The Gospel vs. Gnosticism: A Historical and Theological Divide

Introduction

From the earliest days of the Christian era, competing claims about the nature of God and the person of Jesus emerged. On one side, orthodox Christianity clings to the apostolic tradition—emphasizing a historical Jesus who is fully God and fully human, whose incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection offer the only path to salvation. In contrast, various Gnostic groups, flourishing from the late first to the early second century, promulgated a secret wisdom (gnosis / γνῶσις) and a radical dualism that reinterprets the nature of creation and Christ himself. In more recent times, certain strands within the New Age and New Thought movements have echoed aspects of mystical spirituality. In this article, we explore these diverse worldviews by examining their historical emergence and distinguishing their theological claims, with particular attention to the Christology that sets orthodox Christianity apart.

The Historical Roots and Theology of Gnosticism

Origins and Early Development

Gnosticism is not a single, unified system but rather a collection of religious ideas and groups that arose in the Mediterranean and Near Eastern regions during the first few centuries AD. Influenced by Hellenistic philosophy, Jewish mysticism, and Persian dualism, Gnostic sects posited that the material world was not the product of a benevolent Supreme Being but rather the work of a lesser, often malevolent creator—the Demiurge. According to many of these groups, the physical realm is inherently flawed, even evil, and certain human beings harbor within them a divine spark that has become trapped in matter. Salvation, then, is the recovery of this inner, secret knowledge that frees oneself from the corrupt confines of the material world.

Gnostic Christology: The Divine Archon

A particularly distinctive element in some strains of Gnostic thought concerns the nature of Christ. Rather than understanding Jesus as the incarnate Son of God who entered fully into human history, many Gnostic texts portray him as a divine archon—an emanation of the higher, unknowable god who appears only in human form. In this view, often called a form of docetism, Jesus’s physical body is seen as an illusory or temporary vehicle designed solely to impart hidden knowledge (gnosis) to a select few. (1) This radical reinterpretation of Christ diminishes the significance of his suffering and resurrection since, for the Gnostics, salvation is achieved not through faith in the incarnate Savior but by awakening to an inner divine reality.

The Impact of the Nag Hammadi Discoveries

Modern scholarly interest in Gnosticism was dramatically enhanced with the 1945 discovery of the Nag Hammadi library—a collection of ancient texts that revealed the diversity and complexity of Gnostic belief systems. These writings have provided historians and theologians with a window into a spiritual milieu that challenged the fledgling Christian faith, setting the stage for later doctrinal disputes in the early church. (2)

The Historical and Theological Foundation of Orthodox Christianity

Apostolic Tradition and the Incarnation

In stark contrast to the Gnostic emphasis on secret, inner knowledge, orthodox Christianity bases its authority on the public revelation of God. The faith handed down from the apostles asserts that God became incarnate in the person of Jesus Christ. This doctrine of the Incarnation—formally articulated at the ecumenical councils of Nicaea and Chalcedon—is central to Christian belief. Jesus is acknowledged to be both fully God and fully man, an inseparable union known as the hypostatic union, which allowed him to experience human suffering and, through his death and resurrection, to provide a definitive means of salvation for all those willing to accept his lordship. (3)

Doctrinal Clarity and Communal Revelation

The codification of orthodox doctrine was marked by rigorous debates and ecumenical councils where the nature of Christ and the revelation of God were carefully defined. Church Fathers such as Irenaeus, Athanasius, and later theologians affirmed that the Christian message is not hidden or esoteric but is accessible to all through Scripture and the living tradition of the Church. This public revelation stands in clear opposition to Gnostic claims: rather than requiring secret initiations to access salvific knowledge for a select few, believers are called to embrace the Gospel as openly disclosed by Christ and his apostles. (4)

Contrasting Christologies: Gnostic Archon Versus Incarnate Savior

The theological divergence over the nature of Jesus is at the heart of the conflict between Gnostic and orthodox perspectives.

• Gnostic View: Some Gnostic groups assert that Jesus, rather than being fully human, is a purely divine being—a heavenly archon sent to impart mystic knowledge. His apparent physical presence is seen as a veneer, a temporary form that masks his true, ineffable nature. This view minimizes the reality of his sufferings, death, and human experience, thereby undercutting the power of his redemptive act.

• Orthodox Position: In contrast, orthodox Christianity maintains that the historical Jesus was both fully divine and fully human. The incarnate form of Christ is essential because it means that God entered into the human condition. His real suffering, death, and resurrection are the means by which human sin is overcome, and salvation is made available. By affirming the tangible reality of his incarnation, orthodox theology secures the basis for redemption and the assurance of divine love for every human being.

New Age and New Thought: Modern Echoes of Ancient Mysticism

Character and Historical Background

In the modern era—particularly from the 1970s onward—a range of spiritual movements known as New Age and New Thought emerged, drawing on a blend of Eastern philosophies, esoteric mysticism, and alternative interpretations of Christianity. These movements typically stress the primacy of individual spiritual experience, the exploration of mystical states, and an immanent view of the divine that often emphasizes personal empowerment and self-realization. (5, 6)

Theological Divergences from Orthodox Christianity

While New Age and New Thought proponents sometimes adopt language reminiscent of early mystical traditions, their theology departs significantly from orthodox Christianity. For example, figures like Richard Rohr and some modern pastoral voices have advanced ideas that suggest the divine permeates all of creation, a view that at times risks blurring the distinct role of the incarnate Christ as the unique and saving revelation of God. Although such movements emphasize inner transformation and experiential spirituality, orthodox Christianity insists that the salvific truth is not a subjective encounter but is the objective reality of Christ’s historic incarnation and the clear teachings of Scripture.

On Esoteric Revelation and the Role of the Holy Spirit

A recurring theme in various modern interpretations is the idea that the Holy Spirit reveals hidden or exclusive truths to certain groups. Some have argued that, for instance, scientific or theological insights—whether about the nature of creation or other mysteries—are granted only to those uniquely favored by the Spirit. (8, 9) While it is true that orthodox teaching acknowledges the work of the Spirit in illuminating and applying the truth of Scripture, this revelation is understood as public and communal rather than secret or accessible only to an elite class. The illumination provided by the Holy Spirit works within the living tradition of the Church and the canonical texts, ensuring that the Gospel remains clear and available to all believers. This stands in stark contrast to the Gnostic model, where esoteric knowledge is reserved for a select few, and to certain modern claims which assert that exclusive insights (often highly idiosyncratic in presentation) set some believers apart from mainstream scientific or theological perspectives.

Conclusion

The divergent trajectories of Gnosticism and orthodox Christianity reveal enduring theological and historical conflicts over the nature of salvation, the character of God, and the person of Jesus. Gnosticism, with its emphasis on secret gnosis and its portrayal of Christ as a divine archon who merely simulates humanity, ultimately fails to provide a robust foundation for a universally offered, redeeming relationship between God and man. In contrast, orthodox Christianity offers a powerful, inclusive narrative grounded in the clear, apostolic revelation of a Savior who is truly incarnate—fully God and fully man—and whose redemptive work reaches all of creation.

While modern spiritual movements such as New Age and New Thought may echo certain mystical sentiments from the past, the unwavering truth of the incarnate Christ, preserved and articulated through centuries of orthodox teaching and the collective discernment of the Church, remains the definitive answer to the human longing for divine truth and salvation.

Additional Information:

For those interested in learning more about the interplay between Gnostic thought and the early Church, I would highly recommend this lecture by Dr. Michael Heiser: Michael Heiser - Gnosticism and Early Christianity

Shiny Happy People Season 2: What It Gets Right—and What It Gets Dangerously Wrong

 

Introduction

The second season of Shiny Happy People pulls no punches in exposing the abuses of Teen Mania and the toxic dynamics of spiritual abuse within cults, alongside the dangers of extremist Christian Nationalism. These are necessary conversations, and shining light into dark corners is a biblical imperative (Ephesians 5:11). Yet, while the documentary succeeds in spotlighting abuse, it fails in key areas of representation, accuracy, and nuance.

Cults Are Not Mainstream Christianity

A cult, by definition, is a radical subsect that departs from the historic, orthodox faith it claims to represent. And Scripture openly warns against following such teachings (Matthew 7:15–20; Acts 20:28–31; Galatians 1:6–9; 2 Peter 2:1, etc.). Thus, the vast majority of Christians would—and do—naturally oppose both the false teaching and the abusive practices found in groups like IBLP or Teen Mania. However, the documentary often blurs this distinction, implicitly framing cult pathology as standard Evangelical belief—a serious category error.

This distinction is more than theoretical—it played out in real time. Teen Mania’s collapse wasn’t driven by outside pressure alone, but by Evangelical parents and churches who refused to tolerate abuse. When abuse allegations surfaced, families stopped sending their teens, cutting off Luce’s supply of money and bodies. The organization quickly imploded. That kind of grassroots accountability wouldn’t happen if Luce’s teachings and methodology were truly mainstream. His downfall wasn’t a failure of conservative Christianity—it was a consequence of it. Tragically, the Evangelical response came too late for far too many.

Historical Context Matters

The series misses a vital truth: it is itself a reaction. While it is right to respond to abuse (1 Timothy 5:19–20; Ezekiel 34:2–10), co-opting that righteous cause into partisan framing distorts the message.

Historically, fundamentalism arose as a reaction against modernist theology and secular philosophies emerging in the late 19th and early 20th centuries—currents that fed into eugenics, Nazism, and other destructive ideologies. The fundamentalists were right to reject these errors but wrong to retreat fully from cultural engagement (Matthew 5:14–16).

That retreat fostered anti-intellectualism, suspicion of science, and isolation—problems still visible in the American church today. Evangelicalism, in turn, emerged as a reaction to both fundamentalist withdrawal and secular dominance, re-entering politics and education to reclaim public witness. Understanding this backdrop is essential for grasping where Teen Mania fits within the larger story. Its roots were not planted in the broad Evangelical soil the series implies, but in a distinct—and theologically different—stream of Charismatic Revivalism.

Charismatic Revivalism is Not Mainstream Evangelicalism

While Teen Mania was marketed as an Evangelical youth ministry, Ron Luce’s formation and methods were steeped in Charismatic revival culture. A graduate of Oral Roberts University and mentored by leaders like Willie George in the Pentecostal/Word of Faith stream, Luce emphasized ecstatic worship, spiritual warfare, and revival‑style altar calls.

Importantly, this distinction isn’t merely an historical anecdote. Nor is it incidental. In recent years, the Charismatic branch of Christianity has faced a veritable pandemic of institutional cover‑up culture—one that protects high‑profile leaders, silences whistleblowers, and reframes allegations as “attacks of the enemy.” This dynamic empowers abusers by shielding them from accountability, while simultaneously demonizing victims as divisive or unspiritual for speaking out. The result is a community climate where image management is prioritized over truth, and survivors are retraumatized by the very systems that should have defended them. This pattern is especially visible within the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR)—a loosely affiliated Charismatic movement that emerged in the 1980s and 1990s, developing alongside but independently from Teen Mania. Sprouting from the same Pentecostal root as Teen Mania, the NAR elevates modern-day “apostles” and “prophets” as spiritual authorities with divine mandates to shape culture by advancing their agendas in the political sphere. (1) Though not a formal denomination, the NAR wields considerable influence in Charismatic circles, blending revivalist theology with dominionist aspirations. Its leaders often frame criticism as spiritual warfare, casting whistleblowers as enemies of God and positioning themselves as persecuted reformers. This theological posture not only enables abuse but sanctifies it—recasting accountability as rebellion and shielding perpetrators behind a veil of spiritual authority.

The political ambitions of the NAR further complicate matters. By fusing Charismatic fervor with Christian Nationalist rhetoric, the movement has helped normalize authoritarian impulses within segments of the church—where loyalty to “God’s anointed” supersedes biblical accountability, and political conquest is mistaken for spiritual revival. This convergence of theology, power, and image management has become a hotbed for abuse scandals, many of which remain unresolved or actively suppressed.

All that to say, shoehorning Charismatic Revivalism into mainstream Evangelicalism not only distorts the theological distinctions between the two, it also obscures the specific cultural patterns enabling abuse in certain sectors of the church. By using “Evangelical(ism)” as a blanket statement for conservative Christians, the series misses an opportunity to expose—and thereby help dismantle—an entrenched problem uniquely prevalent within the Charismatic movement, which it misidentifies as mainstream Evangelicalism.

Heightened Political Agenda

Compared to season one, season two is markedly more politically charged—an emphasis evident within minutes of the opening episode and fully revealed in the closing moments of episode three. By framing the conversation through a heavily partisan lens, the documentary unintentionally undermines its own credibility and alienates those who might otherwise listen. In failing to recognize the political and theological nuance within American Christianity—especially among Evangelical traditions—it risks fueling the very reactionary impulses it seeks to warn against, giving extremist branches of Christian Nationalism fresh ammunition for their crusade.

These groups will see the documentary as a radical leftist attack on conservative Christians—and not without justification. By collapsing complex theological and political distinctions—especially between Charismatic, Evangelical, and mainline traditions—into a single, monolithic movement, the film recasts politically engaged Christians not as diverse participants in civic life, but as a singular, existential threat to democracy. In doing so, it inadvertently validates the Christian Nationalists’ worst fears: persecution is coming, and the left must be stopped at all costs.

The casting of politically engaged Christians as a threat lays the groundwork for an even more damaging conflation: the blurring of lines between fringe extremism and mainstream Evangelical belief.

Blurring the Lines Between Fringe and Mainstream

The documentary presents cultic aberrations, conservative political commentators, and even Mike Bickle—a Charismatic leader facing his own abuse allegations—as if they represent mainstream Evangelicalism. In one telling example, it includes Ben Shapiro—himself a member of the Jewish faith—in a montage of “conservative Christian” political voices, further blurring theological categories. Together, these choices fuel the series’ broader conflation of far‑right Christian Nationalism with Evangelicalism as a whole. This obscures reality: most Evangelicals reject both spiritual abuse and moral compromise.

Crucially, it is conservative Evangelicals who have been calling out Bickle’s misconduct and exposing the widespread cover-up culture within Charismatic circles. (2) By downplaying these theological and cultural distinctions, the series risks reinforcing public suspicion toward ordinary believers and undermines the very reformers working to confront abuse and restore integrity within the church.

This persistent blurring of theological categories sets the stage for the series’ most telling misstep: condemning oversimplified, us‑versus‑them thinking while indulging in it at its climax.

Condemning Binary Thinking… by Being Binary

Ironically, in its final act, the documentary critiques American Evangelical culture for being overly binary in sociopolitical discourse—then proceeds to portray “conservative Christians” as Christian Nationalists intent on dismantling the Constitution. At the same time, it presents those standing in opposition to “conservative Christians” as the ones trying to uphold democracy. The emotionally charged finale warns that Ron Luce’s teens are still at large, seeking to steal rights and freedoms. Its closing words—“they’re coming for you!”—abandon nuance entirely and commit the very fault the film condemns.

Repeatedly painting conservatives with such a broad brush, particularly in its closing minutes, reveals a deeper failure by the documentary to distinguish between thoughtful critique and sensationalist caricature. It’s a lapse that unintentionally undermines its credibility and blurs the line between analysis and alarmism.

The Polarization Problem

Rising Christian Nationalism is not occurring in a vacuum. American politics has grown sharply polarized, with extremes pulling both left and right. Many Christians, fearing the loss of religious freedom and constitutional rights, have too easily conflated loyalty to Christ with loyalty to a political party. Conversely, more progressive elements in American society fear that far‑right Christian Nationalists seek to strip away their rights and impose a theocracy—with the same intensity that their conservative Christian counterparts fear the radical left. This environment allows opportunists to drape themselves in Christian language while pursuing unbiblical aims, and an undiscerning electorate may back them out of fear rather than conviction.

If civic participation by Christians is itself taken as evidence of Christian Nationalism, then by the same standard, any group seeking political representation for its convictions could be cast as pursuing an equally extremist agenda. Such a definition collapses legitimate engagement into the very extremism it claims to oppose.

Conclusion: Where the Documentary Succeeds—and Where It Fails

The documentary is right to expose Ron Luce and Teen Mania—and my heart breaks for the victims. The church must protect the flock from wolves and minister to survivors of abuse. But by framing its critique in politically polarizing terms—without drawing clear distinctions between cults, Christian Nationalism, and the Evangelical mainstream—it risks reinforcing fear and deepening division.

Worse still, the documentary replicates the very rhetorical offense it condemns. Teen Mania manipulated the emotions of vulnerable teens to advance Ron Luce’s personal ambitions; the film mirrors this tactic, weaponizing the pain of survivors, the public’s outrage, and the audience’s righteous indignation to drive a partisan political agenda. By presenting the broader community of conservative Evangelicals as “guilty by association,” the documentary delegitimizes—and at times demonizes—millions of believers who reject Christian Nationalism, cultic theology and abuse. This does not honor the victims of Teen Mania—it exploits them. Their suffering becomes a prop for scoring political points rather than a summons to meaningful reform or healing.

The bottom line is this: truth and accountability are biblical mandates. So are accuracy, charity, and nuance. If we fail to distinguish between the false shepherd and the faithful one—between fringe movements and the historic faith—we not only misrepresent the truth; we risk becoming the mirror image of the very problem we are trying to solve.

Biblical Truth vs. Esoteric Speculation: Examining Jonathan Cahn’s Prophetic Claims

Introduction

Jonathan Cahn’s books have captivated Christian audiences with claims of hidden biblical mysteries that supposedly reveal prophetic insights about America’s destiny. His works—The Harbinger, The Mystery of the Shemitah, The Paradigm, and The Josiah Manifesto—blend biblical prophecy with contemporary events, often drawing controversial parallels between ancient Israel and modern America. While his passion for biblical interpretation is evident, his methodology raises serious concerns. Does his approach align with sound biblical exegesis, or does it reflect influences from the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR), Gnosticism, and even New Age mysticism?

This article critically examines Cahn’s teachings, citing specific examples from his books to demonstrate the need for discernment when encountering claims of hidden revelations.

The Influence of the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR)

Cahn’s writings reflect elements of the NAR, particularly its emphasis on modern-day prophets who claim new revelations. In The Harbinger, Cahn presents a fictional narrative in which a mysterious prophet reveals hidden biblical patterns that supposedly predict America’s decline. This mirrors the NAR’s tendency to elevate subjective prophetic insights over traditional biblical interpretation. Additionally, Cahn’s portrayal of America as a covenant nation akin to Israel aligns with dominion theology, a core NAR belief that Christians must reclaim societal institutions for God’s kingdom. However, biblical covenants are exclusive to Israel and the Church, making this theological claim problematic.

Gnostic Parallels: Esoteric Knowledge and Hidden Mysteries

Gnosticism, an ancient heresy condemned by the early Church, emphasized secret knowledge (gnosis) as the key to salvation. Cahn’s books often present hidden biblical codes and mysteries that only he has uncovered, which mirrors the Gnostic tendency to claim esoteric wisdom. In The Paradigm, Cahn argues that modern political figures, including Bill and Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, and Donald Trump, fulfill roles analogous to biblical figures such as Ahab, Jezebel, and Jehu. (1) This approach resembles Gnostic allegorical interpretation, where historical events are reinterpreted through hidden spiritual meanings. However, biblical prophecy does not function through speculative parallels but through clear, God-ordained revelation.

The Resemblance to New Age and New Thought Teachings

New Age spirituality and New Thought philosophies emphasize mystical experiences, cosmic energies, and the belief that human consciousness can influence reality. While Cahn does not explicitly advocate New Age doctrines, his method of linking ancient biblical cycles to America’s destiny introduces a mystical dimension that mirrors New Age principles. In The Mystery of the Shemitah, Cahn claims that financial collapses in America align with the biblical Shemitah cycle, suggesting that economic downturns occur in precise accordance with ancient biblical patterns. (2) This approach is reminiscent of New Thought’s belief in universal spiritual laws governing prosperity and fate, rather than a biblical understanding of God’s sovereign will. Additionally, in The Book of Mysteries, Cahn explicitly references New Thought teachings when he states that every time a person says "I am," they are invoking the Name of God. (3) This idea aligns with New Thought’s emphasis on the power of affirmations and the belief that spoken words can shape reality.

Echoes of Channeled Texts like The Urantia Book

The Urantia Book, a channeled text promoting an alternative theological narrative, claims to reveal cosmic truths beyond traditional Christianity. Though Cahn does not receive direct revelations from supernatural sources, his hermeneutical style of decoding hidden biblical messages bears resemblance to the way The Urantia Book constructs its spiritual teachings. In The Josiah Manifesto, Cahn presents a prophetic framework based on the biblical Jubilee, arguing that America’s fate is tied to ancient cycles. (4) This interpretative method, which seeks hidden patterns rather than engaging with Scripture as a clear and authoritative guide, risks moving away from biblical clarity and into speculative theology.

Conclusion

Jonathan Cahn’s writings raise legitimate concerns due to their theological ambiguity, reliance on hidden revelations, and alignment with mystical and esoteric traditions. While his passion for biblical prophecy is commendable, his interpretative methods often resemble those found in Gnosticism, New Age thought, and the New Apostolic Reformation. Scripture warns against departing from sound doctrine (2 Timothy 4:3-4) and calls believers to handle God’s Word with accuracy (2 Timothy 2:15).

Discernment is crucial in an age of sensationalized theology. While Cahn’s works may be engaging, they must be evaluated against the foundation of biblical truth. Ultimately, Christianity does not require hidden codes or mystical patterns to understand God’s plan—His revelation in Christ and Scripture is sufficient. As believers, we must remain vigilant against teachings that obscure the Gospel with speculative interpretations.

This is Sparta, Revisited

Introduction

Eleven years ago I wrote “This Is Sparta: A Call to Arms for the Next Generation” on The Evidence Is Plain. That piece changed my life in ways I never anticipated—it’s what first drew the attention of the woman who’d become my wife, moved not by posturing, but by a deep longing to see the next generation grow into resilient, thoughtful disciples of Jesus. I’m returning to that burden now, with more scars, more hope, and a clearer sense of what actually forms durable faith.

Why I’m revisiting this now

Amazon’s second season of Shiny Happy People turns the lens toward Teen Mania—its spectacle, its “warrior” rhetoric, and its woundings. The docuseries has reignited a familiar assumption in popular media: that evangelicalism equals Christian nationalism. That conflation flattens a very diverse movement. At the same time, we need to admit the church has often fought a spiritual battle with secular weapons—and in doing so, we’ve wounded our own. Teen Mania’s rise and collapse, the Honor Academy’s culture, and a long trail of allegations and financial failures are not just media spin; they’re part of the public record. (1, 2)

The point isn’t to dunk on a defunct ministry. It’s to ask: if the 80s–90s “warrior” generation was formed so “well,” why are so many now AWOL? The deeper we go, the more we find an answer we don’t want to hear: legalism, spiritual abuse, and a loss of spiritual grounding pushed them out.

The real conflict and our wrong weapons

Scripture is blunt: “Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, authorities, the cosmic powers of this darkness, against evil, spiritual forces in the heavens” (Ephesians 6:12). We forgot that. We treated a spiritual war as if it could be won with the right congressman, the right curriculum, or an iron grip at home. That’s not discipleship; that’s desperation.

I’m grateful for scholars who’ve helped the church recover the Bible’s supernatural frame—Michael Heiser, for one, expanded many readers’ categories around the “divine council,” spiritual powers, and the cosmic conflict that runs through Scripture. (3)

Authoritarian shortcuts and their fruit

• Isolationist legalism: Some streams built ever-higher walls—schools, subcultures, “umbrellas of authority”—promising safety through separation and submission. The Institute in Basic Life Principles (IBLP), long championed by the Duggars, epitomized this authoritarian formula. (4)
  
  

• Politicized dominionism: Other streams doubled down on political power. Elements of the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR) wove charismatic experience with Seven Mountains dominionism, reframing culture-making as conquest and spiritual warfare as partisan mobilization. Scholars and reporters alike have traced the movement’s networks, rhetoric, and influence, particularly post-2016. (5, 6)
  

Both are attempts to secure through control what can only be received by grace and formed through discipleship. They can create intense experiences, loyal cadres, and impressive numbers—but they cannot create rooted saints. Teen Mania’s emotionally supercharged events, military aesthetics, and pressure-cooker programs produced quick zeal yet left a legacy marred by spiritual abuse.

We’ve seen this before

After the exile, Judah swore fidelity to the covenant (Nehemiah 10), determined never to stray again. Ezekiel had seen Yahweh’s glory depart the temple (Ezekiel 10-11), and the trauma lingered. In their fear, some added rule upon rule—“fences” meant to guarantee holiness. That impulse helped seed a Pharisaic culture that, over time, privileged tradition over truth. When the Lord himself stood among them, many couldn’t see him through the hedges they’d grown (Ezekiel 43:1–5).

We’ve repeated the pattern. Authoritarianism and anxiety masqueraded as holiness. We safeguarded fences and lost the field.

Spectacle doesn’t make saints; discipleship does

The Judeo-Christian moral consensus in the West wasn’t built by rallies, but by centuries of slow conversion, catechesis, and communal faithfulness. That’s where culture actually shifts—downstream of transformed people. If you want data points and on Christianity’s civilizational impact, Michael Jones (Inspiring Philosophy) curates accessible summaries on topics like human rights and child welfare; you won’t agree with every argument, but the case that Christianity has been a net good is robustly made. (7, 8, 9, 10)

Emotional “decisions” without teaching or follow-up are like seeds on rocky ground: they spring up, then wither for lack of root (Matthew 13:20–21). We’ve harvested emotionally-charged moments and have neglected roots.

What “raising warriors” actually requires

I still stand by This Is Sparta—but I mean something very different than the movements that turned “warfare” into branding.

• Start with Christ, not control. The battle is spiritual; our weapons are truth, righteousness, prayer, and perseverance (Ephesians 6:13–20). Formation flows from communion with God, not compliance with a system.
  
  

• Disciple, don’t deputize. Teach our kids to know God, not just “represent” our interpretation of Him. Model the life with God before you ever measure it. Give them a theology big enough for suffering and a church big enough for questions.
  
  

• Teach sound doctrine, hermeneutics, and apologetics. Not fear, not mindless submission, not a thousand hedge-rules. Equip them to test claims, trace arguments, and love truth. That inoculates against cultic dynamics—the very structures that insulated leaders like Bill Gothard and Ron Luce from critique for far too long.
  
  

• Refuse authoritarian shortcuts. Shepherds don’t coerce. They persuade, patiently, from Scripture and example (1 Peter 5:2–3).
  
  

• Measure fruit over fanfare. Look for love, joy, peace, patience—over time. Pay attention to whether the next generation is stable, hopeful, tethered to Scripture, and resilient under pressure (Galatians 5:22–23).
  
  

When we do this, we raise adults “no longer tossed by the waves and blown around by every wind of teaching” (Ephesians 4:14).

Conclusion

We were never called to build a culture war machine. We were called to bear a cross. The kingdom of God does not arrive on chariots or in winning poll numbers; it advances, mysteriously and inexorably, when a farmer sows seed in the dark and goes to sleep. It rises when a parent models repentance at the dinner table, when a young believer learns to lament without losing hope, when a congregation chooses reconciliation over revenge. These are not the headlines that rally donors, but they are the stories that will outlast the empires of our age.

The tragedies of authoritarian zeal, political idolatry, and manufactured fervor all share a root: distrust in the sufficiency of Christ’s way. We thought we could usher in the kingdom by force, forgetting that the King himself rejected the sword in Gethsemane. In trading slow, Spirit-led transformation for a numbers game, we exchanged quality for quantity—we gained crowds but lost disciples. And disciples—not attendees, not “decisions,” but lifelong students of Jesus—are the only ones who will still be standing when the music fades and the fog machines cool.

Our moment calls for repentance that is not merely personal but structural—a willingness to dismantle the scaffolding of fear and control that has propped up unhealthy systems. It calls for leaders who will, like Paul, labor until “Christ is formed” in their people (Galatians 4:19), rather than until stadium seats are full. It calls for lay believers to reject both the apathy of spectator faith and the intoxication of experientialism, and instead to recover the old, narrow road: daily dying to self, daily rising with Christ.

If we want a generation who will not be “tossed by the waves” of culture, we must tether them to more than our rhetoric. They must be anchored in the Scriptures they can wrestle with, in the church that will bear their burdens, in the Spirit who will outlast every trend. And we must trust that the same Spirit who hovered over chaos in the beginning can hover over the chaos of our age—and bring forth life again.

This is the long obedience, the quiet revolution. It will never trend, never sell stadium tickets, never impress Caesar. But it will, in the end, confound the powers and proclaim to all that the Lamb has conquered and the gates of hell will not prevail.