But Welch and Palka aren’t fire-and-brimstone populists. They are careful. Disciplined. They speak moderation while building something more durable: nurturing a generation of young conservatives who will carry their teachings into agencies, congressional offices, the judiciary, and a returning Republican administration.

So does King’s function as a soft-power pipeline for young conservatives in Washington? Its leaders bristle at the suggestion.

“We have nothing to do with getting people jobs…. We have never, ever, ever done that,” says Palka. “I do think it could be a by-product, though.”

“Part of the Christian faith is that we don’t compartmentalize it,” says Welch. “So we want people to see that it does influence [your career], just like how your faith influences your family, your relationships, your kids, so that’s just natural to how the church operates—it’s not like this is the goal.”

King’s has done 250 baptisms in eight years. Palka jokes more than once that I could be baptized at their next ceremony. When I ask how long it takes to join the church, he smiles: “It could take 15 minutes, it could take 15 years.”

He believes Gen Z is drawn not to megachurch gimmicks like slingshots and zip-lining pastors but to ancient ritual. King’s recites the Nicene Creed weekly, rare among evangelical churches. Members must affirm nine core beliefs: God as Father, Son, Holy Ghost; Jesus fully God and fully human; born of a virgin; lived without sin; died; rose again; and will return to judge the living and the dead. Scripture is final. The church must carry out Christ’s mission until he returns.

“They’re looking to retrieve some of those anchors that have been lost,” Palka says. “That is something the young people are flocking to—the high church liturgy.”

Space, not attendance, is King’s real problem. Expansion plans to cities like Paris and Berlin are on hold until they secure a permanent space in DC, and they need money. Their flock consists largely of interns and junior staffers, earnest but broke.

Palka knows that securing a physical home would give King’s another ring of relevance, one more proof point that the church can be an institution.

“We thought we’d have a building by now,” says Palka. “You can hit up a denomination for funding, but this capital campaign, it’s been very slow.”

Worshippers show up a half hour early to claim seats, and some longtime congregants have grumbled about the intern influx. One faction, calling itself “King’s Church Members Take a Stand,” lines the back wall to save room for newcomers.

They launched with a $50,000 loan from the Southern Baptist Convention’s North American Mission Board—small by megachurch standards but enough to launch a movement. “I would love if we had a building of our own one day,” Palka says. “All the statistics say it gives the Church credibility, it makes it more real in people’s eyes when you see that it’s their location.”

Robertson, the 26-year-old running the intern ministry, may be one of the church’s most influential figures. “It’s a really interesting city,” he says. “The fact that 25-year-olds kind of run the government.” He is, in effect, their shepherd.

Conservatism Inc.

For interns living on stipends, King’s offers free lunches, Nationals tickets, and speaker events featuring K Street veterans, senior aides, operatives, and even a Fox News producer. There are mixers too, where future staff assistants meet future legislative directors.

For the Republican Party, that makes King’s more than a church. It’s a long-term investment.