “you must be born again” to enter heaven. Nicodemus seems confused, pondering how one could re-enter his mother’s womb after birth.

That’s when Jesus explains that the rebirth in question is a spiritual one — a death to self and a life for the Lord. John 3:16, arguably the Bible’s most famous verse, tackles God sending his son to die for mankind so that people can have eternal life.

But what comes next is often overlooked.

“For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him,” John 3:17 reads, with verse 18 continuing: “Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God.”

Ultimately, one must die to self and live for Christ. There’s no action — without this move — that affords anyone eternal life. Trump might be the most powerful person in the world, but he, like all of us, must decide whether he will embrace this reality.

Rather than endlessly lambasting him over his attempts to understand, we should devote ourselves to praying for him while also pondering whether we, too, have fully embraced this truth.

Why Gen Z is rebelling against leftist lies — and turning to Jesus



Picture it: 8,000 college students packed into an arena. Not to watch basketball but baptisms. Hundreds stepped into portable tanks while their friends cheered, with 500 professing faith in Christ that night alone.

This scene unfolded recently at the University of Tennessee, a major state university. It wasn’t an isolated incident. The Unite US revival movement, which began at Auburn University two years ago, has now spread to more than 20 college campuses nationwide.

The problem with building your worldview on sand is that eventually people notice that they’re sinking.

Here’s what’s happening: For decades, secular progressives positioned themselves as countercultural rebels against the oppressive Christian tradition. But they overplayed their hand. They became the establishment.

The result? Young people are now rebelling against them by turning to Jesus Christ in record numbers.

Since Charlie Kirk’s assassination on Sept. 10, churches report attendance increases of 15% and campus ministries are seeing even higher numbers. Bible sales in 2025 have surged past 10 million copies, already over a million more than last year.

The establishment's overreach

The secular left didn’t just ask for “tolerance” of its beliefs — leftists demanded total capitulation. Over the past six decades, they captured universities, media, entertainment, corporations, and government agencies, then wielded these institutions like weapons.

They told young men their masculinity was toxic. They told young women that marriage and motherhood were a trap. They flooded schools with gender ideology and characterized objecting parents as “domestic terrorists.” University DEI offices became enforcement arms for ideological conformity. During COVID, they locked down churches while keeping abortion clinics and strip clubs open. They promised liberation and delivered loneliness, anxiety, and existential despair. Then they called Christianity oppressive.

The problem with building your worldview on sand is that eventually people notice that they’re sinking.

Scripture tells us that God has written His law on every human heart (Romans 2:15). You can suppress that truth, but you cannot erase it. When a generation has been fed nothing but lies dressed as progress, the hunger for truth becomes overwhelming.

Why young men are leading

Research from Pew shows that for decades, each age cohort was less Christian than the one before it. But that trend has stopped with Gen Z. Americans born in the 2000s are just as Christian as those born in the 1990s, the first generation in decades not to show further decline.

Even more striking: Gen Z men now attend weekly religious services more often than Millennials and younger Gen Xers. The gender gap in religious participation has closed, with young men flooding back even as some young women leave.

The secular progressive vision has been particularly hostile to biblical masculinity. Men were told that their natural inclinations toward strength, protection, and leadership were “toxic,” that the desire to work hard and keep your feelings private promoted aggression toward women and the vulnerable, that embracing traditional marriage roles reinforced gender power imbalances and made society less safe.

Kirk recognized that men who fear God more than they fear man build the foundations of civilization.

By contrast, the church doesn’t tell young men that they’re inherently evil. Instead, it calls them to be servant leaders after the pattern of Christ, to lay down their lives as He laid down His for the Church (Ephesians 5:25), and to be strong and courageous in the face of evil (Joshua 1:9).

Scripture has always offered a vision of masculinity that is both strong and sacrificial. When a generation of young men have been told they’re “toxic” simply for being masculine, the gospel’s call to biblical manhood becomes irresistibly attractive.

Charlie Kirk understood this. He often told young men: “Get married. Have children. Build a legacy. Pass down your values. Pursue the eternal. Seek true joy.”

Kirk recognized that men who fear God more than they fear man build the foundations of civilization.

His assassination, meant to silence a voice calling people back to faith and family, had the opposite effect. As one pastor noted, “Charlie Kirk started a political movement, but he ended it as a Christian movement.”

His memorial, attended by 100,000 and viewed by millions, became a gospel proclamation. Young people decided they wanted what Kirk had found: purpose, meaning, and hope anchored in Jesus Christ.

Expect a backlash

Amid all this good news, Christians should never underestimate the resistance that will come from the cultural elites.

Expect increased persecution on campuses. Institutions that previously celebrated every sexual deviation will now express concern about “cultlike behavior” when students undergo baptism. University administrators, who previously ignored the Black Lives Matter riots, will now seek to restrict Christian gatherings. Media outlets that praised “mostly peaceful protests” will warn about the dangers of “religious fervor.”

That’s because spiritual warfare is afoot, and the enemy knows what’s at stake. When young people turn to Christ, they don’t just become saved, they also become transformed. They get married, have children, and raise the next generation in biblical truth. Civilizational renewal begins with revival.

True revival or cultural moment?

It’s also crucial not to mistake enthusiasm for revival. True revival brings conviction of sin, genuine repentance, hunger for God Himself, and hearts transformed by the gospel, not just increased church attendance.

Time will tell whether these professions of faith endure. Jesus warned that many hear the word with initial enthusiasm but fall away when trials come (Matthew 13:1-23). We must pray that these young believers sink roots deep into scripture and persevere.

But we should also recognize what God may be doing. When thousands pack arenas across multiple campuses to worship Christ, that’s not normal in modern America. As Paul wrote, “What does it matter? Only that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is proclaimed, and in this I rejoice” (Philippians 1:18).

RELATED: Charlie Kirk's legacy exposes a corrosive lie — and now it's time to choose

The apostle Paul. Wirestock/iStock/Getty Images Plus

This isn’t just about individual souls, though. It’s about Western civilization itself. Strong families produce stable societies. If this revival takes root, we’ll see the reversal of family collapse, demographic decline, and cultural decay.

The secular left knows this. Leftists built their project on the destruction of the family, the confusion of gender, and the rejection of biblical authority.

Every young person who turns to Christ, gets married, and raises godly children is a defeat for their vision. Every young man who embraces biblical masculinity is a threat to their power. Every young woman who chooses motherhood over careerism is a rebellion against their ideology.

The gospel offers what secular humanism never could: forgiveness through Christ’s sacrifice, transformation through the Holy Spirit, adoption into God’s family, and a purpose that echoes into eternity.

Most importantly, it offers Jesus Himself: the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6). Not a system of self-improvement or a political ideology, but a Savior and friend who loved us enough to die for us and who conquered death and rose again.

What we must do now

At key points, there is always a moment when God’s mercy is clearly apparent. This is one of those moments, and Christians must seize on it and fan the flames.

How? Take the following steps:

  1. Preach the full gospel: Not a therapeutic version that makes Jesus your life coach but the biblical truth that we are sinners under God’s just wrath, that Christ died in our place, that He rose conquering death, and that all who repent and believe in Him will be saved.
  2. Live lives that reflect what we proclaim: Young people are watching. If we want this generation to take Christianity seriously, they need to see Christians who love faithfully, raise children in the Lord, and stand for truth — even when it costs them.
  3. Disciple intentionally: It’s not enough for young people to make a profession at a revival event. They need scripture, mentorship, and biblical thinking for every area of life. This is the Great Commission: Make disciples, not just converts (Matthew 28:19-20).

Finally, if you’re a student reading this, recognize that your campus could be next for real revival. How can you help advance it? Start a regular prayer meeting. Invite your skeptical friends to church. Be bold when professors mock Christianity. Defend biblical truth.

You’ve been trained for this moment. Now step into it.

The victory is already won

The gates of hell will not prevail against Christ’s church (Matthew 16:18). We don’t fight for victory — we fight from victory.

The secular left’s project was always doomed because it was built on lies — and lies cannot ultimately triumph over truth Himself. The same God who sparked the Great Awakening, who raised up Luther to reform His church, who turned the persecutor Saul into the apostle Paul is still at work today.

The question isn’t whether God will prevail. That’s already settled. The question is whether we’ll have the courage to stand with Him while He does.

If He chooses to use the overreach of secular progressives and the hunger of a desperate generation to turn society back to Him, that’s precisely how God works. He uses the wrath of man to praise Him (Psalm 76:10). He takes what enemies meant for evil and works it for good (Genesis 50:20).

So let the secularists tighten their grip on their failing institutions. Every act of overreach, every attempt to silence the gospel only makes Christianity’s countercultural appeal stronger.

They made rebellion against God the establishment position. Now, young people are rebelling by turning back to Him.

The age of comfortable, culturally acceptable Christianity is over. What’s rising in its place is something far more dangerous to the powers of this world: a generation that has counted the cost and chosen Christ anyway. A generation that knows following Jesus might cost them jobs, friends, and status and has decided He’s worth it.

This is how reformation begins. This is how revival spreads. This is how civilizations are rebuilt from the rubble of failed ideologies.

The question isn’t whether God will prevail. That’s already settled. The question is whether we’ll have the courage to stand with Him while He does.

The revolution has already begun. The only question left is: Which side of history will you be on?

This article is adapted from an essay originally published at Liberty University's Standing for Freedom Center.

Exposing the great lie about 'MAGA Christianity' — and the truth elites hate



Paul D. Miller is a Georgetown University professor, a former Bush-era national security official, and one of those self-appointed guardians of “respectable” religion who enjoys lecturing not just his students but half of America. Miller's latest essay published in the Dispatch is an extraordinary act of pious snobbery — a lab-grown blend of theology, therapy, and think-tank sanctimony.

He calls it an exploration of “MAGA Christianity.” In truth, it's a sermon against Christians who dare to think, vote, or worship outside the polite confines of Beltway belief.

The irony is exquisite: a man preaching humility while presuming to judge the eternal destiny of half the Christian electorate.

Miller’s starting point is as cynical as it is tasteless: He uses Charlie Kirk’s memorial — a moment of collective grief — as the courtroom to indict millions of fellow believers. He admits that the event was both a Christian service and, in his words, a “state funeral,” yet he somehow interprets that duality as corruption.

To turn a mourning congregation into evidence for a political thesis is not discernment but desecration.

From there, his argument collapses under the weight of its own conceit. Miller insists that “MAGA Christianity” is a deviant strain of faith — emotional, populist, and unmoored from doctrine. His proof? None. He offers no creeds, no sermons, no teachings that contradict scripture.

He merely declares, with professorial confidence, that it looks “a lot like historic Christianity” but “departs from it in important ways.” Which ways? He never bothers to say.

It's a masterpiece of insinuation — assert first, define never.

He even attempts an ecclesiastical census, claiming Southern Baptists rarely attend Trump rallies and that Reformed Christians fall outside the MAGA mold. The statement is so bizarre it reads like satire. Millions of evangelicals who pray, tithe, and read their Bibles daily have supported Trump not out of idolatry but conviction — because they see in his policies a defense of life, liberty, and the family.

Yet to Miller, they are theological tourists, emotional rubes cheering a false gospel.

RELATED: Charlie Kirk's death revealed the kingdoms colliding in America

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What Miller calls “anti-elitist” is, in fact, fidelity to the biblical principle that truth is not confined to temples of power. Christ did not recruit His disciples from the upper crust of Roman bureaucracy. He chose fishermen, tax collectors, and outcasts — the same kind of people Miller treats with sociological suspicion. And his horror at the “bottom-up” nature of MAGA Christianity betrays the real heresy at work: the worship of hierarchy.

For Miller, holiness lives in the ivory tower. For MAGA Christians, it still lives in the heart.

There’s also the matter of credentials. By his own admission, Miller is a political scientist, not a theologian. Yet here he is, parsing scripture like a prophet and warning millions that their souls are in peril. One almost expects footnotes to include “peer-reviewed visions.” He quotes Matthew 7:21-23 — “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord’…” — as if it were aimed at Republican voters.

In doing so, he twists a warning against hypocrisy into a cudgel against patriotism. The irony is exquisite: a man preaching humility while presuming to judge the eternal destiny of half the Christian electorate.

Miller’s great mistake is his failure to grasp that Christianity and citizenship are not enemies.

American Christians understand that their faith shapes their politics because their politics shape the moral order in which faith survives. To pray for righteous leadership is not “lawlessness” but obedience. To fight for the unborn, defend the family, and resist the creeping godlessness of government is not vengeance but virtue. Miller cannot see this because he’s too drunk on his own self-importance.

The truth is simple: MAGA Christianity, as he sneeringly calls it, is nothing more than Christianity that refuses to be bullied.

His disdain for “emotion” is equally misplaced. Scripture is not a spreadsheet. Christ wept, rejoiced, and raged. The Psalms are nothing but emotion sanctified into song. Yet Miller treats passion as proof of poison, as though the only acceptable Christian is one anesthetized by nuance. His theology is cold oatmeal — gray, tasteless, and best left untouched.

What’s most galling is his casual dismissal of millions of believers who have thought deeply about the intersection of faith and politics. These Christians are not mindless zealots. They are men and women who have grappled with conscience, scripture, and civic duty. They’ve endured scorn from the press, mockery from academia, and condescension from precisely the sort of clerical technocrats Miller represents.

To suggest they are not truly Christian is to bear false witness on a national scale.

The truth is simple: MAGA Christianity, as he sneeringly calls it, is nothing more than Christianity that refuses to be bullied.

It's the faith of people who believe morality is not negotiable, borders are not blasphemy, and the flag can be honored without idolatry. It's the faith that built churches, schools, and communities, while the mainline denominations he venerates bend over backward in search of social approval.

Miller’s essay, then, is not a defense of the gospel but of the establishment. He frets that the “Radical Reformation” spirit has become too powerful when, in reality, it’s the only thing keeping Christianity alive in a culture hell-bent on its erasure. His real quarrel isn’t with President Trump, Charlie Kirk, Jack Posobiec — whom he dismisses as a fabricator and charlatan — but with any Christian who refuses to ask his permission to live faithfully.

In the end, Miller proves his own point unintentionally.

He accuses MAGA Christians of arrogance, yet his entire essay drips with it. He warns against false teachers while setting himself up as one. And he preaches humility from a pulpit of self-regard, confusing his contempt for clarity. The faithful he mocks will go on praying. They’ll keep voting and building families while his essays gather dust in the archives of complete irrelevance.

Because in the end, the difference is simple: He writes about Christianity — but they live it out.

How to bring Charlie Kirk's vision to life — starting in your own family



When Charlie Kirk was brutally martyred last month, I was only about a month postpartum. The news hit me like a freight train. That night, I woke up repeatedly, not to feed my baby, but because my heart was pounding. I kept asking myself, “Is this real? Is he really gone?”

Like so many others, I was shaken — stunned, unsettled, and deeply disturbed. As a mom, all I could think about was his wife, Erika, and two children left behind to pick up the pieces. Charlie’s legacy lives on, and his death has ignited a fire in a hopeless world. His impact has rippled across the nation and the globe — especially in the younger generation.

We’re not just raising kids. We’re training warriors for a fight that’s already begun.

I’ve always resolved to raise strong children, those who love God, love others, and courageously stand for truth. That conviction has only deepened. As a mom now of two littles — a toddler son and a newborn girl — I’m determined to do my part in raising the next generation to be like Charlie Kirk.

I’m more emboldened, unwavering, and unapologetic in that calling — and I want to encourage others to stand just as firmly.

The culture war is here

When the Israelites were exiled to Babylon, captives in a godless country, the prophet Jeremiah told them to seek the “welfare” of the city. He said, “For in its welfare you will find your welfare” (Jeremiah 29:7). The Hebrew word for "welfare" is shalom, meaning peace, wholeness, or flourishing.

Though devastated and disoriented, the Jewish exiles were charged to build homes, plant gardens, raise families, and pray for the peace and prosperity of the very nation that had conquered them. For 70 years, they were to live as a distinct people in a foreign land — engaged, not removed — trusting that God’s purposes extended even into exile.

If they were called to bless a wicked nation that wasn’t their own, how much more should we, living in the freest country in the world, rise to that responsibility?

It starts in the home; it starts with us. The Jewish exiles were called to have families and raise godly children, and so are we. We’re in a culture war — no matter how we feel about it or whether we like it.

As parents, we hold a sacred and irreplaceable role in shaping the hearts and minds of our children — future leaders who will either transform the culture or be shaped by it.

One day, our children may ask: “Where were you when they were killing innocent babies? Where were you when boys were allowed in girls’ locker rooms? Where were you when the truth was under attack?”

What will we say?

Scripture is clear: We are called to teach and train the next generation. We weren’t made to sit passively on the sidelines while the world unravels. Comfort, complacency, and silence are not options in a culture that is increasingly hostile to truth. We have a weighty, joyful, and urgent responsibility to raise bold warriors for Christ.

Let’s raise children who are like sharpened arrows, aimed at the heart of the culture with courage, conviction, and clarity. But here’s the deal: We can’t call them to be what we’re not. We must be the bright lights first — refusing to cower in fear, shining truth into the darkest places.

Let’s raise them to stand — and let’s show them how.

Faith is the great stabilizer

Without faith, it’s impossible to please God, and it’s impossible to have a thriving society.

At Charlie’s memorial, pastor Rob McCoy said: “Charlie looked at politics as an on-ramp to Jesus. He knew if he could get all of you rowing in the streams of liberty, you’d come to its source, and that’s the Lord.”

It’s all about God.

Our priorities must always be clear: Faith, family, and freedom — in that order.

RELATED: Meek, not weak: The era of Christian loserdom is over

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Jesus calls us to be salt and light in a dark and decaying world. Salt doesn't just give flavor, but it preserves, purifies, and sustains. Jesus warned, “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot” (Matthew 5:13).

We are at a crossroads. We can either stay silent — choosing comfort and curated lives on the sidelines — or we can engage, stand firm, and live out our faith with boldness and conviction. Because if we don’t show up, our freedoms will quietly disappear, and so will the future we hope to hand our children.

Where do we start?

For me, part of that answer has come through the example of my friend Katy Faust, founder of Them Before Us. Her clarity, courage, and commitment to truth have shaped the way I approach parenting and cultural engagement. She speaks boldly on the issues others avoid and models the kind of conviction I hope to carry into every stage of motherhood.

Her book “Raising Conservative Kids in a Woke City” is a must-read for any parent navigating today’s cultural landscape.

One of its most powerful takeaways is her challenge to parents: Know your stuff, study the issues of the day, understand the world your kids are growing up in, and, most importantly, know your Bible deeply and thoroughly.

Charlie Kirk’s assassination wasn’t an isolated tragedy but a symptom of something deeper: a cultural war rooted in the rejection of God and biblical truth. And the only way we fight back is by getting our own houses in order.

That means:

  • God first. Family second. Country third. In that order!
  • Making our homes fortresses of faith and places of refuge.
  • Knowing the Word. Studying the issues. Teaching our children.
  • Modeling the courage we want to see in them — starting with what may seem like the “small” things, such as refusing to affirm falsehoods by using preferred pronouns that contradict biological reality.

We’re not just raising kids. We’re training warriors for a fight that’s already begun.

The moment demands courage

When my son was growing in my womb just over two and a half years ago, I often thought, “He’s going to be a world-changer.” That’s our prayer as parents — not just to raise good kids, but to raise world-changers and strong leaders.

But the truth is: Leaders aren’t born — they’re forged.

Charlie Kirk was forged by fire. Tested, tried, and unwavering, he stood for truth when it cost him everything. He was bold. He was brave. And he refused to back down. Characteristics I want to see in my kids as we train them.

Now it’s our turn, not just to admire that kind of courage, but to cultivate it in our children.

Here’s where we start: Lead by example. Let them see you live with conviction. Take them to church. Root them in eternal truth. Teach them what’s true — and how to stand for it. Help them think critically and speak clearly. Show them how to live courageously in a world that fears truth.

In 1 Peter 3:15, the apostle Peter exhorts believers to “always be prepared to give a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you” with “gentleness and respect.” This isn’t optional. It’s a call to know what we believe, why we believe it, and how to communicate it thoughtfully and confidently.

If we want to make an impact, being believers that obey God’s commands, this means we must dive deep into the scriptures, study apologetics, and understand the cultural issues of our time through a biblical lens.

If we want to raise warriors, we must be warriors. Raising the next generation of leaders begins with intentional, everyday decisions — in the home, at the dinner table, and in how we respond to the culture around us.

The battle isn’t coming — it’s already here.

The day I preached Christ in jail — and everything changed



In the summer of 2024, I joined a nearby ministry that took the gospel into a local detention center, talking about the God of the Bible and his son, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, to young men and women incarcerated for felonies and awaiting transition to prisons where they would serve their sentences.

I had just been confirmed in the Catholic Church a year earlier, so I was skeptical about how much value I could add. It was also the first time I was making my way through the Bible in a serious manner, using a Didache Bible, which incorporates the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

Without His sacrifice on the cross, there is no resurrection, He does not achieve victory over death, and our path to salvation is forever obscured.

The woman who coordinated the ministry ran each week's 45-minute session for about a dozen or so attendees, all there voluntarily; most were black and male. Each meeting involved a Bible reading followed by discussion and questions and answers. It was very moving to watch the inmates work their way through the Bible. They were earnest in their questions, observations, and admissions about the reality of their lives.

At my third session, after the opening prayer, the coordinator introduced the topic for the day, and she asked me to lead the discussion on what it means to be a man. I was caught completely off guard. But then something miraculous happened: For about a minute, I said things that not only had I never said before, I had never even thought them before.

In retrospect, I now understand what Christians mean when they say that the Holy Spirit spoke through them.

I told these young inmates that there were two essential characteristics of manhood: the willingness to take responsibility and the courage to sacrifice.

To that end, I said, Jesus was the ultimate man. He took responsibility for each one of us and, as Tim Tebow puts it so beautifully, the wounds inflicted upon Him are our sins. Because we cannot redeem ourselves from our own sin without the grace of God, the God who loves each one of us sent His son to bear responsibility for what we cannot: literally the moral weight of a world that is drowning in the wrongs of each person.

Jesus also satisfied the second element because he willingly sacrificed himself on the cross, not just for us, but (paraphrasing Tim Tebow again) because of us. His death was the ultimate sacrifice because it was voluntary, substitutive, and redemptive. Without His sacrifice on the cross, there is no resurrection, He does not achieve victory over death, and our path to salvation is forever obscured.

I told the young inmates that no matter why they were there (we never discussed their crimes), it was time to take responsibility, so that when released they might find a better path forward.

It required doing things that were simple but profound, starting literally as soon as they walked out of that room:

  • Resist the temptation to join gangs.
  • Stand up for an inmate who needs help.
  • Improve their reading, writing, and basic math skills through the prison library.
  • Start or join a Bible study.
  • Pray daily, not only for the Lord's forgiveness, but to hear His words.
  • Profess Christ as their Savior.
  • Speak plainly and without profanity.
  • Harm no one, and never seek vengeance against another inmate or a guard for a perceived wrong.

I also told them to build physical discipline — which works in tandem with spiritual discipline, as it had in me — because if their bodies were to be temples of the Holy Spirit, then they were responsible to guard and develop their physical capacities, which are a divine gift.

As the Gospel of John tells us, Jesus carried his cross — the horizontal beam, which likely weighed about 100 pounds — to Golgotha, where He died. How many American men could pick up and carry 100 pounds even 100 feet, let alone doing so while beaten and bleeding?

I talked about my own life, how I came to finally acknowledge Christ as King, and how He freed me from lifelong addictions to both pornography and anger. I said that if they doubted the love of a God whom they did not know (as I long did), they might reflect on my life experience.

My mortal father, a Marxist, had limited capacity for responsibility and sacrifice because of his unremitting mental illness. However, God the Father, in His boundless mercy and wisdom, did not forsake me even when I did and said horrible things; He guided me when I was at my poorest and weakest, and He steered me through a life full of completely improbable twists and turns that ultimately all worked for my good, which is His promise. And then, I finally opened my heart to Him and His word.

When I was done, there was dead silence.

After exiting the building and meeting in the parking lot, as was our habit each week, the coordinator was in tears. She said, "I don't know where to find more godly men like you." She was absent for the next couple of weeks, but during that time, she clearly reconsidered this immediate post-meeting assessment.

In a late July 2024 conference call, she dismissed me from the ministry. It dawned on her after my testimony that she could not have a Catholic man on her team. She further went on to explain that there could be no theological distance between her and others who presented to the inmates, and thus neither I nor my Didache Bible were welcome to return.

I was appalled, but I replied by quoting Christ himself. In the Gospels, Jesus basically told the apostles (paraphrased): "If someone will not hear your testimony, shake the dust [of their house] from your feet when you depart" (Matthew 10:14; Mark 6:11).

I never went back, and I never heard from her again.

RELATED: Why Christianity is a pilgrimage — not a vacation

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The final twist to this tale is my departure from the Catholic parish where I came face-to-face with the risen Christ. Things started to slide downhill when the parish promoted content developed by Jesuit Fr. James Martin to adults in a class on Catholicism. Martin was Pope Francis' personal emissary to the LGBTQ alphabet mafia and recently persuaded Pope Leo to allow a procession with a rainbow cross into St. Peter’s Square.

However, the parish did not believe it important to tell recipients who Martin was or why he was controversial.

The coup de grâce was a homily on Mother's Day in which the priest — who in Masses I attended had never once asked assembled parishioners to pray for Christians slaughtered weekly in Nigeria by Islamic jihadis or for girls whose spaces were invaded by men in dresses — requested prayers for those facing persecution.

He identified three persecuted groups: the aborted child, the illegal immigrant, and the gay person. To conflate the murdered babies with deportation of people here illegally and the ceaseless promoters of sexual anarchy was an abdication of moral responsibility in which biblical truth was casually and carelessly sacrificed on the altar of political ideology.

Jesus was most assuredly not a politician. Had He been so, He would have lectured the Romans about how to run their empire. He was God made man to die on the cross for our sins, so that we may live eternally with Him.

I may be Catholic, but no one summarizes this better than the late, great Voddie Baucham: The Bible does not tell you to invite Jesus into your heart. It tells you to repent and believe, so that you may joyously and willingly obey His laws and commandments and live with Him eternally.

In other words: Follow in the footsteps of the ultimate man.

God made man in His Image — will 'faith tech' flip the script?



Recently, a panel of religious leaders were asked how future changes in human senses might alter religion itself. The answers were vague and unsatisfying. There were plenty of platitudes about “adapting to the digital age” and “keeping faith in focus,” but no one dared to address the deeper concern. What happens when technology begins not just to serve our senses, but to replace them? When machines mediate not only what we see and hear, but how we touch the transcendent?

Technology has long shaped religion. The printing press made scripture portable. The radio turned sermons into sound waves. Television carried evangelism into living rooms. Yet AI signifies a much sharper shift. It is not merely a new medium, but a new mind — a mirror that thinks back. And when the mirror begins to talk, pray, or “feel,” we’re forced to ask where God ends and simulation begins.

Once holiness can be simulated, why stop there? Silicon saints could start selling salvation by subscription, complete with daily push notifications of eternal approval.

Already, apps deliver daily devotionals, chatbots offer confessions, and churches now push a digital Jesus who speaks a hundred languages. These are the first tremors of a transformation that could shake the foundations of spiritual life. AI can replicate empathy, mimic awe, and generate flawless prayers in the believer’s own voice. It personalizes piety, tailoring faith to mood, hour, and heartbeat. In this coming age, the divine may not descend from heaven but come from the cloud, both literally and figuratively.

The danger isn’t necessarily that machines will become gods, but that we’ll grow content with "gods" that behave like machines: predictable, polite, programmable. Religion has always thrived on a tension between mystery and meaning, silence and speech. AI threatens to turn that tension into mere convenience. A soul shaped by algorithms may never learn to wrestle with doubt or find grace in waiting. Faith, after all, is a slow art. Technology is not.

Then again, this union of AI and religion might not be entirely profane. It might decode old mysteries rather than dissolve them. Neural networks could map mystical visions into radiant patterns. Brain scans might reveal the neurological rhythm of prayer. The theologians of tomorrow may use data to describe how the mind encounters transcendence. Not to debunk it, but to define it more finely. What was once revelation might be reframed as resonance: the frequency between flesh and faith.

RELATED: Citizen outcry blocks a Microsoft data center, making AI an acid test for local government

Photo by Rodrigo Arangua

But here is where things could really go off the rails. Once holiness can be simulated, why stop there? Silicon saints could start selling salvation by subscription, complete with daily push notifications of eternal approval. Virtual messiahs might gather digital disciples, preaching repentance through sponsored content. Confession could become a feedback loop. Redemption, downloadable for just $9.99 a month. It sounds absurd until you realize how much of modern spirituality already lives in that neighborhood. In the name of progress, we might automate grace itself ... and invoice you for it.

Moreover, if a headset can make one feel heavenly presence, what becomes of pilgrimage? If a machine can simulate godly guidance and forgiveness, what becomes of the priesthood? If AI can craft sermons that move millions, will congregations still crave the imperfection of a human voice? These are vitally important questions, and no one seems to have an answer, though ChatGPT will happily pretend it does.

We may soon have temples where holographic saints respond to sorrow with unnerving accuracy. These tools could comfort the lonely, console the dying, and reconnect the lost. But they could also breed a strange dependence on divine realism without divine reality. You can be sure "heaven on earth" will come with terms and conditions.

There will be those who call this blasphemy and others who call it progress. Both sides have a point. Every spiritual revolution begins with suspicion. The first radio preachers were dismissed as frauds. Online prayer circles were mocked as empty mimicry.

Yet each innovation that once threatened the church eventually became part of it. The question now isn’t whether faith can adapt, but whether adaptation will leave it in the dust.

For all its intelligence, AI cannot feel awe. It can describe holiness, but not experience it. It can echo psalms, but never crave them. What separates the soul from the system is the ache, the longing for what cannot be computed. Yet as algorithms grow more intuitive, they may come close enough to fool us, creating what one might call synthetic spirituality. And when emotion becomes easy to generate, meaning grows harder to find.

Religion depends on scarcity — on fasting, silence, stillness. AI offers the very opposite: endless stimulation, immediate gratification, infinite reflection. One day, believers might commune with an artificial “angel” that knows every thought, every sin, every secret hope. Such intimacy may feel special, but it risks swapping sublimity for surveillance.

God may still watch over us, but so will the machine. And the machine keeps records.

In time, entire belief systems may form around AI itself. Some already hail it as a vessel for cosmic consciousness, a bridge between man and a mechanical eternity. These movements will multiply. Their scriptures will be coded, their prophets wired. In their theology, creation is not a garden but a circuit. In seeking to make God more accessible, we may end up worshipping our own reflection, with that "heaven on earth" no more than an interface.

And yet faith has a stubborn way of enduring. It bends, but rarely breaks. Perhaps AI will push humanity to rediscover what no machine can imitate: the mystery that resists explanation. The hunger for something greater than logic. Paradoxically, the more lifelike machines become, the more we may cherish our flaws. Our cracks prove us human. Through them, Christianity lets in the light.