It wasn’t that long ago when the names Chip and Joanna Gaines conjured images of shiplap walls, farmhouse sinks, and a squeaky-clean, down-home Christian family just trying to “do life” together while remodeling your grandmother’s kitchen. They rose to fame as the power couple behind Fixer Upper, an HGTV juggernaut where Chip played the goofy contractor and Joanna played the stylish eye with a Bible tucked behind her reclaimed wood headboard.

They cashed in on middle-America charm, all while building a brand empire that now includes everything from coffee mugs to an entire network.

And now?

Now they are the executive producers of Back to the Frontier, a brand new HBO Max Original reality series—the same moral landfill that brought you euphoria, sexual depravity, and the glorification of everything your grandmother warned you about.

The premise of the show is to take three families and plop them into a recreated 1881 pioneer experience for eight weeks. No electricity. No cell phones. No toilet paper. Just “faith,” “family,” and, of course, feelings.

But underneath the prairie skirts and corncob stoves is a vile mockery of what’s being sold. Because this isn’t about honoring history or “finding peace in the simple life.” No, this is about social re-engineering. This is about baptizing moral confusion in the waters of nostalgia and calling it good, clean fun.

Back to the Frontier features a homosexual couple with two adopted sons. Front and center. Not in passing. Not as a side note. They are one of the three core families, and they are portrayed as indistinguishable from the rest—as if God never said a single word about family, fatherhood, or the structure of a household. As if all that stuff in Romans 1 was just Paul having a bad day.

But here’s where the show crosses from just tasteless into downright tyrannical: the children.

These two young boys, already placed into an unnatural arrangement of perversion and debauchery in real life, are now paraded across national television as visual proof that all families are “valid”—an idea so meaningless it might as well be a flavor of La Croix. They are used—exploited—as emotional cudgels against anyone with the moral spine to say, “This is not right.” They are filmed. Scripted. Smiled at. Made into mascots for this social experiment no one voted for.

Do you see the game? Take innocent children, place them in a context their Creator never intended, call it “love,” and then dare the viewer to object—because who could possibly criticize those sweet little children just doing chores in suspenders?

This isn’t reality TV, this is reality distortion.

And the masterminds behind this facade are the beloved “Christian” couple, Chip and Joanna, of course. The same ones who used to smile with a Bible in one hand and a sledgehammer in the other. They’re not passive bystanders here. They executive-produced this. That means they approved the script, signed off on the edits, and cashed the checks.

They saw the footage. They knew what they were platforming. And they did it anyway—with a rainbow-colored promotional banner slapped across their logo like it’s just another line of throw pillows at Target.

You can’t prop up a counterfeit and call it conviction.

You can’t redefine family, parade children through your ideological carnival, and call it “representation.”

You can’t serve two masters—and Chip and Joanna have made it crystal clear which one they’re bowing to now.

Why take a genre rooted in tradition and smuggle in the very ideologies that dismantle tradition? Why call something a “frontier experience” when the only thing being pioneered is new levels of moral surrender? Why portray children as perfectly content in a broken household arrangement, when the only reason they appear happy is because they’re too young to understand they’ve been made pawns in a televised propaganda campaign?

The answer is simple: because deception sells. This is the modern Christian celebrity. They platform the culture, parade the children, collect the applause, and shrug when asked if it violates Scripture.