Third-Generation Armstrongism: Because Someone Has to Keep the Betamax of Christianity Alive

The first official Sabbath service in the pilfored wanna-be Worldwide Church of God happened on August 1. It was everything you could imagine and more. Herbert is rolling in his grave right now. It was a masterpiece of digital time travel. Nearly two hours of pure, undiluted 1970's energy beamed straight into 2026 like someone found a dusty Betamax cassette in the old Pasadena TV studios as they were tearing it down, blew the cobwebs off, and decided the world still needed to hear it—while the rest of humanity is busy with, you know, actual current events. The Official Worldwide Church of God Channel delivers a live stream so sparsely attended (a heroic 168 views) that the chat probably consists of Kitchen himself refreshing the page and one guy who wandered in looking for actual kitchen tips from that other Samuel Kitchen, the chef.

I know this will give Samuel clicks to view this, but it is such a trainwreck it is fascinating to fast forward through. Over 2 hours of, Um, batshittery! For those of you who have missed Herb pounding the desk with this fist, the sermonette was of Herb in the Philippines when he was sucking up to Fernando Marcos before he was deposed and his mistress moved to Pasadena on South Oakland Ave. Fists pounding, jowls flapping, and spittle flying. 

Oh, and for all of you Laodiecean former song leaders, you can watch how song leading should be done! He even tells you to sit down after singing!

It opens with hymns about the church being built on “the vine” and foundations that are so strong they haven’t needed updating since Herbert W. Armstrong was still warm. The prayer thanks God for provisions, the church, and—checks notes—Herbert W. Armstrong as the literal end-time Elijah/apostle. Nothing says “fresh spiritual vitality” like treating a dead radio preacher from the mid-20th century as the indispensable bridge between you and the Almighty. One almost expects the next announcement to be that they’re still waiting for the 1975 prophecy to kick in any day now. Oh, and Samuel forgot to turn his microphone on at the very beginning of this masterpiece on what not to do.

Then the announcements: weekly live services, a shiny new office, membership on the website, and the pièce de résistance—special AI-generated music titled “The Man Was Sent.” Yes, they used artificial intelligence to compose a song glorifying the human messenger. The irony is so thick you could spread it on organic stone-ground whole wheat bread. Nothing captures the cutting edge of divine revelation quite like feeding Armstrong hagiography into a large language model and calling it “special music.”

One thing we can be assured of, these kinds of videos will NOT bring in old members or even attract new members. These will never bring in tithe money. No auditorium will ever be purchased. 

This is less a Sabbath service and more a museum exhibit of a religious movement that peaked decades ago and is now being kept on life support by one very dedicated third-generation holdout in Iowa and an AI music generator. It’s the spiritual equivalent of insisting that Betamax is still the superior format while the rest of the planet streams 4K. Highly recommended if your idea of cutting-edge Christianity is deifying a deceased broadcaster, and watching the view count struggle to climb past three digits. Everyone else can safely skip—your spiritual foundation will somehow survive without it.

Fun times are ahead, brethren!