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.
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