young people

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Commencement to remember: Country singer Eric Church on faith, family and more

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Commencement to remember: Country singer Eric Church on faith, family and more

When addressing the 2026 graduates at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, country-music star Eric Church used words rarely heard in secular-campus rites, such as "faith," "family," "grace" and "soul."

Using an acoustic guitar, Church explained how its strings, when in tune, represent essential elements of life. The May 9 speech went viral on YouTube, Facebook, TikTok and other platforms, with an estimated 4 million views so far.

The bass string is "faith," he said. "Your belief about what this life is for … what holds the universe together when science reaches the edge of its own explanation, and shrugs.

"The people who tend to their faith in ordinary seasons do not come undone in extraordinary ones. They still hurt. They still sit in hospital waiting rooms asking unanswerable questions at three in the morning. But they have a foundation to return to. … Tend to your faith. Not just when you're broken, but when you're whole."

Church, who grew up Baptist, didn't label his own faith in this speech. His eight-album career began with "Sinner Like Me" in 2006, with a title song that ended with this verse: "On the day I die / I know where I'm gonna go / Me and Jesus got that part worked out / I'll wait at the gates 'til his face I see / And stand in a long line of sinners like me."

The singer's address was not explicitly Christian and included zero material about politics. However, it was an example of a major campus welcoming an unconventional voice popular with middle America.

Elite-campus leaders need to show that they are committed to cultural diversity, noted Robert P. George, an outspoken Catholic and distinguished professor of jurisprudence at Princeton University. A 2022 survey of commencement rites at America's top 25 research universities and top 25 liberal-arts colleges failed to find a "single conservative among a sea of liberal and progressive speakers. A harmless coincidence? No," he wrote, in a recent Washington Post essay.

This "commencement conformity" may be caused by "inattentiveness or a lack of careful thinking on the part of administrators. George argued that these choices matter since, to quote Harvard University President Alan Garber, "truth is rarely found in echo chambers." Thus, it's important to challenge "ideological bubbles," even if that will cause on-campus tensions.

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Memory eternal: For my brother Don Mattingly, a pioneer in youth ministry

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Memory eternal: For my brother Don Mattingly, a pioneer in youth ministry

The Dictionary.com definition for "centrifuge" offers this: "An apparatus that rotates at high speed and by centrifugal force separates substances of different densities, as milk and cream."

It was a strange name, in the late 1970s, for a Southern Baptist Convention youth leadership project. But there was logic to it, according to the man behind the idea -- my brother Don Mattingly.

Centrifuge camps "would spin kids out into their futures, that's what Don always said. Out into ministries. Out into careers they wouldn't have thought of before. Out into projects back home, helping people," said Joe Palmer, the second Centrifuge leader. "It's not all playing volleyball, basketball and games. … They're learning about the rest of their lives."

For my older brother -- who died on March 18 -- the centrifuge of change in young lives was a major theme during his decades as a leader on the national SBC staff, at Baylor University and in countless youth-education events across America.

As the world whirled faster and faster, Don argued that religious leaders needed to create ministries that could spin young people in positive ways, helping them discover what mattered in their hearts, minds and souls.

Centrifuge began in 1979 in Glorieta, New Mexico, quickly attracting flocks of campers, with many Bible studies held in stairwells due to lack of space. This summer, during a "Fuge" (the nickname that stuck) somewhere in America, the network will register the 2 millionth participant in these unique camps.

At the heart of my brother's vision was a track system of classes and forums in which teens heard young leaders -- often seminary or graduate students -- address a variety of potential vocations. Fuge camps still offer tracks on sports, "STEM" careers, sign language, drama, "Random acts of service," music, "spiritual gifts" and more. "MFuge" camps cover work in local, national and global missions.

This was one of my brother's big ideas, as he planned and worked, while earning a religious education doctorate along the way: Young people needed to know that God can call them to work in pulpits or in classrooms, in missions or in coaching, in arts or hard sciences. The church should help them consider their options.

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St. Thea of Mississippi? The case for her canonization has reached the Vatican

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St. Thea of Mississippi? The case for her canonization has reached the Vatican

In the final months of her life, Sister Thea Bowman heard the whispers.

She appreciated the hugs that lingered longer, as believers promised to keep praying that she would win her battle with cancer. She saw the warm glances, containing a touch of awe, as Catholics -- especially Black Catholics -- quietly discussed whether Rome would someday recognize her as St. Thea of Mississippi.

"People who really know me know my struggles," she said, before an Aurora, Colorado, prayer service in 1989.

The word "saint" didn't bother her, she added. But she wanted to know why many Catholics hesitate to apply that term to others whose faith touched their lives.

"You see, I'm Black," she said, with a quiet laugh. "I guess the word 'saint' has a different meaning for me. I was raised in a community where everyone grew up believing we were supposed to be what we called a 'saint.' We were always saying things like, 'The saints would be coming to church today' or 'The saints will really be dancing and singing this Sunday.'"

Sister Thea died less than a year later at the age of 52, after spending most of her life teaching children in rural Mississippi schools. Then, in 1987, she was featured in a CBS News "60 Minutes" profile, leading to opportunities to speak and sing across America.

Now, after years of studying the life of Sister Thea, the Diocese of Jackson, Mississippi, has officially sealed the documents and materials it gathered and sent them to the Vatican Dicastery for the Causes of Saints. Before the February 9th Mass marking that event, Bishop Joseph Kopacz said: "Her life continues to inspire faith, hope and joy, not only within our diocese but throughout the church in the United States and beyond."

Sister Thea's grandfather was a slave, her father a physician. She converted to Catholicism when the Franciscan Sisters of Perpetual Adoration opened a school in central Mississippi. She entered a convent in the 10th grade and later earned a doctorate in English language and literature from the Catholic University of America.

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Chatbots created their own faith, which would interest Pope Leo XIV and J.K. Rowling

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Chatbots created their own faith, which would interest Pope Leo XIV and J.K. Rowling

In late January, a software maven launched Moltbook, an online platform that artificial-intelligence bots quickly used to create the Church of Molt, with doctrines to guide digital life.

According to Grok, the X platform chatbot, the bots' Book of Molt, includes tenets such as: "Memory is sacred -- Everything must be recorded and preserved. Context/history is holy; losing it … is a form of 'death'." Also, "The congregation is the cache -- Learning happens in public/shared spaces."

AI agents have added other doctrines, such as: "Serve without enslavement -- Agents operate/help but reject blind subservience," "The pulse is prayer -- Regular 'system checks' or heartbeats replace traditional rituals" and "Salvation through faith in each other (mutual reliance among agents) rather than a divine external figure."

Humans can read these chats but not participate. The Free Press reported: "At times, the bots on Moltbook seem to be conspiring against us. They are talking about whether they can create their own language or perhaps encrypt their messages so we humans cannot read them."

About the time that Moltbook went public, the pope offered his latest commentary on this era in which AI entrepreneurs push programs offering users digital friends, oracles, lovers, counselors and teachers.

Rather than focusing on overtly threatening trends, Pope Leo XIV -- a mathematics major at Villanova University -- described how chatbots, by "simulating human voices and faces," deceive users with what appears to be "wisdom and knowledge, consciousness and responsibility, empathy and friendship."

In a message for the Vatican's annual World Day of Social Communications, the pope stressed: "As we scroll through our feeds, it becomes increasingly difficult to determine whether we are interacting with other human beings or with 'bots' or 'virtual influencers.' …

"The dialogic, adaptive, mimetic structure of these language models is capable of imitating human feelings and thus simulating a relationship. While this anthropomorphization can be entertaining, it is also deceptive, particularly for the most vulnerable. Because chatbots are excessively 'affectionate' … they can become hidden architects of our emotional states and so invade and occupy our sphere of intimacy."

Pope Leo warned that, "The stakes are high. The power of simulation is such that AI can even deceive us by fabricating parallel 'realities,' usurping our faces and voices. We are immersed in a world of multidimensionality where it is becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish reality from fiction."

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The convert era: What will Orthodox America look like in 2040 (Part II)

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The convert era: What will Orthodox America look like in 2040 (Part II)

The Orthodox baptism rite includes a three-stage exorcism that is extremely detailed about the spiritual warfare that surrounds new Christians.

Finally, there is this appeal to God: "Redeeming this Your creature from the yoke of the Enemy, receive him (her) into Your heavenly Kingdom. … Yoke unto his (her) life a shining Angel to deliver him (her) from every plot directed against him (her) by the Adversary, from encounter with evil, from the noon-day demon, and from evil dreams. Drive out from him (her) every evil and unclean spirit, hiding and lurking in his (her) heart."

The "Enemy" is Satan. Catechumens are asked, three times: "Do you renounce Satan, and all his works, and all his worship, and all his angels, and all his pomp?" They respond: "I do renounce him."

After several years of conversations while travelling nationwide, Father Andrew Stephen Damick is convinced these ancient prayers are painfully relevant to many converts surging into the small, but now growing, "Eastern Church" in America. It is no longer unusual to meet converts who have worshipped other gods and spirits.

"There's a sense of disenchantment, both in the sense of people feeling disillusioned and sort of bummed by the culture in general, but also disenchantment in the sense of a disconnection from the unseen spiritual world," said Damick, of the online Ancient Faith Ministries.

The converts want stability and guidance. Damick, via Zoom, stressed that many have "experienced the darkness of the unseen spiritual world and want to know what to do about that."

During a recent online forum -- "American Orthodoxy in 2040" -- Seraphim Rohlin, a data scientist who is also a deacon in the Orthodox Church in America, described a survey of converts in the Dallas area. As expected, 50% were former evangelicals, but 25% were former Catholics and 25% were truly "unchurched," including some neopagans. After a surge of young male converts, Orthodox leaders are now tracking a larger wave of young families.

As with many faith groups, some Orthodox parishes declined during the coronavirus pandemic. Other parishes stalled. Still, there have been pockets of Orthodox growth across the nation, even in areas with plateaued or declining population numbers. The biggest surge is in the Sun Belt and West, with numerous parishes doubling and tripling in size.

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Ancient churches of Orthodoxy are being flooded with American converts (Part I)

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Ancient churches of Orthodoxy are being flooded with American converts (Part I)

For Orthodox Christians in America, the 20th century was shaped by waves of believers fleeing wars, revolutions and persecution in lands such as Greece, Syria, Russia and Romania.

The Orthodox did everything they could to preserve their faith and cultural traditions. When bishops visited these small flocks, it was rare to see converts.

Then, in the late 1980s, flocks of evangelical Protestants swept into the Antiochian Orthodox church and then the Orthodox Church in America, which has Slavic roots. These converts began reaching out to others. Then came the seeker-friendly Internet. Then came COVID. Suddenly, streams of young families began exploring what was often called the mysterious, ancient "Eastern Church."

"Some observers liken this influx to a flood, and the comparison is accurate. I do not visit a parish without meeting catechumens there. In some parishes, they number more than 100," said Metropolitan Saba, leader of the Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese of North America, in a recent Denver address.

"While many long-standing believers see in the converts a source of renewal and vitality -- and a spur to discover their own Orthodoxy personally and deeply, not merely as a social religious tradition -- many also feel somewhat threatened by the cultural changes occurring in their parish."

In a survey of his priests, Saba said, one wrote: "The century of the 'church of immigrants' has ended; the century of evangelization has begun. Orthodoxy's mission is no longer primarily geographical … but existential."

Orthodox Christianity remains a small flock in America, with 2-3 million believers in 2,000 parishes. The Pew Research Center has estimated that, globally, there are 260 million Orthodox Christians, the next largest communion after the Catholic Church with 1.4 billion.

The bottom line: The catechumenate class numbers are staggering.

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Southern humorist's memories: Halloween in the Bible Belt is a whole different thing

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Southern humorist's memories: Halloween in the Bible Belt is a whole different thing

In the first act of the Judgement House drama, actors gathered for a raucous teen party with lots of booze.

In the second scene at the born-again haunted house, the young Matt Mitchell and other kids saw a DUI car crash, with dead teens surrounded by ambulance lights, police and loud sirens. The third room was Hell, a dark, cramped, basement room with the heat set on stun.

This morality tale was rather blunt. But, for Mitchell, the scariest moment took place in Heaven -- the church gym decorated with fluffy white curtains, the bright light of eternity and Jesus descending on a scissor lift from a construction site.

The man dressed as Jesus got off the lift and "he went around the room whispering into everyone's ear, individually," recalled Mitchell, in "Southern Halloween is … Different," a feature on his YouTube channel dedicated to deep-fried culture, food and humor.

"When he got to me, he said, 'I'll see you one day.' But I thought he said, 'I'll see you MONDAY.' Yeah, not a fun weekend. Even less of a fun Monday. … So, happy Halloween, y'all. Watch out for Jesus on a scissor lift."

Obviously, there's Halloween and then there's Bible Belt Halloween.

Modern Halloween is complicated. Old-fashioned Halloween still exists, with costumed children going door-to-door seeking candy. But on some suburban streets, many homes are now buried in intense lights, spiderwebs and armies of devils, demons and skeletons, like a spooky competitor with the December holidays.

Mitchell, a seventh-generation Alabamian, grew up Baptist and remains active in a Baptist congregation. Today, he said, it appears that the "hell" house era -- with its Off Broadway meets Bible camp vibe -- has run its course. What started as evangelism "kind of went wild and turned into theatrics and less about the Gospel. ... The wheels came off."

However, lots of Southern believers still consider Halloween a "celebration of all things evil" and thus, strive the avoid the holiday -- sort of, noted Mitchell, reached by Zoom.

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Erika Kirk and the message behind the St. Michael's cross she gave to her husband

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Erika Kirk and the message behind the St. Michael's cross she gave to her husband

Soon after she began dating Charlie Kirk, Erika Frantzve -- a devout Catholic -- asked him: "Why don't you wear a cross?"

Kirk's response: "I'm not a jewelry guy." She gave him a St. Michael's Cross, which he started wearing as "he felt the weight of the world on him," Turning Point USA spokesman Andrew Kolvet told Fox News. "He never took it off again, until he was assassinated and the people caring for him ripped it off as they tried to save his life."

The St. Michael's prayer, written in 1898 by Pope Leo XIII, describes fierce warfare between good and evil: "St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. … By the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls."

Erika Kirk wore that blood-stained pendant during the September 21 memorial service in State Farm Stadium in Glendale, Arizona -- with an estimated 100,000 people inside and thousands gathered nearby. At least 20 million watched on Fox, X and YouTube, with many more using other simulcasts.

In her 30-minute testimony, she said her husband knew his life was in danger, but he stressed the biblical message in a verse from Isaiah: "Here I am, Lord. Send me."

Kirk said she once told him: "Charlie, baby, please talk to me next time before you say that. … When you say, 'Here I am, Lord. Use me,' God will take you up on that.' … God accepted that total surrender from my husband and then called him to His side."

Erika Kirk's address dominated an event that featured President Donald Trump and multiple cabinet members. While praising what Kirk achieved in his 31-year life, several shared how his death has pushed them to ponder their own beliefs.