I look at this generation and my heart breaks.
We are watching a war unfold before our eyes — not one of guns and bombs, but one of confusion, comfort, and quiet destruction. And the most terrifying part? Most don’t even see it.
The war on identity begins so early now. Children, who haven’t even learned to tie their shoes, are being asked to question who they are. Not in wonder, but in doubt. Before they’ve had a chance to discover the truth, the world starts feeding them lies. Gender, purpose, morality — all thrown into a blender of relativism and feelings. We’re raising little ones in a fog, and then we wonder why they can’t find their way.
Their minds are under siege. Every app, every video, every scroll is designed to keep them distracted, overstimulated, and addicted. By the time they reach their teens, they’ve been trained to crave constant dopamine hits. Silence becomes unbearable. Stillness feels like suffering. So how can they possibly hear the still, small voice of God?
They’re being discipled by screens. Not parents. Not the church. Screens. Influencers are louder than preachers. Algorithms are more faithful than mentors. And everything around them tells them that honour and obedience are outdated. Parents are just barriers to “freedom.” Authority is something to be mocked, not respected. Rebellion is no longer dangerous — it’s fashionable.
And sin? It’s been rebranded. Packaged as self-expression. Marketed as authenticity. “Live your truth” is preached louder than “pick up your cross.” The idea that God would set boundaries is now seen as toxic. “If it feels good, it must be right.” “If it makes you happy, it must be holy.” The old lies are still working — they’ve just been dressed in prettier clothes.
They’re chasing fame now, not fruit. Influence has replaced intimacy with God. Attention has become the highest form of affirmation. They’re performing for strangers online, but struggling to be real in their own hearts. They want to be known, but only through a filter. They want to be loved, but without the cost of surrender.
And somewhere along the way, we’ve lost the ability to think deeply. To pause. To ask hard questions. What’s true? What’s godly? What’s eternal? No one wants to be different — so we go with the flow. But the flow is heading straight toward destruction.
Even the church… Lord, forgive us. For too many, the church feels cold or compromised. The truth is watered down. The fire has been replaced with fog machines. We’ve traded conviction for comfort. So young people walk away — not because they hate You, God, but because they haven’t really seen you.
They find belonging in broken places. Acceptance in compromise. And the Church, your bride, feels like a stranger to them.
But even now, even in this darkness… I believe there is still hope.
You have always preserved a remnant. You have always responded to the cries of those who would humble themselves and pray. You have never turned away from the broken-hearted. And I believe you haven’t turned away now.
So Lord, we cry out to you. For this generation. For these sons and daughters who are being led astray. For the ones who don’t even know what they’ve lost. Wake them up, Jesus. Shake them. Stir them. Rescue them from the fog and the noise.
Raise up voices that will not be silenced. Send fire to pulpits again. Let truth ring louder than opinion. Let your word be irresistible again. Let purity be possible again. Let holiness become beautiful again.
Let revival start, not in lights and conferences, but in bedrooms. In broken prayers. In secret places. In young hearts who are tired of pretending and ready to be transformed.
Lord, come. Do what only you can do.
We don’t want to lose them.
We’re crying out.
Revive us again.
Author
kay.alli@legalview.co.uk