There is a shift happening; a new way of being is here. Letting go of the labels and the constraints that religion has imposed. Here come the wild ones, and it’s time for us to get out of the way.
Have you ever rolled your eyes at the youth in your town? I know sometimes I see them riding their e-scooters and running across the road, and I find myself shaking my head. I don’t want to be cynical; I want my house to be a lighthouse sitting on the hill, not a place where teenagers feel condemned and shamed for their youthful zeal.
Acceptance, diversity, and story blowing through my life.
I grew up in a house that was always open. A table with enough food to spare. A bed for those who were unsafe. There was always a party brewing, and parents who wanted their kids home, with little need for a reason to celebrate, created a home that was nurturing, rather than a world repelling them from its fold.
Lately, I keep hearing the phrase “Here come the wild ones…”
Young people who are living through technological revolutions.
Teenagers who were told to stay home from school during the pandemic.
A generation that has more information at their fingertips, but is longing for experiences and analogue spaces of renewal.
The psalms proclaim it, the scrolling internet stories of God are increasing, and a swell of a new sound is arising.
“Voice”
Isaiah 40:3, quoted in all four Gospels about John: “A voice crying in the wilderness.” Not a name. Not a title. A voice. John himself embraces this when asked who he is — he doesn’t say prophet, priest or Elijah.
He says I am a voice.
“A voice of one calling: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way for the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God'”— Isaiah 40: 3
This is one of scripture’s most extraordinary identity statements. He had reduced himself to pure function — pure instrument. No ego in the sound. Just the word passing through him. This is what it means to live surrendered, to seek a new way of being and observe the new that is here.
That’s a kind of wildness; to be so surrendered, you become transparent.
I’ve heard whispers of wild generations past, across my life, I have heard story after story of the moves of God in the 1970s. The Jesus people, times of baptism in rivers and concerts, gathering, with protests full of love.
I keep hearing the words “The Wild Ones Are Coming.”
This is what I see…
They reject inherited faith but hunger for the real thing
They are not staying in a church because their parents went there. They won’t perform religion. But when they encounter something genuine — presence, transformation, community that costs something, they go all in. They’re repelled by veneer and drawn to substance.
They are not trying to rebel; they just don’t see the rules the way we do. Black and white confuses them; they realise there are parts of faith that are grey, and they are open to this tension.
They’ve grown up with constant change
Climate anxiety, pandemic, social media’s dark side, political chaos, and the loneliness epidemic. They have been formed in uncertainty in a way no previous generation quite was. This has stripped away the illusion that the world will hold you. It creates a kind of holy desperation that older generations, who had more stable cultural scaffolding, often didn’t feel.
They explore new technology like AI with curiosity, believing they can do anything.
They’re not interested in institutions; they want an encounter
They’ll drive hours for a worship night. They’ll fast. They’ll pursue spiritual direction and contemplative practice. They just won’t sit in a pew out of obligation. The hunger is real.
They are drawn to tables; they will be house-sharing for longer than any previous generation. Independence may be a word of the past. They realise that house parties, shared belongings, the need for sustainable fashion, and the impact of our consumerism are not just a philosophy; they shape the world they long to see restored.
They carry a both/and spirituality
They hold tension well: justice AND worship, mystery AND doctrine, embodied practice AND digital community. They’re not easily boxed. That makes them frustrating to program for and extraordinary to release into mission. They hate falsehood when teachers say one thing and do another.
They don’t want to be told what to do; they want to experience it. They are longing for companions, not leaders who control their reality. They want to explore the grey and redefine what shapes the future.
They’re drawn to liturgy
Liturgy, Lectio Divina, the Church Fathers, icons, disciplines, the mystics, silence. There’s a remarkable turn toward old traditions not as nostalgia but as anchors. They want something that has outlasted trends. That’s a generation looking for bedrock.
They want a simple faith. They want honesty. They don’t want insincerity.
What makes them wild?
They are ungovernable by consumer Christianity. They cannot be held by programs alone. They are, in the deepest sense, seeking a King, not a brand. They grew up in a kids’ church. Whilst their parents attended the conference, they drove in cars to school, listening to CDs. They wanted less.
Church Pastors, they want less, not more. Honest, not excellent. Brave, not perfect.
And when they find the real thing, they are extraordinarily loyal, extraordinarily brave, and extraordinarily willing to go to the hard places.
They are a new breed of John the Baptists.
Wilderness-formed. Uncontainable. Absolutely certain of identity. Pointing beyond without hesitation.
A question I have for you today?
How are you holding space for the wildness found in the youth in your neighbourhood? How are you encouraging expressions of faith in your home? How are you listening with surrender to the beauty that God wants to birth in the next leaders of the Church?
The wild ones are coming…
Can you see them?
