Stephen King's biggest fear? Christianity



Stephen King got rich by tapping into something universal: the primal, human fears that haunt us all, regardless of race, class, or creed. Books like "The Shining" and "Salem's Lot" are effective whether you read them in Borneo or Bangor, in Czech or Chinese.

Never mind the master of modern horror's recent fixation on America's president — a figure who (at least for King's senescent Woodstock-generation cohort) represents an evil worse than Pennywise and Randall Flagg combined. The author's late-career Trump derangement syndrome can't undo the undeniable impact his more than 60 novels, countless short stories, and a flood of TV and movie adaptations continue to have on pop culture.

King once described organized religion as 'a dangerous tool.' His online tirades often single out Christians, casting them as theocrats, hypocrites, or villains.

That is an impact well-worth examining, especially for Christians. Beneath the lurid gore, King's books can seem oddly comforting and even wholesome. King has a knack for creating heroes out of "regular" Americans, flawed but well-meaning small-town folk who watch "The Price Is Right," drive Chryslers, and buy Cheerios at the supermarket.

What's more, these heroes do battle in a world where good and evil are clearly delimitated, with the former always triumphing over the latter. King seems to adhere to the sort of "culturally" Christian worldview that still held sway in the America of his youth (he was born in 1947).

Folly of faith

But a closer look at King's more than 50-year career reveals a consistent tendency to subvert Christianity. Indeed, it seems that King has applied his considerable storytelling gifts to denigrating faith as much as inducing fear.

King doesn’t simply tell tales of terror. He builds worlds where Christianity is a sickness, believers are lunatics, and God is either cruel or indifferent to our suffering. His work isn’t just critical of religion, but a deliberate inversion of it. The sacred becomes sinister, and devotion becomes disease.

In "Carrie," King’s first novel, the villain is not the telekinetic girl but her mother — a wild-eyed Christian who punishes her daughter for being human. Blood becomes sin, the Bible becomes a weapon, and faith is presented as the root of madness. Millions of readers met Christianity through that book and learned to detest the believer more than the devil.

The monster in the pews

In his novella "The Mist," he repeats the theme. Trapped townsfolk turn to a hysterical woman who quotes scripture on her way to presiding over human sacrifices. She becomes a prophet of panic, a parody of piety. The monsters outside may be frightening, but the believer inside is worse. Once again, King’s message is clear: The sacred is the scariest thing of all.

Then comes 2014's "Revival," perhaps King’s clearest expression of his contempt for Christianity. It begins in a small New England town, where young Jamie Morton meets Reverend Charles Jacobs, a gifted preacher who wins hearts and fills pews. But when tragedy strikes his family, the reverend’s faith vanishes. From his own pulpit, he mocks belief, denounces God, and is driven out in shame.

Years later, Jamie — now a weary musician addicted and adrift — meets Jacobs again, no longer a man of God but a man of wires and obsession. The reverend has replaced prayer with experiments, chasing power instead of purpose. When he finally forces open the door between life and death, what he finds isn’t heaven or hell, but a monstrous parody of creation — an insect god ruling over the void. It’s less revelation than ridicule, King’s way of saying that only a fool would still look to God for guidance.

Pulling punches

It’s worth noting what King never touches. He spares Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism the same disdain he reserves for Christianity. To mock those faiths would be called “punching down” by the cultural gatekeepers he aligns himself with.

But his compass is as broken as his conscience — spinning wildly, always pointing away from truth. He pretends he’s striking upward at power when, in truth, he’s sneering downward at the poor and ordinary believers who build churches, not empires. It’s all fair game in art, so long as the victims are mostly white and Christian. Mocking Islam would be “insensitive.” Ridiculing Hinduism would be “problematic.” But tearing into Christianity? That’s considered brave. In King’s moral universe, faith is fair game, as long as it’s practiced in small communities, not gated ones.

RELATED: Stephen King forced to apologize for Charlie Kirk remarks, threatened with lawsuit, ripped as 'evil, twisted liar'

Photo by BENJAMIN HANSON/Middle East Images/AFP via Getty Images

'Spiritual vandalism'

Another important point worth emphasizing is that King’s world isn’t godless. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s god-haunted, but the divine is turned on its head. His priests prey instead of pray. His crosses offer no comfort, only despair.

This is not accidental. King once described organized religion as “a dangerous tool.” His online tirades often single out Christians, casting them as theocrats, hypocrites, or villains. He preaches clarity while painting conviction as madness. The man who once wrote about demons now sees them in ordinary Americans.

What King practices is a kind of spiritual vandalism. He keeps the architecture of Christianity — the rituals, the icons, the language — but fills it with sacrilege. The chalice still shines, but the wine is poison. Grace becomes guilt, creation becomes cruelty, and salvation becomes surrender. It is not atheism but corruption — the gospel rewritten in reverse.

King vs. the King

Yet even in his rebellion, King can’t escape the faith he so clearly despises. His stories are soaked in scripture, each one haunted by the very God he denies. Every curse echoes a prayer. Every desecration betrays a longing for what was lost. Behind his hatred lies hunger. A need for meaning, even if that meaning must be mutilated to be felt.

The irony is almost biblical. King writes of hell because he still dreams of heaven. He rejects the transcendent but cannot stop reaching for it. That is why his work feels so spiritual even in its cynicism — because rebellion is, in its way, a strange kind of worship.

This Boomer icon may never kneel before Christ, but his stories do — in rage, not reverence. They curse the altar, yet can’t look away. Stephen King may write about death, but his real subject is the divine he can’t quite kill.

Not every battle needs a microphone



My martial arts training kicked in as I noticed someone walking up behind me at a busy intersection in Aurora, Colorado, not exactly America’s safest city, and I was not in the best part of town. I shifted slightly to see her and kept her in view while we waited for the light to change.

She was young, Gen Z perhaps, heavily tattooed, with the kind of piercings that make me wince and wonder how she ever gets through TSA with that much metal. Jewelry swayed from her nose and ears as she stood beside me at the crosswalk. It was a long wait for the light, and let’s be honest, when someone looks that rough, it’s easy to tense up — especially these days. With headlines full of random violence and senseless attacks, wariness can feel like common sense.

In an age of combat and argument, the most radical engagement may be quiet compassion.

Overhead, a bald eagle circled the hospital towers where my wife had been staying for nearly five months. I lifted my phone for a picture. She noticed and said quietly, “That’s cool.”

Quoting John Denver, I replied, “I know he’d be a poorer man if he never saw an eagle fly. This morning, I don’t think we’re poor, are we?”

She smiled, sadly, almost as if it were forced. “I needed that ... given what I’m carrying.”

The light changed, and we stepped into the crosswalk together. I asked the only question that mattered: “What are you carrying?”

She told me about her ex, abusive, threatening, promising to show up at her house. Fear shadowed every word. I asked if she’d filed an order of protection. She said she was in the process, but her voice carried little confidence. Then I asked if she had a firearm. In an instant, fear gave way to shame. She dropped her eyes and admitted she couldn’t own one because of a past conviction.

On the other side of the intersection, I offered her specific guidance that she could implement right away, practical steps to increase her safety and protect herself. But as I spoke, it became clear that the deeper issue wasn’t just logistics. I didn’t get the sense she believed she mattered.

So I looked at her and said, “Do you understand that your safety matters? That you are worth protecting?”

Her eyes said she didn’t believe it. So I told her again, this time as a fact, not a question: “You are worth protecting.” Tears welled up.

Then I asked if I could pray with her. She nodded tearfully, and right there, on the sidewalk of a busy Aurora street, we bowed our heads.

I can’t count how many people prayed for my wife and me that morning or throughout our long journey. But I can count the number praying for that young woman on a street corner in Aurora. And it wasn’t just me. We have a Savior who “always lives to make intercession” for us (Hebrews 7:25).

That’s all it took. Not a debate. Not an argument. Just seeing her, giving her steps to take, praying for her, and offering her what she could not yet tell herself.

It was an unusual encounter, but crossings like this will only become more frequent, because a generation is struggling with anxiety, depression, and despair at levels we’ve never seen before. According to the Springtide Research Institute (2022), 55% of Gen Z report being moderately to extremely anxious, and 47% say they are moderately or extremely depressed.

RELATED: Reckless hate cannot win: Christ has already broken it

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Some of them may look odd to us. They may dye their hair in garish tones, pierce their bodies, or cover themselves in ink. But Henry David Thoreau’s line remains true: “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Some of us just wear our wounds differently. Blood is still red. Wounds still hurt. And scars still speak louder than arguments.

In the wake of the Charlie Kirk assassination, many people — young people especially — are rushing to the debate stage, eager for verbal combat. Strong voices still have a space in the public square. But not every meaningful moment requires a microphone or a mastery of apologetics.

That morning in Aurora, I wasn’t looking to change anyone’s politics. I was simply a caregiver, walking to the hospital to sit with my wife after decades of surgeries. Yet a brief exchange at a crosswalk became a chance to remind someone that her life mattered. She never knew what I carried. She didn’t need to. She benefited because I stopped to care. What began as caution in a rough neighborhood turned into an encounter that spoke directly to another human being’s heartache.

A generation is struggling. Those of us of a certain age may not know their world very well. But our scars can speak. It costs little and requires no training to be kind to a wounded soul.

We only need to be ready at a moment’s notice “to comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God” (2 Corinthians 1:4). In an age of combat and argument, that may be the most radical engagement of all.

DHS trolls Zach Bryan after apparently anti-ICE song clip goes viral



Over the weekend, country music star Zach Bryan posted a song clip to his Instagram with the caption "the fading of the red white and blue." Since then, Bryan has faced a wave of backlash over some of his apparently "anti-ICE" lyrics, but one of the best responses came from the Department of Homeland Security.

On Tuesday, the Department of Homeland Security's X account posted a compilation video of law enforcement with one of Zach Bryan's more famous songs playing over it.

'When you hear the rest of the song, you will understand the full context that hits on both sides of the aisle.'

The caption of the post reads, "We’re having an All Night Revival."

The video depicts several scenes of arrests by law enforcement, riot control, and even a clip of the commander at large of the U.S. Border Patrol, Chief Gregory Bovino, who recently allegedly he had a murder hit put on his head by a Latin Kings gang member.

RELATED: Country singer Zach Bryan gets nailed with backlash over anti-ICE song

Photo by James Smith/Sam Snap/Getty Images

Zach Bryan's song "Revival" plays over the DHS video. "Revival" has over 390 million plays on Spotify and is among Bryan's top 10 songs.

The lyrics from the new melancholy song clip mention ICE while suggesting the slow decline of America.

"ICE is gonna come bust down your door," it reads. "Try to build a house / no one builds no more."

The lyrics end, "Got some bad news / the fading of the red, white, and blue.”

Hours after the DHS video dropped on Tuesday, Bryan posted an explanation on his Instagram story: "To all those disappointed in me on either side of whatever you believe in just know I'm trying my best too and we all say things that are misconstrued sometimes."

He suggested that there is more context in the full song: "When you hear the rest of the song, you will understand the full context that hits on both sides of the aisle."

He has not given any indication of the planned timing for the song's release.

Blaze News made multiple attempts to contact Zach Bryan and his management team for comment but was ultimately unsuccessful.

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Church is cool again — and Gen Z men are leading the way



Amid a broader spiritual collapse, one trend stands out: Young men are returning to church in growing numbers. Generation Z, in particular, seeks structure, meaning, and community in a world fractured by chaos and alienation.

For decades, the dominant story in the West told of religion’s slow death. Church attendance dropped year after year, while “nones” — those who reject any religious affiliation — surged. But recent data complicates that narrative, especially among younger Americans.

The return of young men to the church is a cultural reckoning and a budding flower of renewal.

Gen Z remains the least religious generation on record, with 34% identifying as unaffiliated — higher than Millennials (29%) or Gen X (25%). Yet signs of revival are breaking through. One recent survey found that 31% of Gen Z attend religious services at least once a month, while 25% actively practice a faith.

Similar trends are occurring in the United Kingdom. A report by the Bible Society reveals that Catholics now outnumber Anglicans by more than two to one among Generation Z and younger Millennials. In 2018, Anglicans made up 30% of churchgoers ages 18-34, while Catholics accounted for 22%. By 2024, these figures had changed to 20% Anglican and 41% Catholic.

According to the Becket Fund’s 2024 findings, members of Gen Z attending religious services at least monthly rose from 29% in 2022 to 40% in 2024. Similarly, those who consider religion important in their lives increased from 51% to 66% over the same period.

Religious is the new ‘rebellious’

What explains the sudden shift? For generations, youth pushed back against the dominant order, and for much of the 20th century, that order was Christianity. But what happens when Christianity fades, replaced by atheism or whatever postmodern creed happens to be in vogue? The instinct to rebel remains. Only now, the rebellion turns back toward order, tradition, and moral clarity.

For years, legacy media and Hollywood told young men they were disposable — interchangeable, expendable, even dangerous. That narrative failed. And now, young men are driving the revival.

Historically, women filled the pews in greater numbers. But in 2024, that dynamic flipped. According to the Alabama Baptist, 30% of men attended weekly services compared to just 27% of women — a quiet but telling reversal of a long-standing pattern.

Men lead the charge

Traditional, structured worship has become a magnet for young men seeking discipline and meaning. Orthodox and Catholic churches — with their rituals, hierarchy, and deep historical roots — have seen a marked rise in male converts.

A 2022 survey reported a 78% increase in conversions to Orthodoxy since 2019. Catholic dioceses across the country have posted similar gains. From 2023 to 2024, some reported conversion spikes of up to 72%. The Archdiocese of Los Angeles alone welcomed 5,587 people into the Catholic Church this Easter, including 2,786 baptisms at the Easter Vigil — a 34% jump over last year.

But this resurgence goes deeper than doctrine. Churches offer young men what the modern world fails to provide: real community. According to the Barna Group, 67% of churchgoing adults report having a mentor — often someone they met through church. Among Gen Z and Millennials, that number rises to 86% and 83%, respectively.

Small groups and discipleship programs allow young men to wrestle with challenges, seek counsel, and build genuine friendships. These are exactly the structures secular society neglects — and precisely what my generation craves.

Cultural shifts have accelerated the return to faith. The internet may connect everyone digitally, but it often isolates people in the real world. Local churches still offer something screens can’t: brotherhood, accountability, and face-to-face contact. In a culture that demonizes masculinity and treats male virtues as liabilities, the church remains one of the last institutions to honor strength, discipline, and leadership without shame or apology.

A cultural mandate

Many young men today feel discarded by a society that marginalizes their natural instincts and virtues. Christianity offers them something different — a call to action rooted in service, discipline, and brotherhood. It gives them a place where effort matters, strength is welcomed, and belonging isn’t conditional. The need to connect, to matter, and to be respected — long ignored in secular culture — finds real expression in the life of the church.

This return of young men to the pews marks more than a spiritual revival. It’s a cultural reckoning. In many ways, it echoes the moral foundation laid by America’s founders. Though denominationally diverse, the founders agreed that freedom without faith could not last. George Washington said it plainly: “Religion and morality are indispensable supports” to political prosperity.

Today’s young men appear to understand what many in power have forgotten — liberty without virtue cannot endure. As America drifts, a new generation looks not to slogans or screens but to God — for strength, clarity, and the courage to rebuild what has been lost.

Young people are FLOCKING to the Catholic Church — here’s why



According to several recent reports, including one from the National Catholic Register, we’ve seen a huge surge in Catholic conversions — especially among younger generations. A recent New York Post article highlighted the “growing number of young people turning to the Catholic Church from other denominations, religions and even no faith at all.”

What’s behind this sudden flocking to Catholicism?

Glenn Beck says that people are drawn to Catholic rituals because they offer order and meaning in this era of progressive chaos.

He reflects on Michelle Obama’s infamous 2008 speech, during which she claimed that “we are going to have to change our conversation; we’re going to have to change our traditions, our history.”

A decade and a half later, and it’s clear that uprooting tradition results in division, displacement, and disorder.

Tradition, Glenn explains, is “deeply human” and serves to “mark moments that matter in our lives” and “helps organize things in our mind.”

Catholicism, which is predicated on tradition, can restore the emptiness our current culture has adopted.

“Rituals in Catholicism — the Eucharist or the confession — elevate this instinct, this need to the sacred, so it’s not just a routine; it is a bridge to meaning,” says Glenn. “That matters because when you have meaning and there's a storm in your life, it gives structure so it doesn't feel like the storm is just going to wipe you out entirely.”

Modern worship doesn’t seem to offer the same stability as traditional worship. The Post article notes that “Gen Z crave clarity and certainty” and are therefore “rejecting lax alternatives of modern worship.”

“Why? Because modern worship tells you you can believe anything; there are no real rules,” says Glenn.

The problem is, that kind of progressive doctrine lacks substance, which is what the human soul is designed to thirst for. Ritual and tradition can offer a solution because they “build communities — like a congregation singing together in unison or a neighborhood block party,” says Glenn.

“We now live in a world of screen and rush,” he explains. But rituals and traditions “will slow you down, make you present in the moment.”

“They're not about rules; they're all about meaning if you do it right. This isn't about recognizing one faith over another. This is about recognizing what rituals do for us.”

To hear more of Glenn’s analysis, watch the clip above.

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Could this unexpected trend spark a nationwide spiritual revival?



New Year’s often inspires plans for enhancing our lives, and a recent trend could spark a nationwide revival.

America saw a Bible boom last year — the hope and good news of Scripture reaching millions of new eyes. Bible sales increased 22% in 2024 over 2023, led by shoppers purchasing copies as first-time readers. Bible sales rose to 14.2 million in 2023 from 9.7 million in 2019, according to data reported by Jeffrey A. Trachtenberg at the Wall Street Journal, and hit 13.7 million in the first 10 months of 2024.

An interesting point is that sales of all books — including secular ones — were up less than 1%. That means there’s an undeniable spike in demand for the Good Book.

What does all this mean? Christians like me are rejoicing at this opportunity for more people to know God's love. As a recovered agnostic, baptized as an adult seven years ago on December 3, my desire is to encourage new believers or curious seekers exploring faith.

For some new Bible readers, it may seem foreign and uncomfortable to embark on this journey, especially if they experienced or witnessed religious trauma and abuse. I certainly did, which is part of why returning to Bible reading was hard for me at first.

I grew up with seven biological siblings and a violent, mentally ill street-musician father, who believed he was a prophet and would someday become president of the United States and that Satan had “reassigned” lesser demons in order to personally torment our family. We lived a transient lifestyle, skirting authorities by constantly moving. Besides various houses, we lived in motor homes, tents, mobile homes, and sheds.

I learned the abundant scientific evidence for a divine creator that blew away any last vestiges of agnosticism.

One of my five brothers was born in a tent when our family lived in the public campground woods of Greenbelt Park, Maryland. Besides time spent in homeschooling, I attended 17 different public schools. When I took my ACT exam, we lived in a shed with no running water in the Ozarks.

The LDS Church eventually excommunicated my dad, so I’m careful to distinguish his behavior from the official, 17-million-member Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As a child, my dad was sexually assaulted by a female Mormon babysitter and witnessed the sudden death of a best friend. Sadly, his children inherited the effects of his trauma.

Three siblings attempted suicide, and I have two brothers with schizophrenia, including one brother who tried to rape me and another who accused me of trying to seduce him. I’ve been hospitalized nine times for depression, fibromyalgia, suicidal ideation, and PTSD.

For years, I assumed I’d never return to belief in God or organized religion. My heart remained closed for over a decade because of the evil things I’d seen done in God’s name. To fill the void, I threw myself into work, schooling, dating, friends, and travel as ultimate sources of meaning. I studied business policy with a full-tuition scholarship at Harvard and worked as an analyst for major Wall Street firms, earning unthinkable sums for a girl from a motor home. I launched a career in political journalism at outlets like Politico, The Hill, and the Washington Times.

But it didn’t provide the meaning and purpose that only God can.

After unexpected turns, I turned to studying the Bible and Christian theology. I also began studying science and metaphysics, embracing a ministry called Science + God created by former Harvard physics professor Michael Guillen, a nondenominational Christian and former atheist. Guillen earned a Ph.D. in mathematics, astronomy, and physics from Cornell before teaching physics at Harvard and serving as ABC News’ chief science correspondent.

I learned the abundant scientific evidence for a divine creator that blew away any last vestiges of agnosticism. I eventually embraced Christianity and haven’t looked back.

While there are many ancillary readings that complement the Bible, nothing compares with the life of Jesus himself and the Old Testament that points to Him.

The former French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, who saw his political fortunes collapse, reportedly said while in exile after defeat at the Battle of Waterloo:

I know men; and I tell you that Jesus Christ is no mere man. Between Him and every person in the world there is no possible term of comparison. Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, and I have founded empires. But on what did we rest the creations of our genius? Upon force. Jesus Christ founded His empire upon love; and at this hour millions of men would die for him.

In today’s modern world of cheap social media tricks to buy followers and “influencers” buying engagement, Jesus’ powerful influence has lasted more than 2,000 years, with billions of Christians worldwide today and many millions throughout the centuries.

As Christians recently celebrated the birth of our Savior at Christmastime, we also have reason to rejoice in our brothers and sisters learning more of Jesus’ life and teachings.

Congratulations to the millions of Americans buying their first Bible. You’re in for a powerful journey, one that won’t necessarily be easy. As Jordan Peterson would say, welcome to your first wrestling match with God.

Survey confirms Zoomers' values will end America as we know it



If you’re not worried about the values of up and coming generations, you probably should be.

A recent survey on attitudes about key religious and values statements from Baby Boomers vs. Generation Z shows that Gen Z — and thus America — may be in trouble.

When those participating in the survey were asked whether or not they believed patriotism was “very important,” 76% of Baby Boomers said it was, while only 32% of Gen Zers had the same sentiment.

Belief in God for Gen Z was even less important to them, with only 26% calling it “very important,” while 65% of Baby Boomers voted that it was.

Having children was the least important to Gen Z and Baby Boomers, with only 23% of the former calling it “very important" and 52% of the latter.

While the Baby Boomers’ seem to have better values, Steve Deace believes the stats aren’t promising for either one of the groups.

“That’s a sad stat, frankly,” Steve Deace says. “How belief in God and religion has produced in your generation a 13-point deficit in thinking children are important — I have to question what God do you believe in and what’s your religion?”

“If you think patriotism is more important than having children by 25 points, well, I mean, for goodness' sake, what’s a more patriotic act other than to have children and pass on to them your values and legacies and heritage?” Deace asks again, adding, “The amount of confusion even on the Boomer side here is paramount.”

When asked if they believed America was the best place to live, 66% of Baby Boomers voted yes, while only 33% of Gen Zers voted the same.

“I’m going to tell you right now, these numbers are unrecoverable without great awakening levels of revival. These numbers are unrecoverable. These trend lines will not be altered. We don’t have the power within us to alter these things,” Deace warns.


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