The Heavenly Divide: Colorado's Gubernatorial Political Arena

Colorado, land of grand mountains and moral avalanches, where the air is thin, the weed is legal, and the politics? Well, let's say it's starting to feel less like a debate over tax rates and more like a Billy Graham stadium crusade. The underlying question buzzing through social media: Is politics a spiritual battle in Colorado? Spoiler alert: If you're paying attention to the 2026 governor's race, you'd have to be spiritually comatose.

Take the crowded Gubernatorial Republican field, where candidates are planting their flags not just in policy papers, but in the fertile soil of faith. We've got Victor Marx, the ministry founder and "high-risk missionary" who's built a life rescuing kids from ISIS and trafficking rings through his “All Things Possible Ministries”. He's not your typical suit-and-tie politician; he's the guy who'd probably quote John 10:10 while vetoing a bill, "The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life." Then there's Scott Bottoms, the pastor-politician from Colorado Springs who's spent over 30 years in ministry at Church at Briargate, a thundering Colorado state representative working to reclaim Colorado from "extreme and destructive policies." These folks aren't shy about their Christian convictions, and why should they be. In a state that's become a veritable altar for every progressive sacrament, from unlimited abortion to gender experiments on kids, it's refreshing to see candidates who actually believe in something everlasting rather than a poll dictating talking points for the week.

Our legislature, is currently gearing up for its 2026 session on January 14, is a Democrat-dominated funhouse where bills like SB25-183 expand taxpayer-funded abortions as if they're handing out free ski passes. Colorado's earned its rep as a "free-for-all abortion state," with no gestational limits because nothing says "progress" like turning the Rockies into a destination for late-term terminations paid for by the residents. Voters even enshrined this in the constitution last year, proving that when it comes to spiritual warfare, the left's idea of "choice" looks an awful lot like ancient child sacrifice to Baal.

Nationally, sure, Christianity's numbers are increasing among younger voters. Pew says only about 52% of Coloradans identify as Christian, with atheists doubling to 8% in the last decade. But here's the sarcasm-laced irony: While the unaffiliated voters multiply like rabbits on craft beer, the faithful in Colorado are waking up just slower than the national averages. More conservatives are realizing that politics isn't just about potholes and property taxes—it's about whether we'll govern by biblical principles or by the whims of whatever gender-fluid guru is trending on social media. I mean, really, would you vote for an atheist all things being equal? Policies matter, but so do the souls steering the ship. If we're seeing a "growing amount of people coming to Christ" amid this chaos, it's because the alternative endless "equity" mandates and "reproductive rights" that end lives is straight out of the Screwtape Letters. C.S. Lewis warned us: "The safest road to Hell is the gradual one, the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts." Barbra Kirkmeyer is the toll booth operator on this road.

So, have I blown it out of proportion? The divide in our legislature is stark: Democrats pushing for more "protections" that erode parental rights (hello, Kelly Loving Act), while conservatives fight for fiscal sanity and actual freedoms. With 10 months to November, six to the primaries, and caucuses and assemblies in between, now's the time to ponder: Will 2026 be our moment to elect a Republican governor with unapologetic Christian steel? Someone like Bottoms or Marx, who sees the spiritual stakes and isn't afraid to call out the darkness?

Only time will tell, but if you're a believer in this grassroots army, don't just ponder pray, organize, and vote like eternity's on the ballot. Because in Colorado, it just might be.