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Glenn: This is the weekend to change your life

April 18, 2014
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The Glenn Beck Program

On this Good Friday, Glenn delivered a deeply personal monologue about the ability to overcome obstacles and start fresh. “This is the weekend to change your life,” Glenn said as he discussed his own journey and a vivid dream he had in 1996 that changed his entire way of thinking.

Below is a rough transcript of the monologue:

Have you ever gotten to the point you just wish you could start over? ‘Like man, I just can't get there from here.’ That's the most amazing thing. And I still think many times, my first response is: You can't get there from here. How? I've got this going on in my life or this happening. I can't get there from here.

That is one of the biggest lies. I think there are a few things that are huge lies that our society teaches us now. That is: You're not capable. You're not able. You just won't be able to make it. You need somebody else or some other thing to complete you – whether that is another person in your life, a spouse, a boyfriend, girlfriend, children; whether that is a new job, a new car, a new house, a new career. Whatever it is, it just will not complete you. When Tom Cruise came in and said, ‘You complete me.’ No, no. She really doesn't. She was hot, and it was great. She helped. She was a great soul mate. But she doesn't complete you. Nothing completes you. You are born complete. The weirdest thing is that a baby is born with everything they need. A baby is born with the ability and the road map already in them. The plan's already there. All they have to do is start activating it. But somehow or another we get lost.

Today there's a lot of Christians around the world that are marking Good Friday. This is Passover week. I have been praying all this week that the destroyer, the Angel of Death would pass over our house – meaning not just our home, but our country – that the destroyer would not visit here, that they would see the mark on our door.

I was reading some things this week, and I wondered: What is the difference between faith and courage? A bunch of us talked yesterday afternoon, we got together after work, and I said, ‘Is faith and courage the same thing?’ And we went back and forth and debated that for a while. I don't think you can have courage, real courage, without faith in something – faith in yourself, faith in your ability, maybe misplaced faith, faith in God.

You have faith in God. You don't sit down. You don't stop because you know, no matter what, you're an unarmed 80-pound weakling. It doesn't matter. I watched the first Captain America with my son this week. We watched it, and here's the 80-pound weakling getting beat up in the alleyway, and the bully says, ‘You never give up. You don't give up.’ He said, ‘No. I could do this all day.’ And the reason why is because he had faith in something. He believed in something bigger. He didn't like bullies, and he wanted to stand up against bullies, and he had faith that there was such a thing as justice. And he got pummeled in the alleyways over and over and over again, but because this is a cartoon, because this is a Marvel comic, what happens to him? He's put into a machine, juiced up with serum and becomes Captain America. That's not the way real life works, unfortunately. Real life is a little harder than that.

So what is the difference between faith and courage? Is there a difference? I think there is, actually, as I have been thinking about it. I asked my daughter – just trying to work off that college education because she took ancient studies and Greek and Latin – and I said King James translates faith, hope and charity, but the last word is actually love. And I called my daughter and I said, ‘Could you translate this for me?’ I said, ‘What is the actual Greek word?’ She said, ‘It's agape… It is the highest form of love.’ There are different words in Greek for ‘love,’ but ‘agape’ is the highest form of love. It is love of God.

Then I realized, faith and courage are not the same thing because I could have faith that I'm going to win. I could have faith in my country. I could have faith in the principles. I could have faith in God, and I'll fight hard. But if I have love, I don't ever stop. If I love my country, if I love my family, I never give up. I never stop. There's never any question. I love it. I defend it. I think love and courage go hand in hand. Without faith, there is no hope. Faith gives you hope. Love gives you courage.

How could one guy, a normal guy change the world with faith, with hope, with love? And the greatest of those is love. And so today we mark the day that one man was given his cross to carry, but we look at this story always as just one guy who was the savior of the world, just that. He's just the savior of the world. Saves all of us. Wildly important, but why were they calling for Barabbas? When Pilot came out and said we have a custom where we can release one person… so who do you want? You want this Jesus guy, who I can't find any fault in, or do you went Barabbas? Why were they screaming for Barabbas? Why would people scream for a murderer? Because he wasn't a murder. That's not what they saw him as. They saw him as a liberator. They were looking for revolution. They were looking for a guy that would topple the government, the oppressive government. They were looking for a guy named Barabbas because he promised vengeance was his. He would kill them, and he would lead a squad to kill them.

Barabbas was released. Did he change the world? Barabbas was released. Did he topple the government? No. No, he didn't. Jesus was not released, and Jesus died on that day. Did he topple it? Oh, yes, he did, with faith, hope and love.

You can't get there from here. Yes, you can. ‘I made too many mistakes in my life.’ No, you haven't. ‘I'm not worthy.’ ‘You don't know me.’ Yes, I do. You didn't know me. Takes five years to really change a man's life. If you're like me, done so many things and had all those moments back, you would change, but you don't think you can. And then you start to, and then something happens, and you fall into a pattern. And it takes five years to truly change, to really wash yourself clean of those patterns. And it takes five years of every week bathing in that water again and saying, ‘Okay, one day at a time, one week at a time.’ And when you really change is when you really love.

Pat will tell you my slogan I used to say it all the time? Pat, what was my slogan, when you first met me?

PAT: I hate people.

GLENN: Any part of me now?

PAT: No. Not even close. I would say it's the total opposite now. Yeah, it was pretty sincere then.

STU: To the point you like people you should hate. You came to the point --

PAT: And have been very forgiving of people who have done you wrong. It's a total change.

GLENN: There's only one reason that that has happened, and it wasn't that I needed it. It wasn't that I wanted it. It was I was given that. I worked for it, but I could never earn it. And I was given that because of the one guy who died 2000 years ago.

If you happen to be struggling, ‘Well, nobody knows me.’ Listen to me: I do. I know how hard it is. I know how dark it is. I know how alone you feel. I know how insignificant or how guilty you might feel. How tired you are. I get it. There's no such thing as a coincidence, and you are listening to this broadcast for a reason. This weekend is the weekend you're supposed to change your life. This is the weekend that you are supposed to say, ‘Okay, I'm starting all over.’

I had a dream in 1996. I changed my life in 1994. In 1996, after I had done so much work – remember, it takes five years – I had done so much work, but I still hadn't really looked into everything. I wasn't going to look into my family, any of that stuff, because I was comfortable. I had a dream, and an old man came to me in a dream. In this dream, I'm standing in a broken corn field that is gray and brown and everything was seepy and dirty, and it was snow and the corn stalks were broken on their side. And I was standing on the black top that was broken and crumbling and gray. And the sky was gray. And as far as I could see, there was nothing but destruction. Everything was dead, dead of winter. And I started turning around in a circle there, trying to figure out where I was going to go, and I saw behind me was this storm, this massive storm. And it was black and undulating and almost a black hole, drawing me in. And I looked at that, and I turned from it.

That's when I heard the voice of an old man. And he said, ‘Where are you going?’ And I said, without looking at him, ‘I don't know. Anywhere but there.’ That's when I turned to him and looked at him. He had like a beard, but it was all like the smoker color, all yellow, and he was all tattered and dirty, wearing tattered clothes. He looked like a bum. And he said, There's nothing to that.’ He said, ‘That's all in your making. There's nothing to that. There's nothing there.’

And I said, ‘That will kill me.’ And he said, ‘No, you have to go through the storm. Let me show you what's on the other side.’ He reached out his hand. I don't know how we got there, but we had gone through the storm and on the other side we were flying. We were up above everything. I could see the other side of the road that I couldn't see because the storm was blocking it. We were now on the other side of the road. Everything was in technicolor. I had never seen a dream so vivid as this, and the grass was super-green, and the flowers were reds and purples and yellows and the blues, deepest, most beautiful blue I had ever seen.

And I didn't look at him. He was behind me again. He said, ‘This is what's on the other side.’ I said, ‘It's so warm here.’ He said, ‘There's nothing to the storm, but you have to go through it.’ As I turned, I woke up. I saw only for a fraction of a second, only saw about a quarter of his face, but now he was pure white, and his beard looked like fiber optics. He was made of light. I woke up.

I painted a picture of that storm. That dream changed my life. I had faith. I had hope. And I had witnessed love. This is the weekend to change your life and begin again.

A Sharia enclave is quietly taking root in America. It's time to wake up.

NOVA SAFO / Staff | Getty Images

Sharia-based projects like the Meadow in Texas show how political Islam grows quietly, counting on Americans to stay silent while an incompatible legal system takes root.

Apolitical system completely incompatible with the Constitution is gaining ground in the United States, and we are pretending it is not happening.

Sharia — the legal and political framework of Islam — is being woven into developments, institutions, and neighborhoods, including a massive project in Texas. And the consequences will be enormous if we continue to look the other way.

This is the contradiction at the heart of political Islam: It claims universal authority while insisting its harshest rules will never be enforced here. That promise does not stand up to scrutiny. It never has.

Before we can have an honest debate, we’d better understand what Sharia represents. Sharia is not simply a set of religious rules about prayer or diet. It is a comprehensive legal and political structure that governs marriage, finance, criminal penalties, and civic life. It is a parallel system that claims supremacy wherever it takes hold.

This is where the distinction matters. Many Muslims in America want nothing to do with Sharia governance. They came here precisely because they lived under it. But political Islam — the movement that seeks to implement Sharia as law — is not the same as personal religious belief.

It is a political ideology with global ambitions, much like communism. Secretary of State Marco Rubio recently warned that Islamist movements do not seek peaceful coexistence with the West. They seek dominance. History backs him up.

How Sharia arrives

Political Islam does not begin with dramatic declarations. It starts quietly, through enclaves that operate by their own rules. That is why the development once called EPIC City — now rebranded as the Meadow — is so concerning. Early plans framed it as a Muslim-only community built around a mega-mosque and governed by Sharia-compliant financing. After state investigations were conducted, the branding changed, but the underlying intent remained the same.

Developers have openly described practices designed to keep non-Muslims out, using fees and ownership structures to create de facto religious exclusivity. This is not assimilation. It is the construction of a parallel society within a constitutional republic.

The warning from those who have lived under it

Years ago, local imams in Texas told me, without hesitation, that certain Sharia punishments “just work.” They spoke about cutting off hands for theft, stoning adulterers, and maintaining separate standards of testimony for men and women. They insisted it was logical and effective while insisting they would never attempt to implement it in Texas.

But when pressed, they could not explain why a system they consider divinely mandated would suddenly stop applying once someone crossed a border.

This is the contradiction at the heart of political Islam: It claims universal authority while insisting its harshest rules will never be enforced here. That promise does not stand up to scrutiny. It never has.

AASHISH KIPHAYET / Contributor | Getty Images

America is vulnerable

Europe is already showing us where this road leads. No-go zones, parallel courts, political intimidation, and clerics preaching supremacy have taken root across major cities.

America’s strength has always come from its melting pot, but assimilation requires boundaries. It requires insisting that the Constitution, not religious law, is the supreme authority on this soil.

Yet we are becoming complacent, even fearful, about saying so. We mistake silence for tolerance. We mistake avoidance for fairness. Meanwhile, political Islam views this hesitation as weakness.

Religious freedom is one of America’s greatest gifts. Muslims may worship freely here, as they should. But political Islam must not be permitted to plant a flag on American soil. The Constitution cannot coexist with a system that denies equal rights, restricts speech, subordinates women, and places clerical authority above civil law.

Wake up before it is too late

Projects like the Meadow are not isolated. They are test runs, footholds, proofs of concept. Political Islam operates with patience. It advances through demographic growth, legal ambiguity, and cultural hesitation — and it counts on Americans being too polite, too distracted, or too afraid to confront it.

We cannot afford that luxury. If we fail to defend the principles that make this country free, we will one day find ourselves asking how a parallel system gained power right in front of us. The answer will be simple: We looked away.

The time to draw boundaries and to speak honestly is now. The time to defend the Constitution as the supreme law of the land is now. Act while there is still time.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

Why do Americans feel so empty?

Mario Tama / Staff | Getty Images

Anxiety, anger, and chronic dissatisfaction signal a country searching for meaning. Without truth and purpose, politics becomes a dangerous substitute for identity.

We have built a world overflowing with noise, convenience, and endless choice, yet something essential has slipped out of reach. You can sense it in the restless mood of the country, the anxiety among young people who cannot explain why they feel empty, in the angry confusion that dominates our politics.

We have more wealth than any nation in history, but the heart of the culture feels strangely malnourished. Before we can debate debt or elections, we must confront the reality that we created a world of things, but not a world of purpose.

You cannot survive a crisis you refuse to name, and you cannot rebuild a world whose foundations you no longer understand.

What we are living through is not just economic or political dysfunction. It is the vacuum that appears when a civilization mistakes abundance for meaning.

Modern life is stuffed with everything except what the human soul actually needs. We built systems to make life faster, easier, and more efficient — and then wondered why those systems cannot teach our children who they are, why they matter, or what is worth living for.

We tell the next generation to chase success, influence, and wealth, turning childhood into branding. We ask kids what they want to do, not who they want to be. We build a world wired for dopamine rather than dignity, and then we wonder why so many people feel unmoored.

When everything is curated, optimized, and delivered at the push of a button, the question “what is my life for?” gets lost in the static.

The crisis beneath the headlines

It is not just the young who feel this crisis. Every part of our society is straining under the weight of meaninglessness.

Look at the debt cycle — the mathematical fate no civilization has ever escaped once it crosses a threshold that we seem to have already blown by. While ordinary families feel the pressure, our leaders respond with distraction, with denial, or by rewriting the very history that could have warned us.

You cannot survive a crisis you refuse to name, and you cannot rebuild a world whose foundations you no longer understand.

We have entered a cultural moment where the noise is so loud that it drowns out the simplest truths. We are living in a country that no longer knows how to hear itself think.

So people go searching. Some drift toward the false promise of socialism, some toward the empty thrill of rebellion. Some simply check out. When a culture forgets what gives life meaning, it becomes vulnerable to every ideology that offers a quick answer.

The quiet return of meaning

And yet, quietly, something else is happening. Beneath the frustration and cynicism, many Americans are recognizing that meaning does not come from what we own, but from what we honor. It does not rise from success, but from virtue. It does not emerge from noise, but from the small, sacred things that modern life has pushed to the margins — the home, the table, the duty you fulfill, the person you help when no one is watching.

The danger is assuming that this rediscovery happens on its own. It does not.

Reorientation requires intention. It requires rebuilding the habits and virtues that once held us together. It requires telling the truth about our history instead of rewriting it to fit today’s narratives. And it requires acknowledging what has been erased: that meaning is inseparable from God’s presence in a nation’s life.

Harold M. Lambert / Contributor | Getty Images

Where renewal begins

We have built a world without stillness, and then we wondered why no one can hear the questions that matter. Those questions remain, whether we acknowledge them or not. They do not disappear just because we drown them in entertainment or noise. They wait for us, and the longer we ignore them, the more disoriented we become.

Meaning is still available. It is found in rebuilding the smallest, most human spaces — the places that cannot be digitized, globalized, or automated. The home. The family. The community.

These are the daily virtues that do not trend on social media, but that hold a civilization upright. If we want to repair this country, we begin there, exactly where every durable civilization has always begun: one virtue at a time, one tradition at a time, one generation at a time.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

The Bubba Effect erupts as America’s power brokers go rogue

Gary Hershorn / Contributor | Getty Images

When institutions betray the public’s trust, the country splits, and the spiral is hard to stop.

Something drastic is happening in American life. Headlines that should leave us stunned barely register anymore. Stories that once would have united the country instead dissolve into silence or shrugs.

It is not apathy exactly. It is something deeper — a growing belief that the people in charge either cannot or will not fix what is broken.

When people feel ignored or betrayed, they will align with anyone who appears willing to fight on their behalf.

I call this response the Bubba effect. It describes what happens when institutions lose so much public trust that “Bubba,” the average American minding his own business, finally throws his hands up and says, “Fine. I will handle it myself.” Not because he wants to, but because the system that was supposed to protect him now feels indifferent, corrupt, or openly hostile.

The Bubba effect is not a political movement. It is a survival instinct.

What triggers the Bubba effect

We are watching the triggers unfold in real time. When members of Congress publicly encourage active duty troops to disregard orders from the commander in chief, that is not a political squabble. When a federal judge quietly rewrites the rules so one branch of government can secretly surveil another, that is not normal. That is how republics fall. Yet these stories glided across the news cycle without urgency, without consequence, without explanation.

When the American people see the leadership class shrug, they conclude — correctly — that no one is steering the ship.

This is how the Bubba effect spreads. It is not just individuals resisting authority. It is sheriffs refusing to enforce new policies, school boards ignoring state mandates, entire communities saying, “We do not believe you anymore.” It becomes institutional, cultural, national.

A country cracking from the inside

This effect can be seen in Dearborn, Michigan. In the rise of fringe voices like Nick Fuentes. In the Epstein scandal, where powerful people could not seem to locate a single accountable adult. These stories are different in content but identical in message: The system protects itself, not you.

When people feel ignored or betrayed, they will align with anyone who appears willing to fight on their behalf. That does not mean they suddenly agree with everything that person says. It means they feel abandoned by the institutions that were supposed to be trustworthy.

The Bubba effect is what fills that vacuum.

The dangers of a faithless system

A republic cannot survive without credibility. Congress cannot oversee intelligence agencies if it refuses to discipline its own members. The military cannot remain apolitical if its chain of command becomes optional. The judiciary cannot defend the Constitution while inventing loopholes that erase the separation of powers.

History shows that once a nation militarizes politics, normalizes constitutional shortcuts, or allows government agencies to operate without scrutiny, it does not return to equilibrium peacefully. Something will give.

The question is what — and when.

The responsibility now belongs to us

In a healthy country, this is where the media steps in. This is where universities, pastors, journalists, and cultural leaders pause the outrage machine and explain what is at stake. But today, too many see themselves not as guardians of the republic, but of ideology. Their first loyalty is to narrative, not truth.

The founders never trusted the press more than the public. They trusted citizens who understood their rights, lived their responsibilities, and demanded accountability. That is the antidote to the Bubba effect — not rage, but citizenship.

How to respond without breaking ourselves

Do not riot. Do not withdraw. Do not cheer on destruction just because you dislike the target. That is how nations lose themselves. Instead, demand transparency. Call your representatives. Insist on consequences. Refuse to normalize constitutional violations simply because “everyone does it.” If you expect nothing, you will get nothing.

Do not hand your voice to the loudest warrior simply because he is swinging a bat at the establishment. You do not beat corruption by joining a different version of it. You beat it by modeling the country you want to preserve: principled, accountable, rooted in truth.

Adam Gray / Stringer | Getty Images

Every republic reaches a moment when historians will later say, “That was the warning.” We are living in ours. But warnings are gifts if they are recognized. Institutions bend. People fail. The Constitution can recover — if enough Americans still know and cherish it.

It does not take a majority. Twenty percent of the country — awake, educated, and courageous — can reset the system. It has happened before. It can happen again.

Wake up. Stand up. Demand integrity — from leaders, from institutions, and from yourself. Because the Bubba effect will not end until Americans reclaim the duty that has always belonged to them: preserving the republic for the next generation.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

Grim warning: Bad-faith Israel critics duck REAL questions

Spencer Platt / Staff | Getty Images

Bad-faith attacks on Israel and AIPAC warp every debate. Real answers emerge only when people set aside scripts and ask what serves America’s long-term interests.

The search for truth has always required something very much in short supply these days: honesty. Not performative questions, not scripted outrage, not whatever happens to be trending on TikTok, but real curiosity.

Some issues, often focused on foreign aid, AIPAC, or Israel, have become hotbeds of debate and disagreement. Before we jump into those debates, however, we must return to a simpler, more important issue: honest questioning. Without it, nothing in these debates matters.

Ask questions because you want the truth, not because you want a target.

The phrase “just asking questions” has re-entered the zeitgeist, and that’s fine. We should always question power. But too many of those questions feel preloaded with someone else’s answer. If the goal is truth, then the questions should come from a sincere desire to understand, not from a hunt for a villain.

Honest desire for truth is the only foundation that can support a real conversation about these issues.

Truth-seeking is real work

Right now, plenty of people are not seeking the truth at all. They are repeating something they heard from a politician on cable news or from a stranger on TikTok who has never opened a history book. That is not a search for answers. That is simply outsourcing your own thought.

If you want the truth, you need to work for it. You cannot treat the world like a Marvel movie where the good guy appears in a cape and the villain hisses on command. Real life does not give you a neat script with the moral wrapped up in two hours.

But that is how people are approaching politics now. They want the oppressed and the oppressor, the heroic underdog and the cartoon villain. They embrace this fantastical framing because it is easier than wrestling with reality.

This framing took root in the 1960s when the left rebuilt its worldview around colonizers and the colonized. Overnight, Zionism was recast as imperialism. Suddenly, every conflict had to fit the same script. Today’s young activists are just recycling the same narrative with updated graphics. Everything becomes a morality play. No nuance, no context, just the comforting clarity of heroes and villains.

Bad-faith questions

This same mindset is fueling the sudden obsession with Israel, and the American Israel Public Affairs Committee in particular. You hear it from members of Congress and activists alike: AIPAC pulls the strings, AIPAC controls the government, AIPAC should register as a foreign agent under the Foreign Agents Registration Act. The questions are dramatic, but are they being asked in good faith?

FARA is clear. The standard is whether an individual or group acts under the direction or control of a foreign government. AIPAC simply does not qualify.

Here is a detail conveniently left out of these arguments: Dozens of domestic organizations — Armenian, Cuban, Irish, Turkish — lobby Congress on behalf of other countries. None of them registers under FARA because — like AIPAC — they are independent, domestic organizations.

If someone has a sincere problem with the structure of foreign lobbying, fair enough. Let us have that conversation. But singling out AIPAC alone is not a search for truth. It is bias dressed up as bravery.

Anadolu / Contributor | Getty Images

If someone wants to question foreign aid to Israel, fine. Let’s have that debate. But let’s ask the right questions. The issue is not the size of the package but whether the aid advances our interests. What does the United States gain? Does the investment strengthen our position in the region? How does it compare to what we give other nations? And do we examine those countries with the same intensity?

The real target

These questions reflect good-faith scrutiny. But narrowing the entire argument to one country or one dollar amount misses the larger problem. If someone objects to the way America handles foreign aid, the target is not Israel. The target is the system itself — an entrenched bureaucracy, poor transparency, and decades-old commitments that have never been re-examined. Those problems run through programs around the world.

If you want answers, you need to broaden the lens. You have to be willing to put aside the movie script and confront reality. You have to hold yourself to a simple rule: Ask questions because you want the truth, not because you want a target.

That is the only way this country ever gets clarity on foreign aid, influence, alliances, and our place in the world. Questioning is not just allowed. It is essential. But only if it is honest.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.