by Gary Long

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Ruth Graham’s (no, not related to Billy) recent piece in The New York Times about the surge of young men converting to Eastern Orthodoxy stopped me in my tracks. Not because the trend is entirely surprising, but because it says something true and uncomfortable about the state of spiritual affairs of young adults today—especially young men.

Orthodoxy is suddenly an unexpected draw, and why not? They have all the pretty hipster things: incense, icons, chanting, and fasting (well, maybe that’s not pretty, but you must admit there’s a certain energy when someone says, “I’ve been fasting about this decision.”). There’s a structure to Orthodoxy that has the haunt of the ancient, and let’s be honest—those are some impressively large beards on dudes. And if you’ve seen me, I’m a fan of the beard. My BGAV profile pic is the dialed-down version I usually sport. Let’s just say some kids side-eye me in December.  

Orthodoxy right now is pulling in young men who say they want a faith that tells them hard truths, demands something of them, and doesn’t apologize for having edges. They want to be “coached hard.” Some proudly call themselves “Orthobros,” borrowing from the manosphere and mixing it with a rugged and overly romanticized vision of early Christianity that might not be quite so accurate.

As a Baptist, I see both the appeal and the problem.

On one hand, there’s something admirable—even refreshing—about young adults looking for theological depth, meaningful practices, and a spiritual tradition that takes the supernatural seriously. If the choice is between endless digital snark or a church that still believes in mystery and sacrifice, I understand how the incense wins.

And let’s be honest: Baptists could do a better job of telling our own story with more depth. We reach for relevance so fast we sometimes forget the roots. Constant talk of grace can diminish the costliness of following Jesus. In all, there’s a quiet thing to behold in the Orthobro movement: people are hungry for a faith worth giving their lives to.

But there’s a shadow side, too. When “masculinity” becomes the doorway to faith, the gospel shrinks. When tradition hardens into reactionary politics, the church loses its witness. And when the draw is a ritual of aesthetics brandished in antiquity rather than the humility of Christ, the ancient path becomes just another brand. It gives me silly visions of the disciples in Viking horns and monster beards.

My Baptist kind of faith isn’t threatened by these Vikings. In fact, it’s sharpened by it. I believe in congregations who are shaped by the Spirit—not by ortho-influencers. That means a belief:

In a radical autonomy that doesn’t require a beard to be authentic or a hierarchy to be holy—and certainly not a rigid compulsory alignment of belief.

In discipleship that asks something of everyone, not just men looking for self-fulfilling purpose.  

In a radically gracious discipleship that still respects boundaries of a human’s fragile freedoms to believe as they are convicted by God.

In a quirky, sometimes murky, Baptist tradition.

But first, I believe in Jesus—the boundary-breaking Savior whose strength looked like surrender and whose authority looked like love.

If Orthodoxy is reminding young men that faith can be demanding and beautiful, I can live with it peacefully. But if we Baptists are reminded to live more faithfully within our own funky autonomy—even better.

That’s the long story short.

Know an Orthobro? I’d love to meet him and learn more. Connect at gary.long@bgav.org.

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Gary Long is BGAV’s chief marketing officer.

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