Similarly, if we’re not careful, the grandeur of the story of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection can become boring. Consistently walking through Scripture brings great blessing, but without careful attention, our familiarity with the gospel will lead to complacency.

Dorothy L. Sayers’s cycle of 12 radio dramas, The Man Born to Be King, offers an opportunity to disrupt the routine. Sayers was a mystery writer in the golden age of detective fiction whose novels and short stories about Lord Peter Wimsey remain popular today. She turned her attention to writing dramas for stage and radio in the 1930’s and eventually shifted her focus to translating Dante’s divine comedy into English. Originally broadcast in 1941 and 1942, The Man Born to be King is a succinct harmonization of the canonical Gospels that continues to move readers (or listeners) beyond seeing Christ’s teachings as “detached pronouncements unrelated to the circumstances that called them forth.”

C. S. Lewis, writing in a letter, celebrated how “D. Sayers [sic] Man Born to be King has edified us in this country more than anything for a long time.” The cycle of plays was so significant that he noted in 1958, “I have re-read it in every Holy Week since it first appeared, and never re-read it without being deeply moved.” High praise, and for good reason.

Concrete Content

The first play opens with the arrival of the wise men in Jerusalem. Revolutionary rumors are in the air as two courtiers play dice, highlighting the attempted coup by Herod’s son Antipater. That background, often the historical garnish of evangelical sermons, takes concrete form in these plays, explaining Herod’s call for the slaughter of the innocents in Bethlehem.

Without careful attention, our familiarity with the gospel will lead to complacency.

With his household full of traitors, Herod cannot allow the rumor to go out that there’s a man born to be king who is, as one of the three wise men describes him, “Prouder than Caesar, more humble than his slave: his kingdom shall stretch from the sun’s setting to the sun’s rising, higher than the heavens, deeper than the grave, and narrow as the human heart.”

Dramatic representation of the life of Jesus requires interpretation and ornamentation, of course. So we get James reluctantly obeying Jesus at the feeding of the 5,000:

Better put a bold face on it. . . . Now you people! The Rabbi knows you’ve come a long way and you must be tired and hungry. We didn’t expect such a large party and we can’t invite you to a banquet—only some bread and fish. But our Master makes you welcome to what we’ve got.

And imagined dialogue must be used to move the story along. Thus the man born blind (John 9), named Jacob in the drama, laments in a distinct dialect,

Well! . . . Funny world ain’t it? Turned out of ‘ouse and ‘ome at this time o’ night. . . . All very well to talk about gettin’ a job, but ‘oo’s goin’ to employ a bloke what’s been kicked out o’ the synagogue?

We see, through Sayers’s imaginative depiction, this working-class, formerly blind man experience the world in entirely new ways:

Excuse me, but ‘ave you every looked at the moon? Really to look at it, I mean? You wouldn’t think anything could be as pretty as that, if you wasn’t ‘ardened to it, in a manner of speaking. Think what you’d feel if it come all fresh to you, like it does to me—fresh as the day it was created.

We, as the formerly blind man suggests, can become hardened to the world because of our familiarity—we’re often complacent, too, about the jaw-dropping drama of the gospel. Sayers can help us see it “fresh as the day it was created,” which is the overall effect of the cycle of plays that ends with the wonder of Christ’s ascension after he issues the Great Commission. This imaginative approach makes these stories concrete again.

Public Controversy

The modern dialogue that brings the story to life led to controversy, as Sayers predicted in her early discussions with the BBC director who commissioned the plays:

The only difficulty I foresee is in a right choice of language. It would not, of course, be suitable to give to Christ any speeches which do not appear in the Scriptures, but if all the other characters ‘talk Bible’, the realism will be lost, whereas if they talk modern English we may get a patchwork effect.

Before a single syllable was read on the radio, public outcry arose. Word got out (and was exaggerated by some journalists) that Sayers used language not drawn from the Authorized Version. Additionally, some worried the divine Christ was being represented, which they held violated the prohibition against graven images.

Yet because it was a radio drama, where an actor read the words of Christ (which Sayers translated from the Greek herself), the production and broadcast went on as planned. “Not a single alteration was made to appease the organised opposition,” a BBC official claimed.

A few minor changes were made to limit the use of some contemporary slang terms. However, the substance remained intact. As in many public controversies, the more debatable issues—like Sayers’s invented political motivations for Judas’s betrayal of Jesus or her choice of chronology in the timing of the Last Supper—were obscured behind a cloud of superficial complaints. Concerns about form were prioritized over meaningful discussions about content.

Though Sayers suffered from the slings and arrows of outrageous public controversy, she largely achieved the desired result. Millions heard the original broadcast and Christ became real for them for the first time. Many knew about some “fairy tale” figure known as Jesus who spoke in Elizabethan English, yet as a secretary who typed out the manuscripts wrote, “I never believed Christ really lived!”

Doctrinal Drama

Sayers saw these radio plays as “an admirable medium through which to break down the convention of unreality surrounding Our Lord’s person” and  thought they “might very well pave the way to a more vivid conception of the Divine Humanity which, at present, threatens to be lost in a kind of Apollinarian mist.”

She was trying to bring the strong meat of Christian doctrine into the public imagination because, as she argues in “Creed or Chaos?,” “The brutal fact is that in this Christian country not one person in a hundred has the faintest notion what the Church teaches about God or man or society or the person of Jesus Christ.”

Sayers allowed the doctrinal content of Christianity, as represented in the Gospels, to shock the audience.

Sayers allowed the doctrinal content of Christianity, as represented in the Gospels, to shock the audience.

She notes, “It is curious that people who are filled with horrified indignation whenever a cat kills a sparrow can hear that story of the killing of God told Sunday after Sunday and not experience any shock at all.” Her work was to faithfully transpose the Gospel stories into a modern idiom to strip away the mystique of regal-sounding language, which distracts from the electric truth. As she wrote,

It is the dogma that is the drama—not beautiful phrases, nor comforting sentiments, nor vague aspirations to loving-kindness and uplift, nor the promise of something nice after death—but the terrifying assertion that the same God who made the world, lived in the world and passed through the grave and gate of death. Show that to the heathen, and they may not believe it; but at least they may realize that here is something that a man might be glad to believe.

This is precisely what Sayers does in The Man Born to Be King, which is why I, like Lewis, regularly revisit these plays. They disrupt my complacency about the spectacular story of the gospel, the A to Z of the Christian faith.

The Gospels tell us Christ made a world of difference in the space between his birth and death. He didn’t come simply to die for us; he came to live for us.

What difference did he make? Let’s imagine a world without his influence.

Value of Children

The ancient world was a dangerous place to be born. The infant mortality rate, writes Robin Lane Fox, was “almost inconceivably high.” In fact, writes Everett Ferguson, it’s “the dominant fact about children in the ancient world.” Child sacrifice could be found in pagan Samaritan rituals. Abortion was often attempted.

In ancient Rome, a common practice involved “setting out” unwanted children—due gender discrimination, fear of omens, the child’s deformity, or simply a desire to lessen a family’s financial burden. Many died from exposure, and those who survived often became slaves. Exposure was practiced in several countries and across the economic spectrum. An Egyptian papyrus dating to 1 BC gave this advice: “If by chance you bear a child, if it is a boy, let it be, if it is a girl, expose it.”

But then Jesus entered into the place of hatred and spite, teaching and practicing a different way, forever increasing the value of children. People brought little children to Jesus, and he welcomed them with open arms, telling his followers the key to faith is to be more like a little child (Matt. 18:3–4; 19:14).

Christians took notice. A second-century letter announced that Christians “marry, as do all [others]; they beget children; but they do not destroy their offspring.”

On his conversion to Christianity in 312, the emperor Constantine enacted laws credited with discouraging newborn exposure and encouraging the rescue of abandoned infants; 62 years later, under another Christian emperor, Valentinian I, child exposure was legally prohibited. Believers from the first few centuries viewed the protection of orphans as a Christian duty, raising them in their homes and, later, using church buildings or monasteries as shelters and schools (James 1:27).

Do you value children? Jesus and his followers are directly responsible for creating this cultural instinct.

Value of Women

The world before Christ wasn’t known for its elevation of women. Severe discrimination was commonplace, and female children were far more likely to be abandoned, exposed, or aborted. Even in Rome, women were treated (at best) as second-class citizens, unable to vote or hold political office.

Then Jesus entered the picture. Female followers supported Jesus’s ministry (Luke 8:1–3), told others of his good news (John 4:29), and were among the first to witness his resurrection (Matt. 28:1–10).

The world before Christ wasn’t known for its elevation of women. Then Jesus entered the picture.

The followers of Jesus took notice. Paul demanded husbands love their wives like Christ loved the church. In terms of salvation, the church wasn’t to distinguish between “male and female,” since we are “all one in Christ Jesus” (Gal. 3:28). The Western traditions of human rights, human equality, and women’s rights have been strongly influenced by Christian thought. The countries with the most rights for women have traditions of Christian influence.

Do you value women? Jesus and his followers made that standard.

Care for Widows and the Elderly

Concern for those nearing the end of life wasn’t a high priority in the ancient world, and in many places, care for those without family wasn’t a social concern either.

But Jesus saw value in those most in need of aid. He raised to life the son of a widow, pointed to another widow as the prime example of virtue, and made sure his mother was cared for in the wake of his death. He railed against religious customs that “[devoured] widows’ houses” (Mark 12:40) or allowed people to sideline their responsibility of providing for their aging parents (7:10–13).

Again, Jesus’s followers took notice. Paul’s first letter to Timothy outlines the high honor given to older men and women and tells the people of God to provide money and care to the widows among them. “If anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household,” the apostle warned, “he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever” (1 Tim. 5:8).

The non-Christian world took notice as well. The second-century satirist Lucian claimed an imprisoned believer was constantly visited by others of the Christian community—a people he described as “poor wretches” and “aged widows and orphan children.”

Do you demonstrate practical care to widows and the elderly? Jesus and his followers did.

Value of Human Life

It’s been said nothing is as painful as watching “man’s inhumanity to man.” The Roman gladiator games are an example. During a four-month celebration for the emperor Trajan, as many as 10,000 gladiators fought to the death. Christians were often thrown into the arena to be eaten by wild animals—and people watched it for sport.

That is, until the fifth century, when a monk named Telemachus jumped into the arena to try to stop a gladiatorial match and was stoned by the crowd for interrupting their sport. Moved by Telemachus’s martyrdom, the Christian emperor Honorius banned gladiator combat once and for all.

Do you value human life, and would you find watching people die for sport inhumane? Jesus and his followers were influential in making the world see this too.

Human Equality

Slaves made up as much as 30 percent of the Italian populace in the century before Christ was born—and nearly half were owned by the elite, who constituted less than 2 percent of the population. The mortality rate among these slaves was morbid indeed; a slave was lucky to survive his or her teen years, while the average life expectancy among the general population in Rome was in the mid-20s.

But Jesus taught a new way of envisioning our relationships with one another. He questioned the hearts of those who wished to be master over others rather than seeking to be servant of all (Mark 9:35). He taught that all who belong to God are brothers and sisters to Christ and to one another (Matt. 12:46–49; 23:8; Luke 8:21). He challenged his Jewish contemporaries with an illustration in which he praised a Samaritan as the example of virtue (Luke 10:25–37), and he angered them with tales of God’s mercy and compassion toward those outside their religious and social circles (4:16–29). He offered healing and salvation regardless of social class (Mark 5:1–43).

For those who owed (or were owed) a sizable debt (which often led to slavery when unpaid), Jesus taught the principles of forgiveness and love of neighbor over love of money (Matt. 6:12, 19–24; 18:21–35). The concept of “lording it over others” wasn’t to characterize the people of God (Matt. 20:25–27; Mark 10:42–44); instead, the world would know Christians by their love for each other (John 13:35).

The followers of Jesus took notice. It’s no coincidence the British abolitionist William Wilberforce was a Christian, that nearly two-thirds of his American counterparts were ministers, or that leaders for racial equality such as Martin Luther King Jr. operated out of deep Christian principles.

Do you value freedom, dignity, and equality across racial divides? Jesus and his followers led the way.

Charity

It’s hard to find any record in the ancient world of an organized charity effort or a place of healing for all in need. Romans would help injured soldiers recuperate, but only for their own benefit, so the soldiers could return to the field.

The concept of ‘lording it over others’ wasn’t to characterize the people of God; instead, the world would know Christians by their love for each other.

By contrast, Jesus describes recipients of the kingdom as actively caring for the hurting among us. “As you did it to one of the least of these my brothers,” said the Lord, “you did it to me” (Matt. 25:40).

The followers of Jesus took notice. In the fourth century, Christians established the first hospitals for all in need, whether their maladies were leprosy or blindness. In the Middle Ages, there was one source for more than 2,000 hospitals: the Benedictine monks; by the 16th century, these same monks were caring for the sick within their 37,000 monasteries.

The tradition is still obvious. From the Salvation Army to the Red Cross to the YMCA, from Francis of Assisi to Mother Teresa, from Florence Nightingale to Louis Pasteur—the history of modern medicine and the care for hurting people pays its debt to the Christian story.

In Paris today stands possibly “the oldest continuously operating hospital in the world”—known for a millennium as Hôtel-Dieu (house of God). Think of the closest hospital to you—chances are the name Baptist, Methodist, St. Vincent’s, St. Luke’s, or something similar is attached. That’s not a coincidence.

What difference did Jesus make? A world of difference. And he’s still living and active, waiting to change lives for the better.

Every child is different. Some are naturally more cautious or distrustful; others are carefree risk-takers. It’s helpful to know your children and to shape your conversations around what they need to hear and learn. But whatever your child’s bent, here are six ways you can begin to train them in safety skills.

1. Teach kids developmentally appropriate views of sex, sexuality, and their bodies.

Kids who know correct body parts and God’s view and design for sex (including the boundaries he’s given) are better prepared to identify sinful corruptions of his design. Kids don’t need to grow up thinking sex is shameful or bad but a good part of God’s creation intended for a man and a woman in marriage. The more kids have a positive, accurate view of sexuality, the more likely they’ll be able to spot the counterfeits.

2. Instruct kids to respect their own bodies and other people’s.

At a minimum, respect means not touching other people’s genitals, or “private parts.” When talking to kids about this rule, don’t be afraid to be specific. Use scientific names for genitalia. Kids should also know it’s wrong for anyone else (aside from a doctor) to touch them in these areas.

Respect also means you don’t do or say things about others’ bodies that may make them uncomfortable. Give kids concrete examples, and role play the difference between loving/respectful and unloving/inappropriate treatment of bodies. For example, you might say, “Always ask permission to give someone a hug. You don’t hug someone who doesn’t want to be hugged. You should never ask others to remove their clothing, and they should never ask you to remove your clothes. You don’t make joking comments about someone’s body. You don’t show others pictures, video, or movies that have naked bodies, or include inappropriate talk about bodies.

Using language like “respect” and “love” shows kids what is valuable. When we role play and talk through possible scenarios, we guard our kids against those who would cause them harm.

3. Train kids to pay attention to situations and people who make them feel uncomfortable.

Kids may feel uncomfortable for lots of reasons. They may be confused, pushed outside their comfort zone, or put in a risky situation they can’t make sense of. Some argue children should never have to endure forms of affection that make them uncomfortable lest they learn to ignore signs of abuse, but it’s better to teach kids to pay attention to what makes them uncomfortable and evaluate why. For example, if your child doesn’t want to hug grandma because “Grandma smells like moth balls,” you can teach your child that love sometimes moves us towards people who make us uncomfortable. However, if your son doesn’t want to hug grandma because she puts him on her lap and pats his bottom, then it may be right to let him know he doesn’t have to hug grandma, and that you will support him. The key is teaching your children the skill of discernment.

Discernment teaches kids to pause and notice what makes them uncomfortable and then to evaluate why. Once again, practice and role playing is key. Discuss  what makes your child feel uncomfortable and talk through the reasons. Help your child decide what to do in each scenario, and encourage her to brainstorm options. This is a great way to help your kids grow in discernment.

4. Instill the ability to discuss hard topics without fear, shame, or embarrassment.

In order to teach kids to talk about hard things, you must model it. It is our job as parents to bring up uncomfortable topics and talk about them openly. Kids watch parents and other adults to find out if a topic is safe to discuss. Our body language and tone of voice demonstrate whether a particular topic is the most comfortable, natural thing in the world to talk about, or whether it’s a topic mom and dad that makes us uncomfortable. If kids learn that no topic is too difficult for you, they’ll learn to come to you when they experience something uncomfortable. Children are being groomed by our culture to believe that parents are irrelevant. Work hard to demonstrate to your children that you have wisdom to offer.

5. Prepare your kids to disobey.

Tell your kids, “If someone tells you the right thing to do, you should always do it, no matter who it is. If someone tells you the wrong thing to do, you should never do it—no matter who it is—and I (as your parent) will support you.”

As parents, we spend much of our time teaching our kids obedience. But it’s equally important to teach children when to defy authority. Children are more likely to be abused by someone they know. They must learn not to try to discern someone’s motives, but to evaluate his words and actions (regardless of who the person is). Again, this won’t only help to prevent a child from abuse, but also to stand against a powerful world system that sets itself up against Christian values. Our young people are being groomed by culture to accept evil as good and good as evil. Learning to discern right from wrong—learning when authority is in the right and when it’s wrong—prepares kids to go into the world, and not be of the world.

Such discernment must also be constantly practiced. Children need to be given examples of what a babysitter, relative, teacher, or coach may ask them to do that isn’t right, and they need to know they have your permission to defy someone who tells them to do the wrong thing. Be willing to brainstorm with your child commands from a babysitter that are wrong, and how you’d want them to react. Talk through ways a coach might make them uncomfortable and how they could respond.

6. Teach them the safe people to seek out when in need.

Kids need to know that strangers aren’t necessarily dangerous. Dangerous people are dangerous, and dangerous people can be people you know or don’t know. How do you know if someone is dangerous? Watch their words and actions.

Children need to know which people in their lives are wise and safe to turn to in times of need. Talk with your children about who they can trust if parents aren’t available (or if they’re afraid to talk to a parent). Find ways to give your children access to those safe individuals. For example, you may want to ensure other safe adults’ phone numbers are in your child’s phone. Explain where and whom to go to if he’s lost and what the child should do and say if he’s in an unsafe or uncomfortable situation.

Children need to know which people in their lives are safe to turn to in times of need.

We don’t want to raise fearful kids, but kids confident and equipped for whatever they may face. We want to protect our kids from harm and to help them know what to do when in peril. So as you put in practice these five encouragements, be sure to pray with your children about the dangers we face in our fallen world. Model trust in God for them. Cultivate openness about what’s going on in their lives and point out ways you see evidence of God at work. The more our children know God and his ways, the safer and wiser they become.

Praise and encourage your kids when they’re willing to talk about tough topics. Role-play hard situations, and then role-play through them again. The more your children feel prepared, the less they’ll be confused by difficult situations and the more likely they’ll respond well.

Are you wearied by our culture of contempt?

Are you exhausted by being in a continual state of outrage?

If you answered yes, maybe that’s why you listen to or watch the Gospelbound podcast. You also might want to pick up the new book by Irwyn Ince, because he asks these three questions at the outset of Hope Ain’t a Hustle: Persevering by Faith in a Wearying World (IVP).

Ince is the coordinator of Mission to North America, which is under the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA). Previously, he was a pastor at Grace DC Presbyterian Church. He’s also the author of The Beautiful Community.

“Christian hope seems unreasonable,” Ince writes, “because very often we will not experience victory in this life. Christian hope informs this life by being a forward-facing and upward-gazing perspective as our great high priest intercedes for us.”

Indeed, Christian hope is countercultural in the world, and even sometimes in the church. Ince wrote this book in part because he wanted us to know that faithfulness to Christ isn’t the same thing as waging culture wars effectively. At the same time, Christian hope doesn’t guarantee coasting above the storms of this life. “When you reject the world,” Ince writes, “the world often wants to eject you.”

So why do we endure? Because of Christ, of course. Ince writes,

If the arc of the moral universe does indeed bend toward justice, that arc will never be smooth and straight from a human perspective. It will have twists and turns, ups and downs, starts and stops. Our hope, if it is to be enduring, must be rooted in the glory of Jesus Christ.

Ince also serves on the Board and Council of The Gospel Coalition. He joined me on Gospelbound to discuss where he finds hope, how we can hear the voice of the Lord, and why telling the truth about injustice is a friend to hope.

And in our increasingly secular age, additional fears and questions arise: Is my son anxious or depressed? Is she struggling with her sexuality or experiencing gender dysphoria? Is my teen addicted to social media, porn, video games, alcohol, drugs?

All this leads Christian parents to their greatest concern: Is it possible for my teen to develop a strong faith in God amid a culture that celebrates sin, promotes self, and declares truth to be whatever feels good in the moment?

Just reading these questions may have you reaching for the blood pressure cuff. Our world is shouting at us each day with new fears, new statistics, new advice, and new ways of keeping up with the Joneses in the exhausting job of raising our kids. It’s no wonder parents feel as lost and unsettled as their teens.

When we feel afraid or uncertain, we can act like the Israelites—we turn to idols for comfort and relief. We chase down worldly promises of success, wearying ourselves and our teens to the point of exhaustion trying to find life in what can never satisfy. Too often, we battle our fears by attempting to take control—of our teen, of our circumstances, and of the culture around us. But our self-guided attempts at solutions only leave us increasingly anxious and angry.

Amid an uncertain and ever-changing world, believers can (and should) remain the most hopeful of parents.

Hope’s Source

Our hopefulness isn’t a nebulous positivity or a blindness to the culture surrounding us. Joshua and Caleb saw the powerful people and fortified cities of Canaan, just like the other spies (Num. 13). Yet they remained hopeful. Why? Because they knew God was with them.

As parents, we can acknowledge the giants of our secular culture while courageously trusting that God is more powerful than our enemies. We turn from man-made idolatrous solutions by developing a deep, daily trust in and reliance on God—his promises, his Word, his plan. Here are five reasons we can have hope as we raise our teens in a secular age.

1. We have access to divine wisdom.

New ideas about parenting spring up in every generation. It’s tempting to go along with the latest and greatest new trends from parenting experts. However, every book and trend represents the advice of a finite and limited human being. Some offer better advice than others, but the most profound human understanding is merely a drop compared to the infinite ocean of God’s wisdom.

Amid an uncertain and ever-changing world, believers can (and should) remain the most hopeful of parents.

The Bible isn’t the offering of a human teacher. The Bible is divine wisdom revealed to humans by the Holy Spirit. That’s why we can be hopeful parents.

As we read and understand the timeless truth of God’s Word, we’re changed. Our minds are transformed and we receive wisdom from God. Every human expert will make mistakes. There’s always more to understand. But God’s Word provides eternal insight—from the Creator who knows all there is to know about all things. His Word offers discernment, wisdom, and understanding that helps us navigate new trends with timeless truth.

So when that new parenting advice tells you something in opposition to God’s Word, don’t fear. Don’t turn from God’s truth. You’re building your home on a rock. The storms will come, but the foundations of truth stand firm.

2. We have access to divine help.

As parents of teens, there’s so much we can’t control. We don’t have the power to change hearts. We don’t have the ability to change circumstances. We don’t even have the wisdom to know what’s best in many cases (maybe that sports team we desperately wanted our teen to make wouldn’t have been good for his walk with God). We don’t know the end from the beginning.

But God does (Isa. 46:10). He knows what’s best. And he invites us to bring all our burdens, fears, anxieties, and insecurities and cast them on him because he cares for us (1 Pet. 5:7). When we don’t know what to do, we can ask God for wisdom with the assurance he’ll generously provide (James 1:5). Our prayers matter. We can be hopeful because we aren’t left alone, wandering in a maze of parenting decisions. God is parenting us as we parent our teens, and we can cry out to him as Father, knowing he hears and answers our prayers.

3. God uses families.

Our kids live in a rapidly changing culture. We rightly wonder if anything we say or do can combat the worldly advice and misguided messages they hear each day. While it’s wise to be aware of the messages our kids are receiving, we must also remember that God works through families (2 Tim. 1:5).

God is parenting us as we parent our teens, and we can cry out to him as Father, knowing he hears and answers our prayers.

What’s happening in your home is powerful. The love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control of a Spirit-filled home is a blessing to your teen. The best way to battle the world’s attractiveness is to give our kids something better. Social media can’t compete with real community—and that community begins in the home.

As Christian Smith and Amy Adamczyk explain in their book, Handing Down the Faith,

Some readers might be surprised to know that the single, most powerful causal influence on the religious lives of American teenagers and young adults is the religious lives of their parents. Not their peers, not the media, not their youth group leaders or clergy, not their religious school teachers. Myriad studies show that, beyond a doubt, the parents of American youth play the leading role in shaping the character of their religious and spiritual lives, even well after they leave the home.

Not every child raised in a Christian home will come to faith, but our homes are an important part of creating an atmosphere where faith can flourish. Amid a secular world, we can parent with hope because God works through families.

4. The church’s community matters.

Currently, our teens face a loneliness epidemic. According to one study, “In a sample of one million adolescents, school loneliness increased between 2012 and 2018 in 36 out of 37 countries around the world. Nearly twice as many adolescents displayed high levels of loneliness in 2018 compared to 2012, an increase similar to that previously identified in clinical-level depression in the U.S. and UK.”

Kids are more connected than ever—and lonelier than ever. Many attribute this change to the use of cell phones and its adverse effects on teen social behavior.

But according to multiple studies, weekly church attendance makes a significant difference in teens’ lives. Researchers reported,

Participating in spiritual practices during childhood and adolescence may be a protective factor for a range of health and well-being outcomes in early adulthood, according to a new study from Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health. Researchers found that people who attended weekly religious services or practiced daily prayer or meditation in their youth reported greater life satisfaction and positivity in their 20s—and were less likely to subsequently have depressive symptoms, smoke, use illicit drugs, or have a sexually transmitted infection—than people raised with less regular spiritual habits.

God knows what our teens need—the community of the church. The benefits of church attendance continue throughout young adulthood: “The results showed that people who attended religious services at least weekly in childhood and adolescence were approximately 18% more likely to report higher happiness as young adults (ages 23–30) than those who never attended services.” The daily rhythms of the Christian life affect our teens. This is another reason we can parent with hope.

5. God is at work.

We often want to control circumstances so our kids never face difficulties, trials, or failure. We anxiously fret about this or that, trying to make everything easier for them. However, the Bible reminds us God is at work in everything—hardships, struggles, and even others’ sins against our child.

Joseph was tossed in a pit by his brothers. He was unjustly thrown in prison. He was forgotten by those he helped. He spent years of his life far from those he loved. But at the end of his life, he looked back and said to his brothers, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good” (Gen. 50:20).

We can parent with hope because we know our circumstances aren’t left to chance. We’re not one decision away from ruining our teen’s life. God is somehow working all things for good, even in our failures, even in our trials. As Paul encouraged the Romans, “We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope” (Rom. 5:3–4).

We can parent with hope because we know our circumstances aren’t left to chance.

There’s nothing more difficult than walking through hardships with our teens. Yet because God is at work, we can be hopeful. We may not understand, but we can trust he has a plan.

As we trust in the Lord, we set an example for our teens. And our hopefulness is an apologetic to the watching world (1 Pet. 3:15). In a secular age, we can have courageous confidence, not because the world is secure but because the object of our hope empowers our joy: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope” (Rom. 15:13).

But God didn’t leave them in their destruction. Through the pen of Jeremiah, he left them with instructions for their years in Babylon:

Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. For thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel: Do not let your prophets and your diviners who are among you deceive you, and do not listen to the dreams that they dream, for it is a lie that they are prophesying to you in my name; I did not send them, declares the LORD. (Jer. 29:4–9)

The key to this passage lies in the beginning: build houses and plant gardens. God didn’t encourage mere survival or give them permission to wallow in their suffering; he told them to get busy. “What should you do? You should do what I’ve always commanded you to do. Be fruitful and multiply. Live life. Love me and love others.”

These instructions aren’t so much a time-bound set of rules as they are a blueprint of God’s command to all humans for all time.

What does all this have to do with Gen Z and their evangelism? Everything.

Tweeting to Babylon

Growing up in the social media age, I’ve witnessed the development of internet ministry as a way to reach the lost. TikTokers post attention-grabbing videos to ask if they can pray with you, Twitter users share short Bible verses, and platforms are filled with quick devotionals. (I admit I’ve used my Instagram account to “evangelistically” post short devotionals in the hope people would find them during scrolling sessions.) No doubt God has used these means to bring people to himself, but the approach as a whole is insufficient.

Since people scroll all day and ingest endless bite-size pieces of entertainment, tossing a religious element into the mix often ends counterproductively, with the medium reshaping the message to its form. Following Jesus devolves from whole-life worship into scrollable “snack” entertainment. I appreciate how one post might inspire reflection, present biblical truth, and share the gospel. But I’m unconvinced this should be the strategy we channel our best energy toward.

Bite-size theology creates underfed, anemic Christians. Tweetable apologetics or TikTok theology rarely inspire substantive reflection from opponents because the medium urges us simply to swipe on to something else. If we’re to reach Babylon for Christ, we’ll need to do more than just post content that might be found—but might also get lost—amid the glut of media. We need to be a faithful, countercultural, compelling everyday presence.

Embodied Presence in Babylon

Unbelievers have always needed a steady diet of tangible Christian presence in their lives through which they hear the countercultural gospel and see it in action. This happens best in the mundanity of everyday life, not the ecstasy of social media’s dopamine shopping mall.

If we’re to reach Babylon for Christ, we’ll need to do more than just post content that might be found—but might also get lost—amid the glut of media.

And so we must build houses and plant gardens in exile—the ordinary stuff of “doing life” in a physical, offline, long-term way. When we pursue embodied presence (v. 4), seek the place’s welfare and pray for it (v. 7), and hold fast to the true word of God (v. 9), we’ll be better positioned to lead people to Jesus in a way that challenges and disrupts the worldly status quo.

Whether or not they realize it, Gen Zers don’t need the watered-down social media Jesus (or a hypercaricatured, wrath-only Jesus). They don’t need a Jesus whose teachings they “like” from time to time, whenever those teachings happen to fit with whatever else the algorithm serves up. They need a Jesus who truly transforms all aspects of their lives. This is the Jesus of the Bible, and he’s far more satisfying than the distorted versions we make in our own image.

The Great Commission commands believers not to attract followers but to make disciples—a term implying lifestyle apprenticeship to the way of Jesus (Matt. 28:18–20). In our flesh, we’re prone to love the Jesus who satisfies fleshly appetites (John 6:27), but when the going gets tough, the carnal followers often get going (v. 66).

The warning rings true that how you win the lost is how you’ll have to keep them. If shallow, crowd-pleasing evangelism is one ox, the other must be shallow, crowd-pleasing discipleship to keep the plow moving in a straight line. Perhaps we should pause to reconsider the direction the plow is heading.

Long-term, messy, foot-washing discipleship is the most fertile soil for Gen Z converts. Instagram devotionals can provide occasional rain to aid growth, but sustainable growth requires good soil tended with hands-on care. God can use any type of soil, but it’s wise for the farmer to focus on planting in rich soil. Yes, God gives the growth, but Paul still planted faithfully (1 Cor. 3:6).

One way my church is striving to live this out is through our training program. Inspired by Paul’s instruction to “train yourself for godliness” (1 Tim. 4:7–8), the program provides an intensive environment for discipleship within intergenerational cohorts.

Long-term, messy, foot-washing discipleship is the most fertile soil for Gen Z converts.

Participants make deep connections, share burdens, and celebrate sanctification, not only in the short term but also after graduation. Young believers draw from the well of older believers’ experience and faithfulness, helping increasingly conform them to the image of Jesus. The goal is that as these disciples are equipped, they’re sent to evangelize and develop deeply rooted followers of Jesus in their relational networks.

Whatever it looks like in our local contexts and churches, let’s aim to follow the long-game example of Daniel and others who demonstrated faithfulness in Babylon. Let’s be faithful followers of Jesus in exile, preaching the gospel and discipling others in the countercultural way of Christ until he brings us home for good.

Then the final paragraph of the acknowledgments astonished me. Rhodes writes,

One final note. The chapter headings come from Philip Bliss’s hymn popularly known as “Man of Sorrows.” Bliss spent his early years working as a music teacher but became an itinerant evangelist in his mid-thirties on the advice of D. L. Moody. He wrote “Man of Sorrows” in 1875, shortly after this career change. But Bliss would never see his fortieth birthday. On December 29, 1876, a trestle bridge collapsed as the train carrying him and his wife passed over it. Most of the carriages disappeared into the snow-covered Ashtabula River valley below. Bliss himself survived the fall but was last seen heading back into the wreckage to rescue his wife from the flames. Neither body was ever found. I know little else about him.

I’d never heard Bliss’s story before. Not only did I grow up singing his hymns, but this tragic accident took place about an hour away from where I live and pastor. Although the author knew little else about him, I wanted to know more.

Name on the Top Right

When you open a hymnbook, the name on the top left of a page typically indicates who wrote the words to the song. The name on the top right indicates who wrote the tune. Sometimes one person is responsible for both, but generally the song is the result of multiple artists.

As I read more about Bliss’s work, I learned he wrote the tune to one of the most beloved hymns of the English language—“It Is Well with My Soul.” Horatio Spafford wrote the words, so his name appears on the top left of the published hymn. And on several occasions, I’ve heard the song introduced in congregational worship by recounting Spafford’s story. First, the Great Chicago Fire. Shortly after, the tragic loss of his four daughters in a shipwreck. Then his journey across the same waters, which inspired him to pen the words “when sorrows like sea billows roll.” It’s a powerful story of resilient faith in a sovereign God.

Bliss, whose name appears on the top right, composed the song masterfully. It’s hard to imagine it with another tune. In 1876, he published it with Ira Sankey in Gospel Hymns No. 2. At the end of that year, the Lord would “haste the day” in an unexpected way and Bliss’s faith would be made sight. Yet, composed and published, his tune would help Spafford’s song find a home in countless hearts and minds.

Name on the Top Left

Although Bliss and his wife, Lucy, were never recovered, his trunk somehow survived the crash and ensuing fire. A manuscript found in the trunk contained the words to “I Will Sing of My Redeemer.” In Bliss’s honor, James McGranahan composed the tune, and the song was later published. It’s one of the only songs where Bliss’s name appears only on the top left.

It’s hard to discern the “triumphant power” of the Redeemer in the Ashtabula Train Disaster, as it came to be known. Can we sing about the “victory he giveth over sin and death and hell” when such tragedies continue to happen? In Chicago, where Bliss was headed, his friend Moody was visibly shaken. A report from the Chicago Tribune described a spirit of sadness that prevailed throughout the day as Moody and others spoke to the congregation gathered at the church.

Can we sing about the ‘victory he giveth over sin and death and hell’ when such tragedies continue to happen?

The loss was profound. It was unexpected. Bliss was young, and his work and gifts were beginning to have a broad reach. He was becoming so commercially successful that he began taking money from royalties and giving them in support of charity and evangelism. Moody even felt compelled to defend Bliss’s reputation because his popularity resulted in jealousy and envy in some.

Christ’s victory over sin and death and hell, however, still belonged to Bliss. The victory doesn’t take away the reality or inevitability of our death, but it secures for us eternal life beyond death. Although Bliss never made it to Chicago on that December trip, he never missed a moment of worshiping the Redeemer who sealed his pardon, paid his debt, and made him free.

Man of Sorrows, What a Name

“Man of Sorrows” was the last hymn Ira Sankey ever heard Bliss sing. Bliss’s name is on the top left and right of this hymn. The words and the tune came from him. The focus, however, is entirely on Jesus.

Man of Sorrows! What a name
For the Son of God, who came
Ruined sinners to reclaim:
Hallelujah! What a Savior!

Bearing shame and scoffing rude,
In my place condemned he stood,
Sealed my pardon with his blood:
Hallelujah! What a Savior!

Guilty, vile and helpless, we:
Spotless Lamb of God was he;
Full atonement! Can it be?
Hallelujah, What a Savior!

Lifted up was he to die
“It is finished!” Was his cry:
Now in heaven exalted high:
Hallelujah! What a Savior!

When he comes, our glorious King,
All his ransomed home to bring,
Then anew this song we’ll sing:
Hallelujah! What a Savior!

There’s much to reflect on in Bliss’s story. He was gifted with natural talent and blessed by the kindness and support of others. He knew poverty and he knew riches. His work has endured far beyond his life, even though his life ended so young. God used him to come alongside others like Spafford and help their work flourish. God also used others to take up Bliss’s unfinished work and complete it so the world could be blessed through it.

Whether our name appears on the top right or top left, or both, or neither, may God grant us the same resolve to point others to the One whose name is above every name.

Technologically, the advance of powerful AI technology holds promise but also peril (such as the technology “tak[ing] over,” as AI’s founder worries). Politically, there are doubts as to how much longer a democracy can be sustained, a concern heightened in an election year. Looking abroad, conflicts on multiple fronts lead us to wonder whether we’re teetering on the edge of the next world war. There’s also the ongoing pinch of sin we experience in our communities and lives.

Trust is key for weathering our fears. It acts as a trellis in the tumult. The problem, though, is that we don’t have much trust left. Ironically, the path toward distrust is motivated by self-protection. Trust, so the thinking goes, will hurt us in the end. So we build a buffer of skepticism toward others, especially toward institutions and those in power.

As we tread further down distrust’s path, what began as self-protection ends up hurting us and our communities. The hedge of skepticism that was supposed to protect becomes a prison. We’re left isolated and afraid in a world that appears to be careening toward doom.

Jesus’s triumphal entry on Palm Sunday teaches us that no matter how unstable and dangerous the world feels, we can trust him.

Jesus’s triumphal entry on Palm Sunday teaches us that no matter how unstable and dangerous the world feels, we can trust him.

Such trust requires two ingredients: command and care. You trust a good plumber because he has a command of the trade and cares for you. If he has no command of plumbing, you probably shouldn’t trust him, no matter how much he cares. But if he doesn’t care, then no matter his command, he isn’t looking out for your best interests and will probably try to take advantage of you.

Command and care are both essential for trust. Take one or the other away and healthy skepticism makes sense; after all, Jesus instructs his disciples to be “shrewd as serpents” (Matt. 10:16, CSB).

Jesus’s Command

For Jesus’s disciples, the lead-up to Palm Sunday was marked by trepidation. They dreaded the return to Jerusalem, for Jesus narrowly escaped stoning the last time they were there (John 11:8). Tensions were high and the world felt unstable. On top of all that, Jerusalem was buzzing with activity as pilgrims flooded the city to celebrate Passover.

Still, Jesus has command of the situation. He instructs his disciples,

Go into the village in front of you, and immediately as you enter it you will find a colt tied, on which no one has ever sat. Untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, “Why are you doing this?” say, “The Lord has need of it and will send it back here immediately.” (Mark 11:2–3)

Jesus’s prediction and its fulfillment remind his disciples he’s in command of the situation. As Holy Week unfolds, the intensity will only heighten as his power and authority clash with the rulers and authorities in Jerusalem. When he’s arrested, his followers will abandon and deny him, fearing they may be next.

Nonetheless, these instructions remind his disciples of something important: when it feels like everything is spiraling out of control, Jesus is still in charge and his commanding kingship rules over the smallest detail.

When it feels like everything is spiraling out of control, Jesus is still in charge and his commanding kingship rules over the smallest detail.

Jesus’s ministry had already demonstrated his command over sickness, storms, demonic forces, and death. As he enters a chaotic and hostile Jerusalem under a canopy of waving palm branches, he essentially says, “I’ve got this. I am in control.” Commentator James Edwards puts it like this: “[Jesus] does not enter Jerusalem as an unknowing victim, but with . . . foreknowledge and sovereignty”—or we might say, competency and command.

Jesus’s Care

Perhaps we don’t doubt Jesus’s command but question his care. After all, if he’s in charge, why is the world (or my life) filled with such pain? Palm Sunday shows us Jesus also has the second ingredient necessary for trust: care.

Zechariah 9 tells of a righteous king, humble and mounted on a donkey, who’ll bring salvation to Jerusalem. This king’s peace will extend to the ends of the earth. Lest Jesus’s three years of ministry leave any doubt he was bringing forth the “year of the Lord’s favor” (Luke 4:19), his entry on a beast of burden speaks loudly of his salvation and care.

Luke’s account gives an additional detail that points to Jesus’s care at his triumphal entry: his tears (19:41). Jesus weeps over Jerusalem’s rejection of him and his kingdom. He is not in a huff; he is brokenhearted. Not long before weeping for Jerusalem, he wept over the death of Lazarus (John 11:35). In both instances, Dane Ortlund observes, it is sorrow for others that draws out Jesus’s tears, for he is the King who cares.

But do Jesus’s command and care hold up against the threats we face—nuclear war, a volatile market, another pandemic, AI, a precarious democracy, a school bully, an overbearing boss, a difficult spouse, besetting sin? Consider a diver plunging into shark-infested waters. How does a person do such a thing? He has a cage of protection that can fend off any attack.

Jesus’s triumphal entry teaches us that his command and care, like the shark cage, outweigh and overpower every threat we face. He can be trusted, and so our governing posture in a chaotic world can be galvanizing trust. While the world, flesh, and Devil bang and bite against our lives, our refuge is in the mighty King on the donkey.

That Bible went through at least two rebindings, and most of its pages were creased, tattered, or coffee-stained. A few pages were even partially torn. It held almost three decades of markings and notes made from sermons, Bible studies, and personal devotions. Perhaps most interesting were the dozens and dozens of Post-it notes I stuck on the pages when I gave short devotionals or homilies. Some were over 20 years old, going back to when I was a youth minister.

I gave my son this Bible for two reasons. First, I wanted him to take a physical Bible to college. Second, I wanted him to experience, through all the visual clues, a fully used Bible—a sort of generational witness to the importance of keeping the faith.

Do Physical Bibles Still Have Value?

Recently, the elders of our church had an interesting conversation about physical Bibles. As in many churches, we’ve noticed an increasing tendency for people to use Bibles on their phones or to not bring a Bible to church at all. This is especially true for younger generations.

I wanted him to experience a fully used Bible—a sort of generational witness to the importance of keeping the faith.

At first, the conversation focused on purchasing more pew Bibles so copies are easily accessible in every row of our church. But as the conversation evolved, we began to consider the unintended consequences of this—sending the signal that we don’t expect people to bring their own physical Bibles to church. Of course, we also considered the need to have Bibles for those who don’t own one or who may not be Christians.

In the end, our elders decided to provide more Bibles in the pews while also exhorting people to bring their Bibles to church. We’re grateful God’s Word is easily accessible through electronic means, and almost all of us use electronic versions of the Bible regularly. But holding a physical Bible in our laps during worship has unique benefits.

1. It creates a visual memory of Scripture texts.

After using the same Bible for decades, I can visualize where on a page a meaningful Bible passage is located. Even when I can’t remember the exact reference, I know if I scan the pages of my Bible, I’ll eventually run across that pink highlighted section with several notes on the lower left corner of the page somewhere in the Pentateuch.

2. It enables curious exploration while listening to a sermon.

Holding your Bible in your lap while a preacher expounds a text has obvious benefits for following the sermon. But it also provides opportunities for the Spirit to prompt your mind to read sections of the page that aren’t being preached on or to flip to a cross-referenced verse, creating interesting connections with the larger text.

3. It limits distractions from mobile devices.

Having a physical Bible in our hands gives us something solid to hold and drastically reduces the temptation to thumb swipe from our Bible app to email or the latest sports scores.

4. It provides a durable place to write and keep notes.

The columns of our Bibles make a great space for scribbling notes or interesting insights from preachers, Bible teachers, and even our own minds as we listen to scriptural proclamation. Some Bibles are published with wide margins to accommodate note-taking.

5. It signals Scripture’s value to the next generation.

In a culture that’s always looking for what’s new and next, there’s something redemptively subversive about holding open an ancient book every Sunday morning. To the younger people seated around us in our sanctuaries, this seemingly simple act sends a tangible signal of abiding value.

6. It creates a spiritual keepsake for the next generation.

Regularly reading and studying the same physical Bible creates a living keepsake we can pass on to someone in our family who can carry on the work we started. Lord willing, he or she will in turn pass it along to the following generation.

A physical Bible drastically reduces the temptation to thumb swipe from our Bible app to email or the latest sports scores.

I may have given my well-worn Bible to my son, but as I write, I’m looking over at a 1914 edition of the Greek New Testament with my wife’s great-grandfather’s name written on the inside cover. It contains his scribbles about the wonder of the gospel throughout. This Bible too has been thoroughly handled, with pages barely holding together and the binding failing. But its tatters bear witness that the faith we hold as a family was present generations ago, and they remind me that how we view our Bibles today can have generational consequences.

Kantzer was one of the leading architects of the new evangelical movement, which guided theologically conservative Christians away from fundamentalism’s cultural and intellectual isolation. He believed a seminary could combine robust biblical orthodoxy with gospel piety, evangelistic zeal, cultural engagement, and academic excellence.

This “Kantzer vision” was compelling. Trinity blossomed and soon became one of the largest seminaries in America. Its influence reached far beyond its sponsoring denomination, and it became, in Kantzer’s words, “a love gift from the EFCA to the entire church of Jesus Christ.” Trinity graduates have had a worldwide influence.

Recent years have seen declining enrollment, and, in the minds of some, a diminished connection to the EFCA. With the president of the denomination leaving that position and now assuming the role of Trinity’s president, the school is returning to its ecclesiastical roots without wavering from the “Kantzer vision.” This move helps to clarify its central mission—to train pastor-theologians, missionaries, and laypeople for ministry in the local church and through the church to the world.

Trinity and the EFCA

Trinity aims to produce biblically faithful, theologically driven, and culturally aware Christian leaders. It’s dedicated to providing theological education that’s accessible, affordable, and applicable for those who want serious preparation for the challenges of a rapidly changing, multicultural world.

Trinity aims to produce biblically faithful, theologically driven, and culturally aware Christian leaders.

This closer connection with the EFCA will enable Trinity to customize its education to the real needs of the church, with both in-person and online learning, as it explores new and creative ways to partner with local churches in educating ministry leaders.

Trinity already shares the statement of faith of the EFCA, and it has maintained a strong theological core. But this renewed relationship with the EFCA will foster a closer ethos alignment. Several aspects of this ethos stand out.

1. The EFCA takes its ‘evangelical’ name seriously—its ministry is centered on the evangel, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Its 10-point statement of faith is an expansion of this gospel, and it provides a touchstone for every aspect of ministry (for the EFCA focus on the gospel in addressing various cultural controversies, see the recent statement, “Where We Stand in the EFCA: Denials and Affirmations”). This ethos reinforces the existing Trinity motto: “Entrusted with the gospel” (1 Thess. 2:4). Trinity seeks to prioritize the gospel above all else, and, in the words of TEDS dean David Pao, to “boldly demonstrate the transformative power of the gospel which challenges and subverts all the competing ideologies that threaten the life of the church.”

2. The EFCA maintains an unwavering commitment to the authority of the inerrant Scriptures.

The EFCA motto “Where stands it written?” (echoing Jesus’s words “Have you not read?”) has resounded through the decades of its ministry, and has been a hallmark of a Trinity education.

Longtime professors Don Carson (cofounder of The Gospel Coalition, which began with Trinity support on Trinity’s campus) and John Woodbridge have published extensively in defense of this critical Christian conviction. With this renewed alignment with the EFCA, training pastors to expound the Scriptures will become an even greater priority.

3. The central EFCA distinctive is that it ‘majors on the majors.’

The EFCA seeks to focus on that which is central to the gospel and unites believers. In reflecting this value, Trinity has the opportunity to impress on a much-divided world “the significance of silence”—that is, Trinity is bound by a statement of faith that is resolutely orthodox but is silent on many issues that have divided biblical believers (e.g., the time and mode of baptism or the cessation or continuation of miraculous gifts). As a result, Trinity can bring  together faculty and students from Baptist, Anabaptist, Presbyterian, Wesleyan, Lutheran, and Holiness traditions, displaying the beauty of gospel unity.

Though intimately linked to and supportive of the EFCA and its distinctives, Trinity can still serve students from a broader spectrum of the evangelical community, especially from churches with no denominational affiliation.

4. The EFCA has always embraced the missionary mandate to go to all peoples with the gospel, and sending missionaries was one of its central purposes for joining together as churches.

The EFCA now has more than 500 missionaries serving in 40 countries. Trinity has fostered that international focus both by training missionaries to go and by receiving students from all over the world to study—students who then return to leadership positions in their churches, denominations, and schools. A Trinity education exposes its students to the worldwide church.

5. This strong connection with the EFCA underlines that Trinity is a denominationally confessional institution.

This is significant, for it means Trinity is accountable not only to a set of theological propositions but also to a people. It’s accountable to God’s people situated in local churches, where Christ dwells by the Spirit.

A Trinity education exposes its students to the worldwide church.

As the apostle Paul affirms, it’s the church of the living God, God’s household, that’s the pillar and foundation of the truth (1 Tim. 3:15). Though we often think of the seminary upholding the truth for the church (and it can), Paul declares it’s ultimately the church that must uphold the truth for the seminary. Positioning Trinity under the banner of the EFCA can help both to remain faithful to the gospel once and for all entrusted to the saints.

Return to Roots

In renewing its ties with the EFCA, Trinity is returning to its roots.

It’s entering a new day with a renewed commitment to the local church and its ministry—which is, in the divine design, the central means of God’s work in the world.

As I did in the fall, I’ve compiled a list of current or upcoming movies you might consider watching either at home or in theaters. These selections aren’t all mainstream, and a few might feel slow or artsy to some viewers. But they’re all thoughtful, well-made new releases that model virtues worth celebrating. Three of these films explicitly celebrate advocacy for vulnerable children—certainly a theme Christians should embrace in movies. Take a look at the list below and see if something here might bless you or your loved ones.

Arthur the King

When he’s not promoting prayer apps in Super Bowl commercials, Mark Wahlberg seems to be carving out a niche for himself as a family-friendly leading man. Several of his recent movies even have “family” in the title (e.g., last year’s The Family Plan or 2018’s Instant Family). The outspoken Catholic and married father of four recognizes the scarcity of life-affirming, noncringe entertainment in Hollywood—and he’s trying to fill the gap.

His latest, Arthur the King, dramatizes the true story of an adventure racer who puts together a team to trek across the Dominican Republic—and the stray dog named Arthur they pick up along the way. Based on a 2016 book, it’s an inspiring adventure tale of friendship, compassion, and perseverance. Rated PG-13. In theaters now.

Cabrini

Following up last year’s surprise hit Sound of Freedom, director Alejandro Monteverde again explores the valor in advocating for suffering children in his latest, Cabrini.

The Angel Studios film, set in 1880s New York City, tells the story of Frances Xavier Cabrini, a Catholic missionary to the Five Points neighborhood in lower Manhattan—at the time one of the most crime- and disease-ridden urban slums in the world. With excellent period production values and sweeping music (evoking Wagner), the film feels like an old-fashioned biopic.

While overlong and sometimes slow, Cabrini is a generally compelling portrait of one heroic woman’s faith-infused passion to love and protect “the least of these” (which Italian immigrant orphan children certainly were in 19th-century Manhattan). It’s not a perfect film—some of its “female empowerment” one-liners feel cringy and anachronistic—but I was impressed with its scale and elegance and especially with the lead performance by Italian actress Cristiana Dell’Anna. Rated PG-13. In theaters now. 

Irena’s Vow

Set in World War II, this Canadian-Polish production tells the inspiring true story of Irena Gut, a Polish nurse (and faithful Catholic) whose life is changed when she witnesses the horror of a Nazi soldier killing an infant. Committed to countering the Nazi culture of death with pro-life efforts to protect Jews, she risks her life to hide 12 Jews in a secret cellar of a Nazi officer’s villa, where she works as a housekeeper.

The drama is harrowing and hard to watch at times, as Irena suffers much for the sacrifices she makes on behalf of her Jewish friends. But it’s a powerful reminder of the beauty of sacrificing your comfort—even your life—to serve and protect others. The sanctity of life is on full display in Irena’s Vow, an elegant depiction of Holocaust survival and heroism that reminded me at times of The Pianist. Pair this film with One Life (see below) and discuss the lessons of valor and compassion depicted in each. Rated R. Showing in theaters April 15 and 16, 2024. 

One Life

Similar to Irena’s Vow, One Life depicts a true story of one person sticking their neck out to save others during the Holocaust. In this case, the hero is Nicholas “Nicky” Winton, a young London broker who helps rescue hundreds of predominantly Jewish children from Czechoslovakia as the threat of Nazi invasion looms. The film alternates between the civilian heroism of young Nicky (Johnny Flynn) and the memories—and guilt that he couldn’t save more—of older Nicky 50 years later (Anthony Hopkins).

The story, a sort of British Schindler’s List, is refreshingly earnest and morally clear. Like Irena’s Vow, it shows the legacy of heroes who champion life’s dignity in a world that often cheapens it. Rated PG. In theaters now.

Perfect Days

The Christian faith of German director Wim Wenders has long shaped his work (e.g., Wings of Desire, Land of Plenty, The Salt of the Earth), though often not in obvious ways. His latest film is no exception.

Set in contemporary Tokyo, Perfect Days centers on the aging Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho) who lives alone and cleans toilets for a living. The film basically follows him around Tokyo as he cleans architecturally pleasing public restrooms, takes photographs of trees, and interacts with family, coworkers, and strangers. It sounds boring and depressing; it’s anything but.

In Wenders’s Christian worldview, there’s beauty and common grace everywhere for those with eyes to see—even in the mundane. The “drudgery” of toil becomes an opportunity to choose gratitude and joyful service. Habitual or chance encounters with others are opportunities to brighten someone’s day. Perfect Days doesn’t paint a rosy picture of a falsely “perfect” world; it models a way of seeing the world that finds joy in the hard, the easy, and everything in between. Rated PG. Available to rent.

The Taste of Things 

This is one of the best food movies I’ve ever seen (up there with Babette’s Feast and Ratatouille). To watch the film’s long sequences of lovingly prepared feasts, intricately choreographed in a rustic French kitchen, is to see something of the genius of humanity’s God-given, image-bearing vocation to bring order out of chaos.

Written and directed by Vietnamese-born French filmmaker Trần Anh Hùng, The Taste of Things focuses less on plot than on the sensory encounter cinema can offer. The 1889-set movie brings us into the kitchen to the extent that we can almost smell the mushroom vol-au-vent and taste the Baked Alaska that nearly makes one character cry.

But beyond its sumptuous culinary pleasure, the film ponders the way love finds sublime expression in hospitality and service. As we watch Eugénie (Juliette Binoche) and Dodin (Benoît Magimel) take turns making each other meals, outdoing one another in the TLC of French country cooking, we’re basking in the beauty of mutually self-giving love. Rated PG-13. In theaters now.

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar

Acclaimed director Wes Anderson’s signature aesthetic and quirky storytelling style perfectly fits Roald Dahl’s fiction (as we learned in his 2009 adaptation of Fantastic Mr. Fox). His recent short film (39 minutes long) inspired by Dahl’s 1977 “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” is visually captivating and narratively brilliant.

Featuring Benedict Cumberbatch in the title role, the fanciful tale is a moral fable of sorts, showing the beauty of one self-interested man gradually recognizing the emptiness of greed and possessions and the beauty of living generously. Anderson won his first Oscar for this movie (best live action short film), and it’s much deserved. Rated PG. Watch on Netflix.

Wonka

Roald Dahl is having a moment. In addition to Anderson’s superb Henry Sugar short, the Christmas-released Wonka (starring Dune’s Timothée Chalamet) explored the backstory of Dahl’s iconic chocolatier, Willy Wonka. I was skeptical about the premise going in, but the film—from the director of the Paddington movies—far exceeded my expectations and ended up making my best movies of 2023 list.

Wholesome, nonwoke, high-quality, watch-it-with-the-whole-family films are all too rare these days, and yet Wonka (which was a huge box office hit) shows there’s audience hunger for this kind of fare. Here’s hoping Hollywood pays attention. Rated PG. Available to rent.

Does Paul create a “theological” story about Jesus that contradicts the “social and ethical” gospel Jesus preached?

In any conversation around these questions, building common ground can make navigating disagreements easier. Let’s be honest: evangelicals can unintentionally place a greater focus on Paul than on Jesus. The apostle’s letters usually make more direct, literal, and logical claims than what you find in narrative passages. We all have genres of Scripture that appeal to us and tempt us to develop a personal “canon within the canon.”

What Did Paul Mean by ‘Gospel’?

The “two gospels” claim asserts Paul was preaching a gospel story about Jesus that came to him secondhand. Jesus, meanwhile, preached about a new way of life associated with the arrival of the kingdom.

We all have genres of Scripture that appeal to us and tempt us to develop a personal ‘canon within the canon.’

Such a message certainly corresponds with Mark’s summary of Jesus’s preaching (Mark 1:14–15). (Ironically, this passage is likely Mark’s summary of eyewitness accounts passed along to him—not unlike the experience of Paul.) But did Jesus define his “social and ethical” gospel as turning to a new way of life that would lead to justice and generosity for all?

To answer this question, we must return to the beginning of Mark. Mark uses “the gospel” in his title to the book in 1:1 (“the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God”). In this title, he defines “gospel” as an account of Jesus that depicts him as the the Christ (or Messiah) and the Son of God (Jewish and Roman titles for a king).

How did Mark come to do this?

In the first-century Roman world, the term “gospel” (euangelion) didn’t describe a biographical narrative about someone’s life; it described victories given by the gods on the battlefield as well as the birth, rise to power, and decrees of the divine ruler (e.g., the Priene calendar inscription about Augustus Caesar).

The verb euangelizō (“I proclaim the good news”) was used in the Septuagint, particularly in Isaiah (e.g., Isa. 40:9–10; 52:7–10), to announce that God was acting to save his people from exile, overthrowing the idolatrous rulers of the world and establishing his reign. By citing Isaiah 40:3 in his introduction, Mark is using the title “gospel” to document how Jesus’s death on the cross functions as his entrance into his kingly reign.

This gospel from the Gospels doesn’t contradict Paul’s gospel. In 1 Corinthians 15:3–11, Paul emphasizes how the proclamation of the cross and resurrection fulfills the Old Testament story. He affirms the historicity of the resurrection by recounting that Jesus appeared to Peter and James—men the “two gospel” advocates claim were Paul’s enemies. In Romans 11:1–7, Paul explains that the gospel he preached was a fulfillment of the prophets’ promises: God would rescue his people through Jesus’s death and resurrection, resulting in his enthronement as king.

Why Did Paul Refer to ‘My Gospel’?

If Paul and Jesus agree, why does the apostle use the phrase “my gospel”? It’s worth observing that he only adds the modifier in “my/our” six of the 60 times he used the term “gospel.” He highlights how his gospel includes a judgment performed by King Jesus (Rom. 2:16), enables the obedience that comes from faith (Rom. 16:26), and empowers endurance as believers are persecuted because of Christ (2 Cor. 4:3; 1 Thess. 1:5). These examples demonstrate that rather than differentiating his message from Jesus’s, Paul is aligning it.

By comparison, Paul uses “the gospel” without any qualifier 27 times. This most common designation reflects his understanding that the gospel he preached was the same one preached by the Jerusalem church (Acts 15:22–30). Additionally, Paul uses “gospel of Christ” (e.g., Rom. 15:19) and “gospel of God” (e.g., 1 Thess. 2:2) in ways that parallel Mark 1:1 and 1:14. The gospel revealed to Paul (Gal. 1:11–12) aligns with Jesus’s plan—that the Gentiles would hear the good news of Jesus’s kingship, which enables people to be saved (Matt. 24:14; 26:13; Mark 13:10; 14:9; Luke 24:44–49).

The gospel Paul preached was a fulfillment of the prophets’ promises: God would rescue his people through Jesus’s death and resurrection, resulting in his enthronement as king.

How should the unified gospel of Jesus and Paul affect the church today?

First, we should consider whether we do favor Paul, elevating him in a way that pits him against Jesus. We should learn to appreciate the entire Bible, not just our favorite testaments, genres, or authors.

Second, we should have confidence that Paul articulated “the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” faithfully. His concepts and language have roots deep within the Old Testament and in the ministry and message of Jesus as recorded in the Gospels.

Last, we should be bolstered in our belief that the entirety of the Scriptures perfectly reveals God to his people. He entrusted his church with 66 books, and the early church placed these books alongside each other as Christian Scripture.

We mustn’t elevate our own reasoning to unhitch portions of what God has revealed to his church. If we manipulate what’s left into a supposedly biblical argument, we fall into representing our sensibilities rather than God’s truth.

• The New City Catechism
• The New City Catechism Devotional
• The New City Catechism for Kids
• The New City Catechism Curriculum Kit

“We’re thrilled with how many individuals, families, and churches have benefited from The New City Catechism since its release in print,” said Collin Hansen, TGC vice president of content and executive director of The Keller Center for Cultural Apologetics. “For Christians both young and old, the need for accessible catechetical resources feels especially urgent today, when pervasive digital media ‘catechizes’ us whether we know it or not. I pray The New City Catechism continues to bear fruit for generations to come.”

The catechism’s 52 questions and answers were adapted by Tim Keller and Sam Shammas from Reformation catechisms for use at Redeemer Presbyterian Church in New York City. In 2012, TGC partnered with Redeemer to offer the catechism in app and online formats.

In 2017, Crossway published a print version of the catechism, as well as an accompanying devotional edited by Collin Hansen. The devotional helps readers go deeper with the doctrines in the catechism and includes a relevant Scripture reading, a short prayer, and a devotional commentary written by contemporary pastors (e.g., John Piper and Kevin DeYoung) and historical figures (e.g., Augustine and Martin Luther).

In 2018, The New City Catechism for Kids was released, designed to teach the core doctrines of the Christian faith to children ages 4 to 11. This coincided with the release of a larger curriculum kit, a boxed set intended to facilitate teaching core Christian doctrines to children in a Sunday school, classroom, or homeschool setting.

To aid in learning and memorizing the catechism, TGC produced Songs from the New City Catechism, a musical resource available for free on Bandcamp, Spotify, Apple Music, or the New City Catechism mobile app. Overseen by Betsy Childs Howard, the creation of the music and the curriculum were made possible in part by a generous grant from The John Templeton Foundation.

“Perhaps no modern catechetical effort has garnered more attention and acceptance than TGC’s New City Catechism,” said Justin Taylor, Crossway’s executive vice president of book publishing. “With a half million copies now in distribution, we give thanks to God. Crossway is honored to publish this suite of resources, and we pray for the Lord’s continued blessing upon it for the good of the church.”

Taylor added that he likes how J. I. Packer—who referred to himself as a “latter-day catechist”—once defined catechism: “intentional, orderly instruction in the truths that Christians are called to live by, linked with equally intentional and orderly instruction on how they are to do this.”

Tim Keller, who cofounded TGC in 2005, also believed in the crucial importance of catechesis and wrote in the introduction to The New City Catechism Devotional, “If we re-engage in this biblical practice in our churches, we will find again God’s Word ‘dwelling in us richly’ (see Col. 3:16), because the practice of catechesis takes truth deep into our hearts, so we find ourselves thinking in biblical categories as soon as we can reason.”

For more information on The New City Catechism and to access all the digital and print materials, visit https://newcitycatechism.com.

This is the ground Timothy Carney surveys in Family Unfriendly: How Our Culture Made Raising Kids Much Harder Than It Needs to Be, a rare work that combines rigorous social science and cultural analysis with Roman Catholic wisdom and wit. The book moves from the practical (“have lower ambitions for your kids”) to the political (chapters on urban planning and pro-family policy) to the civilizational and spiritual—all while sustaining an underlying sense of humor.

Guided by Carney—a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute and senior columnist at the Washington Examiner—we learn the difference culture can make. “Pregnancy,” Carney observes, “is contagious” (164). Catholics, already renowned for their large families, have even larger families when they’re enmeshed with Latter-day Saints in Utah. In Israel, surrounded by Orthodox Jewish families with five or more children, even secular families are larger than the norm in the United States or Europe. Clearly, something more than individual beliefs and preferences is driving these outcomes.

However, culture isn’t always benevolent. While parenthood is (and always will be) challenging, modern culture makes it uniquely brutal in two important ways: loneliness and perfectionism.

Parenting Alone

Every aspect of our modern lives, including parenthood, is lonelier than it used to be, especially for stay-at-home parents. In the mid-20th century, the vast majority of married couples lived on one income, freeing up the other spouse (almost always the wife) to cultivate community life. But today, single-income households barely make up a third of the country. Spouses who choose to stay at home are losing out on the community of other stay-at-home parents that helped previous generations stay sane through early parenthood. There are simply fewer people at playgrounds and other shared spaces for children and their parents to meet and play with during the normal working day. Faced with a choice between being lonely at home or in community at work, parents understandably choose community.

Every aspect of our modern lives, including parenthood, is lonelier than it used to be, especially for stay-at-home parents.

But our culture is worse off for it. Civil society is built on the presence and labor of stay-at-home parents; without them, it falls into a vicious cycle. As Jane Jacobs argued in The Death and Life of Great American Cities, public spaces devoid of people become unsafe. Fortunately, it works the other way as well, as Carney argues: “An America with more moms and dads at home throughout the day will be an America with safer neighborhoods, which in turn is an America with freer kids and freer parents. An America with more full-time moms and dads is an America with happier kids, healthier kids, and, in the long run, more kids” (234).

We need to stop treating families with young children like they’re a drag on society. In reality, they’re its lifeblood. Carney’s point here is counterintuitive but correct:

We owe it to our parents to let them care for our kids. We owe it to not-yet-married twentysomethings to have them look after little tots. We owe it to the never-married or those who couldn’t or didn’t ever have children to leave them with some part of caring for the children of the community. (95)

Without children to make claims “on our time, on our resources, on our bodies, and on our love,” we fall all too easily for the myth of autonomy (260). As Carney describes it, “Autonomy precludes being dependent on anyone. . . . Trusting another person with your fate, leaning on someone, is weakness—it’s a betrayal of your own self-determination” (258). Children remind us it’s normal to need someone to tie our shoes, open a juice box, or wipe our nose.

Perfectionistic Pelagian Parenting

The primary temptation of our modern parenting, however, is that we have to fashion perfect people. Carney calls it the “Travel Team Trap”; we might call it “Pelagian Parenting.” Parents become seemingly convinced they must prepare their children for the rigors of college applications by decades before an application is due, carting kids across state borders every weekend for sports and extracurriculars if they’re to amount to anything. Moreover, every nuclear family must achieve this on its own, which is another form of autonomy.

Our culture’s push for autonomy is a modern spin on an old heresy. Much like the Pelagianism that arose in the fifth century, the myth of autonomy misrepresents what it means to be human. It claims human beings can handle things on their own, that with enough muscle and gumption, we’re wholly self-sufficient to meet life’s greatest demands—whether something so grandiose as earning our salvation or mundane as keeping our children quiet for the full duration of the Sunday sermon.

By God’s providence, young children quickly smash our sense of autonomy and independence as we’re at our wits’ ends in trying to keep our kids alive and in line, even in a healthy two-parent household. Carney notes, “To have children is to surrender autonomy—and that’s why they are an invaluable blessing” (261). Whether we’re parents or merely press-ganged into the nursery on Sunday, caring for children requires learning how to surrender. As Carney acknowledges, “The road of surrender and love is and always has been the only path to happiness” (259). Parents who try to control their children’s behavior to keep them safe and quiet end up being unhappy and often with emotionally fragile children.

Young children quickly smash our sense of autonomy and independence as we’re at our wits’ ends in trying to keep our kids alive and in line.

Behind Pelagian Parenting lies a fear of loss of control, manifested not just in zealous overscheduling but in what Carney calls “helicopter mandates” driven by a distorted sense of danger (50). Both aspects are driven by the fear of failing our children by letting “something preventable . . . happen to them” (52). Growing evidence indicates that “helicopter parenting” contributes to anxiety and depression among kids whose parents fight too hard to keep them safe. The irony is that our overparenting is a much more realistic threat to our children’s wellbeing than what keeps us worrying (death, kidnapping, spontaneous combustion). As it turns out, we even have to learn to surrender our fears. One of the ways we can do that is by having more kids, because even engaged parents don’t have time to hover when they have lots of kids.

Become Holy

Conservative commentators have sometimes suggested we need to have big families so we can “reclaim the culture.” Reading Family Unfriendly convinced me that’s not quite right. Rather than arguing that the future belongs to the fecund, Carney makes the case that having children can help us become better people. He writes with tongue in cheek,

The Bible tells us to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. As a parent, all I have to do is wake up and—voilà! There are hungry, naked people already in my house. They’re right there! Parenthood is mercy and self-giving made easy—or if not always easy, at least simple. (298)

Such opportunities for service are a means of common grace.

We don’t need big families—the apostle Paul might even prefer some of us remain single—but we should make having big families easier. Doing so might be essential to reclaiming ourselves as fully human: creatures made by our Maker for mutual dependence and surrender.

You’ve probably had one for the last 10 or even 15 years. And you know it’s useful in various ways, like the Swiss Army knife of the internet age. Beyond making your life somewhat easier, and somewhat more distracted, have you considered the story it tells? Has ubiquitous access to the internet made wisdom easier to attain? More attractive to pursue?

Samuel James explores these fascinating and vital questions in his new book, Digital Liturgies: Rediscovering Christian Wisdom in an Online Age (Crossway). Samuel is the associate acquisitions editor at Crossway and author of a newsletter, Digital Liturgies, where he covers Christianity, technology, and culture.

In this book, he summarizes the story of the internet age: “The digital liturgies of the web and social media train us to invest ultimate authority in our own stories and experiences as they separate us from the objective givenness of the embodied world.” To be more specific, we become users known by words, pictures, and shares instead of flesh and blood, voices, and facial expressions. 

Samuel explains this story isn’t accidental. It was explicit from the architects of our age. According to Samuel, they told “a story of humanity wherein salvation consists of overcoming givenness itself, curating a custom existence, and achieving freedom from boredom, limitation, ignorance, and even death.”

We need biblical wisdom, then, to understand and resist these cultural narratives so we can thrive in our time. We need God’s help to love him and love our neighbors as ourselves. Samuel joined me on Gospelbound to help us understand more of the digital story and to offer advice to parents, pastors, and even the editor in chief of The Gospel Coalition.

Baptist Press, the official news service of the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC), recently ran an article highlighting the abuse allegations against Paul Pressler, a seminal figure in the SBC. For example, the church where he served as a deacon, Houston’s First Baptist Church, “rebuked Pressler in 2004 for being nude at his home with a young man from the congregation.” That same year, Pressler settled a lawsuit by Duane Rollins, who had accused him of sexual assault.

Another lawsuit by Rollins against Pressler was settled in 2023. Documents uncovered in that sexual abuse lawsuit further link Jared Woodfill, a politician seeking to become speaker of the Texas House, with the abuse scandal involving Pressler.

The Pressler scandal once again reveals how conservative Christian leaders were willing to turn a blind eye to decades-long accusations of sexual abuse.

Who is Jared Woodfill?

Woodfill is an attorney from Houston known for his expertise in civil litigation. He served as the Harris County Republican Party chair for several years. He has been involved in various state and national campaigns, often advocating for conservative issues and candidates. In 2015, Woodfill played a key role in defeating the Houston Equal Rights Ordinance, which extended civil rights protections to cover homosexuality and transgenderism.

His role in such campaigns has positioned him as a key player in Texas politics, where he’s currently running to be a representative in the state legislature. If elected, he has said he’ll run for speaker of the Texas House.

Who is Paul Pressler?

Pressler is a figure of considerable influence and controversy within the SBC. He’s best known for his pivotal role in the “conservative resurgence.” This movement, which gained momentum in 1979, aimed to steer the SBC back to a more conservative theological and ideological stance, particularly concerning the issue of biblical inerrancy. Pressler’s efforts, often in collaboration with other leading figures like Paige Patterson, led to a significant shift in the SBC’s leadership and direction. This shift had far-reaching effects on the Southern Baptists’ policies, educational institutions, and overall approach to ministry and evangelism.

Pressler served as a deacon and Sunday school teacher at First Baptist Church of Houston. He also served on the SBC Executive Committee (1984–91), the International Mission Board (1992–2000), and the Baptist World Alliance’s General Council. In 2002, he was elected as first vice president of the SBC, a largely honorary role that supports the office of the president.

Outside his involvement in the SBC, Pressler had a notable career in law and justice. From 1978 to 1992, he served as a justice on the Court of Appeals of Texas, 14th District. After retiring from the bench, he practiced law with the firm of Woodfill and Pressler, where Jared Woodfill was a partner.

Recent allegations of sexual abuse against Pressler have cast a shadow over his legacy. The accusations have been made by multiple men over several decades. One of the accusers, Rollins, filed a lawsuit in 2017 alleging Pressler had sexually abused him for nearly a quarter century, starting when Rollins was a teenager. The lawsuit mentioned other men who came forward with similar accusations.

A settlement was reached in the Rollins lawsuit, which also involved the SBC and its Executive Committee. The settlement ended the case before a jury could determine Pressler’s guilt.

The claims against Pressler sparked an investigation by the Houston Chronicle into allegations of sexual abuse in Southern Baptist churches and to nearly five years of calls for abuse reform within the denomination.

What is the connection between Woodfill and Pressler?

Woodfill was Pressler’s former law partner and was included in the lawsuit by Rollins. He was also mentioned in an email filed in a lawsuit related to the sexual abuse allegations against Pressler. The email, written by a young man who was resigning as Pressler’s personal aide, asked Woodfill to stop paying him to work out of Pressler’s Houston mansion. The email shed light on Woodfill’s supposed involvement in the situation and his connection to Pressler.

According to the Texas Tribune, during sworn testimony in the Rollins lawsuit, Woodfill said he’d known since 2004 of an allegation that Pressler had sexually abused Rollins as a child. Woodfill says he learned of those claims during mediation of an assault lawsuit filed against Pressler by Rollins that Woodfill helped settle for nearly $500,000. Despite his knowledge of the accusation, Woodfill continued to work with Pressler for nearly a decade.

In his testimony, Woodfill said that while Pressler did almost no work for their law firm, he was given numerous young male assistants to provide for his and his family’s needs. Two of those men have accused Pressler of sexual assault or misconduct.

Woodfill has denied any wrongdoing and said in a text message to the Tribune that he “had not read the aide’s letter, and does not know him or another man who said in 2004 that Pressler forcibly undressed and groped him.”

What was the substance of the email?

The email allegedly implicating Pressler was filed in fall 2023 in the Harris County District Court as part of a lawsuit that accused Woodfill and others of concealing decades of abuse by Pressler.

In 2017, a male student at Houston Baptist University who was hired by Woodfill’s law firm to work for Pressler sent the email to Pressler’s family. The student says he witnessed Pressler “getting young men who work for him to give him full-body massages, with all present parties in the nude.” He also claims this of the 86-year-old Pressler:

[He] told me that he went skinny dipping in the hot tub with [name redacted] and his three young boys that are ten years old and younger. . . . After bragging about his hot tub experience Paul [Pressler] told me “you seriously need to get over your phobia of taking off your clothes with me.” This upset me greatly. Paul then went on to say that “if the young boys were okay with getting naked in the hot tub with me then so you should be okay with it also.”

The student relates how he “watched [Pressler] manipulate a 20-year-old man [who] has previously stolen money from Paul and now is almost homeless. [The man] had nowhere to turn so he called Paul, who took this as a sign to get something out of a young man that needed help.” Pressler allegedly told the young man he’d pay him $100 to give him a massage and that he preferred they both be nude. The student continues,

We all got home and they quickly went upstairs to begin the massage. He made sure the door was locked so that Nancy could not walk in. I know this because I checked. I felt extremely sad for [the man] because I could tell on his face that he felt that he was just taken advantage of. Paul executed on the opportunity to have a young man touch him, and tried to seize the opportunity to please his eyes as he wished to look upon another naked man. Right before our exit, Paul told [the young man], “Next time I’ll massage you when you massage me” [the man] said no thanks. I know Paul said this because was standing two feet away. I observed Paul kiss [the man] six times between the two and a half hours we were all together. I know [the man] did not enjoy it because he hardly knows Paul and I could also see it on his face.

The aide then attached a resignation letter and asked that he be taken off the payroll of Woodfill’s law firm. “My conscience dictates that I step away,” he wrote. “Please do not seek future help from male students at Houston Baptist University, or from any institution for that matter. . . . Please take me off the payroll. If I am to continue receiving paychecks from Woodfill in the continuing weeks, I will have them sent back.”

As the Tribune notes, “The newly-unearthed email shows that Woodfill continued to furnish Pressler with young aides until at least 2017–13 years after he was first warned that Pressler was a sexual predator, and less than a year after he was made aware of new sexual misconduct allegations.”

I asked N. Gray Sutanto—assistant professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary in Washington, DC, and author, editor, or translator of various books including Neo-Calvinism: A Theological Introduction—about what’s on his bedside table, favorite fiction, favorite neo-Calvinism books, and much more.

What’s on your nightstand right now?

Alistair McFayden’s Bound to Sin: Abuse, Holocaust and the Christian Doctrine of Sin—since I’m writing on the doctrine of sin.

What are your favorite fiction books?

In recent memory, I deeply enjoyed Stephen King’s The Institute, but I try not to read in my spare time because the activity reminds me so much of work, so I keep up with some movies from trusted studios for storytelling. A24’s Past Lives recently was, to me, a perfect movie.

What biographies or autobiographies have most influenced you and why?

Augustine’s Confessions, because it’s a model of how to reflect theologically on one’s life; John A. D’Elia’s A Place at the Table: George Eldon Ladd and the Rehabilitation of Evangelical Scholarship in America, to remind me that it is the church that nurtures theology and not to idolize academic work; and, of course, James Eglinton’s Bavinck: A Critical Biography—it was cathartic to read this work and to see in full color the person behind the writings with which I have been working.

What are some books you regularly reread and why?

I reread Herman Bavinck’s earlier essays quite often, especially his 1894 “Common Grace” and his 1888 “Catholicity of Christianity and the Church”—his logic of why it is that Christianity is truly universal and how to engage and care for the world without sacrificing distinctly Christian convictions are formative for me. As a third culture kid, I’ve always grown up with a sense of the cultural contingencies and localized intuitions of each new place, and Bavinck taught me that one can be a faithful Christian in different contexts and in different ways.

We tend to mistake cultural differences for theological differences and thus end up antagonizing one another. His vision of how to distinguish between culture and sin—and his point that grace is only against sin and not against culture as such—spoke deeply to my own experience and how I envision Christian theology and ministry.

What books have most profoundly shaped how you serve and lead others for the sake of the gospel?

The Westminster Standards—a truly holistic Reformed confession that I think the church needs, which conveys a summary of the whole Bible in a persuasive fashion. I think good preaching requires the exposition and persuasive demonstration of our confessional standards so that our churches can see the beauty and harmony of reading the Bible in light of church history and tradition.

Darryl Hart and John Muether’s Seeking a Better Country—though a history of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, its subtle theological message therein is that one should never dilute one’s theological or confessional commitments for the sake of some secondary issue.

Tim Keller’s Making Sense of God and Preaching—he models, in both of these, an affective approach to preaching and apologetics that doesn’t merely tell us what to believe but also shows us why Christian beliefs are not only true but beautiful.

Bavinck’s many reflections on the image of God and the doctrine of revelation—that we are affective creatures exposed to God’s revelation, and that the image of God refers not just to individuals but to humanity as a whole in all of its diversity. This is why I ended up writing on the topics of theological epistemology for my first book and anthropology for my second (forthcoming) work. I’d point to volume 2 of Bavinck’s Reformed Dogmatics here and chapter 3 in his 1908 The Philosophy of Revelation.

What’s one book you wish every pastor would read?

I’m going to cheat here and mention six texts.

Francis Turretin’s Institutes of Elenctic Theology, especially volume 1, and especially the sections on the doctrines of God, Trinity, and providence and human freedom. I still remember the first time I pored over Turretin during seminary; it was life-giving as he went through profound distinctions that helped me understand the wholeness of Scripture.

Matthew Kaemingk’s Christian Hospitality and Muslim Immigration in an Age of Fear—which is a potent, Kuyperian introduction to the issue of Christianity, pluralism, and culture. I assign this regularly when I teach classes on apologetics and Islam, and it’s a needed work that invites us to drink deeply from the wells of our Reformed tradition and, simultaneously, to practice hospitality toward those who have deep differences with us.

Hart and Muether’s Seeking a Better Country—to show us that our confessional commitments must remain the heart of our ministries.

Bavinck’s 1894 “Common Grace” and 1888 “Catholicity of Christianity and the Church,” to develop that holistic vision of the universality of the Christian faith.

Bonaventure’s Reduction of the Arts to Theology, because he models for us how contemplation and action go together, and how all domains of life are “reducible” or “traceable” back to God. John Webster’s essay “Regina Artium: Theology and the Humanities” in his The Domain of the Word is also the single best essay on Bonaventure’s text and theology’s relation to the other sciences that, I think, anticipates some of the moves we see in Bavinck’s Christianity and Science. No domain of life is separable from the revelatory pressure of God’s Word.

What are your top three books on neo-Calvinism?

Go to the primary sources: the two essays I mentioned above from Bavinck, Bavinck’s Christian Worldview, and Bavinck’s Christianity and Science.

What are you learning about life and following Jesus?

Jesus is good, even when life goes up and down, and through the unpredictability of life. I find myself often thinking of Jonathan Gibson’s wonderful book for children The Moon Is Always Round—the moon is always round, even when we can’t see it. God is always good, even when I don’t feel it, can’t see it, or don’t perceive it. What a comfort.

In the Reformed Protestant tradition, Christians have sought to answer this question by distinguishing between three types of law: moral, ceremonial, and judicial. According to this view, the moral law is forever binding, the ceremonial law was intended to point to Christ and is thereby abrogated since his death and resurrection, and the judicial law is binding on non-Israelite nations only insofar as its general equity reflects the natural law.

This viewpoint doesn’t deny that Christ fulfilled the whole law or that all three kinds of law were mixed in the same old covenant and were all binding on people at that time. It simply states that when different Mosaic commands receive different treatments in the New Testament, that treatment isn’t arbitrary but reflects a difference in nature that already existed during the Old Testament and could have been discerned even then.

This approach was codified in the Westminster Confession of Faith (WCF), the Savoy Declaration, and the 1689 Baptist Confession (2LC). However, it has become common in the past century for biblical scholars to reject this threefold distinction as an artificial construct—well-intended, perhaps, but not something the biblical authors would’ve recognized. Instead, critics argue, the biblical authors would’ve viewed the Mosaic law as a seamless whole. The ethical counterpart is often that Old Testament laws are only binding when they’re repeated in the New Testament.

Yet theological editor Philip Ross makes the case in From the Finger of God: The Biblical and Theological Basis for the Threefold Division of the Law that the threefold division is worth adopting. Building on Ross, I’d like to offer four lines of evidence, followed by some brief thoughts on how the Sabbath command relates.

Evidence from the Moral Order of the Universe

Morality has always existed because it’s grounded in the character of God. Theft, murder, and idolatry were sinful before Moses received the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20. Even the Sabbath command didn’t emerge out of thin air at Sinai but was rooted in the creation account of Genesis 2:1–4 (see also Ex. 16:23).

At its most basic level, the threefold division sees the Ten Commandments as a summary of a previously existing moral law—a verbal codifying of the natural law that had been written on the human heart at creation as part of the image of God (Rom. 1:19–32; 2:12–16; cf. Acts 28:4; see WCF/2LC 19:1–2).

Ross notes this was the view not only of the Westminster divines but of many early church fathers. In the late second century, Irenaeus wrote, “For God at the first, indeed, warning them by means of natural precepts, which from the beginning he had implanted in mankind, that is, by means of the Decalogue (which if any one does not observe, he has no salvation) . . .”

Tertullian argues, “Before the Law of Moses, written in stone-tables, I contend that there was a law unwritten, which was habitually understood naturally by the fathers and was habitually kept.” This divinely inscribed natural law is the basic foundation for the threefold division. It’s how both we and the original Old Testament readers would’ve discerned the distinction between permanent moral laws and laws ritual in character.

It’s probably not an accident the threefold division fell out of favor among Reformed theologians during the same period that natural law was falling out of favor in those circles (i.e., the 20th century). But with the current retrieval of natural law in Reformed and Baptist circles, now is a good time to reconsider the threefold distinction.

With the current retrieval of natural law in Reformed and Baptist circles, now is a good time to reconsider the threefold distinction.

According to David VanDrunen, natural law is “the law of God made known in the created order, which all human beings know through their physical senses, intellect, and conscience, though they sinfully resist this knowledge to various degrees.” This law is grounded in the unchanging character of God, as it’s witnessed through the fabric of creation. Certain moral norms are shared by cultures across the globe—even those disconnected from the Judeo-Christian tradition­­­­. Anthropologist and priest John M. Cooper argues, “The universal moral code agrees rather closely with our own Decalogue.”

In contrast to these (nearly) universal moral laws, Scripture offers examples of other laws that were revealed at a particular point in history and weren’t universal, like the Old Testament dietary laws. This doesn’t mean the Israelites were free to play fast and loose with them. But it does suggest a reasonable Israelite could’ve detected a moral difference between eating pork and committing adultery. One had always been wrong; the other hadn’t.

Evidence from the Pentateuch

The distinction between types of law can be seen within the Mosaic covenant itself. In Deuteronomy 14:21, God forbids Israelites to eat anything that has died naturally, because they’re “a people holy to the LORD.” Yet in the same breath, God states, “You may give it to the sojourner who is within your towns, that he may eat it, or you may sell it to a foreigner.” This particular law was obviously not considered a universal moral norm.

In contrast, Leviticus 18 applies laws against sexual uncleanness to both the Israelites and the sojourner living among them (Lev. 18:26). It also notes these same abominations had caused the land to vomit out the Canaanites before them (vv. 27–28). Some sins are a reproach to any people, whether they’re in a special covenant with God or not (Prov. 14:34).

So when Paul Jewett claims that “the distinction between ceremonial and moral law rests upon the teaching of the New Testament, not upon location in the Old Testament,” he’s overstating his case. He’s right that the “moral laws” aren’t always neatly separated and clearly labeled. Still, his claim overlooks evidence from within the Pentateuch itself. Moreover, it fails to ask an important question: Why were these commands repeated in the New Testament, while others were viewed as a “dividing wall” that needed to be torn down?

It’s true our judgments about what’s moral and what’s ceremonial are partly based on the New Testament’s use of the Old. But that doesn’t mean the New Testament writers were pulling their conclusions out of thin air (or basing them solely on divine inspiration). Instead, they were seeing distinctions already there and following trajectories already in place.

Evidence from the Prophets and the Writings

There’s evidence from the Prophets and the Writings of what some scholars call “the primacy of morality over the cult.” Simply put, the Old Testament doesn’t treat all its laws equally—it recognizes morality matters more than ritual.

This principle is seen in passages like Hosea 6:6, where God tells Israel, “I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.” Though not a call for the immediate abolition of the sacrificial system, that verse offers a statement of priority. Such passages are vital for understanding God’s heart in Old Testament law—it’s no accident that Jesus twice quotes this passage against the Pharisees’ misuse of the law (Matt. 9:13; 12:7).

This principle can also be seen in passages like Isaiah 1:11–17, 1 Samuel 15:22–23, Psalm 51:16–17, Psalm 69:30–31, and Micah 6:7–8. The latter states,

Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams,
with ten thousands of rivers of oil?
Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?”
He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the LORD require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?

The point should be obvious: even in the Old Testament, the law wasn’t regarded as a seamless, undifferentiated whole. When Jesus spoke of certain matters in the law being “weightier” than tithing—namely, “justice and mercy and faithfulness” (Matt. 23:23), he wasn’t saying anything new—indeed, he was likely alluding to Micah 6:8.

Evidence from the Gospels

Jesus’s treatment of the law is complex. For example, when we hear him tell the cleansed leper to show himself to the priest, we’re reminded Christ was “born under the law” (Mark 1:44; Gal. 4:4)—that is, while the Mosaic covenant was still in force (even if its judicial laws were largely a moot point under Roman rule, cf. John 18:31).

Yet we also hear him laying the foundations for the eclipse of ceremonial laws, as when he tells the Samaritan woman that the place of worship soon wouldn’t matter (John 4:21) or when his comments about ritual cleanliness amount to declaring all foods clean (Mark 7:19).

But concerning the moral law, C. S. Lewis was right in saying in Mere Christianity that “Christ did not come to preach any brand new morality.” Contrary to popular belief, the “But I say to you” statements of Matthew 5:21–48 aren’t examples of Christ “raising the bar.” Instead, these verses need to be interpreted by the immediate context of verses 17–20, where Jesus stresses his continuity with the Law and the Prophets.

In any case, the examples of where Jesus supposedly raised the moral bar (i.e., love your enemies, don’t lust, don’t be angry) were already present in the Old Testament (cf. Prov. 22:24–25; 25:21–22; Ex. 20:17; 23:4–5; 2 Kings 6:22; Job 31:1). Even in the case of divorce, Jesus wasn’t starting from scratch but taking things back to the beginning of the Pentateuch (Matt. 19:3–8).

So even though it’s clear some laws have been abolished in their outward forms (see Eph. 2:14–15; cf. Mark 7:19; John 4:21; 1 Cor. 7:19; Col. 2:16–17), there’s a deeper sense in which none of it was abolished but all of it fulfilled—albeit in a way fitting for each specific kind of law. To use Ross’s language, Jesus fulfills the Law and the Prophets eschatologically (by fulfilling its prophecies and patterns), soteriologically (by saving us from our transgressions of it and writing it on our hearts), and morally (by obeying it perfectly and expounding it accurately).

When a ceremonial law is fulfilled, the shadow passes away, leaving the substance (Col. 2:16–19; Heb. 8–9). When a moral law is fulfilled, its unmitigated rigor is satisfied by Christ, leaving it as an abiding reflection of God’s will for all people (Matt. 5:18–20).

Christ isn’t arbitrarily choosing certain commandments to function as his new law. He’s reaffirming the ones that had been binding from the beginning. And when it comes to laws whose observance did expire with Christ’s death, that isn’t arbitrary either. Their abolition reflects the original nature, purpose, and trajectory of those laws.

Evidence from Paul’s Letters

Paul’s use of the law is similar. In 1 Corinthians 7:19, he claims, “Neither circumcision counts for anything nor uncircumcision, but keeping the commandments of God.” This might seem staggering at first. Has Paul not read Leviticus 12:3 or Genesis 17:12? Surely circumcision is a commandment of God—even prior to the Mosaic covenant. And yet unlike with the Ten Commandments, we have no reason to think it was binding prior to Abraham. Throughout the Old Testament, it always pointed to a greater spiritual circumcision (Deut. 10:16; Jer. 4:4; 9:25).

Christ isn’t arbitrarily choosing certain commandments to function as his new law. He’s reaffirming the ones that had been binding from the beginning.

Rather than simply concluding the absence of circumcision reflects “the law of Christ” contained in the New Testament rather than the “law of God” contained in the Old Testament (as some understand 1 Cor. 9:21), we again need to ask, Why was this particular commandment left out of the law of Christ?

Why does Paul treat some laws as obvious reflections of God’s will that even the Gentiles ought to understand (1 Cor. 5:1; Rom. 1:26–32; 2:14–15), while he regards circumcision and feast days as “weak and worthless elementary principles,” “no longer counting for anything” now that we’re adult sons indwelt by the Spirit? (Gal. 4:1–3; 4:9; 5:6; 6:15). Why does he regard some commandments as a barrier between Jews and Gentiles that needed to be torn down (Eph. 2:14–15) while viewing other commandments as still binding on Jews and Gentiles in Christ (4:25–5:5)?

When Paul quotes the command to “obey your parents” in Ephesians 6:1–3, he clearly doesn’t regard it as still binding on them simply because he had repeated it. Rather he repeats it because it’s still binding—and unlike circumcision, it always was. The same holds true of other commandments in the Decalogue (Rom. 13:9–10; Eph. 4:25–5:12; 1 Tim. 1:8–10), which Paul (and the reformers) would’ve seen as reflections of the natural law.

What About the Fourth Commandment?

Ross notes that “rejection of the threefold division has often gone hand-in-hand with anti-sabbatarianism” (343). Were it not for the fourth commandment’s inclusion, I suspect no one would object to seeing the Ten Commandments as a codification of permanent moral law. It’s the Sabbath that causes people to opt for something like “Only what’s repeated in the New Testament is binding,” especially in light of seemingly anti-Sabbath statements in Colossians 2:16, Galatians 4:10, and Romans 14.

Reformed Protestants have always differed over some details involved in the shift from the Sabbath to the Lord’s Day, as John Frame demonstrates. For example, does the Fourth Commandment reflect a “perpetual commandment, binding all men in all ages . . . [to keep] one day in seven for a Sabbath” (WCF 21.7; 2LC 22.7), or was its primary purpose to “[typify] our spiritual rest from works,” with the day of worship now largely a matter of indifference (as Calvin argued)? Is worship or physical rest the primary aim of the commandment?

Those who prefer Calvin and the Heidelberg to the WCF would do well to remember that even non-Sabbatarians like Calvin still held to the threefold division of the law (see also article 25 of the Belgic Confession).

Moreover, even the WCF recognizes that the fourth commandment contains a mixture of natural law (which is permanent) and positive law (which is flexible based on redemptive-historical circumstances; WCF 21:7). This is why (in this view) the “one day in seven” can shift eschatologically from the seventh day to the first day in a kind of Sabbath-rest inaugurated but not yet consummated.

At any rate, Reformed Christians can disagree on how much of the fourth commandment represents temporary, positive law and how much of it reflects permanent, natural law without rejecting the threefold division. Sabbatarianism and the threefold division often go together (I’m convinced of both), but they don’t necessarily have to.

Integrity of Scripture

The traditional threefold division of the law isn’t an attempt to arbitrarily cut up what was originally a seamless whole. Instead, like the threefold distinction between the persons of the Trinity, it’s an effort to allow Scripture to interpret Scripture and to integrate its teaching into a meaningful whole.

With the spirit of retrieval now long in the air, the time is ripe for revisiting this doctrine. At the very least, casual dismissals of it should be harder to sustain than they were 30 years ago. May the Lord give us understanding.

Yet anyone who’s seen the film will know that Gump’s mental and physical limitations made him the most unlikely candidate for an American hero. The same could be said of the much-lauded Patrick of Ireland. Many know him as the patron saint of that land. Others are aware of his remarkable missionary accomplishments. But no one would have predicted such an outcome for a man of his pedigree.

Unlikely Hero

Given my childhood, you should understand that calling Patrick of Ireland “the Forrest Gump of church history” is to give him a moniker of highest honor. Much has been written and published (including at The Gospel Coalition) about the Patrick of history, such as Timothy Paul Jones’s two-minute introduction. These reflections are of tremendous value. But I wish to offer my observations from what’s thus far a less common angle. My perspective is shaped with the help of Irishman John Holmes’s biography, Saint Patrick: The Man and His Mission.

The book has a Gumpesque quality. It’s only 74 pages. It’s only $0.99. Shelved beside the likes of Haykin and Freeman, its contribution seems laughable. But that’s exactly why I find it so appealing. Its humble constitution is a picture of Patrick himself.

We know little about Patrick based on the historical record. We rely in large part on the missionary’s own writings. And if we’re to let the man speak for himself, then we ought to pay attention to his self-designations. Just as Paul’s signature of “apostle” and “bondservant” revealed much about him, Patrick has left us with autobiographical cues of his own: “a sinner, most unlearned, the least of all the faithful, and utterly despised by many.”

What’s he saying to us? And why should it win our hearts?

Brilliance of the Unlearned

Patrick is well known for having established the Irish church in the fifth century. This was no small accomplishment—especially since the Roman world considered this nation the ends of the earth. As such, Patrick was able to reflect on his missionary career and say he’d preached the gospel “as far as the point where there is no beyond.” For all he knew, “Christ’s commission to go into all the world had been carried out.” What a boast!

Observing the historic Patrick on such a stage, however, is no less disorienting than watching Gump receive the Congressional Medal of Honor. Patrick was a man with little formal training. Why? Because while other boys his age were studying rhetoric and law, he was abducted and enslaved by Irish raiders. No wonder he confessed himself to be “most unlearned.” His true boast sounded more like this: “I blush and fear exceedingly to reveal my lack of education.”

I can’t help but find this endearing. Author Thomas Cahill apparently does too, describing Patrick as “a man of less intellectual refinement than Augustine but of greater humanity.” Holmes holds the same line as he concludes, “Those years spent in communication with God and in isolation from friends gave Patrick a preparation for his future work that no theological seminary could match.” Amazingly, it was Patrick’s broken human experience that laid the groundwork for him becoming a brilliant missionary.

Triumph of the Despised

It was Patrick’s broken human experience that laid the groundwork for him becoming a brilliant missionary.

In addition to credentialing himself as “unlearned,” why would Patrick include that he was “utterly despised by many”? Was it the Irish raiders and slave masters who embittered his life for six years? Was it the peers who pitied him on his return to Britain? Was it the churchmen who jeered him for returning to Ireland? Was it the pagans who persecuted him at every turn? The answer: yes. It was all of them and more who found Patrick not unlike the apostles: “the scum of the world, the refuse of all things” (1 Cor. 4:13).

Similar to an innocent Private Gump on the front lines of the Vietnam War, Patrick of Ireland appears “like a bare-footed child walking in a minefield.” We should marvel that he isn’t killed in action—or at least not discouraged from his mission. How did he continue despite circumstances that seemed as though heaven itself were against him? Holmes answers, “Patrick had a faith, not born or developed in the study, but forged on the anvil of hardship and disaster and tested by pain and disappointment.”

Here again, Patrick’s deepest troubles only served to heighten his greatest triumphs. God’s strength was perfected in his weakness. I can say without apology, as a Christian whose education has also come primarily from the school of hard knocks, that Patrick is my hero.

Devoted to Christ

How does this heart-warming paragon of church history challenge me? How does he inform our missiology? In many ways. But attending to the angle of this article, I think Patrick confronts us with our credentials.

Patrick had a faith, not born or developed in the study, but forged on the anvil of hardship and disaster and tested by pain and disappointment.

Is it our theological education that qualifies us for service? Is it a baggage-free background that equips us for foreign fields? Do we prefer intellectual refinement over a greater humanity? Why do we so deeply fear being “unlearned” and “despised”?

Holmes invites us to a better way. He writes in his final chapter that Patrick had “a great love affair in his life, one that neither cruel experiences nor passing years ever caused to grow cold: it was that love and devotion he had for Jesus Christ.” This is his self-designation for the ages. I’m not a smart man, Patrick might say along with Gump. But I know what love is.

Perhaps we’d do well to rehearse the same line.

An entire cottage industry developed around the movement’s high-profile voices, with book deals and speaking tours to help them share their “bold vision” with the world. Through skillfully employed rhetorical questions, they chipped away at the foundation of their hearers’ faith. Many of those same voices abandoned their own faith along the way.

Today’s conversation around deconstruction feels like a repeat of those heady days of the early 2000s, but now we have TikTok influencers and deconstruction coaches ready to guide people through the process for a fee. Though there are similarities between the Emergent movement and deconstruction, there are substantial differences. The Emergent movement’s aim was reimagining Christianity; the goal of deconstruction is its repudiation.

Alisa Childers and Tim Barnett understand this distinction. They’ve experienced it as they’ve walked alongside those who are deconstructing, those pushed toward it, and those left picking up the pieces in deconstruction’s aftermath. In The Deconstruction of Christianity: What It Is, Why It’s Destructive, and How to Respond, they seek to describe what deconstruction is and help believers respond to those whose hearts are prone to wander.

Shared Definitions

Some people use “deconstruction” as a synonym for “apostasy,” the rejection of historic orthodoxy. Others approach it as synonymous with “refining” or “reformation,” appending a modifier like “good” or “bad” depending on the outcome. The latter approach is much closer to how Childers, apologist and former CCM artist, used the word in her earlier book, Another Gospel? There, she used it to describe the doubting and questioning she experienced under the teaching of a progressive pastor—doubts and questions that led her to the Bible for the answers. Childers has since rejected this use of “deconstruction” because it can lead people with honest questions down a social media rabbit hole of animosity toward the historic Christian faith.

Tim Barnett, an apologist with Stand to Reason, joins Childers to offer a third definition, arguing deconstruction is “a postmodern process of rethinking your faith without regarding Scripture as a standard” (26). Defining it as a process and not simply an event is exactly right. This creates clarity around the who, what, and how of deconstruction but avoids creating a hostile environment that might push away deconstructors. It leaves room for discussion.

Key to the definition is the rejection of Scripture as the primary source of authority. Deconstruction replaces the Bible’s authority with personal experience, something that collides with every historic Christian tradition. But for many deconstructors, historical orthodoxy and biblical authority, as they understand them, are the problem. Doctrine is harmful or “toxic,” an instrument of power and control instead of a guide to truth (144). Using the Bible as the arbiter of truth is the source of the problem for some who deconstruct, especially if they’ve experienced Scripture being weaponized against dissent. They argue that doctrine and biblical authority are ways to silence dissent.

Here’s the irony: many deconstructors will decry evangelicals as dogmatic fundamentalists who allow no room for disagreement. But many deconstructors are just as dogmatic as those they reject. They’ve only redirected their dogmatism, with orthodoxy taking the role of heresy. When the Bible is no longer the standard of faith, personal autonomy takes its place—and no one can say otherwise.

Underlying Crises

If deconstruction is a process, how does it start? Often with a personal crisis. The authors write, “If deconstruction is the explosion, the crisis is the burning fuse that detonates it”—for example, the sudden loss of a loved one, Christians treating any expression of doubt with hostility, or sexual or spiritual abuse within the church (79). These are all real issues experienced by real people and lie at the heart of the church’s credibility crisis.

Many deconstructors are just as dogmatic as those they reject. They’ve only redirected their dogmatism, with orthodoxy taking the role of heresy.

One common theme is that deconstruction begins as a reaction to political idolatry by conservative Christians, which a flood of books continues to highlight. While this is an equal opportunity sin, political conservativism most often bears the brunt of criticism.

Childers and Barnett note there’s “genuine hurt and confusion over the political atmosphere within the church” (88), which significantly understates the problem in some cases. But it also recognizes there are cases where politics functions as an excuse for a process already underway. As one deconstructing pastor wrote, “Before I got [my congregation] over to progressivism, I just wanted to get them into the throes of deconstruction” (72).

The authors don’t defensively dismiss deconstuctors’ accusations against Christianity, nor do they unquestioningly accept them. Their approach is to condemn un-Christian behaviors and challenge assumptions in light of Scripture. While some will be unsatisfied by this approach, there’s wisdom in it. Childers and Barnett are speaking to a range of readers that will likely include some in the throes of doubt and others who misinterpret righteous anger over the church’s sins as cultural capitulation. Overall, the authors do well in their balancing act.

Respond to Deconstruction

The Deconstruction of Christianity shines in presenting advice for those ministering to people in the process of leaving the faith. Repeatedly, the authors challenge us to welcome questions, to be the kind of people with whom it’s safe for a person to share her questions and express her doubts. But we also need to learn to answer those doubts effectively. They write,

Thoughtful questions demand thoughtful answers. When we respond with half-baked or pat answers, we communicate that we’re not taking the questions seriously—or even worse, that we simply don’t have any good answers. Bad answers shut down sincere questions. (209)

We have to be willing to invest in exploring the answers with the person asking. “I don’t know” can be a great answer in itself, especially when followed by “How about we explore this together?”

They recognize that walking alongside deconstructors can be challenging, and they offer needed guidance: pray, stay engaged, assess your role in reaching out, and set boundaries for interactions. This process is wise, but it doesn’t guarantee a positive result. Childers describes walking through this process with a friend who hasn’t yet returned to the faith. “Every deconstruction is unique,” the authors remind us, so we have to “ask God for wisdom and surround [ourselves] with wise and godly Christians” who can encourage us as we help others (240).

Deconstruction Isn’t Inevitable

The book’s most significant takeaway is that “behind every deconstruction is a very real person with a complex web of wounds, desires, triggers, foundations, and experiences. Each one is seen and loved by God” (178). No one is a lost cause. Deconstruction isn’t inevitable.

We have to be willing to invest in exploring the answers with the person asking. ‘I don’t know’ can be a great answer in itself, especially when followed by ‘How about we explore this together?’

Childers is proof of that. Instead of walking away from her faith, she leaned in and found the answers she sought not outside of the faith but in it—the answers that give life. And though she has said elsewhere that she walks with a limp, she walks still.

Many things can drive people to give up on Jesus. But Jesus doesn’t give up on people. He loves them. That’s one of the beautiful realities of the gospel. Jesus, God the Son, entered into this world, adding humanity to his divinity, in pursuit of lost, broken, weary, and heavy-laden people (Matt. 11:28). He set the oppressed free (Luke 4:18). He died for the helpless so they might have life in him (Rom. 5:6–11). If Christ did all this and more, if he didn’t give up on people, then how can we?

This book is a helpful resource for pastors, youth leaders, and parents. It reminds us that because deconstruction isn’t the end of a person’s story, we shouldn’t treat it that way. We must keep pointing people to Jesus as the One who has given all for them and love them like Jesus does. As we do, it may lead to a beautiful picture of spiritual renewal.

Mueller’s life of faith was characterized by a deep trust in the goodness and sovereignty of his God. He trusted God to provide in ways many would call foolish and presumptive. And yet Mueller never lacked what he needed. God was good to him.

But God’s goodness to Mueller didn’t excuse him from heart-wrenching trials. He suffered the loss of three children, endured seasons of unrelenting physical pain, buried his father without seeing him come to know Christ, and outlived two wives he loved greatly. Mueller’s response to that suffering is a powerful example of gospel hope.

Pain Refines Faith

Pain strips us down, exposing our frailty. When sickness or strife or betrayal or the death of loved ones comes, normal comforts lose their luster. Comfy couches and bursting bank accounts can’t compensate for the sense of dis-ease we experience in suffering. In those dark hours, all we’re left with is the God Almighty.

And it’s there, standing alone with God in that dark place, that we’re forced to wrestle with what we believe about him. If God is good and sovereign, as Mueller believed, why would he permit such suffering in my life?

We don’t often question God’s goodness in days of ease. We easily see his benevolence when the sun shines and flowers bloom. But when wintry woes blow in, God’s goodness seems extinct. Dark clouds turn everything to gray. Cold winds of affliction bite and sting us. Our souls become numb in ways that tempt us to give up and withdraw from everyone, including God. The good news is that even when we doubt, our God holds us fast.

We easily see God’s benevolence when the sun shines and flowers bloom. But when wintry woes blow in, evidence of his goodness seems extinct.

Yet none of us is exempt from suffering. It’s part of this life. Throughout hard times, one particular story from Mueller’s life has long stayed with me as a buoy for my faith.

Mary Mueller’s Death

After 39 years of marriage, Mueller’s first wife, Mary, contracted rheumatic fever, which was a known mortal illness. During the last minutes of Mary’s life, her husband read Psalm 84:11 to her: “The LORD God is a sun and shield: The LORD will give grace and glory. No good thing will he withhold from those who walk uprightly” (KJV).

Mueller said of the last phrase,

“No good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly”—I am in myself a poor worthless sinner, but I have been saved by the blood of Christ; and I do not live in sin, I walk uprightly before God. Therefore, if it is really good for me, my darling wife will be raised up again; sick as she is. God will restore her again. But if she is not restored again, then it would not be a good thing for me.

Mary died shortly afterward on February 6, 1870.

Within a few hours of his wife’s death, Mueller went to an evening prayer meeting in Salem Chapel, where he lifted up prayer and praise to his God. Someone in attendance was struck by Mueller’s words and recorded them:

Beloved brethren and sisters in Christ, I ask you to join with me in hearty praise and thanksgiving to my precious Lord for His lovingkindness in having taken my darling, beloved wife out of the pain and suffering which she has endured, into His own presence; and as I rejoice in everything that is for her happiness, so I now rejoice as I realize how far happier she is, in beholding her Lord whom she loved so well, than in any joy she has known or could know here. I ask you also to pray that the Lord will so enable me to have fellowship in her joy that my bereaved heart may be occupied with her blessedness instead of my unspeakable loss.

Mueller’s Powerful Sermon

On February 11, some 1,200 orphans and thousands of grieving friends joined Mueller in mourning at her burial.

After recovering from a bout of his own sickness, Mueller preached her funeral sermon. His text was Psalm 119:68: “You are good and do good.” As he preached, he laid out three simple yet stirring points: “The Lord was good and did good . . .”

1. “in giving her to me . . .”

2. “in so long leaving her to me . . .”

3. “in taking her from me.”

Reflecting later on Mary’s passing, Mueller said, “My heart was at rest, and my heart was satisfied with God. And all this springs . . . from taking God at His Word, believing what He says.”

Do you believe God is good and does good—to you?

There’s no more important question for us to answer in this life. And there’s no more certain truth to rest in during the dark days that are coming or are here even as you read this.

God’s Goodness in the Cross

I know of no better way to settle this matter in your heart than to consider how God has loved us in his Son, Jesus. Romans 8:32 says, “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?”

Jesus is the proof that God is good and does good. In Christ, God displayed his goodness by sending his Son to die for our sins and raising him from the grave. God loved us when we were unlovable in the most wonderful of ways.

Jesus is the proof that God is good and does good.

God didn’t spare his own Son, who did him no wrong, so he could spare us, who did him no right. God was against Jesus so he could be for us forever. He was forsaken so we could be forgiven. If God gave us Jesus, what good would he ever withhold from us?

Mueller knew that through the sorrow of grieving loss, there was a sovereign and good hand guiding everything—even the pain.

May God give us grace to believe the same.

They emphasize our need to acknowledge our leaders’ flaws and to create safe and honest environments where elders and staff can share their concerns without fear of retaliation. Their conversation ends on the crucial role of a positive church culture in supporting healthy ministry—cultivating joy among team members and encouraging them to use their unique gifts and talents to serve others.

On March 15, 44 BC—the Ides of March—dozens of Roman senators assassinated Julius Caesar. Nearly 77 years later, on or about Sunday, April 5, AD 33, Jesus Christ was raised from the dead.

We can have justified belief in both events by following four practices historians use to discover the truth about the past.

1. Distinguish Two Methods

The scientific method records observations, forms hypotheses, makes predictions, conducts repeatable experiments, and analyzes results. But countless unrepeatable facts can’t be discovered with the scientific method.

There’s no scientific evidence that Caesar crossed the Rubicon in January of 49 BC, or that George Washington crossed the Delaware on December 25, 1776, or that Allied forces crossed the English Channel on June 6, 1944. Reasonable people believe these events to be true because they’re verified by the historical method.

Historian Louis Gottschalk defined the historical method as “critically examining and analyzing the records and survivals of the past.” The “conscientious historian” lays aside personal bias, studies documents, examines relics, gathers facts, and follows the evidence. Through abductive reasoning, historians produce an explanation that best accommodates the facts.

At the heart of Christianity is the historical claim of the resurrection of Jesus. Rejecting this claim by appealing to science ignores the limits of science. Paul conceded that “if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain” (1 Cor. 15:14). Unlike other religions, the central claims of Christianity are both verifiable and falsifiable through the historical method.

2. Examine Two Intervals

First, examine the interval between the event and the original manuscript that reports it. The shorter this interval, the closer the author is to the actual events. How do we know Caesar was assassinated in 44 BC? We weren’t there to see it, yet we believe it for the same reason we believe most things that happened in the past: eyewitnesses wrote their testimonies or relayed them to someone who wrote them.

Many believe in Caesar’s assassination simply because in high school they read Shakespeare’s famous play Julius Caesar, first performed in 1599. Shakespeare’s source was Thomas North’s 1579 English translation of Plutarch’s Parallel Lives. But Plutarch wrote Lives in the early second century AD, about 160 years after the assassination, so he couldn’t have been an eyewitness. Who was Plutarch’s source?

Plutarch used Caesar’s Gallic Wars as a source for some of his material, and Caesar was certainly an eyewitness to his own assassination, but it’s doubtful he wrote much about it. Cicero was probably an eyewitness, but he died a year later without recording details of that fateful day. Plutarch had no access to living eyewitnesses of the event, but as a prominent member of Roman society, he probably had access to documents and oral traditions that are lost to us. So the interval between Caesar’s assassination and Plutarch’s original document is about 160 years.

In comparison, the New Testament was written by eyewitnesses to the resurrection and their close associates. While Plutarch wrote 160 years after Caesar’s death, the New Testament authors wrote within the lifetimes of eyewitnesses who could confirm or deny two central claims: the empty tomb and the appearances of the risen Christ.

The New Testament authors wrote within the lifetimes of eyewitnesses who could confirm or deny two central claims: the empty tomb and the appearances of the risen Christ.

As early as AD 50, Paul goes on record that Jesus was raised from the dead (Gal. 1:1). If Jesus died in AD 33, the interval between the resurrection and the earliest original manuscript reporting it is less than 20 years. And yet we lack original manuscripts from either Plutarch or any New Testament writer, which is the norm in ancient history. That’s why the second interval is crucial.

The second interval is between the original manuscript and currently existing manuscripts. The historical method uses textual criticism to examine existing manuscripts (handwritten copies) to reconstruct the original. The shorter this interval, the better.

The interval between Plutarch’s original manuscript and our earliest existing manuscript of Lives: more than 800 years. The interval between John’s original manuscript and a fragment of his Gospel: 50 years.

New Testament scholar Darrell Bock concludes, “The Gospels compare favorably to the classics in terms of what the sources say about Jesus and Caesar. If such sourcing works for the classics and the study of Caesar, it should work for Jesus as well.”

3. Compare Two Numbers

Generally, like credible witnesses in court, the more manuscripts the better. Even sincere witnesses omit details they didn’t see or add details they thought they saw. When all testimonies are considered as a whole, there’ll be minor variants in peripheral details, but the gist of what occurred will be clear.

By comparing the number of New Testament manuscripts to other ancient documents, the superiority of the New Testament’s historical evidence is clear. We have fewer than 10 manuscripts of various portions of Plutarch’s Lives, compared to 23,986 manuscripts of various portions of the New Testament. That’s astonishing.

New Testament scholar Dan Wallace estimates that a stack of all existing New Testament manuscripts would be taller than four Empire State Buildings. In contrast, a stack of existing manuscripts of all classical Greek works would be four feet tall.

4. Weigh Two Motives

Even if we have a reliable representation of an original document, how do we know whether the author was reporting truth or fabricating lies?

There are normally two motives for lying: to gain pleasure or avoid pain. By Plutarch’s day, the account of Caesar’s murder was widely accepted. Plutarch wrote nothing controversial or politically dangerous that would harm his reputation or social standing. His writing only enhanced his status among the social elite. He had little to lose and much to gain by putting his historical claims in writing, gaining the ancient equivalent of a book deal.

Either the earliest disciples of Jesus were telling the truth or they weren’t. But why would they lie? Their audacious claims were controversial and politically dangerous. For their eyewitness testimony (Acts 1:22), they lost status, wealth, freedom, and, for some, their lives.

Historians consider such suffering to be an argument for the credibility of a document. As Gottschalk notes, “When a statement is prejudicial to a witness, his dear ones, or his causes, it is likely to be truthful.” By claiming to see the risen Christ, the disciples caused great harm to themselves, their families, and their closest friends. The best explanation for their consistent and durable testimony is that they were telling the truth.

Of course, many religious zealots have been willing to die for their faith. But while many will die for what they think is true, no one dies for what he knows is false. They didn’t testify to the resurrection because it was profitable. They testified to the resurrection because it was true.

They didn’t testify to the resurrection because it was profitable. They testified to the resurrection because it was true.

The Ides of March may be commemorated today by a few history nerds, but not even banks will take the day off. Yet this Easter, billions on every inhabited continent will celebrate the resurrection of Christ. Caesar gave the world the Julian calendar, but something happened in the first century that caused us to number our years by the birth of a carpenter’s son. It wasn’t his teaching, for rabbis come and go. It wasn’t his death, for countless enemies of Rome were crucified.

On this date 2,068 years ago, Julius Caesar died in Rome and the world accepts it as a historical footnote. Just 77 years later, Jesus Christ was raised from the dead in Jerusalem, and the world has never been the same.

Such stories acknowledge the heroes’ claims to the throne from the beginning but wait to fully comprehend their majesty and authority until the closing pages, when we see them crowned and ruling at last. By the time they ascend a throne, we celebrate their presence there because they’ve won our trust in their character in the earlier chapters of their storyline.

So also God’s sovereignty—his right and ability to exercise authority—is best understood in the context of his multiple perfections. Not only can his sovereignty be difficult to grasp, but it can be difficult to trust unless we’ve first spent time considering other aspects of his nature. It’d be out of order to present to you a God of infinite authority without first pointing to his other attributes. His omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence, eternality, immutability, holiness, goodness, love, and faithfulness single him out as not just capable of ruling but as eminently qualified to rule.

The collective portrait of God’s attributes moves us toward an inevitable conclusion: the most right and logical place for God to inhabit is a throne.

No wonder the Bible portrays him there so often. His throne is described as a place of worship and celebration but also as a place of trembling and awe. A place of right reverence. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. The wise see and celebrate God not just as their father to whom they owe adoration but as their King to whom they owe total allegiance.

They pray, as Jesus taught them to pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.”

Out of the Mouths of Babes

When my son Matt was small, we taught him the Lord’s Prayer, that beautiful model prayer of submission to divine authority. But the King James language proved a tongue twister for Matt’s 3-year-old verbal skills. So each night he’d bow his head and earnestly pray,

Odder Fodder who art in Heaben,
Hallowed be My name.
My kingdom come, My will be done
on Earf as it is in Heaben.

It was either the most comically mispronounced prayer of all time or the most transparently honest one. Matt uttered aloud the desire most of us only repeat silently in our hearts: My kingdom come, my will be done.

We want our rule. We want our kingdom, our power, our glory. We want the very throne of God.

But we’re wholly unqualified for it. Only God is. And we have no right to it. Only God does. But where does his right come from? Earthly sovereigns rule by right of birth, but what about God? What gives him the right to expect and demand our allegiance?

We owe God our allegiance for one simple reason. Not because we sinned against him and feel guilty, not because he saved us and we feel grateful—we owe him our obedience because he made us. He holds authority over us because he’s our Author. It’s his natural right as our Creator. The potter forms the clay, and the clay doesn’t question its design or purpose.

He holds authority over us because he’s our Author.

But it has no need to. He’s a good potter, and he knows what he’s doing.

Not necessarily so with our earthly authorities. One of the reasons we’re uncomfortable with God’s sovereign rule is the way humans mishandle authority on the regular. We hold virtually no experience of virtuous rule. Abuse of authority runs rampant in families, in nonprofits, in boardrooms, in government, in the church. Someone is always vying for control. Someone is always looking to ascend the throne, to seek the highest place, to wield power with authority for personal gain. It’s no wonder we hesitate at the doctrine of God’s sovereignty.

Americans in particular chafe at the idea of unquestioning submission to a ruler. So steeped in democracy are we that we feel we should get to register our vote on all life’s decisions, both individual and collective. The most cursory glance at human history affirms that unquestioning submission to an earthly authority isn’t a universally safe posture. It’s a posture that invites abuse. In the hands of sinful humans, authority can be (perhaps is almost certain to be) misused. Humans with absolute authority command submission to what brings them glory, regardless of the harm it inflicts on those they govern.

But in the case of an infinitely benevolent Sovereign, our unquestioning submission isn’t only desirable; it’s the only rational course to follow. God never requires submission to a harmful command. None of his commands is harmful. In commanding what brings him glory, he commands what brings us good. Unlike humans, he can only use his authority for good.

How Much Control?

Human authority—that of governments and leaders—is delegated, granted to us temporarily by the God who holds all authority. In the Old Testament, God grants authority to both Israel and Israel’s enemies as suits his purposes. In the New Testament, Jesus points out to Pontius Pilate during his trial, “You would have no authority over me at all unless it had been given you from above” (John 19:11). Romans 13:1 tells us to submit to earthly authorities, giving this reason: “There is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God.”

Whether earthly rulers exercise their authority for good or for evil, ultimately God is in control. Control lies at the heart of what we must understand when we speak of the sovereignty of God. The question we must resolve is this: How much does God control?

The Bible makes the bold and repeated claim that God controls not just many things or most things but all things. As R. C. Sproul notes, “If there is one single molecule in this universe running around loose, totally free of God’s sovereignty, then we have no guarantee that a single promise of God will ever be fulfilled.”

There are no limits on what God controls. Thus, whatever he wills he does. He’s completely free to act according to what he decrees. He requires permission from no one. Because he needs nothing from anyone, knows all things, is everywhere present, and holds all power, no one exists who could possibly challenge or overrule his plans. His limitlessness in every area points to his sovereignty over all things. As A. W. Tozer states, “Nothing can hinder him or compel him or stop him. He is able to do as he pleases always, everywhere, forever.”

Or, as Job put it, “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted” (Job 42:2).

Acknowledge Paradox; Act Practically

Because he controls all things, God can ultimately work all things for our good, even those that others mean for evil. Theologians speak of his active will and his passive will. He works actively through our obedience, but he can also work passively through disobedience, as in the case of Joseph’s brothers. Joseph recognized that God had used what they intended for evil to bring about his good purposes (Gen. 50:20).

Because God needs nothing from anyone, knows all things, is everywhere present, and holds all power, no one exists who could possibly challenge or overrule his plans.

Though God controls all things, those who do evil are still accountable for their sinful choices. How can this be? How can we be responsible for our choices if God is sovereign?

Divine sovereignty and human responsibility are parallel truths we must hold simultaneously. The Bible consistently affirms both God’s total sovereignty and man’s free will. The same Jesus who said, “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him” (John 6:44), also said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). God draws us to salvation. We respond to his call from our own free will. If we humans don’t have free will, then God is unjust to punish sin. Indeed, he’s responsible for it.

How our free will and God’s sovereignty can coexist is a mystery. Any time the human and the divine intersect, paradox will appear and our human limits will obscure how two seemingly contradicting points can both be true. It’s good for us to wrestle with paradox, but if we allow that wrestle to draw our eyes away from a question of more pressing concern, we miss the point. That question is this: How committed are you to the myth of your own sovereignty?

Toppling the Myth of Human Sovereignty

When we reach for control we aren’t built to exercise, we announce our belief that we, rather than an all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful, infinitely good God, should govern the universe. Typically, we strive to exercise rule over a circumstance or a relationship.

Our control issues stem largely from fear of the unknown, resulting in anxiety about the likelihood that our kingdom shall come and our will shall be done. My husband always soothes my anxiety by pointing me back to an important question: What’s your worst-case scenario? Speaking aloud my fears about a circumstance or relationship helps me lay them to rest. Or more precisely, it helps me lay them at the feet of my King in heaven. It’s a form of confession, letting my mouth speak out of the overflow of my heart, giving voice to my nagging fears and relinquishing my need for control. It’s an acknowledgment that his is the kingdom:

Yours, O LORD, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the victory and the majesty, for all that is in the heavens and in the earth is yours. Yours is the kingdom, O LORD, and you are exalted as head above all. Both riches and honor come from you, and you rule over all. In your hand are power and might, and in your hand it is to make great and to give strength to all. (1 Chron. 29:11–12)

So said King David to the King of heaven. So say all who pry their hands from their idols of control.

How committed are you to the myth of your own sovereignty?How committed are you to the myth of your own sovereignty?

Over what do I have control? A few important things. My thoughts, which I can take captive by the power of the Holy Spirit. And if I can control my thoughts, it follows I can control my attitude toward my circumstances and relationships. If my thoughts and attitude are under control, my words will be as well, and my actions. The redeemed obediently submit thought, word, and deed to their Heavenly Ruler, trusting uncertainty to him who “works all things according to the counsel of his will” (Eph. 1:11). They step away from the throne, acknowledging they’re utterly unqualified to fill it.

The best storytellers of my childhood were on to a winning formula. Every truly good story echoes the best story of all.

The Bible recounts the story of a King whose claim to a throne is recognized from the beginning but whose majesty and authority are only fully apprehended in its closing pages, when we see him crowned and ruling at last. His faithful utterance from the throne is this: “Behold, I am making all things new” (Rev. 21:5).

Blessed are those who live with the end in mind. Blessed are those who don’t wait for that final day when every knee will bow and every tongue confess but who humble themselves in the sight of the Lord while it’s still called today. Until all is made new, we look to our King’s faithfulness to all generations to shape our trust in him in this one.

Our God is in the heavens; he does all he pleases. And all he pleases is for our good.

In The Transfiguration of Christ: An Exegetical and Theological Reading, Patrick Schreiner argues the Gospel accounts of Jesus’s transfiguration are similar. The depth of the narrative should keep readers constantly coming back for more, because there’s always more to see.

In the moment of Jesus’s transfiguration, the disciples struggled to understand what was happening. The voice of God interrupts Peter as he suggests building three tents on the mountain (Matt. 17:4–5). Mark explains that his outburst was because “he did not know what to say” (Mark 9:6).

Modern disciples in the Western Christian tradition sometimes struggle to know what to do with the transfiguration. Many of us treat it like a visit to a city during a 12-hour layover. We claim to have “seen the sights” even though we barely made it out of the airport terminal. For those willing to stop for a while and explore, Schreiner—associate professor of New Testament and biblical theology at Midwestern Seminary—steps in as a tour guide to the transfiguration, pointing out where to look and what to look for.

Christological Significance

As in his book on the ascension, Schreiner takes an underexamined event in the life of Christ, showing how it’s central to rightly understanding Jesus’s identity and mission. Christologically, the transfiguration showcases “Jesus’s double sonship” (4). It reaches backward to reveal the glory Jesus has always possessed as the eternal Son of God and forward (from that point) to the future glory Jesus now possesses as a glorified human being because of his messianic work.

The transfiguration gives us a clear, biblical picture of Chalcedonian Christology: Jesus is one divine person existing in two natures, divine and human. By pulling back the curtain, Jesus offers his disciples “hope by revelation,” giving them certain hope that because he will not be defeated by death, they’ll share in his glorious transformation (12).

The transfiguration gives us a clear, biblical picture of Chalcedonian Christology: Jesus is one divine person existing in two natures, divine and human.

To demonstrate how the transfiguration reveals the glory of the Savior, Schreiner begins by examining the Gospel accounts for their glorious setting, signs, and saying. Then he shows how the transfiguration shines light on the doctrines of creation, incarnation, resurrection, and new creation. He shows the transfiguration narrative is key to understanding the whole Bible.

Robust Hermeneutics

Bible reading is as much an art as it is a science. It’s caught as much as it’s taught. So we need mentors and examples who can model it well. This book is worth its weight in gold because it offers a model approach to Scripture.

The Transfiguration of Christ does the necessary exegetical work by explaining that the Greek word for “transfigure” and “transform” is the same: metamorphoō. It’s used only four times in the New Testament: twice in the transfiguration narratives, in Romans 12:2, and 2 Corinthians 3:18. Thus, Schreiner shows, Jesus’s transfiguration on the mountain is linked with our transformation into his image. In the transfiguration, Christians get a picture of Jesus’s divine and human glory and a preview of their own glorification into his image (Rom. 8:29–30). As Schreiner says, “The transfiguration guarantees that we will not only be where he is but as he is” (12).

Schreiner’s reading is well-grounded historically. He draws from the church fathers, like John of Damascus, who argued Luke’s description of the transfiguration as “about eight days” after Peter’s messianic confession is an intentional reference to the inauguration of the new creation (Luke 9:28). Meanwhile, Mark’s and Matthew’s reference to “six days” after the same event ties in the Genesis timeline for creation (Mark 9:2; Matt. 17:1). Thus, the transfiguration was both a “preview of beholding God’s glory” and a revelation of “God’s purpose for creation” (37).

As he works through the text, Schreiner incorporates insights from biblical and systematic theology to show that Jesus is presented as the new Moses, but even more that Jesus shines with the glory of God that Moses longed to see on Sinai. This thorough treatment of the text can inform preaching and reflection on this mysterious moment in the life of Christ.

Devotional Theology

In “On the Reading of Old Books,” C. S. Lewis wrote, “I tend to find the doctrinal books often more helpful in devotion than the devotional books. . . . I believe that many who find that ‘nothing happens’ when they sit down, or kneel down, to a book of devotion, would find that the heart sings unbidden while they are working their way through a tough bit of theology with a pipe in their teeth and a pencil in their hand.”

The pipe is optional, but working through Schreiner’s theological reading of the transfiguration is a great way to be led to worship as he unveils the glorious Savior revealed in this event.

Working through Schreiner’s theological reading of the transfiguration is a great way to be led to worship as he unveils the glorious Savior

Because Jesus lives and reigns, as Desmond Tutu is quoted by Schreiner as saying, “The principle of transfiguration says nothing, no one and no situation, is ‘untransfigurable,’ that the whole of creation, nature, waits expectantly for its transfiguration, when it will be released from its bondage and share in the glorious liberty of the children of God, when it will not just be dry inert matter but will be translucent with divine glory” (151).

Christ’s transformation inspires hope for our transformation. Death didn’t snuff out the glorious light of Christ and the preview of Christ’s messianic glory, seen by the disciples on the mountain, is now a present reality. This should make a tired heart leap for joy.

By giving a preview of Jesus’s glorified humanity, the transfiguration gives Christians deep hope for their transformation and the transformation of all creation. The Transfiguration of Christ has the power to deepen our love for Christ and our understanding of his work.

Sometimes our most painful suffering is directly caused by our sin (1 Cor. 11:30–32). But often it isn’t (John 9:3; 2 Cor. 12:8–9). So how do we know if our suffering should be met (1) with patient endurance or (2) with immediate repentance?

Two Categories

Both categories are true. God sends some suffering for us to evaluate our lives (Heb. 12:6). And God sends some suffering for us to magnify God as we endure it in faith and patience (John 9:3). So how do we know which pain has come into our lives? “God may make it plain. He may. But he may not.” Normally, these categories are “permeable” and “overlapping.” So we should respond to all our suffering with self-evaluation and patient hope.

James calls us to meet all the various trials of life with “all joy” so those trials can build “steadfastness” in us (James 1:2–4). And “he doesn’t distinguish whether they are coming in response to specific sins we’ve committed or not. What he says is that in every kind of trial—every kind—faith is being tested. And the aim in every trial is a kind of steadfastness that shows that God is trustworthy, and wise, and good, and valuable, and all-sufficient for our situation.”

Whether or not we can tell that a certain sin has caused our suffering, we respond the same way: “Let every trial have its sanctifying effect of killing sin, and furthering faith, and furthering patience, and furthering love. If the sin is known, kill it. If it is unknown, ask the Lord to protect you, to cleanse you from hidden faults, and to advance your capacities for faith and patience” (Pss. 19:12; 139:23–24).

Note that Job’s suffering began when he was a blameless man (Job 1:1). But over time, they stirred up in him “the sediment of remaining sinfulness,” which he repented of later (42:5–6). “Whether the suffering in our lives is chastisement for some specific sin, or whether the suffering is an opportunity to glorify God through faith and patience—in both cases, we’re going to discover remnants of sinfulness in our lives, which we should repent of and move beyond. Which is why I said there’s always room for self-evaluation.”

So when suffering hits, evaluate and endure. Don’t ignore it or fear it as a sign of God’s condemnation—both those responses are wrong (Rom. 8:16–17).

Whether or not we can tell that a certain sin has caused our suffering, we respond the same way. When suffering hits, evaluate and endure.

In reckoning with the pain inflicted on Job’s life, we must be aware of his sin. And our own. All of us are worthy of God’s judgment as “children of wrath” (Eph. 2:3). So anything and everything we are given that’s not judgment is “undeserved.” Every breath we take, any moment we don’t suffer—it’s all “undeserved” grace to sinners.

Aware of this, we can be assured that “no injustice from God is ever done to any human. On the earth, everyone is treated by God better than we deserve—everyone.” When it comes to the justice of the global flood, “until we feel the depth and horror of sin like this, much of the Bible will simply make no sense to us at all.” Global tragedies remind us of the horror of sin against God.

Redemption Matters

Redemption doesn’t end our suffering in this life. Christians suffer (1 Thess. 3:3; 2 Thess. 1:5). But we suffer in the comfort that our pains are “in the hands of our all-wise, all-powerful, all-good Father.” Not in the hands of Satan, fate, or a god who’s self-amused by our pain. Every sting in life is appointed and managed by a loving Father toward our final good (Rom. 8:28). So we can draw comfort from the fact that (1) God appoints our pain, (2) for our ultimate good, (3) to advance his wise purposes. Through it all, he will hold us fast.

On this topic, redemption matters. Never confuse judgment and discipline. Between them is “an infinite difference.” God judges his enemies—the “misery” he brings on those without “any purifying or restoring or rehabilitating purposes, but solely to express his holy justice, his retribution,” not restitution (Rev. 16:5–6). This is made especially clear in his coming eternal judgment (19:1–3).

But God disciplines his children—a stark contrast. Discipline is “not retribution” for God’s enemies; it’s reserved for the sons “he loves and means to improve, even though it involves God’s displeasure,” all to our final good, “that we may share God’s holiness as loved children” (see Heb. 12:5–11).

Purifying Discipline

The sobering truth is that “many of the painful things in the Christian’s life are owing to our own sins: some that we committed before we were Christians, and some that we have committed since we have been Christians.” Our sin can even warrant physical death (1 Cor. 11:30).

Every sting in life is appointed and managed by a loving Father toward our final good.

In such extreme situations, this discipline prevents something worse (vv. 31–32). It’s “a stunning example of God’s disciplinary judgment that goes so far as to bring about the death of his child. And that death is the disciplinary effect of sin in the child’s life because it keeps him from going to hell.”

So “there is an infinite and precious difference between God’s retributive justice in punishment and God’s purifying discipline in our pain. And that difference does not lie in the origin—the human origin—of the pain, whether good or evil. It lies in the purpose and the design of God in our suffering.”

Like physical transformation, spiritual transformation is the gradual reward of consistent habits. Even when you don’t immediately feel the effects of your Bible intake, you can be confident your spiritual fitness improves little by little each time you engage with God’s Word.

Consider four ways Bible intake parallels diet and exercise habits and why even our smallest efforts matter.

1. The first two minutes are the most important.

Clear notes the heaviest weight in the gym is the front door. The same is true of most habits: it’s not the habit itself, but starting the habit, that stops most people.

Clear encourages readers to replicate his friend’s minimalist approach to habit-building, even starting with two-minute routines (rather than five minutes) to make starting and replicating behaviors simple. (He calls this the 2-Minute Rule.)

If you don’t already have a rhythm of Bible reading, commit to reading for two minutes every day. Make daily reading as achievable as possible. By doing this consistently, you’ll become someone who reads the Bible every day. That’s a huge step. From there, you can tweak the habit as you wish. Clear observes, “A habit must be established before it can be improved.”

You cannot improve what you don’t already practice.

2. The most rewarding outcomes are (almost always) delayed.

Clear notes that our outcomes are a “lagging measure of [our] habits.” We’re who we are today largely because of the habits we’ve built over the past few weeks, months, and years. It’s not what we’ve done most recently but most consistently that shapes us.

One workout or protein-rich meal won’t drastically strengthen your bones. Yet a consistent exercise routine and calcium, vitamin D, and protein intake over months and years will improve bone health significantly. Likewise, spiritual health is a lagging measure of what we train and feed on consistently. Bible reading isn’t only for the here and now but also for how it forms us over time.

Beyond the cumulative benefit of Bible reading, you’ll be surprised at how often God blesses you (and others through you) a few days or weeks after you read a certain passage. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read a section of Scripture and closed my Bible without thinking much of it. But then a few days later, I was in a conversation or situation where that passage was exactly what I needed. We must never measure effectiveness by what we think or feel immediately after reading.

3. Feelings aren’t (always) an accurate measure of effectiveness.

You won’t feel your brain, heart, liver, kidneys, and skin strengthening as you eat healthy meals—nor will you always have happy emotions while consuming nutrient-dense foods. (Perhaps you even remember uncomfortable feelings while eating veggies as a child . . . or as an adult!)

Spiritual health is a lagging measure of what we train and feed on consistently. Bible reading isn’t only for the here and now but also for how it forms us over time.

A lack of immediate pleasure doesn’t mean the meal failed to provide vital nourishment. It’d be silly and dangerous to give up on healthy eating if you didn’t feel happier or stronger as or right after you ate. (It’d also be silly and dangerous to consume only foods that give rushes of pleasure while you eat them.)

The same is true of Scripture reading. We shouldn’t measure success entirely by whether or not we feel pleasure as we read. Not every Scripture passage should cause even the healthiest Christian to feel surface-level happiness. For example, some texts are intended to make readers hate sin or grieve the world’s brokenness.

“But,” you say, “what if I feel nothing when reading the Bible? No pleasure, no hatred, no grief—nothing?” Remember two truths: First, apathy is a feeling too. And God wants us to come to him and worship him with whatever we feel. Second, not all disciplines (physical or spiritual) are primarily meant to make you feel something but rather become something. Don’t chase after a feeling; chase after nearness to Christ, which will, in turn, make you into the person God created you to be.

4. Memory isn’t (always) essential for growth.

I once heard a pastor say, “You probably don’t remember what you ate for dinner one month ago today, but that doesn’t mean the meal was pointless. Your body functions today because of meals you ate months ago, whether or not you remember them.”

Some meals are special, becoming memories we cherish for months, years, or even a lifetime. (My first time having Chick-fil-A nuggets comes to mind.) But memory isn’t required for a meal to have benefits. Most meals bring some pleasure then quietly nourish your body, content never to be remembered. Healthy people are formed by countless mundane, even unmemorable, meals.

Similarly, some times spent in God’s Word are special. Christ speaks to us or meets us in a uniquely powerful way, becoming a memory we cherish for months, years, or even a lifetime. But not all times in God’s Word are consciously remembered for long periods. Many times spent in God’s Word are like water soaking into the roots of a plant. The water may no longer be visible, but it nourishes and strengthens the plant nonetheless.

We should pray for joyful encounters with Christ through his Word and make efforts to remember what we read. But don’t get discouraged or think you’re doing something wrong if you don’t always have remarkable feelings or conscious memories about every passage. The Lord is pleased every time you seek him through his Word, and he’ll always bless your efforts, even when the blessing isn’t immediately visible (see Isa. 55:10–11).

Variety—like Consistency—Is Your Friend

Just as we enjoy different workouts and meals in different locations with different people, Bible intake is most enjoyable when it contains variety. Blessing comes every time we consume God’s Word—whether through reading the Bible; listening to an audio Bible; praying or singing the Psalms; studying a passage with a friend or small group; hearing God’s Word preached on Sundays; reading books that exposit Scripture; or listening to podcasts, lectures, or audiobooks that exposit it. Don’t limit yourself to only one method.

James Clear notes that we become our habits. This is (largely) true both physically and spiritually. Let’s patiently and diligently pursue a consistent intake of God’s life-giving Word, trusting he’ll use our habits to reveal and form Christ in us.

This is the meaning of the atonement, the cross whose very shape points to its purpose: the vertical beam symbolizes our reconciliation with God, and the horizontal beam shows how Christ’s sacrifice reconciles us with one another.

You’ll learn this and more from Jeremy Treat in his new book, The Atonement: An Introduction, part of the Short Studies in Systematic Theology series from Crossway. This book is both moving and helpful. I especially love the way Treat shows the atonement as upending the expectations of the world. Here’s a quote:

Herein lies the paradox of the gospel. The self-giving love of God transformed an instrument of death into an instrument of life. The cross is the great reversal, where exaltation comes through humiliation, glory is revealed in shame, victory is accomplished through surrender, and the triumph of the kingdom comes through the suffering of the servant.

Treat joined me on Gospelbound to discuss the kingdom and cross, the apex of Christ’s mission, theories of atonement, and more.

The trouble was, this second overlook was blocked by a fence with signs warning, “Extreme Danger. Do Not Climb.” My immediate thought: How bad can it be? Surely some despotic safety committee put this up. Repressive signs just steal the excitement. So, I climbed the fence, walked out to the ledge . . . and the ground gave way beneath my feet.

The warning on that fence had a purpose. Jesus’s warnings do too.

Two caricatures of Jesus rule the modern imagination. A stern, moralizing Jesus who speaks mostly in criticism and critique, and a mild, permissive, an therapeutic Jesus who prefers to console no matter the occasion. One too harsh to be heard, the other with little to say. Many are caught in the whiplash between these two representations, fully enthralled with neither, stuck trying to discern who the true Jesus is.

But warning isn’t the opposite of love; it’s an expression of love. Just consider how Jesus ends his famous sermon in Matthew 7.

Warnings on the Mount

Why did Jesus end the Sermon on the Mount with a warning? We can imagine a more appealing conclusion. Why not close with the end of Matthew 6, heralding God’s generous provision as the cure for anxiety? Yet Jesus wraps the greatest address ever recorded with a series of signs that read, “Extreme Danger. Do Not Climb.” The final two warnings are to beware of false prophets (7:15–23) and to not build your house on sand (vv. 24–27).

But warning isn’t the opposite of love; it’s an expression of love.

Here and elsewhere, Jesus differentiates himself from false prophets, the kind condemned in Jeremiah 6 who “healed the wounds of [God’s] people lightly, saying, ‘Peace, peace, where there is no peace.’” When Jeremiah spoke this message, Jerusalem was under siege. He tells us the mark of a true prophet is to name the threats, to reinforce the urgency of trust and obedience, and to raise the stakes on the imperative of undivided love for God and neighbor.

False prophets won’t take such risks. They offer what John Stott calls an “amoral optimism,” a “denial that God was the God of judgment as well as of steadfast love and mercy.” They offer a false sense of security propped up by a refusal to name the weight of sins and sorrows.

True prophets, by contrast, warn. They preach for a decision. Far from dissolving the dividing lines between good and evil, justice and injustice, holiness and sin, they reinforce them. This is what Jesus does when he climbs the mountain and begins to preach. He reveals a God more gracious and compassionate than the false prophets dared dream, yet his message includes warnings. Jesus warns with severity and frequency. He warns as the conclusion to his greatest sermon of all.

Warnings Rooted in Love

Why does Jesus warn? Because he loves us. In the face of real danger, warning is the definition of love. Not to warn is indifference. Only an unloving God wouldn’t warn. Jesus warns because he knows both the true depths of sin’s destruction and the true heights of God’s mercy. He knows the threats that lay siege to our lives are profound and that their defeat necessitated his death. So Jesus speaks with warnings of perfect love.

In the face of real danger, warning is the definition of love.

Immediately after his warning against listening to false prophets, Jesus gives the sermon’s final words in the parable of the two houses (Matt. 7:24–27). He doesn’t mention differences between the two houses in themselves. Jesus assumes perfect symmetry in the blueprints. Both houses are built for shelter, and both are threatened by the storm. One thing makes the difference between endurance and destruction: the foundation. It’s listening to Jesus or not. “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock” (v. 24). This house stands when it’s sieged. The other was built on a lesser foundation, and “great was the fall of it” (v. 27).

If we want to enjoy a lifetime of faith, where the trajectory isn’t a fall from early euphoria into apathy or malaise but rather a rise into godly character and joy, then we must heed Jesus’s warnings. And not only heed them—love them. For they’re warnings rooted in love.

Signposts of Life

Back at Yellowstone, high above the waterfall, as the earth underneath my feet plummeted into the river below, I turned and slammed my hands into the dirt. By God’s grace, I was able to hang on. Trembling, I stumbled back to the fence and climbed over. I was shaken to my core. When I got back on the path, my perception of the warning signs had been transformed. I no longer thought, What a repressive fence, but rather, Thank God this is here.

We should respond similarly to Jesus’s warnings. They aren’t fences of repression; they’re fences of joy. Signposts of life, not death. The ground will give way beneath a life built on anything else. Thank God, our Rock is immovable, and when his warnings are heeded, no sieging storm will overcome us.

So goes a slogan (or some variation thereof) one can find stamped on T-shirts, coffee mugs, and bumper stickers everywhere.

Honestly, I can relate. I really love my dogs.

Although all pets have particular and ongoing needs, they aren’t as demanding as people. My dogs don’t argue with me. Even when they steal my seat, they move if I ask them to (although often I don’t). They don’t pick movies to watch that I don’t like. They don’t ask me to defend my last social media post or argue with me about elections, vaccinations, conspiracy theories, or penal substitutionary atonement. They don’t ask me to review their books, edit their essays, or have meetings. They don’t play music too loud or make jokes I don’t get.

Moreover, ample research touts the health benefits of spending time with pets—including lowered blood pressure, less anxiety, decreased cholesterol levels, and ease of PTSD symptoms. Given all this, it’s not surprising pet ownership in the United States has increased significantly over the past three decades: as of this year, 66 percent of U.S. households own a pet, up from 56 percent in 1988.

As an animal lover who has experienced many joys from the countless pets I’ve cared for over the years (along with some of the inevitable sorrows), this trend makes my heart glad. Animals (and dogs in particular, in my opinion) are one of the best gifts God bestowed on us. Animals, especially pets, ground us, teach us, and show us how to live more fully in the present.

But animals aren’t people.

Not a Replacement

One can love animals and pets, as I do, and yet recognize that these creatures can’t take the place of humans. I can’t share my hopes and dreams with my dogs. They don’t ask me how my day was. They can’t enjoy a painting with me or discuss a novel or share their Wordle score. They don’t see Jesus in me and in so seeing develop a desire to show Jesus to the world or to pass the faith down to future generations. Time with pets cannot replace time with people.

Animals are one of the best gifts God bestowed on us. But they aren’t people.

Yet, according to a recent report in The Atlantic on findings from the American Time Use Survey—an annual government poll of how people in the U.S. spend their days—“real-world socializing has declined for both men and women, for all ages, for all ethnicities, and for all levels of income and education.”

Further, while face-to-face time spent with people has steadily declined between 2003 and 2022, according to the story, the time Americans spend with pets has doubled during this same 20-year period. Increased time with pets is marked among women in particular:

In 2003, the typical female pet owner spent much more time socializing with humans than playing with her cat or dog. By 2022, this flipped, and the average woman with a pet now spends more time “actively engaged” with her pet than she spends hanging out face-to-face with fellow humans on any given day.

Not coincidentally, this phenomenon occurs amid a drastically falling birth rate in the U.S.—it dropped nearly 23 percent between 2007 and 2022. Some people think of themselves as “dog parents,” treating their dogs as if they’re children.

We can push dogs in strollers, dress them up, and care for them as if they’re children, but they can’t care for us in our old age and they lack emotional complexity. Unlike children, our dogs will always adore us, and so they fail to remind us we aren’t meant to be worshiped. Try as we might, pets cannot replace people.

Distinct in Design

We human creatures do, by God’s design, have a special relationship with animals. God created animals (on the same day he created human beings, by the way) for his glory and pleasure, just as he created us for the same. And God specially assigned Adam to name the animals. It was in fulfilling this task that Adam recognized his aloneness among them.

This part of the creation narrative indicates how animals are both like us and not like us. Animals share with human beings the breath of life, that life force mentioned in Genesis 7:15, but they don’t bear God’s divine image as told in Genesis’s creation account.

It’s significant, however, that after the flood, God made a covenant not only with Noah and his descendants but with “every living creature” (9:9–11). Moreover, the book of Jonah ends with God chastising the prophet for his lack of compassion for the city of Ninevah, which God cares about because of both the people who live there and many animals (Jonah 4:11). God loves animals, and he calls us to as well.

Spending more time with animals is probably a good thing in our overly automated, digital, and virtual modern world. In preindustrial societies, people spent much more time with animals, whether the animals they raised for food and labor or those that transported them before the age of the automobile. The issue isn’t the amount of time one spends with animals (whether livestock, carriage horses, or pets) but rather what role we’re asking them to play in our lives.

Properly Ordered Loves

We were made for fellowship with other image-bearers, just as the creation narrative shows in Adam’s recognition that he needed a companion who was like him. (Even animals recognize their own kind and respond accordingly.) To love people well means recognizing we were made to be with one another, offering friendship, compassion, affection, and simply time.

Likewise, I cannot love my dog well if I love her for being something other than what she is. It’s not loving a dog well to expect her to function like a machine or meow like a cat or fill a need only a person can. Not to put too fine a philosophical point on it, but to love a dog is to love a dog in all her doggy-ness.

This principle is true for all God’s creation—animals, people, rocks, minerals, and plants too. All that God created he created with design and purpose. To love each other and all creation well is to love who and what they are as God made them. (So spare me the cozy knitted sweaters for chickens, by the way. God created them perfectly able to withstand the winter without clothing.)

The issue isn’t the amount of time one spends with animals but rather what role we’re asking them to play in our lives.

As with all our loves, love for pets must be properly ordered. To love pets well requires us to love them for what they are—and not what they’re not. And to love people well means spending time with them face-to-face, in the flesh, embracing them with all their complexities, all their demands, and even their questionable movie choices.

It’s people we come from at the start of life, people we turn to through all our lives, and people who’ll surround us and love us at the end of our lives. Perhaps the next time you take your dog to the lake, you can ask a friend you haven’t spent time with in a while to come along. Such isn’t making the best of both worlds but making the best of this one glorious world God created.

For Christians hoping to share Jesus with Muslim friends, this ritual presents an opportunity for gospel conversations.

Perspectives on Purification

Islam emphasizes purity and cleanliness. Famously, the prophet Muhammad is quoted in one Hadith saying, “Purity is half of faith.” Surrounding verses go on to say being pure and clean fills one’s record of good deeds before God and gets him or her closer to earning a place in heaven. Purity is part of Islam’s complicated works-based salvation structure.

Furthermore, many Muslims believe that if they pray without performing purification rites, their prayers are invalid. Wudhu not only counts as a good deed toward earning salvation but also makes one’s prayers acceptable to God.

Ritual washing is believed to remove sin—it’s not merely symbolic. Muslims believe making wudhu performs an atoning function. For example, if you tell a lie but later swish water around in your mouth as a form of ritual washing, it’s as if you never lied.

This teaching is incompatible with Scripture, but we can draw parallels between wudhu and the biblical concept of cleanliness. The very things that make wudhu opposed to the gospel also open doors to share the gospel.

The very things that make wudhu opposed to the gospel also open doors to share the gospel.

The Bible is insistent about our need for purification. Throughout the Old Testament, God’s people were called to purify themselves in various ways: sometimes by abstaining from sex (Ex. 19:14–15; Lev. 15:16–24), other times by ritual washing (Ex. 30:17–21) or blood sacrifices (Lev. 4; Heb. 9:13). God often used the picture of outward cleansing to highlight our need for spiritual cleansing.

From Genesis to Revelation, the metaphor of cleansing describes our salvation, justification, sanctification, and glorification. First John 1, Titus 2, and Hebrews 9 all explain how the shed blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from sin. Isaiah famously prophesied, “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow” (Isa. 1:18). There’s a washing that can remove our sin.

Wudhu and the Gospel

Islam borrows from the truth of Scripture and twists it to its own ends, but the basic seed of truth remains. This means we can use cleansing-based vocabulary to share with Muslim friends. The saying “Purity is half of faith” is incorrect, especially when applied outwardly. There’s no amount of physical washing we can do to make ourselves acceptable to God.

Instead, we’d say purity is the whole of faith, and our core problem is spiritual impurity. Our unclean hearts have separated us from God and earned us eternal punishment. What earns us heaven is, in fact, cleansing. But it can’t be performed with a handful of water.

Our prayers, too, must be made acceptable before God—but not by washing our hands. We’re only free to approach the throne of grace if we’ve been cleansed by the blood of Christ (Heb. 10:22). This spiritual, eternal washing presents us to God as heirs and allows us to speak to him as our Father.

The best purification agent isn’t water but blood. It doesn’t come from a spigot but from the body of Christ. Its price is paid not in a utility bill but with the priceless life of the Son of God. Christians, like Muslims, believe we all need cleansing. But we know the truth that nothing can clean our souls—nothing but the blood of Jesus.

And the news gets better. While a Muslim must wash every time he prays, Christians need only be washed once. Once God makes us clean, nothing can ever defile us again. Human cleansing is temporary; divine cleansing is eternal. We need not fear that our sin will erase the purity God gives us. We need not strive to accumulate brownie points to impress God. We need not wash and work to make our prayers acceptable. In Christ, our sin is wiped away forever.

Start the Conversation

Now we understand the parallels, let’s turn to the conversation. If you don’t have a strong relationship with a Muslim coworker or neighbor, a great first step is to invite him or her over for dinner. (Make sure the meal is free of pork, alcohol, and other foods Muslims avoid. If it’s during Ramadan, wait to serve food or drink until after sundown.) You might use the questions below to start a spiritual conversation during the meal. Or you can use dinner as a first step and pursue a deeper conversation later.

The best purification agent isn’t water but blood.

If you have an established relationship with a Muslim friend, you can open a conversation with respectful questions. You might say, “I hear Ramadan is coming up, what does that look like for you?” or even, “I recently read an article about wudhu. Is this something you practice? Can you explain it to me?”

After listening carefully, simply ask permission to share. You might turn the conversation by saying something like this: “It sounds like prayer is an important part of Ramadan. Prayer is important to me too. Can I share with you what makes Christian prayer acceptable to God?” Or you might respond, “It sounds like purity is a high value in Islam. It’s important to me too. Is it OK for me to share what purity means in my faith?”

Most Muslims are excited to talk about their faith, especially with someone who’s genuinely willing to listen. If you take time to humbly hear their perspective, most people will generously agree to hear your thoughts in return. This kind of dialogue is a great way to show respect for your friends and introduce them to the gospel.

Now go—ask your Muslim neighbors about their ritual washing. Then offer to share about Christian cleansing. Point them to the One who can purify them forever.

At some point in your life, you may hear of a church that dies. But the reason many churches die may surprise you. Sometimes churches die for obvious reasons: a global pandemic, financial struggles, or lack of attendance over a long period. We live in a fallen world, so sometimes church leaders make all the right decisions and their churches still don’t make it. Why? We can’t always know.

Other times, churches die because long-standing members develop unhealthy ownership of the church, killing forward progress. These members feel a sense of entitlement because they’ve been giving and serving and fighting for the church for years. In their minds, they’re making decisions to protect the church—when they’re actually killing it. Hundreds of churches in the Western world die each year because of good Christian folks. The ones who attend, give, and serve sacrificially over a long period can unintentionally become the reason the church can’t move forward. I’m convinced the remedy for many of the issues plaguing churches today boils down to rediscovering Christian contentment.

Case Study

Hundreds of churches in the Western world die each year because of good Christian folks.

Let’s take a closer look at Hope.

The church didn’t have a biblical form of church government, evidenced in the New Testament as a plurality of qualified male elders. Instead, they operated from a top-down business model. But the “top” wasn’t the lead pastor; it was the various leadership groups. Hope had councils, chairs, and committees—but no elders. In one late-night meeting, a member presented biblical evidence for a plurality of male elders. The leaders were impressed. You could sense the energy in the room. As a result, a study committee was formed. After the year-long study, the church would vote on church elders.

But two months in, disaster ensued.

A lifelong member disrupted the study. She didn’t want others to have “all that power.” “The church has been doing fine since I was baptized here as a baby,” she said in one members’ meeting. “We don’t need to change our church government. My college ministry didn’t need elders, and neither does this church.”

Afterward, she continued to divide and alienate people in the church against eldership, convinced she was protecting the church from harm. You might expect her to be a mean and rude person, but she was one of the most faithful givers in the church, always reliable to serve the body when needed, always around to provide an empathetic listening ear. Eventually, she won the battle. The committee dissolved and the church’s polity stayed the same.

Yet the lead pastor wasn’t off the hook. Despite enjoying most parts of his job, he struggled with fear of man. If it wasn’t obviously sinful, whatever people wanted, they got. He never rocked the boat, never made any big changes, never said anything controversial from the pulpit. Even though attendance declined every single year of his 22-year pastorate, the members didn’t question his ability to serve, because he never made anyone uncomfortable.

This is a fictitious example, but the dynamics are real. The newspaper, though right to cite financial issues and low attendance, was oblivious to the root causes. Every year, hundreds of churches in the Western world die because the discontentment of its members has led to unhealthy entitlement in the church.

Becoming a divisive, entitled church member is a slow-acting disease that can infect any Christian.

Remedy

I’m convinced the remedy for many of the issues plaguing churches today boils down to rediscovering Christian contentment.

Contentment doesn’t mean passivity, laziness, or complacency. It’s an inward sense of peace and joy independent of circumstances. It’s a confidence in God’s sovereign goodness in all situations. I define contentment in part as “freedom from dependence on desired circumstances.” We may desire a change of circumstances, but we aren’t dependent on it for inward peace and joy.

Contentment is freedom from dependence on desired circumstances.

Unlike secular methods that insist contentment is always attainable through personal strength, true Christian contentment derives from God’s supernatural grace that enables us to endure all things with rejoicing.

Paul famously states, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:13). This often misapplied verse doesn’t mean Paul can accomplish anything; it means he can endure anything.

Recapture Christian Contentment

Contentment has fallen on hard times in modern culture. While the virtue was prized in previous centuries, it’s now underappreciated and overlooked. Expressive individualism combined with abundant material possessions has conditioned many of us—even within the church—to trivialize the value of contentment.

But the Bible doesn’t just encourage contentment; it commands it (Heb. 13:5). Imagine what your church would be like if every member took pursuing contentment seriously.

Imagine what your church would be like if every member took pursuing contentment seriously.

You can’t deny there’s competition, comparison, and envy in your church. We’re conditioned by culture to fixate on self, and we wrongly bring these attitudes into the church. Why did she get picked to lead the women’s event? Why do we have to plant a church and lose beloved members? Why was I passed over for leadership again? The next time you feel discontent with a person or circumstance in your church, spend extended time in prayer for the person and for your church. Consider using a journal, and write down evidences of God’s grace in your church community. Remember the persecuted church, and how thousands of churches across the world can’t afford a building and don’t have resources for a formal youth ministry. Comparison breeds envy; gratitude breeds contentment.

Christian contentment is one of the best gifts you can give your local church. When your church leaders make a small move that rubs you the wrong way, contentment enables you to quietly disagree without being divisive. Contentment empowers you to serve in children’s ministry without complaining that nobody else serves back there as much as you. This virtue will allow you to support your church financially, knowing your true treasure is Christ.

Though uncontrollable circumstances sometimes lead a church to close its doors, don’t let the death of your church be because you didn’t pursue contentment in Christ.

Cynicism is tempting when Christians around me fall into serious sin. I still remember when I learned about Ravi Zacharias. My stomach sank. I remember thinking, If Ravi couldn’t stand against the Tempter’s arrows, how can I?

By God’s grace, I haven’t engaged in any disqualifying sin. But I thought, How can I be sure I won’t disqualify myself in the future? Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it in my bones.

Listening to the first few episodes of The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill didn’t help with this temptation toward fear and cynicism about church leaders (myself included) maintaining integrity over the long haul. As sorrowful stories of failure abounded, so did my cynical introspection. I wanted more than anything to make it to the finish line of the Christian life. But as I looked around at the myriad failures of other Christian leaders and considered the wander-proneness of my own heart, I was tempted to despair. Sometimes I’m still tempted to despair.

Yet I’ve experienced great freedom. There’s hope for the despairing cynic.

How? I recognized that, for the Christian, cynicism (and the hopelessness it breeds) is a form of drunkenness.

Real Sobriety

Sober-mindedness is essential for the Christian. This term means to be free of any illusion—to see things as they truly are. The New Testament contains numerous commands to be sober-minded, including this from 1 Peter: “Preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1:13).

Peter tells us sober-mindedness is a prerequisite to hope. We can set our hope fully on Christ only if we’re free of illusions and the drunken confusion they create. If we’re mired in cynical hopelessness, we need to take a spiritual breathalyzer.

If we’re mired in cynical hopelessness, we need to take a spiritual breathalyzer.

This reality shook my sensibilities. In the depths of my drunken cynicism, I thought myself sober. But this is the pernicious lie at the heart of cynicism.

False Sobriety

Cynicism often masquerades as godly sobriety. Many of us think ourselves to be sober when we’re actually drunk.

The cynic rightly diagnoses the prevalence and folly of sin. This isn’t a bad thing. Recognizing the depth of human depravity is essential to faith in Christ. However, the cynic doesn’t stop with a sober assessment of human depravity; he often spirals into a God-less view of the world.

Yet a God-less world isn’t the real world—hence the drunkenness of cynicism. It clouds our minds with the lie of a resurrection-less future and a Spirit-less present.

Whereas the worldly hedonist gets drunk on the sweet rum of illicit pleasure in the present, the worldly cynic gets drunk on the lying, bitter bourbon of a future vacant of God’s redemptive goodness. If the worldly hedonist denies the reality of eternal danger, the cynic denies the reality of eternal rescue and safety.

This was the problem with my outlook. I claimed to be a realist about sin yet I denied a greater reality: God himself.

Ironically, I believed what God said about my depravity but not about his transcendent ability to keep and sanctify me. I had the wrong sort of desperation.

In his book Deeper, Dane Ortlund writes,

There is nothing noble about staying in that pit of despair. . . . Healthy desperation is an intersection, not a highway; gateway, not pathway. We must go there. But we dare not stay there.

He continues, “Like jumping on a trampoline, we are to go down into freshly felt emptiness but then let that spring us high into fresh heights with Jesus.”

In our cynicism, we think ourselves noble. When, in reality, we are drunk in the ditch of unbelief. Fearing disappointment, the cynic consigns himself to this pit of fear.

Get Sober

We don’t overcome the fear of spiritual failure by overlooking real danger. We don’t avoid the drunkenness of cynicism by closing our eyes to our Enemy and his schemes (1 Pet. 5:8).

Instead, amid intoxicating danger, we sober up by looking up. We kill cynicism by embracing as real not only what’s immanent and observable but also what’s transcendent and invisible. Paul writes that Christians “look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Cor. 4:18).

This doesn’t mean that we Christians ignore our desperate state or go through life with blissful naivety. Far from it! Instead, we acknowledge reality in the same way the psalmist does:

A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you. (Ps. 91:7)

Christian hope isn’t an optimistic playing of the odds. It isn’t responding to “You have a ten-thousand-in-one chance of surviving the arrows of war” with “So, you’re telling me there’s a chance!” Christian hope is believing that, regardless of the apparent odds, God will keep those who hide under his wings and cry out, “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust” (v. 2). It’s believing the resurrected dead will live forever.

Amid intoxicating danger, we sober up by looking up.

Remember your state when he first saved you. Christ is no Miracle Max. He doesn’t raise those who are “mostly dead.” Cold corpses are his purview. He’s the sovereign, saving, resurrecting, transcendent King. He’s the preserving and keeping King. If he raised you, he will certainly keep you.

Cynicism dies when we see God as truly bigger and better. Depravity and death are big and bad. God’s sanctifying and resurrecting promises are bigger and better.

This is why there is so much hope for the desperate cynic. God only ever saves those who sense the bigness of their problems. So, instead of turning inward in cynicism, bring your wander-prone desperation to him. Let it be overwhelmed by his surpassing goodness and grace.

Many who begin the deconstruction process end up rejecting historic Christianity. There have been high-profile pastors and influencers making headlines by announcing they’re no longer Christian, despite having preached many sermons and written popular books. The term “exvangelical” was coined in 2016 as a hashtag to rally those who have come through on the other side rejecting orthodoxy. A cottage industry of deconstruction coaches and spiritual directors is growing, with books, videos, and private coaching sessions to help people reevaluate the tenets of their faith, often with a view to replacing it.

Once someone’s personalized algorithm gets hold of the trend, a trickle can become a flood of resources in his feed. Soon, deconstruction can seem the only logical solution.

In contrast, Francis Schaeffer went through a disenculturation process while serving as a missionary. He writes, “I walked, prayed, and thought through what the Scriptures taught, reviewing my own reasons for being a Christian.” Schaeffer’s reevaluation came out positively: “Gradually the sun came out and the song came.” He grew in his confidence regarding the historic Christian faith.

Though many young people are unaware of deconstruction and the exvangelical community, the very online are likely to have bumped into the concept on social media. Once someone’s personalized algorithm gets hold of the trend, a trickle can become a flood of resources in his feed. Soon, deconstruction can seem the only logical solution.

Thankfully, a growing number of faithful resources can help parents, youth leaders, and pastors to understand what deconstruction is and to encourage healthy questioning while pointing those struggling with the faith toward historic Christianity. Some are useful to encourage potential deconstructors to healthily navigate their questions.

1. Questioning Faith by Randy Newman (TGC/Crossway)

Our faith journeys are rarely a straight line. Newman provides a resource for those struggling with doubts and hard questions. Most Christians don’t have absolute certainty and don’t have every doctrinal concern totally addressed.

Questioning Faith is an invitation to more carefully consider common arguments against historic Christianity. Newman’s balanced approach shows why these questions are so important in this cultural moment, but he also explains why there are better answers to be found within orthodox Christianity than in other alternatives. This would be a good discipleship resource for new believers and for Christians experiencing doubt.

2. Before You Lose Your Faith edited by Ivan Mesa (TGC)

Some of your favorite TGC authors explain what deconstruction is, analyze issues that often trigger deconstruction, and offer encouragement to reconstruct a shaky faith. This is an accessible volume that encourages hard questions, but helps people walk through them, too.

Before You Lose Your Faith brings varied voices to the table, many of whom have experienced doubts or been troubled by the ways Christians have failed to live up to their ideals. However, every one of them has found Jesus to be a treasure worth selling everything for.

3. Surprised by Doubt by Joshua Chatraw and Jack Carson (Brazos)

Many exvangelicals claim to be experts in the faith they abandoned. Deeper evaluation shows many of them have actually rejected distorted or limited versions of Christianity without considering the full range of Christian beliefs.

Chatraw and Carson evaluate four potential landing spots for deconstructing Christians: New Atheism, optimistic skepticism, mythic truth, and open spirituality. They show how these alternatives are less satisfying than historic Christianity. Through well-articulated arguments, Surprised by Doubt invites readers to find their home in the large, satisfying space of Christian orthodoxy.

4. Set Adrift by Sean McDowell and John Marriott (Zondervan)

This volume is a good resource for a mature Christian to study with someone trying to make sense of the faith once for all delivered to the saints. Deconstruction can feel like being adrift in a fog, having lost sight of the shore. McDowell and Marriott take doubts seriously, recognizing our culture often makes unbelief easier than belief, but they offer a navigational chart to guide young Christians back home. This book would be most helpful to use with those just beginning to struggle to make sense of the faith.

5. True Spirituality by Francis A. Schaeffer (Crossway)

Schaeffer’s crisis of faith led to a renewed commitment to historic Christianity. This book doesn’t document his process of reevaluating his faith in detail, but it’s the fruit of that process. It shows that the result of questions can (and should) be a deeper and richer Christianity than before.

As Schaeffer notes in the preface, the content of this book was the foundation for his apologetic vision at L’Abri, where he set about “teaching the historic Christian answers, and giving honest answers to honest questions,” trying to show his guests that Christianity is really and truly the best explanation for reality. Though some believers fail to live out a full-throated faith, there’s a true Christian spirituality that satisfies our deepest longings.

6. Called into Questions by Matthew Lee Anderson (Moody)

Anderson’s book is a beautiful call to dig deeper into the Christian faith, to embrace an “interrogative mood” in life. This volume will best serve those who long for a deeper, more intellectual approach to Christianity than they may have been offered. Called into Questions helps the intellectually curious transform their queries from opportunities for apostasy to prompts for doxology. Anderson encourages honest questions but also helps readers recognize the difference between caustic skepticism and true investigation.

7. The Deconstruction of Christianity by Alisa Childers and Tim Barnett (Tyndale)

This book is helpful for those seeking to understand the nature of deconstruction. Unlike the other resources in this list, The Deconstruction of Christianity is primarily intended for those trying to understand this cultural phenomenon.

Though some Christians fail to live out a full-throated faith, there’s a true Christian spirituality that satisfies our deepest longings.

Filled with analysis that reflects careful research, this book argues the term “deconstruction” is irredeemable and that faithful Christians shouldn’t use it to discuss the process of honestly refining their faith. Childers and Barnett show, with multiple contemporary examples, the open hostility of many within the exvangelical movement to anything representing orthodox Christianity. They also provide helpful instruction for those dealing with someone engaged in the deconstruction process.

They delve into the historical and biblical perspectives on Christians’ roles in society, emphasizing the need to prioritize Christ above all loyalties. They also discuss strategies for Christians to responsibly advocate for their beliefs in a pluralistic society.

This is especially true when the “who” identity negotiations concern politicized identity categories like sexuality, gender, and race. Hollywood is increasingly eager to foreground these stories.

Yet for all the merits of depicting diverse characters (and this is one of the great potentials of moviemaking), when identity politics becomes a dramatic end unto itself, movies tend to suffer. Instead of being virtuous, compelling, endearing, or heroic, modern film protagonists tend to be tortured by questions of identity, annoyingly self-referential, and generally boring. They’re flattened by directors and screenwriters who sacrifice compelling character at the altar of identity politics.

In many movies today, ‘drama’ has come to consist less in what characters do or have done to them and more in who they discover or assert themselves to be.

Consider three of this year’s Academy Award best picture nominees: Maestro (seven nominations), Barbie (eight nominations), and American Fiction (five nominations). I found things to like in each but generally consider them frustrating examples of this trend. While the protagonists are ostensibly meant to complicate our categories of sexuality (Maestro), gender (Barbie), and race (American Fiction), in the end, they’re wholly defined by these categories, their personhood reduced to a solitary dimension that serves the interests of “the discourse” more than the entertainment or edification of the audience.

This is tragic. It’s tragic because it flattens characters into boring “viewpoint pawns” and leaves more interesting dimensions of their humanity unexplored. But it’s also tragic because it reflects a society where the inordinate focus on identity—and the reductive formulas therein—represents a real pressure and crushing burden. Contrary to what these films suggest, young people today need to know that the greatest drama in life isn’t the discovery and expression of one’s “true self” from within the identity matrix of sexuality-gender-race.

Maestro’s One-Note Symphony of Sexual Identity

When I watched Maestro, Netflix’s “prestige” biopic about Leonard Bernstein (played by Bradley Cooper, nominated for best actor), I’d hoped to learn more about the origins and nature of the famed conductor and composer’s musical genius, including how his Jewish faith informed his art. I’d expected to learn about his place in American music history. Instead, I mostly just learned about Bernstein’s gay sex life and how it affected his openly nonmonogamous marriage to Felicia Montealegre (Carey Mulligan, nominated for best actress) as well as their three children.

From the opening scene (in which we first meet a young “Lenny” in bed with another man) until the final scenes (in which we see an elderly Bernstein creepily dancing with a young male conducting student, to the music of Tears for Fears’s “Shout”), Maestro is fixated on Bernstein’s sexuality—as if it’s the most interesting thing about him.

Maestro is fixated on Bernstein’s sexuality—as if it’s the most interesting thing about him.

Cooper (who also directs the film) seems to want to paint Bernstein as a “complex” and multidimensional enigma who defies easy categorization. At one point, Bernstein declares, “The world wants us to be only one thing and I find that deplorable.” Yet based on what consumes the majority of the film’s plot, Cooper does want Bernstein to be only one thing: his sexuality. And in making the film about that (Bernstein’s carnal exploits), Cooper ends up flattening an interesting character and sucking the story of its true drama. Here’s how Michael De Sapio put it in his reflection for The Imaginative Conservative:

What makes a Leonard Bernstein unique and sets him apart is his art, not his personal sins and infidelities, by virtue of which he resembles millions of poor souls the world over and which, therefore, are uninteresting as the main subject of a movie. True, Bernstein’s double life, his tragically divided self—happily married yet pursuing homosexual affairs on the side—and how this affected his public life as an artist is definitely of moral and psychological interest. But by putting this conflict front and center and slighting what truly made Bernstein who he was in his core—his musical mind and passion—the filmmakers ultimately lose any reason for making (or watching) the film.

While many cite the Thanksgiving argument scene as the standout moment in Maestro, for my money, the best scene occurs when we watch Cooper-as-Bernstein conduct the finale of Mahler’s “Resurrection” Symphony No. 2 in a stirring recreation of a London Symphony Orchestra performance at Ely Cathedral in 1973. Set in a towering cathedral and featuring Cooper going for broke with Bernstein’s full-bodied conducting mannerisms, the scene briefly centers the movie on a masterful artist’s pursuit of aesthetic transcendence, rather than his far-less-interesting sexual sins.

It’s possible to make riveting biopics without focusing on the central character’s sexuality. Consider Capote, for which Philip Seymour Hoffman won the best actor Oscar for portraying Truman Capote. While Capote’s homosexuality is certainly part of the character, it’s in no way the focal point of the film (which finds the writer’s literary craft more interesting). Countless other biopics have managed to present thoroughly fascinating human characters without once having to depict their bedroom habits.

Flattened Characters in Barbie and American Fiction

Though Greta Gerwig’s Barbie is a different sort of film than Maestro, it shares a fixation on identity politics (in this case, gender). The central protagonists—Barbie (Margot Robbie) and Ken (Ryan Gosling), along with all the other Barbies and Kens in the film—are preoccupied with how gender does and doesn’t define them. They spend the film wrestling with feminism, the patriarchy, and how men and women should relate to one another.

Both Ken and Barbie want to break out of boxes (sometimes literally) and aspire to robust humanity beyond stereotypes or consumer expectations. But Gerwig’s film keeps them in the box by flattening their characters into the singular dimension of gendered identity. To be sure, gender is a dimension of every man’s or woman’s life—and a rich one at that. But it’s not the only dimension. For the characters of Barbie, however, it seems like the only dimension worth exploring.

The online fury surrounding Ryan Gosling’s Oscar nomination as Ken (when Robbie didn’t get nominated for best actress and Gerwig failed to make the cut for best director) proves how much the film and the discourse it spawned is fixated on gender. Few are talking about the merits of Gosling’s performance or why exactly Robbie’s performance was worthy of best actress, only that he’s a man and she’s a woman. The fact of their gender overshadows the merits of their performances.

In American Fiction, meanwhile, it’s not gender but race that centrally defines the protagonist. Jeffrey Wright (nominated for best actor) plays Thelonious “Monk” Ellison, a professor and novelist who intentionally crafts a career as a “writer who happens to be black” rather than a “black writer.”

The jokes in the satirical film arise when Monk realizes he can sell more books when he writes the sorts of gritty, underrepresented #blackstories affluent liberal audiences want to buy to help absolve their guilt. And so he jokingly sends his agent a manuscript—My Pafology—full of black suffering, trauma, and expletive-laden “authenticity.” It ends up landing him his most lucrative book deal yet, prestigious literary awards, and a Hollywood movie adaptation.

Fiction occasionally contains sharp satire, but in the end, it reduces Wright’s character—however much he wants to be uncategorizable—into a role boxed in by racial categories. Even when he’s trying to subvert expectations and break stereotypes in his work and his life, Monk’s identity is nevertheless fundamentally in conversation with racial discourse.

While this is certainly a part of who he is, I left the film with so many questions about what else defined him. What inspired him to become a writer? What defines his art? What are his primary intellectual interests? What are his chief goals in life? Much like Maestro, American Fiction suggests the most interesting thing about its artistic protagonist isn’t what he does or makes but the marginalized identity that must define him. At one point, Monk decries the audience’s hunger for black books that “flatten our lives.” It’s an understandable frustration, but sadly, Fiction inflicts the same flattening on Monk himself.

Another character in Fiction—Monk’s brother Cliff (Sterling K. Brown, nominated for best supporting actor)—is gay, having divorced his wife to run off with male lovers. As with Monk, we know little about Cliff’s interests, passions, or life’s work (other than that he’s a surgeon). The main thing we know about Cliff is that he’s gay. In one tragically telling line, Cliff laments to Monk that their father died before Cliff could come out as gay: “He never knew the entirety of me.” How sad that, for Cliff, his gay identity signals a completion of himself. But this illustrates the warped imagination—and reductive vision of human identity—on display in these films.

Again, there are countless examples of films where the gender or race of a character matters significantly but isn’t all-consuming or entirely defining of that character. In last year’s Oscar-nominated The Banshees of Inisherin, for example, the male gender of the two lead characters (Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson) matters hugely, as the fragility of male friendship is a big part of what the film explores. But being men isn’t the only thing that defines these characters and it’s not something they spend any screen time talking about.

Wright is a great actor who has played many roles where race is part, but far from all, of the character’s identity. The characters he plays in Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch and Ang Lee’s Civil War drama Ride with the Devil are a few examples. Wright’s black skin color isn’t incidental or unimportant in those films, but it’s not the defining attribute.

More Compelling Identity

Films like Maestro, Barbie, and American Fiction—with characters flattened into flannelgraph humans on a didactic felt board of identity politics—are symptomatic of a culture with a weak, unstable anthropology. In a secular age, there’s little consensus on what constitutes “being human,” so the question becomes largely subjective.

In a secular age, there’s little consensus on what constitutes ‘being human,’ so the question becomes largely subjective.

The onus is on each individual to (1) determine who he or she wants to be, (2) become that person, and (3) express it in the world in a unique way. But this threefold identity construction project is less an opportunity than a heaping burden. It becomes an all-consuming project of life (and culture, as seen in these films): a constant inward pursuit and outward performance that leaves individuals anxious and exhausted—“weary of the self” as Alain Ehrenberg puts it.

Christianity offers a better way. To be a follower of Christ is to belong to Christ (Eph. 2:13). We are not our own (Rom. 14:7–8). The most important, interesting, and life-giving thing about us is . . . Christ in us (Gal. 2:20). This isn’t to say our distinctive physical or cultural attributes don’t matter. They do. They’re just not as ultimate or definitive as pop culture would have us believe.

A Christian’s identity isn’t something to constantly create and re-create, justify and rejustify. It’s an identity forged by the Holy Spirit and hidden with Christ in God (Col. 3:1–13). In Christianity, a “new self” isn’t a prize we endeavor to win. It’s a gift we graciously accept. And this new identity is the best one possible, not because it’s modeled after a privileged race or gender, or some identity marker of fleeting cultural cachet, but because it’s “created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Eph. 4:24).

For example, as the Washington Post reports, Republican state senator Larry Stutts, an ob-gyn, acknowledged the “moral quandary” with IVF but said discarded embryos are “a small, small percentage” compared to the ones used or retained. “We could pass a law limiting the number of eggs you can fertilize in a cycle. But I don’t think we should legislate that,” Stutts said. “I’m not talking about morality, I’m talking about the practice of medicine.”

It might seem peculiar that pro-life legislators are now using the same talking points to defend certain IVF practices that pro-choice activists use to protect certain abortion procedures. But the acceptance of reproductive technologies has advanced faster than the public’s ability to grapple with the profound moral and ethical dilemmas of IVF. This disconnect is especially true of reflections on the status of frozen embryos.

In considering the complex and emotionally charged topic of IVF, it’s important to acknowledge the deep pain and longing experienced by families who turn to this technology in hopes of having a child. The struggle with infertility can be a heartrending and isolating experience, and the decision to pursue IVF often comes after much discussion and prayer. As we consider the theological and ethical dimensions of IVF, it’s essential for Christians to approach this subject with a compassionate heart. This empathy does not diminish the need for careful ethical deliberation but rather enriches our understanding and response to the issue, grounding it in the reality of human suffering and hope.

Understand the Nature of IVF-Created Embryos

The questions we must address aren’t merely scientific or biological but profoundly theological: What’s the nature of a frozen embryo created through IVF? How should pro-life Christians think about such beings? The answers to these questions aren’t just academic; they hold significant implications for how we view life, dignity, and our responsibilities as followers of Christ.

The acceptance of reproductive technologies has advanced faster than the public’s ability to grapple with the profound moral and ethical dilemmas of IVF.

First, let’s clarify the essential terms. By “pro-life,” I mean the commonly used framework of a person who believes life, from conception to natural death, should be protected in our laws. I belong to this group as a Christian, and this is the group I hope to convince.

Now let’s consider the nature of a frozen embryo created through IVF. Here’s how I propose pro-life Christians define the nature of such a being: An IVF-created frozen embryo is a human life created in the image of God at the earliest stage of development. This person is living in suspended animation outside a woman’s womb and is worthy of all moral considerations and legal protections afforded to other human beings.

I’ll attempt to defend each proposition.

An IVF-Created Frozen Embryo Is . . .

1. A Human Life

Unfortunately, the most obvious statement in the definition is the one most frequently contested. For example, WORLD magazine recently interviewed Brett Davenport, a fertility doctor working in Alabama. Davenport says he’s “pro-life” on the issue of abortion but does “not personally believe that life has begun by day seven of an embryo’s growth, and even more so when it is outside of a woman’s uterus.”

Many Americans—including Christians who consider themselves pro-life—would agree with Davenport. But the people most likely to disagree are biologists.

The question of when human life begins contains two interrelated queries about a specific type of being: When does a particular being become a “human,” and when does that being’s existence constitute “life”? The answer is straightforward: Human life begins when the human sperm fertilizes a human ovum and creates a distinct human being capable of growth, functional activity, and continual change preceding death. This is known as the “fertilization view.” Fertilization is also known as conception, so it’s accurate to say human life begins at conception.

Within the biology field, this view is uncontroversial. A 2021 report published in Issues in Law & Medicine found that when biologists from 1,058 academic institutions around the world were asked when a human life begins, 96 percent (5,337 out of 5,577) affirmed the fertilization view. From an empirical perspective, the view of Davenport and those who agree with him about when life begins are in the extreme minority. As the report notes, in the “two studies that explored experts’ views on the matter, the fertilization view was the most popular perspective held by public health and IVF professionals.”

The fertilization view isn’t only the commonsense view; it’s the leading scientific and empirical perspective on when a human life begins.

2. Created in the Image of God

In Genesis 1:27, we read that “God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created him.” Because this passage doesn’t define what “the image of God” means, theologians throughout history have considered a wide variety of interpretations. For our purposes, we don’t necessarily need to agree on what this term means but merely on how it’s applied. Specifically, we need to be able to agree on whether it applies to all human beings.

We’ve established that IVF-created frozen embryos are living human beings. If we claim they’re not created in the image of God, then we have to determine the basis for their exclusion. We’d also, for the sake of consistency, have to apply that same standard of exclusion to other groups of humans. Most modern pro-life Christians won’t want to go down this dangerous path.

3. At the Earliest Stage of Development

In a biological sense, human development describes the chronological processes that occur over a human’s lifespan. The processes begin when a human being comes into existence (fertilization) and continue until death. If left unimpeded, the stages of development will typically progress through the broad categories of prenatal (the stages before birth), infancy (newborn and up to 1 year old), toddler (1 to 5 years old), childhood (3 to 11 years old), adolescence (12 to 18 years old), and adulthood (18 and older).

All embryos are in the prenatal stage. This embryonic stage extends from the time of fertilization until the end of the eighth week of gestation, when the state of development shifts to the fetal stage. What was once described as an embryo is then described as a fetus.

This is worth noting because while the broad stages of development have always been recognized, the moral worth of each stage hasn’t. Only since Christianity and its expanded influence has the concept of human dignity been applied to a larger range of human development.

While the broad stages of development have always been recognized, the moral worth of each stage hasn’t.

For example, in most pagan cultures, not all adults were considered equally worthy of life. In ancient Greece and Rome, children’s lives had little value, and a father had the right to kill his children. Newborns weren’t even considered human if they were deformed. They could be killed or abandoned to die.

That view changed as Christian morality began to replace paganism For instance, following his conversion to Christianity in AD 313, the emperor Constantine implemented laws protecting newborns, while infanticide was outlawed in AD 374 by Valentinian.

Regrettably, laws protecting humans in the prenatal stage have lagged behind. But even today, the idea of killing a fetus in the latter stages of pregnancy is losing ground, and a majority of American adults (56 percent) say that how long a woman has been pregnant should matter in determining when abortion should be legal. Pro-life Christians, of course, believe in the sanctity of life at all stages of development.

4. Living in Suspended Animation Outside a Woman’s Womb

Suspended animation is the temporary cessation of most vital functions without death. For human embryos, this status is achieved through the process of cryopreservation, which protects them from decay by keeping them at extremely low temperatures. This process prevents the embryo from continuing through the normal stages of human development and allows human beings at this stage of life to exist outside their normal habitation, the mother’s womb.

Before cryopreservation, it would’ve been impossible for an embryo to exist outside of a woman’s womb; now, this can be achieved if the embryo is created through IVF. Does this change the moral status of the embryo? Not at all. “Location is simply one more of those many factors that make no difference where the most foundational moral principles are concerned,” ethicist Christopher Tollefsen says. “The human embryo is a human being, whether in utero, undergoing cell division in vitro, or temporarily (or permanently) in frozen stasis in a ‘nursery,’ as the Alabama Supreme Court tellingly, but somewhat ironically, calls it.”

Tollefsen’s point should be obvious. Yet it’s surprising how often Christians who oppose abortion at the earliest stages of pregnancy aren’t as concerned with the death of children in the IVF clinic. Perhaps many who identify as “pro-life” do so more out of emotional attachment to pregnancy than out of a commitment to the sanctity of human life. But it’s more likely many pro-life Christians simply haven’t thought about the issue enough to recognize that the location of the embryo doesn’t change its moral status.

5. Worthy of All Moral Considerations and Legal Protections Afforded to Other Human Beings

Based on the parts of the statement we’ve clarified so far, let’s consider how they affect the moral considerations of IVF-created frozen embryos.

To simplify the argument, we’ll use only two presuppositions rooted in Scripture: (1) all human life belongs to God (Rom. 14:8; Ps. 100:3), and (2) God created human beings in his image (Gen. 1:27). Based on those presuppositions, here are a few statements all Christians (and certainly all pro-life Christians) should be able to agree on.

1. There’s compelling—even overwhelming—empirical evidence that life begins at fertilization. Because all human life belongs to God, we should have equally compelling evidence that life does not begin at conception before we conclude certain distinct biological human beings don’t possess life and thus don’t warrant moral consideration or legal protection.

2. Since IVF-created frozen embryos are living human beings, we should conclude they too are created in the image of God.

3. Scripture says all life belongs to God and that humans are created in his image; it makes no exceptions based on the stage of development. Unless we have sufficient reason to think that God does not care about human life at a stage of development all humans—including the God-man Jesus—passed through, then we shouldn’t consider the embryonic stage unworthy of moral consideration or legal protection.

4. Just as the physical location of an adolescent or adult doesn’t change his or her moral status, the location of a human being at the embryonic stage should have no bearing on whether that human is worthy of moral consideration or legal protection.

Many pro-life Christians simply haven’t thought about the issue enough to recognize that the location of the embryo doesn’t change its moral status.

Based on these four claims, we can conclude IVF-created frozen embryos are worthy of all moral considerations afforded to other human beings. They should also be afforded, based on their status as human beings, two unquestionable natural rights: the right to continue living and the right to continue unimpeded to the next stage of biological development.

Some exceptions to the first natural right exist—for instance, a person has a right to life as long as he hasn’t forfeited it by committing a crime worthy of death, such as intentional murder. But such situations wouldn’t apply to embryos.

The exceptions to the second right are rare and exceedingly controversial. For example, most people believe a child has a natural right to progress from one stage to another, such as from childhood to adolescence. If a physician was able to completely inhibit that change, such as through puberty blockers, most people would consider it an extremely immoral action—even if the parents consented—to intentionally stunt the development of the child. Likewise, inhibiting an embryo from progressing to the next stages of development (fetal, birth, childhood, and so on) should similarly be considered an extremely immoral action.

Unfortunately, the violation of these rights is often made by the people who are, or should be, most concerned about the welfare of these human beings—the biological parents and the fertility doctors. Yet the decision by some to ignore these natural rights shouldn’t prevent us from seeking to protect these vulnerable humans.

The legal protections aren’t as clear-cut and obvious as the moral obligations. Yet I believe we pro-life Christians should be able to agree on a specific set of claims:

1. The protected status of human beings is either absolute or subject to redefinition.

2. If it’s absolute, then every individual human being—regardless of biological age, sex, ethnicity, or abilities—has the right to all the protections afforded to every other human being.

3. If it’s subject to redefinition, then those who control the definition inevitably have life and death control over the rest—the strong can control and enslave the weak.

4. The only way to avoid granting such powers to the strong is to adopt an absolute standard of human protection from conception to natural death.

If we agree with this argument—and we should if we consider ourselves “pro-life”—then we should extend legal protections to all embryos, whether created through natural reproduction or IVF.

New-Old Problem

The discussion surrounding IVF-created frozen embryos challenges us to confront some of the most foundational aspects of our faith and our understanding of human life. It’s a new form of an old problem.

For instance, before the 1970s, many Protestant Christians in America either took no position on abortion or accepted legal abortion under certain conditions. The Southern Baptist Convention even adopted a resolution calling for the legalization of abortion under certain conditions that were later codified in Roe v. Wade. It was only as believers committed to the sanctity of life advocated for the unborn that evangelicals began to recognize the horror of abortion.

Today, we need a similar effort to protect the hundreds of thousands of IVF-created frozen embryos formed only to be abandoned or killed. We need pro-life Christians willing to navigate these complex issues with hearts that seek wisdom, minds that engage with truth, and spirits that reflect Christ’s love for all humanity. And we need those with the courage to affirm a commitment to the biblical mandate of valuing and protecting life, from conception to natural death, so we might better honor the Creator who has fearfully and wonderfully made each one of us.

In the U.S., according to the William’s Institute, 1.6 million people over the age of 13 identify as transgender. In a study done a few years ago, 42% of Americans claimed they knew someone who was transgender. According to another study, half of young adults believe that gender can be different than sex assigned at birth. Society is asking questions about gender like never before.

How can churches and loved ones offer compassion to those who are suffering in this tension? In a tumultuous sea of cultural confusion about gender, Katie J. McCoy sets an anchor by defining female identity through a biblical lens. Her book, To Be a Woman: The Confusion over Female Identity and How Christians Can Respond, encourages the church to view those drowning under the weight of gender dysphoria with compassion and to offer a lifeline of truth through the gospel.

Biology Links to Identity

At the heart of the gender confusion is the division of the biological self and inner self. McCoy, director of women’s ministry for the Texas Baptists, explains: “At its core, gender ideology rests on the belief that one’s biological category (i.e. the sexed body) is divisible from one’s personal identity (i.e. the gendered self), that the physical you and the real you are mutually exclusive” (10). The inner self is given priority.

This priority can be seen in “affirmative” care, which is centered on the patient’s feelings about her gender. Patients may be offered puberty blockers, cross-sex hormones, and sex reassignment surgeries. The goal is to align the patient’s physical configuration with her feelings. But as McCoy points out, “It does little, if anything, to resolve the underlying psychological problems that plague young, gender dysphoric girls” (35). Issues like depression, abuse, trauma, exposure to pornography, and autism may need to be addressed before considering gender dysphoria.

Christians can bring clarity to the issue by recognizing the unity of the body and mind. McCoy points out, “Our physical selves reflect God. They are part of the imago Dei. They are essential and very good (Gen. 1:26–29). The human body has theological significance, revealing God’s nature and design” (99). She goes on: “To sever gender identity from biological sex robs the body of its theological meaning and its inherent worth” (101). Care that truly heals must address issues of the mind without diminishing the value of the body.

Define Female Identity

Care that truly heals must address issues of the mind without diminishing the value of the body.

McCoy describes female identity as “socially guided, philosophically formed, relationally confirmed, biologically grounded, and theologically bestowed” (8). This multifaceted definition is helpful as she breaks down the main influences in young women’s lives that contribute to rapid-onset gender dysphoria, a recent phenomenon largely occurring among young girls who experience a sudden shift in gender identity. Exposure to social media influencers and friends who express gender dysphoria often leads to this coping mechanism for individuals with other psychological issues.

According to McCoy, these self-reinforcing mechanisms often echo the online advice: “If you’re asking whether you are trans, you probably are” (18). Since some aspects of gender are socially defined, many assume the entire concept is only a cultural construct.

But gender is more than a social construct. McCoy argues gender is “derived from biology” (75). Moreover, she warns, “Apart from female biology, female identity is reduced to an impression of the imagination” (75). Women aren’t make-believe; women are creations of the one true God who created the material world with a particular design.

Since female identity is biologically grounded, we must learn to value our natural bodies. They point to a Creator who purposefully designed complementary sexes. McCoy writes, “Our bodies are like physical signposts for the reality of our Creator God. He not only created them to be good; He created them to be a guide. They reveal order, purpose, and design” (96).

Past the obvious reproductive differences, McCoy documents differences between men and women regarding their development and function, such as genes and the brain’s inner workings. These differences represent not opposites but interdependence, reinforcing the general need men and women have for each other.

Our female identity is given to us by the God who created us. McCoy states, “Apart from a reconciled relationship with our Creator, we will never comprehend, much less fulfill, the significance of our sexed bodies or our gendered selves” (111). For us to know our truest selves, we must know God in whose image we’re made.

Hope amid Suffering

McCoy frames her response to gender dysphoria in light of redemption. She argues such disordered feelings are a form of suffering (107). The Lord can use suffering for our good and his glory. Healing is possible, but it may be a long journey. This is a challenge to believers to persevere, to carry one another’s burdens, and to be unrelenting truth-tellers.

Women aren’t simply creations of make-believe; women are creations of the one true God who created the material world with a particular design.

Young women immersed in the turbulent waters of culture are looking for something to anchor their identity. Many are under the false assumption that embracing a new gender identity will stop them from drowning in pain. This is a moment for the church to offer a solution to suffering through the gospel. As McCoy reminds us, “[Jesus] gave His own body to recover and restore those who feel alienated from their own bodies” (14).

McCoy’s book offers a well-researched, organized approach to understanding the modern issues surrounding gender and specifically female identity. It brings valuable insight into how we arrived at this cultural crisis. This resource can help pastors, parents, and youth leaders present compassionate arguments that being a woman is good, true, and beautiful.

Yet the white bobbing heads remind me of fields white unto harvest. I’m helping to plant a home church with the Evangelical Free Church. Half our congregation is made up of people we met at pickleball.

Pickleball

Pickleball, the fastest-growing sport in America, is being played on converted tennis courts, in prison yards, on cruise ships, and at churches that are quickly setting up nets on their grounds to meet their neighbors.

Half our congregation is made up of new Christians we met at pickleball.

Though it caught on first with the elderly, pickleball has spread to the young, with the fastest growth among those age 24 and younger. It’s inexpensive, easy to learn, and extremely social because there’s time on the sidelines for conversations while waiting for the next open court.

I’m thankful I became one of the avalanching number of players. Not only is it a fun way to get exercise, but it kicked me out of my Christian bubble and helped me join God in his adventure of bringing people to himself.

Invite Conversations

My friend Twila invited me to pickleball, and we’re alert together to those God seems to be wooing to himself. We pray for them, eager to connect with them if the door opens. As the years have passed, we’ve learned a lot about being winsome messengers, whether on the court or off.

Conversations are low-key, and we’ve become good listeners, trying to hear what might be keeping our friends from Christ. We don’t preach, but neither do we hide who we are. If someone asks, “What’s new with you, Dee?” I’ll say something that might pique her curiosity, perhaps mentioning my recent visit to a prison or how my visiting daughter commented on how our relationship is so much better than it was once. I hope she’ll ask, “What happened?”

If she does, I can tell her how God is changing hearts in prison—or changing my own heart since he revealed my nasty habit of making passive-aggressive comments. If I’m met with silence, I let the ball drop—but more often than not, she’ll volley back with a question.

Go Slow

Still, many are many wary of “evangelicals.” When one man found out Twila was married to a pastor, he told her, “I’d like to be friends with you, but the Christians I know are really pushy about their faith.”

Twila assured him that any faith conversations would only be at his initiative. From then on, they talked about their shared interests of gardening and music. One day, Twila slipped, telling him in her excitement about an answer to prayer. She stopped midsentence to apologize. But now the man wanted to hear, and he said, “No, no—I want to hear, for this is who you are.”

Their friendship grew deeper. We invited him and his wife over for meals and then to a series our church was doing with the ministry of Alpha. Both put their trust in Christ and began coming to church.

More Fruit

Marty was a friend I made at pickleball, and in time, she shared with me the heartache of her older brother’s murder when he was in college. It had devastated her mother and changed Marty’s childhood. We began getting together outside of pickleball to talk about why a good God might allow such a tragedy.

One day at pickleball, I felt led to invite Marty to a study on the Beatitudes. Marty was hesitant. “How much homework is there?”

“Not that much!” I was so eager for her to say yes.

Then Twila leaned forward with the truth: “Marty, you’ll get out as much as you put into it.” That challenge made Marty want to come.

The Beatitudes begin with the importance of facing our sin and admitting our need for forgiveness. “Blessed are those who mourn” means “Blessed are those who mourn their sin.”

Marty didn’t like it. She told me, “The problem is, Dee, I’m not a sinner.”

I’m so thankful the Lord silenced me, for normally I’d have had much to say. Instead, I prayed the Lord would somehow show her the truth.

Marty was so troubled by the sin discussion that she decided to skip that week’s Bible study and bike through our beautiful peninsula. A half hour into the study, Marty burst in, her face flushed with excitement. She said, “I was riding my bike and God showed me I’m a sinner. But he also loves me, and that’s why he died!”

A hush came over the living room. There’s nothing in this world as exciting as seeing God give new life.

There’s nothing in this world as exciting as seeing God give new life.

It might sound silly to say that God is using pickleball to bring people to himself. But we’ve seen tempers tamed, marriages repaired, and souls saved among our pickleball friends. In an increasingly online and isolated world, having a physical place to connect over an interest, with time enough to have meaningful conversations, has been remarkably fruitful.

You could do the same thing in a group that gathers to run, hike, or discuss books at the library. Praise be to the Lord, who can use us anywhere.

During his teen years, Spurgeon was converted and became a pastor. He consistently considered the next generation in his writings and sermons. Pastors, regardless of their positions, can learn from Spurgeon about what to emphasize in their ministry to youth.

Parents’ Responsibility

Spurgeon didn’t have a youth ministry, but he was a youth pastor.

Spurgeon acknowledged the crucial role parents play in shaping their children’s faith. In a letter to the parents of his church, he urged them not to shy away from teaching their children about their need for a Savior. He cautioned against “flimsy religion” that’s merely civil and doesn’t focus on the real transformation the gospel brings.

Instead, Spurgeon said parents should carry out the mandate stipulated in Deuteronomy 6. They should constantly keep the gospel at the forefront of their children’s upbringing. This meant going beyond nurturing a child’s self-esteem or focusing on moral behavior; it called for honest conversations about sin and the necessity of regeneration. Spurgeon wrote, “Do not flatter the child with delusive rubbish about his nature being good and needing to be developed. Tell him he must be born again. Don’t bolster him up with the fancy of his own innocence, but show him his sin.”

Spurgeon extended his guidance about parents’ role to the young people in his church. He encouraged them to listen to their parents’ counsel and appreciate the value of their godly example: “Come and hear what the Spirit of God would have to say by the mouth of the wise man. I want to show you that true religion comes to many recommended by parental example.”

Pastors’ Call to Train Youth

While Spurgeon emphasized the primary role of parents in nurturing young people’s spiritual lives, he didn’t disregard the pastors’ responsibility. He insisted every pastor should take an active part in discipling youth: “The best of the church are none too good for this work. Do not think because you have other service to do that therefore you should not take interest in this form of holy work.”

He insisted every pastor should take an active part in discipling youth.

Spurgeon interpreted Jesus’s words “Feed my lambs” (John 21:15) as a call to prioritize the spiritual nurture of new Christians and young children. He wanted pastors to give careful and special attention to the young members of the church. This pastoral duty isn’t a stepping stone for budding ministers but a central task for all.

Conscious effort is needed to pastor youth. Spurgeon steered clear of mere entertainment, stressing the importance of guidance and mentorship to shape youth into faithful Christians. He urged pastors to be chief encouragers of the next generation, not wanting pastors to harbor suspicions about young believers’ early faith journeys. By fostering spirituality without suspicion or skepticism, pastors could unlock a tremendous blessing for the church community.

Train Kids in Doctrine

To Spurgeon, the purpose of next-generation ministry environments wasn’t to keep young children “in order.” Instead, he prioritized teaching gospel doctrines plainly and with conviction—and not just the simplest ones. He considered every doctrine essential for a child’s spiritual development: “Why should the higher doctrines, the doctrines of grace be kept back from them? If there be any doctrine too difficult for a child, it is rather the fault of the teacher’s conception of it than the child’s power to receive it, provided the child really be converted to God.”

Spurgeon didn’t mean youth ministries should consist of dry and boring lectures. He instead said we must endeavor “to make doctrine simple; this is to be the main part of our work.” The Prince of Preachers’s heart beat with love for doctrinal clarity and led him to proclaim in a sermon to the young,

We are to believe in the doctrines of God’s word. What vigor they infuse. . . . Keep a fast hold of the doctrines of grace, and Satan will soon give over attacking you, for they are like plate-armor, through which no dart can ever force its way.

In American churches, where students have too often been overly entertained and undertaught, Spurgeon’s focus is a helpful corrective. He encourages us not to hold back parental intentionality, pastoral care, and sound doctrine from the youth. When we feed the “lambs,” students will grow up in their knowledge of and zeal for the Lord.

Model for Youth Pastors Today

In an age of ministry silos, it’s easy to think only one segment of the congregation is your responsibility. But Spurgeon shows us pastors have responsibility to minister to everyone in the congregation. His intentional care and catechesis serves as an excellent historical model for us. Every local church pastor and elder should see the youth in their care not only as the church of tomorrow (a church someone else will pastor), but as their church today.

We must not only shepherd parents but also partner with them to disciple their kids. This will mean speaking not only to adults in sermons, but to the whole family. It will also mean setting aside meaningful time in our schedules to invest directly in the lives of children and teenagers. Find struggling teens to encourage, newly believing kids to catechize, and mature youth to equip for sharing their faith. Don’t shy away from teaching them the deep truths of the Scriptures; learn how to communicate that big theological concept you’re wrestling with to the 5, 10, and 15-year-old who desperately needs to hear it. And if your church is blessed with a vocational youth pastor, praise God. Support him, and give him the resources he needs to succeed.

Caring for the young isn’t a new challenge. It’s one that transcends time. So, let’s follow Spurgeon’s lead. It doesn’t matter whether or not “youth” is in your job title. If you’re a pastor, you’re responsible for the whole church, including the youth.

Early Christians hammered out several statements about the identity of Jesus and affirmed we mustn’t merely say one thing about him but two things: Jesus is truly man and truly God. Even well-intentioned approaches can emphasize one of the truths and implicitly downplay the other.

For example, biblical theology helps us see Christ in the whole storyline of Scripture. Many characters from the Old Testament serve as types that help us understand the Messiah that was to come. Jesus is the new and better Adam, the new and better David, and the new and better Moses. But if we aren’t careful, we can fail to recognize the fundamental distinctions between those men and the much greater man their lives pointed toward.

In some ways, Jesus is a new Moses—there are parallel aspects in their lives. For example, in the transfiguration Jesus, like Moses, goes up a mountain after six days, a cloud descends, his face shines, and a voice speaks from the cloud. However, to see Jesus as merely the new Moses misses something important. The transfiguration narrative (Matt. 17:1–13; Mark 9:2–13; Luke 9:28–35) reveals three key differences that help us see the radical distinctions between Moses and Jesus.

1. Their Shining Faces

Both Moses and Jesus ascend a mountain and have their faces shine. After Moses met with the Lord, he had to veil his radiant face because it was too bright for the Israelites to bear (Ex. 34:35). The light of the glory of God was so powerful it altered his appearance. Similarly, when Jesus goes up on the mountain, Matthew says Jesus’s face shone like the sun (Matt. 17:2).

However, Jesus’s glory is of a different nature than Moses’s. Moses’s face shone because he was reflecting another’s glory; Jesus’s face shone because of his own glory. Moses’s face was radiant because of his proximity to Yahweh; Jesus’s face was radiant because he is Yahweh. Jesus is the “radiance of the glory of God” (Heb. 1:3).

To put this in other terms, Moses is transfigured when he ascends Mount Sinai. And while Jesus as a human is transfigured, Jesus as God doesn’t receive anything, nor is he changed in any way. This glory was and always is his. Jesus is like Moses. But he’s also unlike him. Moses ascended to meet with Yahweh; Jesus is Yahweh not only ascended on the mountain but descended to the mountain.

2. This Is My Son

Moses ascended to meet with Yahweh; Jesus is Yahweh not only ascended on the mountain but descended to the mountain.

The allusions to Moses are confirmed in the transfiguration when Moses himself appears (Matt. 17:3; Mark 9:4; Luke 9:30). Peter responds by suggesting he should build three tents: one for Moses, one for Elijah, and one for Jesus. However, Luke says Peter didn’t know what he was saying (Luke 9:33) and Mark says the disciples were terrified (Mark 9:6). Peter was mistaken.

The narrative makes this clear when the Father’s voice speaks out of the cloud to interrupt Peter and correct him. Peter’s blunder begins with the number of tents he offers to make. When Moses and Elijah are removed, the voice points out that Jesus is the one and only: “This is my beloved Son.”

The Father’s voice thus asserts Jesus isn’t in a triumvirate of equals with Moses and Elijah. He’s exclusive. Even Peter’s earlier recognition of Jesus as the Messiah doesn’t go far enough (Matt. 16:16; Mark 8:29). Peter misunderstands the relationship between Moses, Elijah, and Jesus. He attempts to put Jesus on the same level as men. God won’t allow it. The voice from heaven makes it plain: Jesus isn’t equal to Moses and Elijah; he’s far superior. He’s the singular Son. Moses was a servant, but Jesus deserves more glory because he’s the Son.

3. Listen to Him

There’s only one imperative in the transfiguration narrative. The voice from the heavens tells the disciples, “Listen to him” (Matt. 17:5; Mark 9:7; Luke 9:35). As many have rightly pointed out, this alludes to something told to Moses in Deuteronomy 18:15: “The LORD your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own brothers. You must listen to him” (CSB).

The transfiguration account affirms a new prophet like Moses has arisen. It shows that Jesus mediates the new covenant and faithfully delivers God’s Word.

Under the old covenant, the people couldn’t hear the Father’s voice or see his great fire, but under the new covenant, they behold God in the face of Jesus Christ. On Sinai, God’s Word was written on tablets of stone; on Tabor, they see the glorious Word on the tablet of flesh. As Richard Hays describes it, the new covenant is “enfleshed rather than inscribed.”

The transfiguration account affirms a new prophet like Moses has arisen. It shows that Jesus mediates the new covenant and faithfully delivers God’s Word.

However, this command also hearkens back to another call for the Israelites to listen: the Shema. The title “Shema” is based on the first Hebrew word of the text, which means “listen,” “hear,” or “obey”: “Listen [shema], Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength” (Deut. 6:4–5, CSB).

The transfiguration is the new covenant Shema. Because of the oneness of the Father and Son––because of the identity of the Son––the disciples are called, like Israel of old, to heed his voice. If they listened to Yahweh in the Old Testament, now they must listen to Yahweh in the New Testament through the Son. The command is grounded in Jesus’s divine identity.

Truly God and Man

The transfiguration narrative is a revealing text because it affirms two things about Jesus: (1) he’s the new Moses, as man, but (2) he’s greater than Moses for he’s the eternally begotten Son. The narrative affirms two things at once because Jesus has two natures existing in one person. These natures aren’t confused but are indivisible and inseparable. The distinction of the two natures isn’t taken away by the union; the property of each is preserved.

“Who is Jesus?” The transfiguration account helps us answer that most important question of life by affirming Jesus is both like Moses and unlike Moses. Jesus has a much greater glory, which is something we must never forget.

Yes, authorities under God will always be imperfect. And yet to live without them is truly terrifying.

Authority is necessary, even good. If you’re in a position of power in your family, your workplace, your community, or your church, then it comes from God under his own authority. And he intends for you to use it to bring life to others.

Perhaps if we saw more of this good and godly authority from our leaders—and if we leaders were better at submitting and sharing—then we might not be caught in a crisis of authority. Yet here we are, with each day bringing news of fallen leaders and fervent protests against authority.

Jonathan Leeman isn’t afraid to acknowledge the good, bad, and ugly in his new book, Authority: How Godly Rule Protects the Vulnerable, Strengthens Communities, and Promotes Human Flourishing (Crossway and 9Marks). I believe this book can be used by God to make us and give us better authorities, especially in the church. After all, we have the only perfect example of authority. Leeman writes, “The central picture of authority in the Bible is Jesus offering himself as a substitutionary sacrifice for sins.”

This is a gospel-centered take on authority where Jesus is the example but also the means. By our fallen nature we will misuse authority. And others will misuse it against us. Jesus can forgive us those sins when we repent. And he can bind up those wounds when we trust him in faith.

Leeman is an experienced authority, the editorial director for 9Marks and an elder at Cheverly Baptist Church in Maryland. He joined me on Gospelbound to discuss why young men don’t want to be lead pastors, why leaders need accountability, and why leaders must learn to absorb anger, among other subjects.

Insofar as our message aligns with that of Scripture, we speak on behalf of God.

We’re chefs in the kitchen, taking the ingredients of God’s Word and whipping up a nourishing meal for people in need of growth in holiness.

We’re chefs in the kitchen, taking the ingredients of God’s Word and whipping up a nourishing meal for people in need of growth in holiness.

We’re pharmacists dispensing medicine, mixing the right components that can alleviate the maladies affecting the people entrusted to us, improving their spiritual health.

We’re coaches in the gym, training people for lives of godliness, comforting and challenging them so their spiritual muscles get stronger and their stamina increases, encouraging them to aspire to run the race of faith more effectively.

Missing Edge

Here’s a challenge every preacher faces: our effectiveness is diminished whenever we fail to connect God’s truth to contemporary concerns in a way that engages and holds the attention of our listeners.

We can be biblical and still be boring. We can exegete a text without having exegeted our congregation or the culture influencing them. The meal we serve can be substantive but so bland that our people walk away and leave their plates half-full. The medicine we dispense can lack the necessary sweetness to draw people toward the elixir. The spiritual workout engages the same muscles every week, so people are exhausted rather than exhilarated, having lost interest in your message.

To meet this challenge, I could point to several essential aspects of good preaching, but the one I’ll focus on here is noticeable when it’s missing and electrifying when it’s there. It’s what I call “the edge.” Good preachers find the edge.

When preparing a sermon, ask yourself these questions: How does this biblical text—its world of assumptions, attitudes, and application—cut against the grain of what passes for “common sense” in our world? Where’s the encounter or confrontation of this text with worldly ways of thinking and living? Where’s the sharp point of contradiction?

Find the edge. The world says one thing; the Bible says another. Don’t stop planning your sermon until the edge is clear. That’s what seasons the meal. That’s what sweetens the elixir. That’s what engages different muscles.

If you want people to lean in when you’re preaching instead of checking their phones to see what time it is, show them where the Bible is countercultural. And remember: the Bible counters not only the culture of the world but also the assumptions of the world that we carry into church. When you show where contemporary ways of thinking align with Scripture and cut against the Bible’s teaching, you heighten the drama of your exposition. You tell your congregation not only what the Bible teaches but why it matters—and how it makes you stand out.

Personal Example

A couple years ago, I chose the Lord’s Prayer as the basis for two sermons in chapel at Cedarville University. My first draft was fine. The outline was tied to the text. The manuscript was theologically sound, following the path of strong biblical commentaries.

When you show where contemporary ways of thought align with Scripture and cut against the Bible’s teaching, you heighten the drama of your exposition.

But the more I read over it, the more I felt it wasn’t all that interesting. It covered all the bases, but if I was bored rehearsing it, I couldn’t imagine the students being engaged when listening to it.

After giving it more thought and prayer, I realized what was missing. I hadn’t asked, What’s the edge here? The message was true, but it didn’t run up against falsehood.

Once I looked for the edge, the sermon was transformed. I went back through every line of the Lord’s Prayer and ensured I wouldn’t just expound on the original meaning but also incorporate sharper application: How does this line cut against the common sense of the world or the current practice of the church?

• For example, how does praying to our Father expose our overly individualistic understandings of the Christian faith?
• How does the picture of him being in heaven reveal popular misunderstandings of heaven and earth and how they relate?
• What does it mean to pray for God’s name to be hallowed in a world where most people believe the purpose of life is to see one’s own name magnified?
• How does praying for daily bread stand out in a world that prizes independence and self-reliance?
• And on and on . . .

Finding the edge improved those sermons, and several students have since shared with me the influence those messages had on how they think about prayer in general and reciting that prayer in particular.

Unveil Cultural Narratives

One way to find the edge is to become familiar with the dominant cultural narratives in the West today. Tim Keller’s work is essential for this task. In his book on preaching, he points out five distinct narratives prevalent today—beliefs or storylines about (1) human rationality, (2) history, (3) society, (4) morality, and (5) identity.

• Rationality: the view that the natural world is the only reality, which forms the basis of today’s technological culture that assumes objective, detached human reason (in sociology, psychology, technology, science) can solve what ails us.
• History: the view of world events as unfolding toward progress in scientific, technological, and even moral spheres of life, so whatever is new is assumed better, as opposed to the benighted and regressive opinions of our ancestors.
• Society: the view that the purpose of our social order isn’t to further the interests of any one group or promote values and virtues but to set all individuals free—only this freedom is negative in that it focuses on being freed from constraints over being freed for a higher purpose.
• Morality or Justice: the view that human rights and the push for justice need not align with God’s moral norms but with whatever moral universe we create for ourselves.
• Identity: the view that we find our identity not in something that comes from outside (duties or communal obligations) but from finding and expressing ourselves in opposition to outside constraints that require conformity.

Identifying these narratives helps you get better at finding the edge—that sharp line of distinction between Scripture and society.

Caveats

Finding the edge shouldn’t put us in a posture of warring against those outside the church. Keller recommends the gospel-soaked sermon feel more like “a prison break than a battle,” because we’re pointing out not only the falseness of cultural narratives but their unworkability, their inability to deliver on their promises. The medicine should come as a relief because the edge has made clear the diagnosis.

Finding the edge also shouldn’t lead to an “us vs. them” posture, as if the Scriptures confront everyone outside the church while leaving those inside the church feeling secure in our self-righteousness. Christians aren’t immune to the cultural narratives that create the plausibility structures in our society. We breathe the same air as our non-Christian friends and neighbors.

Christians aren’t immune to the cultural narratives that create the plausibility structures in our society. We breathe the same air as our non-Christian friends and neighbors.

As an example, the identity narrative Keller mentions includes expressive individualism—the belief that the purpose of life is to find and express your true self. This isn’t just a problem out there somewhere. It affects churchgoing Christians as well. Just as Christians and non-Christians alike need the gospel (the nonbeliever, for salvation; the believer, for sanctification), so also do both the believer and nonbeliever need “the edge.” Christians can succumb to the allure of worldly philosophies too.

Finding the edge also doesn’t mean every sermon will counter the same worldly perspective. The text, not the culture, drives the sermon. We won’t hold the interest of our people if we get into a rut where every sermon counters the same one or two cultural narratives. We need to be on the lookout for the different ways Scripture goes against the grain of societal common sense or current church practice. If, in our sermon prep week after week, we can identify only one or two areas of contemporary thought and practice to be countered, we probably need to do more cultural exegesis alongside our biblical study.

No Silver Bullet

Finding the edge isn’t the only technique destined to produce more effective and engaging sermons. Many other factors matter, like biblical fidelity, solid structure, a steady pace, good illustrations, and vocal variety. But this practice enhances our preaching by facilitating the necessary encounter of the Bible with our world today. And, if done prayerfully, it can help a congregation experience God.

In the end, the Spirit of God is the One who applies the Word to the heart. We’re just instruments. The Spirit sustains with heavenly food. The Spirit dispenses heavenly medicine. The Spirit works in and through us as we work out our salvation. We rely on the Spirit as we look for the edge, trusting he’ll apply the living and effective Sword.

Most believers see this cultural trend as a blessing, but many dads end up in a whirlwind of decisions. Questions loom: Should I take the full benefit of the time off, or even take it at all? What happens if I lose ground at work over the weeks I’m gone? If I do take the full benefit, how do I maximize the time?

The answers aren’t as easy as you may think. At first, this seems like a no-brainer: “Of course, take all the time you can!” But research shows most men don’t take their full leave. Why?

Some are concerned it seems excessive in a work culture where men typically take only a few weeks off at most. Others are concerned they’ll lose social traction on their teams or lose opportunities to contribute to projects. Others say their companies don’t pay as well during paternity leave, so they’re forced to decline the leave because it’d mean drastic cuts during a season of growing expenses. In this situation, men will often leverage their vacation benefits (PTO) instead of using the paternity benefit.

All this leaves men wondering about the best approach.

The advice a Christian husband hears from men in the church can add to the confusion. A friend in his early 60s told me he couldn’t imagine taking the full benefit. He said it seems excessive since a dad’s role in the home is incomparable to a mom’s responsibilities. Moreover, he wondered about how employers can sustain the expense.

Another friend in his late 30s looked at paternity leave from a completely different perspective. He encourages friends to take all the time they possibly can, and he listed several godly reasons: helping your wife, taking on more responsibility for the home and kids, and not leaving money you’re owed on the table.

It seems the best approach to a decision that involves so many factors is to understand the full benefits your employer offers, to seek wisdom from others, and to spend time praying about the decision with your wife well in advance of when it needs to be communicated to your employer.

Way Forward

There are several legitimate approaches to complex decisions like this one. Know that what’s best for you may not be what’s best for others. Let each husband and wife be fully convinced in their own minds (Rom. 14:5).

As you pray and discern, here are some questions to consider.

1. Are you valuing your wife’s needs more than your fear of being forgotten?

Some concerns about losing out at work may be valid—especially for men who are the primary breadwinners for their families. But in a work culture that’s increasingly more intentional about investing in paternity leave, some men’s fears are unfounded projections of an unreal future.

Know that what’s best for you may not be what’s best for others.

What if taking the full time allowed by your company not only had zero negative effect on your advancement but also was a tremendous blessing to your wife? What might it mean to her if you take the hours you normally spend at work and invest them into helping manage life with a new baby? How might this support her recovery from labor and (if you have them) your other children’s ability to adjust to a new normal? Would it give her peace of mind to know you’re going to be a full-time dad not just for several days but for several weeks?

Husbands must keep their lives “free from the love of money” and put aside fear of man (Heb. 13:5–6). We also must remember that we’re called to “love [our] wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, (Eph. 5:25).” Sacrificing time to be there for your wife models and communicates Christ’s love. It may also fulfill Peter’s command to honor your wife as “[an heir] with you of the grace of life” (1 Pet. 3:7).

2. Are you taking into account the opportunity to enjoy and bond with your new baby?

One friend told me about a guy he knew who took his paternity leave benefit but hid it from his wife. He simply left the house during work hours and returned each evening after spending the day on himself. This man was overjoyed he’d beaten the system.

But when I heard this, I felt both offended for his wife (whom he’d deceived for several weeks) and deeply sorry for him. This man wasted days he’ll never get back. The short-lived joy of stealing time from his company and lying to his wife pales in comparison to the moments of joy he stole from himself when he could have been treasuring time with his newborn.

Godly men wouldn’t consider this man’s path, but taking extra time away from work to enjoy your new child may still feel like a selfish indulgence for a believer. It’s not. God’s word encourages us to rejoice in all God’s good gifts and receive them with gratitude (Ecc. 5:19; 9:9; James 1:17–18). Often when we set aside time to enjoy one of God’s good gifts, we rediscover joy in his other gifts. There was a unique joy in experiencing each of my three sons for the first time. But each one, because of his difference, also helps me to appreciate his two brothers in unique ways. This is how joy works. When we rejoice in one of God’s good gifts, our joy can indiscriminately multiply in surprising ways.

So consider how taking time to bond with your new baby could free up opportunities to connect with your entire family in unplanned ways. Consider the connections you may make with your family if you leverage your paternity leave for joy.

3. Are you considering the opportunity to invest in your family’s spiritual growth?

Ephesians 6:4 says, “Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.” Learning to lovingly discipline and instruct our children takes time. While paternity leave isn’t a paid sabbatical specially designed for your parenting growth, it does hold a tremendous opportunity. During a paternity leave, dads can forge new discipleship habits that may last long after the leave ends.

During a paternity leave, dads can forge new discipleship rhythms that may last long after the leave ends.

This may range from having a more consistent time of family devotions with your kids to getting into the habit of praying and talking with your wife about how you’re disciplining them. Redeeming a few minutes each day to go through a parenting book with your wife over a few weeks could help you embrace a common vision, and bear fruit throughout your kids’ lifetime. Likewise, overcoming the awkwardness of spiritual conversations with your preschool kids will pay off in the teen years when the stakes are higher and time is less available.

Stir Up Gratitude

If you’re reading this because you need to decide about paternity leave in the coming days, take time to think about the extravagant blessing this upcoming decision represents. God has blessed you and your wife with the privilege of preparing your home for a new child. You have a job and an employer who provides a thoughtful benefit to growing families. You’re part of a marriage union and you have the opportunity to help your wife grow and flourish as a Christian (Eph. 5:25).

Weigh this decision thoughtfully with wisdom and prayer. But above all, let your questions about paternity leave stir up a heart of gratitude for all God’s gifts.

Often the problem of pain is raised as an accusation against people of faith. “How can you believe in God in a world with so much evil and suffering?” The implication seems to be that Christians, Jews, Muslims, and adherents of other religions face an insurmountable incongruity between their reverent faith and unavoidable pain.

But pain is also a problem for atheists, agnostics, “nones,” and “dones”—those who once identified with a religion but now feel as if they’re “finished with that.” Whoever we are, we need both perspective and power to face suffering and pain: perspective to make sense of the suffering and power to handle it.

Weigh the Options

With this in mind, let’s evaluate five views of suffering, looking for answers to both the why and the how questions.

1. Moralistic View

This view is that suffering comes as a consequence of someone’s actions. It’s caused by people, and therefore it could have been avoided. This is a common view, and perhaps the oldest one.

It’s the perspective offered by Job’s friends. Job must have committed some sin, they tell him, and that’s why his children died, his property was destroyed, and his body is afflicted with disease (see Job 4:8). In the Hindu tradition, current suffering may even be the result of karma for a person’s actions in a previous life.

We should acknowledge that some suffering comes to people because of foolish choices they make. If you decide to drink a lot of alcohol and then drive a car, you may have an accident and get hurt or hurt someone else. When we experience pain and suffering, it’s worth asking if there’s something we could have done differently to avoid the mess we’re in.

Whoever we are, we need both perspective and power to face suffering and pain—perspective to make sense of the suffering and power to handle it.

But if we always apply this perspective to every form of suffering, we’ve offered an overly simplistic answer to a complex problem. The moralistic view fails to address disasters like tsunamis and hurricanes. It fails to account for the seemingly random ways one person suffers while another doesn’t. Some people are healed and others die of the same disease, though they’ve taken the same treatment, offered prayers to the same God, thought the same positive thoughts, or channeled the same sources of cosmic energy.

When suffering people are told it’s their fault, this can pile guilt on already difficult circumstances. Such insensitivity can trigger anger that drains them of energy they need to spend in more helpful ways. The moralistic view falls terribly short of providing meaningful perspective or helpful power to handle suffering.

2. Reframing View

This view says we must think about suffering and pain differently. When we do, this will alleviate our pain. The reframing view takes many forms, from religious to completely secular. M. Scott Peck articulated a Buddhist version of the reframing perspective in The Road Less Traveled:

Life is difficult.

This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we truly know that life is difficult—once we truly understand and accept it—then life is no longer difficult.

With Peck, we must admit the way we think about suffering can make a tremendous difference in how we handle it. Those who suffer need to carefully examine their default modes of thinking and change unhealthy or unproductive messages that may dominate their minds.

But a change in thinking can only go so far. Some suffering is bad no matter how we perceive it. And some efforts to change our thinking lead to harmful denials of reality. Peck’s endorsement of the fact that “life is difficult” is helpful. It’s naive to go further and insist that “once we truly know that life is difficult . . . then life is no longer difficult.”

3. Healing View

This view admits we don’t know why there’s so much suffering in the world but that we can work to alleviate it. Advocates for the healing view spend little energy on philosophical or theological discussions about why the world is broken. They say this may not matter. Instead, they want to spend their energies fixing what’s broken.

It’s hard to find fault with people who want to make the world better by alleviating suffering. Who could complain about people feeding starving children, providing medical care, or fighting against sex trafficking? But some people do find fault.

Christopher Hitchens labeled Mother Teresa “a fanatic, a fundamentalist, and a fraud.” One can imagine someone from a Hindu perspective wanting Mother Teresa to stop rescuing people from dying in the streets because it could mess up the process of karma. It’s naive to think everyone will agree on what’s “good” or “harmful.”

Even so, the healing view has a lot going for it. It involves taking suffering seriously, recognizing the difficulties in fighting against it, and working diligently to improve people’s circumstances. But the healing view is weak on the why question. It offers few answers—and this causes a bigger problem. Without a larger, overarching perspective, the healing view provides less-than-adequate resources to compel perseverance in the fight against suffering, sickness, and death. Without a metanarrative, it’s easier and easier for people to lose enthusiasm in the fight.

4. Secular View

This view says the reality of evil and suffering is one of the strongest arguments (if not the strongest argument) against a belief in God. Richard Dawkins expresses the harsh evolutionary perspective on pain and suffering this way: “In a universe of blind forces and genetic replication, some people are going to get hurt, other people are going to get lucky, and you won’t find any rhyme or reason in it, nor any justice.”

Whether this view is held rigorously by thorough-thinking philosophers or in less intellectual ways by people who try to avoid the subject, the secular view is made attractive because of the pain and suffering around us. It may seem to offer a better explanation than religious beliefs. Many people I talk to about their rejection of faith point to suffering as the cause. Anger provides an appearance of strength for some who abandon God.

But in the realm of how questions, the secular view fails catastrophically. It offers few resources to help people handle disease, disaster, or death.

Many have observed that Western culture, which is more secular than previous eras, is the most surprised by and therefore the least prepared for suffering. Our world has enough distractions to keep anyone far from serious contemplation—about anything, especially difficult topics like pain. That leaves people ill-equipped to support others going through trials or to find inner strength for themselves to resist despair when facing the harsh realities of suffering.

5. Redemptive View

The Judeo-Christian view is that the world isn’t as it’s supposed to be, that suffering is an outrage, but that it can also be redemptive. This view points to an afterlife when pain and suffering will finally be defeated.

The Hebrew Scriptures teach that a personal God created the world and pronounced all his creation (including people) “good.” He gave people the dignity of choice to obey his commands or reject them. The first people (and all people since then) chose, to some degree, disobedience and rebellion against God. And the world has been out of whack ever since.

But the Bible also teaches that God has begun a work of redemption that can extend to individual people for all eternity. While this life may include great suffering, an eternal afterlife free from pain is offered for those who trust in God’s plan of salvation.

The secular view leaves people ill-equipped to support others going through trials or to find inner strength for themselves to resist despair.

This is the view I hold, and I want you to consider (or reconsider) it carefully. It offers a better, more comprehensive answer to the why question than any other perspective.

A good God created our good world with good gifts for us to enjoy. But we damaged the good world with our bad choices. While it may seem difficult to comprehend, human rebellion against God damages not only us but all creation. Thus the reality we observe around us shows us the original creation’s goodness (delightful sunsets, beautiful flowers, and magnificent landscapes) and gives us painful reminders of a fallen, broken world (natural disasters, disease, death, and crime).

Not Without Difficulties but the Best Explanation of Real Life

The redemptive view isn’t without its difficulties. I find variances in suffering to be deeply troubling. Some people suffer their entire lives while others hardly seem to experience a drop of pain. Some die young after battles against constant pain while others die peacefully in their sleep in their 90s. A tornado rips through a town, leveling houses and killing hundreds while in a nearby town houses and lives are untouched.

These inconsistencies disturb me greatly, and though my theology tells me all creation suffers the consequences of sin, I still struggle with the ever-real, inadequately labeled problem of pain.

Despite these challenges, the redemptive view offers the best resources for the how questions because it’s founded on a historical event, not just a philosophical concept. Christians’ entire belief system rests on Jesus’s resurrection. This establishes our hope in the afterlife on fact, not mere theory.

If the resurrection is a fairy tale or a lie, all of Christianity crumbles. But if it happened, the Christian message points us to a world that will be recreated and a reality where pain and suffering will pass away. It provides joy and hope amid great suffering today and a certain future tomorrow.

Today, we have more information than ever at the tip of our fingers. It accumulates every second. A quick Google search can provide answers to any questions that come to mind, from “Who is that actor who seems so familiar?” to “What’s the best method to get my baby to sleep?”

We feel we can know everything. But far from bringing us peace, this produces an insatiable hunger for more information. We think that maybe if we get one more piece of data, we’ll feel satisfied with our knowledge or our decisions. But we never find true rest; tranquility lasts only a moment before we’re again aimlessly navigating the infinite sea of information.

Some of us are good at pretending this tireless quest for data is something godly. We justify it based on duties: I must keep an eye on what the young people in my church are doing, so I follow them minute by minute on all their social networks. I must be an informed citizen, so I spend the first three hours of the day glued to Twitter and the news. I must write a good article, so I read five books and 15 essays on the dangers of information overload. We deceive ourselves, convinced we need to know more rather than know well. We drown in information while allowing our souls to languish in a wisdom drought.

The good news is that we can start walking differently today. Let me share six proverbial pieces of advice for cultivating wisdom in an information-saturated world.

1. Fear the Lord.

The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and instruction. (Prov. 1:7)

To be truly wise—to live a good life—we must begin by seeking God, not searching the internet. Wisdom isn’t merely about accumulating a bunch of data about how the world works. We cannot become wise even by memorizing answers from a Bible trivia game. Knowledge is essential but insufficient. We must apply that knowledge properly; we must seek to walk according to the divine standard, not the fashions of our generation.

Knowledge is essential but insufficient.

God made everything we see and what we can’t see. He understands how everything works in this broken world and how it should work. Who better to tell us how to live well than the Author of Life? To start being wise, we must surrender to the lordship of the Wise One.

2. Ask for wisdom.

For the LORD gives wisdom; from his mouth come knowledge and understanding. (Prov. 2:6)

There’s good news for all those hungry for wisdom: God isn’t stingy. Our Lord delights in pouring wisdom out abundantly on all who ask for it in faith (James 1:5). To walk well in this world, we don’t need to try to be omniscient like God. We can cry out to him for wisdom to show us what good works he has prepared for us and what we need to know and do to walk in them (Eph. 2:10).

For example, if I’m a youth leader, my job is to disciple my students, not to watch them like a police officer. The wisest thing to do will be to invest time in cultivating my knowledge of God’s Word (which is powerful to transform them) and meeting with them regularly to see how they’re doing and to pray together. Knowing every detail of young people’s movements on social media may make me concerned about them, but it hardly helps me serve them.

3. Immerse yourself in the Word.

My son, do not forget my teaching, but let your heart keep my commandments. (Prov. 3:1)

In a world with countless sources of information, it’s easy to forget to drink continually from the well of eternal truth—the Word. It’s in the Scriptures that God has revealed the most important truths about himself, about us, and about the world we inhabit.

The Bible doesn’t give us answers to every curious question in our minds. The reason is that we don’t need answers to all those questions. Insatiable curiosity often distracts us from what we need most desperately—answers to the deepest concerns of our souls. In Scripture, we find identity, purpose, and hope. Its truths nourish us, unlike the junk food we often binge on for entertainment. If we neglect our intake of God’s Word, it shouldn’t surprise us that we feel spiritually anemic and seek to satisfy the craving for nourishment with more and more data.

4. Forget about knowing everything.

Let your eyes look directly forward, and your gaze be straight before you. (Prov. 4:25)

When Paul said to “examine everything; hold firmly to that which is good” (1 Thess. 5:21, NASB), the internet didn’t exist. Examining “everything” was relatively simple when it consisted of a few conversations throughout the day, a couple of letters a week, and perhaps a scroll here or there if you were intellectual and affluent.

Now our “everything” is, well, practically everything. We have at our fingertips almost all the information that has been produced in the history of humanity—the good, the bad, and the terrible. Email, messaging apps, streaming, and social media bombard us with data that demands our attention every minute.

Are we surprised so many have stopped examining and simply consume without thinking? Are we surprised our gaze goes from one place to another instead of focusing on what’s important? We must work hard to limit our sources of information so we can examine what we read or hear.

5. Be corrected.

Do not reprove a scoffer, or he will hate you; reprove a wise man, and he will love you. (Prov. 9:8)

God didn’t create us to be alone. That’s why it’s good to participate in reading groups, join Bible studies, and have coffee with godly friends with whom we can share what we’re learning. We must be open to listening to and being instructed by others who can see what we can’t. Look for people full of the Word, with experiences and perspectives different from yours, who can help you persevere in wisdom.

6. Glorify God in your ignorance.

The reward for humility and fear of the LORD is riches and honor and life. (Prov. 22:4)

We must be open to listening and being instructed by others who can see what we can’t.

When we encounter something that surpasses our understanding, our first impulse is usually to improvise a half-cooked answer or to study for hours to determine our opinions. But there’s no need to give in to those impulses.

Of course, a particular topic may be worth analyzing in the future. But our ignorance shouldn’t make us feel threatened. We can rest in the fact that God understands everything and marvel at his glory while saying, “I don’t know.”

Are You Willing to Be Wise?

Wisdom is available to us all (Prov. 1:20–23). The question is this: Do we want it? It’s easy to say yes; seeking it is another thing. Our distraction-filled world saturates us with information to distract us from seeking wisdom. Don’t allow it to.

Jesus gave himself on the cross so you and I could receive new hearts that submit to the lordship of the God of all wisdom. We weren’t born again to live in foolishness. The days are evil (Eph. 5:16); let’s stop wasting time in the whirlwind of data and strive to walk as Jesus walked. In him, we have everything we need to do so.

Many of these parents seem to believe cultural Christianity is a recent development and that today’s challenges are unlike anything in the history of the church. The truth is that there have always been Christians who seemed more influenced by the culture than by their faith.

Cultural Christians in the Early Church: A Historical and Practical Introduction to Christians in the Greco-Roman World aims to demythologize some of our church history. Nadya Williams shows that, much like believers today, Christians in the first five centuries of the church were prone to succumb to cultural temptations. And they faced many of the same cultural pressures we do today.

Cultural Christianity

According to Williams, a historian of Greco-Roman culture, cultural Christians are “individuals who self-identify as Christians but whose outward behavior and, to the extent that we can tell, inward thoughts and motivations are largely influenced by the surrounding culture rather than their Christian faith and the teachings of Jesus” (xiv).

In the ancient world, cultural Christians struggled in many of the same areas we do. As the New Testament makes clear, believers have always struggled with faithfulness. Early believers made idols out of their wealth, food, appearance, sexual relationships, and patriotism, all while claiming to be followers of Christ.

There have always been Christians who seemed more influenced by the culture than by their faith.

We can be tempted to write off these cultural Christians, both from the past and today, as hypocrites who lack sincere faith in Christ. Some self-described Christians who are captivated by culture are actually unbelievers (1 John 2:15), but Williams doesn’t focus on the authenticity of their profession. Throughout her book, she refers to those struggling with cultural sins as “believers” and “Christians.” Their succumbing to cultural pressure wasn’t a matter of salvation, as she describes it; it was a matter of sanctification. They struggled because it was simply easier to follow the surrounding culture than to live out their faith counterculturally.

But Williams acknowledges the danger for those who desire their cultural preferences more than they desire to follow Christ. Cultural sins can lead some who once claimed Christ to abandon him. As Williams acknowledges, “The allure of culture . . . sometimes proved more enticing than the countercultural community of the gospel” (63). The challenge for all Christians is to put their cultural sins to death and pursue Christ.

Exposing Roman Culture

Part of Williams’s mission is supplying historical context for the New Testament. Her grasp of ancient Roman culture shines when she gives background information that illuminates Christian history, which makes this a valuable book for pastors and teachers.

For example, Williams provides insight into ancient Jewish and Roman property customs as she recounts the story of Ananias and Sapphira. The tragic couple’s actions recorded in Acts 5 reflect the Roman practice of euergetism, which entailed beneficence with the expectation of glory to the donor in return. Ananias and Sapphira weren’t uniquely wicked; they were culturally captive. Though God ultimately held them responsible for their cultural sin, their story takes on a different flavor with this background.

New light shines on other stories from church history as well. Williams argues that the significance of two third-century martyrs, Perpetua and Felicity, illustrates a countercultural aspect of Christianity. Within the church, women were ascribed worth apart from their ability to bear children. We see this because their stories were celebrated by church leaders for their spiritual accomplishments. All women, regardless of their marital status, were recognized as valuable members of the family of God. This was radically distinct from the misogyny of Roman society.

However, Williams shows the church has struggled to consistently apply its views in a changing society. Williams reminds us, “What remains unchanged, however, is the church’s call to minister to all believers. This ministry involves seeing every believer’s worth through God’s eyes rather than our own” (103).

Confronting Contemporary Culture

Williams clearly states her goal to show continuity between the errors of the early Christians and “the prominence of these same sins of cultural Christianity in the church today” (xxvii). Each chapter ends with parallels between modern and ancient cultural demands. However, many of the examples demonstrate Williams’s cultural or political preferences, which lean progressive on monetary and regulatory issues, rather than being instances of clear compromise. Some of her contemporary application is distracting from the historical scholarship she offers.

Within the church, women were ascribed worth apart from their ability to bear children and were recognized as valuable members of the family of God.

For example, Williams connects the expectation that Christians should be financially generous with an affirmation of higher marginal tax rates in the U.S. She argues we should see state-run social programs as “types of parachurch ministries” (20). Though the effectiveness of nonemergency foreign aid is questionable, she says those who oppose it “resemble the pagan Romans” (20). Similarly, she argues that Christian conservatives who oppose some governmental social programs are culturally compromised simply because of their opposition to those debatable policies (103).

Her approach to these issues cuts off argument, often jumping straight from a biblical principle to a preferred policy without considering the many ways the mandate can be accomplished. The command to be concerned for the poor doesn’t mean every government program aimed at wealth redistribution carries a biblical mandate. It doesn’t preclude considering the subsequent effects of those policies and how they may create new, undesirable social consequences.

Though I disagree with some of Williams’s preferences, her examples made me pause and examine my negative responses. More often than not, my disagreement could be traced to my cultural or political preferences rather than a deeper theological conflict. Williams’s book shows we all tend to view contemporary issues from a particular cultural perspective, which isn’t always a scriptural one.

Cultural Christians in the Early Church provides helpful context for early church history. There’s no period in the life of the church that we can restore to find flawless biblical fidelity. Williams is correct when she argues, “This ideal past when the church was fully holy and blameless is, in fact, a myth” (200). Instead, all believers, despite their cultural preferences, should look forward to the coming City of God.

Notably missing, in many cases, is a depth of discussion that expects children to grasp not only the theological truths in the story but also the broader metanarrative of Scripture. This isn’t because Sunday school teachers are unwilling to provide more intentional and effective spiritual formation for their students. Often, they’re simply not equipped, either with a robust and purposeful curriculum or with the training on how to best reach children at each age level.

How can we help them? How can we shape our children’s programs to nurture kids who understand the full breadth of Scripture?

Choose Stories Wisely

In curricula today, the stories tend to focus on a few events, usually those resembling a superhero plot and featuring great men and women of faith. Stories of God’s people are twisted into moral tales, meant to admonish children into behaving well. This approach can distort the true nature of the Bible, which isn’t a story about humans at all. It’s the story of God.

A better approach is to look for stories that reveal the nature of God while staying focused on the central message of the narrative. Each piece of Scripture points us either ahead or back to the cross, the center of our faith.

With this mindset, helping students to understand the sacrificial system of the Old Testament becomes just as essential as telling them the story of God’s power in knocking down the walls of Jericho. Perhaps more so. With each story, the ultimate theme of God’s love for his people should be spoken aloud every Sunday.

Build Curricula Around the Big Story

With a distinct beginning, middle, and end, the Scriptures reveal who God is and answer life’s most important questions about our identity and purpose. Starting with your youngest students, tell the story slowly and deliberately, in its proper order. When you get to the end, tell it again. Hearing the entire story multiple times ensures children develop a solid understanding.

The overarching story of God’s good creation, the brokenness that came from the fall into sin, and the redemption and restoration that Jesus bought on the cross is reflected throughout the Scriptures. This framework shapes not only which stories we choose to tell but also how we tell them. As we together seek these elements in every passage of the Bible, students learn the tools to do this for themselves.

For example, the story of Jonah demonstrates for students of any age the brokenness of humankind but also the unfathomable grace of God in calling Jonah as the unwilling prophet, in turning him back around when he literally ran away from that calling, in sparing his life despite his disobedience to bring him to his knees (in the belly of a great fish!), and in inspiring widespread repentance and faith in the notoriously wicked city of Nineveh.

Rather than simply marveling at the amazing miracle of God’s use of a fish to swallow Jonah up, we focus on these bigger themes to redirect students to what’s most important. Older students can also make more direct connections, like between the three days Jonah spends entombed in the fish and the third-day resurrection of Jesus. All students can see and rejoice that the goodness of God isn’t dependent on the goodness of man.

Repeat, Repeat, Repeat

Repetition truly is the mother of learning. Time after time after time, our retelling of these truths imprints them on our children’s hearts. There’s good purpose in God’s reminders to his people to tell their children again the stories of his faithfulness. Forgetfulness leads to doubt and disobedience. Hearing the story one more time draws us ever closer back to him.

Tell God’s story intentionally and repeatedly, rehearsing its main ideas every week. A child who attends even one class should walk away having learned something about the character of God and the story of redemption. Students who attend our Sunday schools for several years should hear the entire narrative multiple times, at ever-deepening levels.

Students who attend our Sunday schools for several years should hear the entire narrative multiple times, at ever-deepening levels.

Repetition of routine can also be an incredibly powerful teaching tool. Integrating patterns of prayer, praise, discussion, contemplation, and response builds a framework for worship. This consistency isn’t only an important gift we give our children today but one they carry with them for the rest of their lives.

Grow the Lessons with the Students

As children grow and develop, their strengths and challenges do too.

Early Years

Young children are eager to soak up information and build a firm foundation of knowledge. They can memorize with ease and enjoyment, especially through song, story, and action. Capitalize on these capabilities without sacrificing depth or truth. Ask them to memorize Scripture (longer passages too!) to hide in their hearts, so they develop a deep well of truth to visit time and again as they grow.

Middle School

Students in middle school are situated between childhood and adulthood. Their minds and bodies are changing at a rate equaled only in toddlerhood. These students search for truth in a new way. They’re eager to know for themselves what’s true and good and beautiful, and this desire often shows up in hard questions.

Forgetfulness leads to doubt and disobedience. Hearing the story one more time draws us ever closer back to God.

Amid these questions, they may look like they’re turning away from faith. But this need not be so. In these tender years, provide students with a safe space to ask the most important questions. Encourage them to test things for themselves and push back, but give them something firm and immovable against which to push—the Truth.

Lessons centered on robust and honest discussion led by faith-filled and compassionate adults will allow students to own and deepen their faith. They’ll see the value of every word of Scripture as they look closely at the text while seeing overarching themes and connections.

High School

During these years, students are discovering who they are. They’re eager to show this self to the world, so guide them to do so with wisdom and grace. Understanding their place in the story of God’s people will allow them to center their lives on Christ rather than themselves. This is countercultural and may even go against the grain of their desires. But it will ultimately root them in the One who never changes—who created them, loves them perfectly, and orders their steps.

Take care to help students develop compassion and grace for those who hold different beliefs. At this age, cynicism and a tendency to villainize the “other” are strong. Developing a true biblical worldview that holds unswervingly to Truth while reaching out in love to those who don’t yet know it is a step toward spiritual maturity.

Time-Tested Education Submitted to God

This approach to education in the church follows the flow of Scripture while honoring the developmental needs and strengths of the child. It’s mirrored in the classical model of education. Over the past decades, these tenets have proven effective for developing depth of thought and love for learning in students in both homeschooling communities and traditional schools.

But in all things, remember that no teaching strategy or cleverly designed lesson can bring about the regeneration of a soul. The Spirit draws hearts to the Father. The most essential tool in the hand of a Sunday school teacher isn’t a particular curriculum but rather the prayer of the righteous, which is powerful and effective (James 5:16).

Last summer, Sarah’s family moved from the Chicago suburbs to Kansas City, Missouri. And in 2022, Winfree’s family moved around the corner, to a house on another street in her neighborhood. Our moves looked different, but we both experienced uncertainty, stress, and exhaustion.

Since moving can be an emotional rollercoaster, it’s hard to process the feelings that come with each stage. With so much to be done, it’s easy to just put our heads down and plow through. But what we need, even more than an X-ray machine to show us exactly what’s in all those boxes, is to lift our eyes and remember our “help comes from the LORD” (Ps. 121:1–2). Here are some verses we kept hanging on to during our moves.

1. Uncertainty and Instability of House Shopping

From the day we heard, we have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him: bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; being strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy. (Col. 1:9–11)

Our moves looked different, but we both experienced uncertainty, stress, and exhaustion.

The beginning of a move involves a lot of worrying and waiting. Will your current house sell? How many times will you have to clean up and clear out at a moment’s notice for showings? Will your offer on the new house be accepted? What if the timelines don’t match up?

Even if you have a clear idea of what you want, there’s little you can do to make it happen. As you’re asking desperately for wisdom and hoping you’re making good financial and geographical decisions, try using Paul’s prayer.

2. Pressure and Stress of Packing

Do not be anxious, saying, “What shall we eat?” or “What shall we drink?” or “What shall we wear?” For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. (Matt. 6:31–34)

Before you start boxing things up, you’ll want to declutter. There’s no point in moving things you won’t need—but will you need them? Maybe if you study the Zillow photos a little more, you can figure out if that oversize chair will fit in the corner of the new family room.

And when should you start packing? You don’t want to pack too soon, because you still have to function in your home. But you don’t want to wait too long, because then you’ll run out of time or space and have to leave things behind. (Sarah is raising her hand—she had to do that!) Be encouraged by Jesus’s promises of provision.

3. Anxiety and Exhaustion of Moving

It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved sleep. (Ps. 127:2)

This is when we got stress headaches and didn’t sleep well. Sarah was nervous about getting everything onto the truck and about her husband’s ability to drive it for eight hours. (Follow-up report: he did great and liked it so much that he briefly considered becoming a long-haul trucker.) She worried about her family’s ability to get the truck unpacked without as many helpers since they didn’t know anyone in their new town.

Winfree was anxious about meeting her (perhaps naive) goal of getting everything from the old house around the corner to the new one before the kids got home from school. As dinnertime approached, she gave up hope that the movers would get the job done and started unpacking the truck herself—talk about exhausting! But sleep was still elusive because that running to-do list wouldn’t let her brain turn off. When you’re exhausted and overwhelmed, let this psalm remind you to rest in the Lord.

4. Frustration and Overwhelm of Unpacking

God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work. (2 Cor. 9:8)

The chaos can be paralyzing. Sarah’s lowest day was after they returned the truck and got the major furniture in place. Her mom went home, there were boxes everywhere, and so many things needed to be done that she couldn’t even get started. (Tip: narrowing your focus and picking one area works well to combat this.)

Winfree woke up on the first morning to realize she’d unpacked the coffee maker but had no clue where to find a mug. As despair welled up, she spotted one in a gift basket their realtor left. She’d never been so happy to own a cheap mug covered in a business logo. It became a reminder of the Lord’s provision in all things. When confronted with your inability to find and do things, be encouraged by this assurance that God can equip you.

5. Sadness and Insecurity of Not Belonging (Yet)

The eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms. (Deut. 33:27)

Even though we both moved to beautiful new spaces in friendly neighborhoods, it didn’t seem like any of that belonged to us. Instead, it felt like we were on long vacations we could never come home from. There were grief and tears, not just for the people and places we’d lost but also for the feelings of security and familiarity they’d given us.

All this might be compounded if you don’t want to move in the first place, you don’t love the house you’re moving into, or you have a gap between homes that leaves you in temporary lodging. Lord willing, our homes are places of security and belonging, so when we move that feels disrupted—at least for a while. Let this promise remind you of the security and stability we have in the Lord.

6. (and 7.) Incompetence and Impatience over Newness

Better is the end of a thing than its beginning, and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit. (Eccl. 7:8)

Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. (Gal. 6:9)

Maybe we’re watching the neighbors to see how often they water their grass and what day they take out their garbage (Sarah). Maybe we’re frustrated every time we see a pile of wet towels on the bathroom floor, wondering if we’ll ever have time to hang the towel racks (Winfree). There’s a learning curve to being in a new home. It takes us a long time to figure out how to do things or set up systems we used to zip right through.

It’s hard to be patient with ourselves when it takes much longer than we’d like to unpack and organize everything we need to function normally—or when we can’t find things we know we’ve unpacked. New beginnings are hard. Let these verses encourage you to patiently persevere.

8. Confidence and Joy After Settling In

The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance. (Ps. 16:5–6)

Before long, we could look at our moves and see the Lord had been faithful through every single step. There wasn’t a need he didn’t meet. There wasn’t a sadness he didn’t comfort. Over and over, he gave us more than we would’ve even dared to imagine—whether we were moving into our dream homes or not.

Before long, we could look at our moves and see the Lord had been faithful through every single step.

Even if we realize the house isn’t all we thought it would be or the new city doesn’t measure up to the old one, we can take joy in our good Father’s provision and rest in his sovereign care. We can praise the Lord with the words of this psalm.

My (Winfree’s) family has been in our new home for more than a year, but every time I see a “for sale” sign in front of a house, I still thank the Lord we’re no longer in the whirlwind of moving. It’s a stressful endeavor.

But it’s not without purpose—and I don’t just mean getting a bigger house or moving for a job. As Paul explains in Acts 17:26–27, God has determined the periods and boundaries of our dwelling places with a clear aim—that we’d seek him. Wherever you are in the moving process, let it be an opportunity to seek the Lord. Remember that “he is actually not far from each one of us” (v. 27)—no matter how far we’ve moved.

In his keynote message at TGC’s 2023 National Conference, David Platt teaches on Exodus 40 and emphasizes the importance of extraordinary prayer in our lives and our families, churches, and ministries. Exodus is filled with evidence of God’s desire to dwell among his people—may we pray for the fullness of God’s presence among us, acknowledging that God’s glory will fill the earth as all nations sing of his grace.

Frank Herbert’s Dune novels are a prime example of the messianic narrative (the second novel of the series is titled Dune Messiah), and they’re rife with religious themes that draw from Islam, Judaism, and Christianity. This is vividly apparent in the new Dune films from director Denis Villeneuve, one of today’s most thoughtful and gifted filmmakers. Villeneuve’s follow-up to 2021’s Dune is a messiah story of incomparable cinematic scale.

It shouldn’t be surprising that audiences find messianic narratives irresistible.

Dune: Part Two’s family drama is Godfatheresque, its ruling-class politics Shakespearean in scope. The world-building detail is unparalleled. The immersive experience of sight (has blockbuster cinematography ever looked so gorgeous?), sound (Hans Zimmer!), and sandworms is utterly epic—especially on an IMAX screen. There are several moments of cacophonous triumph that left me awestruck. Dune Two is among the most impressive sequels I’ve seen.

Yet this isn’t a rousing, feel-good messiah story. And as much as the film pulled me into its world and gave me a bravura moviegoing experience, I left the theater ready to exit that world—and especially grateful that this messiah story isn’t the messiah story.

Messianic Rise

Spoilers ahead.

The sequel’s narrative focal point is simple enough: the messianic rise of Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet). Heir of House Atreides (which has Davidic overtones), Paul comes of age among the Fremen people on the desert planet Arrakis, a sort of “holy land” of immense strategic importance, frequently invaded or occupied by this or that regime. There are clear echoes of the imperial-occupied Holy Land where Jesus’s messianic rise took place. And the biblical parallels don’t end there.

Paul is a humble and reluctant messiah, at least at first. And like Jesus, he dignifies the marginalized, including women, in stark contrast to the male-centered imperial culture of the day (especially the misogynistic, gladiatorial men of House Harkonnen who evoke pagan Rome). We see echoes of Jesus’s testing in the wilderness (Matt. 4:1–11) when Paul goes through a time of preparation in the sandy wilderness of Arrakis. He later has a “death and resurrection” moment that cements his messianic status. And when a religion starts to form around Paul—who the Fremen come to see as the long-prophesied Lisan al Gaib (or off-world prophet)—imperial leaders take notice and ponder how to deal with this problematic source of regional instability.

But as the Paul Atreides messianic rise accelerates, the ways his story is unlike Christ’s become clearer.

Conquering Militant Messiah

Far from a self-denying savior, Paul becomes increasingly motivated by fleshly desires and tempted by world-conquering ambition. He takes a lover, for example—the Arrakis warrior Chani (Zendaya). And his treatment of her throughout the film deteriorates.

In a moment that nods to the Genesis 3 temptation of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, Paul drinks the “Water of Life,” a poisonous blue liquid that—if it doesn’t kill you—purportedly gives you superhuman knowledge. “You’ll see the beauty and the horror,” his mother, Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), tells him after she partook of the drink herself.

In more stark contrasts, Paul embraces militancy and revenge. He seeks greater power. The oppressed Freman people want a conquering militant messiah, and Paul gives them what they want. Many of Christ’s Jewish disciples also expected and desired a conquering militant messiah. But Christ was a nonviolent servant king, who gave his life as a ransom for many (Matt. 20:20–28) and declared his kingdom “is not of this world” (John 18:36).

While watching the final act of Dune Two, part of me delighted to see Paul lead the Arrakis Revolt against the evil imperial forces, culminating in the deaths of top Harkonnen baddies, the submission of Emperor Shaddam (Christopher Walken), and Paul’s consolidation of power. But Villeneuve wants us to feel conflicted watching it, and I certainly did.

Paul hasn’t turned out to be the unstained, virtuous messiah we instinctively desire. The look on Chani’s face in the film’s final shot is a proxy for many in the audience—and indeed, many in our secular age who resent institutional religion. She feels betrayed and manipulated. She never bought into the “Paul as messiah” narrative, but she’s mad so many of her people did. Above all, she’s mad Paul himself did.

Messiah Myth as Means of Control

Dune Two feels like an artifact of a post-Christian age, and Chani represents religious skepticism (in contrast to Javier Bardem’s Stilgar, who represents sincere-if-naive belief). Chani gives voice to the questions and doubts of a growing number of “nones” who see religious faith as a feel-good smoke screen for nefarious power grabs.

“You want to control people? Tell them a messiah will come,” she says at one point. “They’ll wait for centuries.”

Dune Two feels like an artifact of a post-Christian age, and Chani represents religious skepticism.

The film portrays Chani as a more “progressive” denizen of Northern Arrakis, in contrast to the “Southern fundamentalists” who are all too eager to acknowledge Paul as messiah and fight for him in a holy war. Chani sees how religious narratives can serve the interests of those in power by reinforcing hierarchies and encoding behaviors in the name of faithful devotion. Certainly, given the track record of so many power-hungry and abusive religious leaders in history, some of the skepticism Dune Two raises is warranted.

Chani’s nemeses are the Bene Gesserit, a mysterious magisterium of women who perpetuate narratives, manipulate bloodlines, and make “plans within plans” to move chess pieces around the table, always to their advantage.

“We don’t hope,” says one Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother. “We plan.” This cynical admission is all the more damning because “hope” is exactly what they sell to the masses. The Bene Gesserit epitomize religious hypocrisy: pushing a narrative that benefits them, even if they don’t believe it themselves.

This outwardly pious order of “sisters” has clear Catholic overtones, and in the Dune universe, they’re arguably the most sinister villains. They perpetuate prophecies concerning the “Kwisatz Haderach”—a superhuman they hope to breed into existence, thus giving them an ever-tighter grip on power. In the name of doing humanity a service, the Bene Gesserit are wielding religion for colonialist aims. As Chani says, “This prophecy is how they enslave us.”

As much as Dune Two plays with religious archetypes and the universal appeal of “messiah” narratives, it adopts a decidedly skeptical posture toward the religious enterprise. Is the messiah narrative of Christ—indeed, the entire New Testament—merely propaganda to inflame religious fervor and consolidate power among religious leaders? Are the writings of the apostle Paul, like the machinations of Paul Atreides, less the product of divine orchestration than of fleshly opportunism? Christians might have good answers to these contemporary questions, but we should know they’re in the background of a film like Dune Two, because they’re on the minds of a growing number of people.

Dune Two’s skepticism of religion is nothing new. It’s the familiar Marxist critique that religion is a means of social control, a narrative apparatus used by the hegemony to entrench its authority and subdue the restless masses (“the opium of the people”). But the critique gets a post-Christian, contemporary spin. Because at least in Villeneuve’s rendering of Dune’s world, the beauty and transcendental power of religious tropes are on sincere display.

There’s a conflicted, almost contradictory posture here. It recognizes—even relishes—the beauty, mystery, and galvanizing hope of faith in a supernatural messiah. But it also sees behind the curtain, recognizing—and rejecting—the power structures harnessing religion for power-seeking ends.

This is why I call Dune Two a “post-Christian artifact.” It captures something of what I’ve called the “push and pull of post-Christian culture”—the simultaneous attraction and revulsion of faith, the desire to retain religious aesthetics and some habits while discarding religious systems of authority.

Challenge for Christians

I’m not sure if Villeneuve has a Christian faith. Having grown up in Quebec, the French-Canadian filmmaker was likely influenced by Catholicism to some degree. Certainly, theological ideas are often front and center in his films, particularly Prisoners (2013) and Arrival (2013). Dune Two reveals the director engaging faith more directly than ever.

It’s interesting that, similar to the pro-life bent of Arrival, a significant character in Dune Two is an unborn baby who spends the film in her mother’s womb. In a culture that often refuses to grant personhood to preborn babies, it’s refreshing to see a movie so directly depict the humanity of a child in the womb.

Still, whatever interest Villeneuve has in Christianity is clearly conflicted, as the Dune saga leads audiences to question “messiah” mythologies and be wary of religious narrative gatekeepers.

Dune leads audiences to question “messiah” mythologies and be wary of religious narrative gatekeepers.

Christians can find an opportunity in this film. Widespread longing for a true, good, and beautiful messiah is real. This is a starting place for evangelism in a post-Christian age. But warranted skepticism about manipulative messiahs and hypocritical religious leaders is also real. And so the opportunity comes with a challenge: to model a Christianity that doesn’t feel phony or suspicious. How do we do this? By focusing always on Christ’s glory and his kingdom rather than our own.

If we go down the Paul Atreides path, falling in line with worldly patterns of power and glory, the Chani-type responses will grow. But if we instead model a countercultural kingdom, decreasing so Christ might increase (John 3:30), then the “true myth” of Messiah Jesus will be harder to ignore.

Their open-access article, published online in January 2024 by the Journal of Medical Ethics, makes the sort of claim that’s easy to dismiss as “ivory tower logic” disconnected from real life. However, arguments like this made in academic journals eventually affect the way ordinary people think and talk, as we’ve seen through the transformation of the sexual revolution from a university ideal into a destructive everyday reality. As Richard Weaver argues, “Ideas have consequences.”

Everyone is a hero in his own eyes. The authors justify their quest to define pregnancy as a disease because “pathologising pregnancy could, in fact, lead to better treatment for women.” Those treatments, of course, include a broader range of contraceptives and the promotion of elective abortion as the most effective “cure.” This is the sort of argument that may grow wings amid the deathworks of modernity, so it’s worth considering how they arrive at their conclusions and where their argument falls apart.

Redefine ‘Disease’

According to the authors, Anna Smajdor and Joona Räsänen, for a condition (they call it P) to be classified as a disease, it has to meet three criteria:

1. P is bad for the person who suffers from it.

2. The sufferer is unlucky to suffer from P.

3. P can be treated medically.

Criterion 1 is met, they argue, because some pregnancies end in death, because of the normal discomfort of a full-term pregnancy like “stretch marks and nausea,” and because of the acute pain associated with childbirth. These factors, they argue, mean pregnancy is bad for women even if they desire to be pregnant.

According to Smajdor and Räsänen, although “many people regard themselves as fortunate when they become pregnant,” they describe this as being “the lesser of two evils,” with the greater evil being childlessness. Thus, even in a “wanted pregnancy, the ‘sufferer’ is unlucky insofar as she is obliged to undergo the associate risks in order to achieve the good she seeks.” Therefore, they believe criterion 2 is met in all cases of pregnancy.

Arguments made in academic journals eventually affect the way ordinary people think and talk.

Criterion 3 seems to be a slam dunk, given the amount of time most women in the industrialized world spend visiting doctors’ offices even during healthy pregnancies. The authors don’t define “medical” in this context, which allows them to assume elective abortion, sterilization, and the application of artificial reproductive technologies are also simply “medical” in nature.

According to their three criteria, pregnancy meets the definition of a disease, which they feel should open up new options for “treatments” that increase funding for prevention and “cure” of the alleged disease.

Broken Logic

Christians will have several ready objections to this viewpoint, such as the psalmist’s declaration that “children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward” (Ps. 127:3). The goodness of having and bearing children is plain in Scripture.

However, the argument in the paper also falls apart under its own weight. It’s worth examining on its own terms. There are at least three problems that undermine the paper’s argument.

1. The three criteria for identifying a disease require rejecting dysfunction as a necessary characteristic.

Smajdor and Räsänen argue against disease as dysfunction because it’s “subjective” and they claim it relies on the naturalistic fallacy—an incorrect appeal to a moral “ought” based on an “is” observed in nature. “This leap from the descriptive to the normative,” they argue, “is highly problematic.” Their assertion is, however, an unforced error of reasoning.

No moral claim is made in the observation that pregnancy is a natural outcome of sexual intercourse between a male and a female with healthy, functioning reproductive systems. This is simply understanding “the birds and the bees.” To my knowledge, no one seriously argues based on observation of mammalian reproduction that a woman should get pregnant merely because she can physically do so. That would be like arguing that if the elevator stops at the fifth floor when I push the “5” button, I must go to the fifth floor when I’m in an elevator—or that I have to take the elevator at all.

The authors are incorrect when they argue that “the notion of proper functioning borrows from a teleological view of biological organisms, or alternatively, from the belief that there is indeed a designer.” Determining the proper functioning of an organism assumes regularity in the natural world, which doesn’t require religious reasoning or moral claims.

2. Everyone doesn’t have to be pregnant all the time for pregnancy to be normal.

Smajdor and Räsänen begin with the recognition that biological males cannot get pregnant. (A good start these days.) Additionally, prepubescent girls and postmenopausal women cannot get pregnant. And some women are infertile for various natural reasons. Finally, they argue, most of those females aged 15–49 who have healthy reproductive systems aren’t pregnant at a given point in time. Thus, “Based purely on numbers, pregnancy is abnormal, even within the narrowest target group we can define.” This is a shell game.

Let common sense prevail. The question isn’t whether the condition (pregnancy) is universal among a given population but rather whether a given condition (pregnancy) is likely to be caused by a given event (sexual intercourse) in a healthy woman of reproductive age. By sleight of hand, these philosophers confuse the audience in an attempt to obscure generations of observed reality. They’re essentially saying, “Who are you going to trust: me or your lying eyes?”

3. ‘Medical treatment’ has too broad a definition.

The paper’s authors don’t define or defend the term, but they seem to assume things that are “medical” are those done by people with white coats (or scrubs) who work in a hospital or a doctor’s office. This assumption is common in Western culture.

“Not until recently,” Oliver O’Donovan argues in Begotten or Made?, “has society ventured to think that medical technique ought to be used to overcome not only the necessities of disease but also the necessities of health (such as pregnancy).” Western medicine, he notes, until recently “differentiated sharply between interfering in a healthy body and curing a sick one.” Abortion has been normalized in society because it’s done in operating rooms by those in sterilized garb who, at one point, took oaths to help and not harm. However, the second patient in a pregnancy is ignored or dehumanized.

Words Matter

The dehumanization of preborn children is a feature and not a bug in arguments for elective abortion. Thus it’s no surprise when the paper’s authors state that “sperm could be seen as a pathogen in the same way that the measles virus is.” Or when they lament that “the gestating fetus . . . is regarded as being exquisitely vulnerable.” In Less than Human, David Livingstone Smith notes the power of such dehumanizing rhetoric:

Sometimes this sort of language is metaphorical—but it’s foolish to think of it as just metaphorical. Describing beings as rats or cockroaches [or diseases] is a symptom of something more powerful and more dangerous—something that’s vitally important for us to understand. It reflects how one thinks about them.

Reducing the existence of a preborn child to a disease makes the extermination of a child sound no different than taking antibiotics to cure strep throat. That attitude is already prevalent in society, with a case coming before the U.S. Supreme Court about the legality of restrictions on mail-order abortion drugs.

Abortion has been normalized in society because it’s done in operating rooms by those in sterilized garb who, at one point, took oaths to help and not harm.

Additionally, as Smajdor and Räsänen note, classifying pregnancy as a disease will encourage support for “human trials in ‘extracorporeal uteruses’—or artificial wombs,” which are currently in planning stages. This classification is another step toward Huxley’s Brave New World where being a mother is stigmatized. It treats babies as products to be manufactured via technology rather than as people to be begotten by permanently committed, complementary couples through natural relations. It’s a way of alienating humans from our humanity.

Words matter. As Jesus reminds us, we’ll give an account for “every careless word” we speak (Matt. 12:36). Christians mustn’t adopt language that treats pregnancy like a disease. And we should be ready to graciously explain to others why we resist that language. Pregnancy isn’t like measles, and any “victory” over the “disease” of pregnancy is simply another stage of our culture’s conquest over the goodness of humanity itself.

In A Survey of the Black Church in America: Exploring Its History, Ministry, and Unique Strengths, Tony Evans responds to Glaude’s thesis and proves the black church’s vitality, strength, and contributions to Christian theology and to society at large. Evans sees the black church as a remedy to society’s interpretation of the Christian faith, especially in light of the sociopolitical distortions of the term “evangelical.”

Evans writes with love for biblical orthodoxy and for the African American community. He argues, “When we examine the New Testament definition of the church and juxtapose it with the functioning of the historical black church, it becomes clear that the two institutions were very similar” (94). Contrary to Glaude’s opinion, Evans believes the black church is a faithful, living representation of the Christian faith that in many ways exemplifies the biblical definition of ecclesial community.

Roots for the Black Church

Black theology has a mature philosophical, religious, and theological discourse. Evans, pastor of Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship in Dallas, Texas, and president of The Urban Alternative, exposes this rich heritage to a broad audience. His retelling departs from common interpretations because he stands between common majority and minority narratives. This primer helps evangelicals understand the richness and distinctiveness of the black church and its invaluable contributions to the Christian tradition.

Evans challenges common motifs about the formation of the black church. For example, many people view it as merely a reactive movement that emerged from white Christianity. Evans writes,

When one comes to understand and appreciate fully the circumstances that came together to give rise to this unique institution, it becomes clear that its makeup consisted of men and women of tremendous depth, intellect, wisdom, and pride who were willing to submit all of these virtues to the work of a sovereign God. (94)

Evans’s analysis resonates with Henry Mitchell’s in Black Belief, where he argues for African cultural influence on black religion. Hence, Evans dedicates an entire chapter to investigating African traditional religion and the heritage bestowed on African American churches, specifically “the focus on oral communication, the tendency toward orthodoxy and a supreme view of God, and an essential connection between theology and life” (90). These notions weaken African American Christianity’s perceived indebtedness to white Christianity.

According to Evans, there were five key factors in the birth of the black church: (1) the slaves’ search for meaning amid dehumanization, (2) the evangelization of slaves during the Second Great Awakening, (3) a natural integration of their religious foundations with their oppressed conditions, (4) the Bible’s consistent message of relief of oppression, and (5) the resonance of the black preacher’s role with some traditional African cultures.

This framing explicitly departs from the liberationist motif common within black theology by forging a stronger connection between the historical black church and black evangelicalism. He positions the latter as the heir of historical black institutions while distancing it from black theology at large.

Foundations for Black Evangelicalism

Evans shares his experience navigating double consciousness as a black evangelical, which began in Atlanta at Carver College and continued at Dallas Theological Seminary. For instance, during college, a white medical doctor paid him to lead an outreach to “Christian blacks in his area” but “never once came to the Bible study he initiated” (9).

Evans positions black evangelicalism as the heir of historical black institutions while distancing it from black theology at large.

Painful stories like this reveal the unhealthy division caused by race, despite unity on doctrine. Amid these tensions, Evans developed a commitment to biblical and theological truths consistent with mainstream evangelical thought while desiring to minister within predominantly black contexts. This set into motion his burgeoning black evangelical commitments.

In the 1970s, Evans wasn’t alone in this sentiment. He connects himself to a larger black evangelical tradition following Tom Skinner, John Perkins, and William Bentley. “Black evangelicalism,” Evans argues, “refers to a movement among African American Christians that emerged out of the civil rights era and the rise of evangelicalism in the white community, which seeks to wed the strengths of the black church with an emphasis on a systematic approach to theology, ministry, and social impact” (136).

The key difference between black theology and black evangelicalism, according to Evans, is the way experience and exposition interact. “Black expositional theology” views Scripture as the standard for life and the black experience, which corresponds to black evangelicalism. This approach is reflected in Evans’s preaching, which has been well received by many theologically conservative Christians.

Yet black evangelicalism contextualizes from the unique experience of African Americans, because ignoring “structural sins of dehumanizing separation, disparity, and subjugation brought about by past cultural sins of slavery and legalized racism” results in a partial approach to Scripture (175). Evans concludes, “We, as African Americans, have been subjected for hundreds of years under the result of an incomplete hermeneutical approach to Scripture” (174).

That incomplete approach caused the development of what Evans calls “black experience theology,” which prioritizes human experience. Thus, while Evans affirms some of James Cone’s efforts to answer the experiential questions of black communities, he urges caution, noting that “Cone’s interpretation of the relationship of Jesus Christ to liberation failed to integrate it into the whole of God’s salvific purpose for mankind” (149). Evans desires Scripture and the advancement of the kingdom of God to take precedence over personal experience. “Culture and experience may raise the vital and necessary questions,” he argues, “but they can never be the starting point for determining the meaning of Scripture” (174).

Black evangelicalism’s uniqueness lies in its ability to contextualize Christian doctrine for the needs of predominantly black spaces. In America, black evangelicalism’s ability to minister to two worlds helps the movement prioritize oneness between black and white Christians and promote racial reconciliation through personal responsibility and biblical justice.

Additionally, Evans views evangelism and discipleship as markers of black evangelicalism. In his understanding, these are opportunities to help Christians see the importance of personal responsibility and biblical justice. Black evangelicalism offers a vision of holistic ministry with an emphasis on cultural and social concerns, which Evans connects to the black church’s integration of biblical principles in all of life.

Learn from the Black Church

Evans leans into personal experience to provide a historical and theological analysis of black evangelicalism. This approach limits his engagement with scholarship and leads him to omit some historical figures and details appropriate for a history of the black church and black evangelicalism. The result is an oversimplified history at times when discussing the roots of the black church because it mutes the diversity in discourse among black theologians.

Black evangelicalism’s uniqueness lies in its ability to contextualize Christian doctrine for the needs of predominantly black spaces.

Nevertheless, A Survey of the Black Church proves valuable for its fundamentals of black evangelicalism. In an age where black Christians with evangelical sensibilities long for a theological, cultural, and historical home, Evans’s book provides a perspective on black evangelicalism’s roots in the orthodox tradition.

At the same time, Evans addresses the frustration of many black Christians with evangelicalism as a sociopolitical and theological movement. For those who’ve participated in what the New York Times called “a quiet exodus,” Evans offers a resource to move beyond evangelicalism and into “kingdomology,” which celebrates “the saving content of the gospel as well as its comprehensive scope” (196).

For those observing the current dispersion of black Christians from evangelicalism, Evans opens the door to an understanding of what black Christianity can offer the movement. The black church isn’t dead—it holds on to orthodoxy and orthopraxy. Its continued existence contributes to the ongoing expansion of God’s kingdom.

When the time came to welcome one another, I headed toward the guests, but a church member stopped me with a question. The welcome ended before I was able to make my way to the new couple. As I stepped back onto the stage, I saw two longtime church members welcoming the husband.

At least that’s what I assumed they were doing.

During the invitation, the visitors knelt at their pew with their heads bowed. After the closing prayer, I opened my eyes, planning to invite the couple to join my wife and me for lunch. But they’d already left.

No wonder.

When asked if anyone had obtained their information so I could contact them, my joy crumbled into grief. What had happened during the passing of the peace hadn’t been welcoming at all. According to an attendee who overheard the conversation, two church members had informed the man and his wife that while they were free to stay for the service, they needed to find a place to worship with their own “kind of people.” The church members gave the couple the location of a historic African American church 15 miles away.

Nearly 30 years later, the memory of those events still scrapes uncomfortably across the surface of my soul. Until I shared this story in the book In Church as It Is in Heaven, I hadn’t recognized how deeply these events affected my life.

Yet as I reflected on the incident, I realized the treatment of this couple wasn’t the sole reason for my sadness. Part of my grief had to do with my own missteps; I didn’t know how to shepherd the people in this situation well. Most of all, I lamented all that the congregation missed. If I could go back to that church, I’d certainly confront the two men’s prejudices, but I’d also do my best to help the whole congregation see that embracing diversity is a faithful way to testify to God’s truth.

How Faithful Diversity Testifies to God’s Truth

Fallen humanity has always struggled to unite groups that are different from one another. That’s why a diverse and faithful church can function as a powerful defense of God’s presence among his people. When it unites people from different ethnic, economic, and generational backgrounds, that congregation provides a living apologetic for God’s wisdom and the gospel’s power.

1. Faithful diversity gives evidence for the gospel’s power.

We’re all inclined to choose physical kinship and social similarities over kingdom diversity. That’s because sin has distorted our desires and disordered our loves. If there’s no God and the natural world is all that exists, seeking the supremacy of people who look like me might make sense.

A diverse and faithful church can function as a powerful defense of God’s presence among his people.

Yet treating any class, ethnicity, or culture as superior to another contradicts our common creation in God’s image. That’s why, when some Christians in the first century began preferring one social class over others, James rebuked their partiality as a transgression of God’s law (James 2:9).

A diverse yet unified church, by contrast, honors God’s image in all humanity by practicing a distinct set of values that refuses to favor people who look most like us. Such churches humbly admit that the resources we need to become like Jesus aren’t the exclusive property of people who share our ethnicity and cultural background.

Overcoming our sinful tendencies and pursuing diversity requires supernatural power and grace a materialist universe can’t explain or provide. That’s what John Stott was hinting at when he wrote, “The more mixed the congregation is, especially in ‘class’ and ‘color,’ the greater its opportunity to demonstrate the power of Christ.” When our churches are separated by human customs and social classes, we miss opportunities to show the gospel’s supernatural power, but when we’re faithful in diversity, we give evidence for it.

2. Faithful diversity provides an aesthetic argument for God’s wisdom.

As Blaise Pascal exhorted, Christians should “make [religion] attractive, make good men wish it were true, and then show that it is.” Faithful diversity is one of the many ways we can manifest the attractiveness of a Christian way of life. When a Christ-honoring church draws together people from many social and cultural backgrounds, it declares the truth of God’s Word by displaying the gospel’s divine beauty.

In his epistle to the Ephesians, Paul described how the gospel joined Gentiles and Jews as fellow participants in God’s promises (Eph. 3:6). As he reflected on the diverse communities God was bringing together in the church, Paul rejoiced at “the manifold wisdom of God” (v. 10). The term translated “manifold” or “multifaceted” in this text suggests, in the words of one biblical scholar, “‘the intricate beauty of an embroidered pattern’ . . . or the endless variety of colors in flowers.” A richly varied church united by God’s Word reveals to the world the intricate beauty of God’s wisdom.

Overcoming our sinful tendencies and pursuing diversity requires supernatural power and grace a materialist universe can’t explain or provide.

According to the apostle John, this diversity will persist past this present life. The multitude before God’s throne in eternity enfolds the redeemed from “all tribes and peoples and languages” (Rev. 7:9). At the end of time, all that’s glorious and good from every ethnicity will be gathered together in the New Jerusalem (21:26).

There’s a beauty glimpsed when God’s people gather in all their diversity that’s hidden when we remain apart. This beauty provides an aesthetic apologetic—a defense of the gospel that first displays how the church’s way of life is more attractive than anything the world can achieve and then goes on to declare that what’s attractive is also true.

What Might Faithful Diversity Look Like in Your Context?

You probably aren’t the sort of person who’d tell a visitor of a different ethnicity to find a different church. But it’s still worth asking yourself some questions:

• Is my local church providing evidence for the gospel’s power and beauty in bringing people together that the world can’t?
• What types of people has God providentially placed in my neighborhood who don’t attend my church?
• What barriers might be keeping these individuals from hearing the gospel and finding a spiritual home in my congregation?

The answers may look different in your context than they do in mine. In your community, cultivating a diverse kingdom culture might require learning to pass the peace with displaced Somali refugees or Latino immigrants. It might mean adjusting your ministries to welcome low-income families from a nearby trailer park. Or it may entail difficult adjustments to help a congregation of twentysomethings be more receptive to senior citizens, or to help a blue-collar congregation welcome executives from the new tech company in town.

Perhaps your church already displays gospel-empowered diversity. If so, prepare to point to this pattern of life as proof of the presence and power of God. There’s power, beauty, and proof in a church that gathers different classes and cultures in the same communion. We shouldn’t hesitate to point to this diversity as evidence for the truth of our claims.

In moments of heightened interest in the Middle East, it can seem to outsiders of evangelicalism (and even to many evangelicals) that this popular dispensational perspective on geopolitics is the evangelical perspective writ large. Most evangelicals (including most informed dispensationalists) know this isn’t the case, of course. But how then should we understand both the extent and the limits of this theology’s influence on American evangelicalism?

I recently published The Rise and Fall of Dispensationalism, so I should have some thoughts on this topic, especially since the “fall” in the title seems, at first pass, to contradict the recent prominence of popular and pulpit dispensationalist chatter. Some key definitions and distinctions will help us make sense of the already fluid evangelical landscape’s complex and potentially confusing theological scene.

Definitions and Distinctions

First, dispensationalism is much more than an end-times scenario, even if this aspect of theology receives the most attention (and, admittedly, is the most popular part of media coverage). It’s a robust theological system based on a commitment to a particular biblical hermeneutic that shapes adherents’ approaches to many issues in church life and society. Its distinctive eschatology finds wide audiences, but there are other core teachings with profound effects on biblical interpretation such as the distinction between the church and Israel and the future orientation of the kingdom of God.

Second, there are at least two major dispensational traditions worth discussing in today’s context. They’re related but distinct. There’s a scholarly dispensationalism that’s discussed and taught in some seminaries, Christian colleges, and churches but that has a relatively small evangelical constituency and footprint, especially compared to previous generations.

There’s also a popular dispensationalism that inspires books, television, movies, music, and other media. It’s taught in some churches—including large ones—and it’s present in some circles of evangelical politics. What we might call “pop-dispensationalism” is the version most Americans know best—the version presented in the Left Behind novels and movies, and parodied in Hollywood comedies like This is the End.

There are important connections between scholarly and pop-dispensationalism, of course, but there are lots of differences—in style, approach, credibility, and substance. Without acknowledging these distinctions, we fail to accurately understand the doctrine’s influence on American evangelicalism.

Modeled on Charles Ryrie’s era-defining Dispensationalism Today (1965), which took stock largely of the scholarly dispensationalism of the 1960s, this brief tour through dispensationalism today (2024) will skim the surface of the dialectic between the scholarly and the popular dimensions that was much less prominent in 1965.

1. Pop-dispensational media remains popular among evangelicals.

Pop-dispensationalism continues to inform the theological and spiritual lives of millions of Christians—in multiple settings and through multiplying forms of media. Taking book publishing as one example, a chart of bestsellers in the subgenre of “Christian eschatology” (such as Amazon’s) reveals that dispensationalist-inspired analyses of modern politics top the charts. Books by David Jeremiah, Amir Tsarfati, and Jonathan Cahn are routinely at the top. And books in this vein are being issued by large publishers like Thomas Nelson, Baker, and Tyndale.

In other mediums, pop-dispensationalists remain highly visible: television preaching (Jeffress and the recently deceased Charles Stanley) and radio (John MacArthur, Chuck Swindoll) to name a couple. Left Behind witnessed another film entry in 2023, this time directed by Kevin Sorbo.

It’s worth reflecting not just on the quantity and reach of this output but on its quality. Here, the situation is less impressive. Many of the bestsellers are an endless churn of analyses and predictions. This has potentially deformative spiritual effects on its consumers.

Like its predecessors in the 1970s (books like Hal Lindsey’s The Late Great Planet Earth and films like A Thief in the Night), such media presents eschatology in a way that’s disconnected from the movement’s undergirding theological commitments. More thoughtful dispensationalists have lamented this for decades, but it hasn’t stemmed the tide.

Unlike its predecessors, today’s pop-dispensationalism is also highly bound by evangelical culture and appeal. While the 1970s progenitors claimed, and no doubt succeeded in numerous cases, to be reaching non-Christians with the gospel message (though they problematically used a popular fascination with pop-eschatology as their evangelism tool), current pop-dispensationalism doesn’t play this role to the same extent. Its products are aimed at and marketed to existing evangelicals.

2. Scholarly dispensationalism has declined in recent decades.

The weaknesses of pop-dispensationalism are exacerbated today because its commercial and consumer-driven growth have further propelled it away from the scholarly theological tradition.

Unlike its predecessors, today’s pop-dispensationalism is also highly bound by evangelical culture and appeal.

The two traditions experienced tension even at the height of scholarly dispensational influence in the 1950s and 1960s, but especially since then, they’ve diverged. This is both because the doctrine has come under increasing scrutiny by historical detractors in evangelical theology and biblical studies and because once-secure dispensationalist institutions have discarded the theology.

While dispensationalism was never the sole theological tradition among fundamentalists or evangelicals (think of the amillennial Calvinism of Westminster Theological Seminary or the historic premillennialism of George Eldon Ladd), by the 1950s, it was one of the dominant paradigms. It had a large stable of Bible institutes and colleges, a growing set of seminaries represented best by Dallas, Talbot, and Grace (in three separate geographic and cultural regions of the U.S.), and an impressive list of nationally renowned scholars.

Yet beginning with critics like Oswald T. Allis in the 1940s and Ladd in the 1950s, conservative opponents of the doctrine have leveled—and expanded—sustained theological, biblical, and intellectual critiques. Add in British critics, from John Stott to N. T. Wright, as well as the turn away from dispensationalism in academic Pentecostal and Southern Baptist circles in recent decades, and it occupies a much smaller piece of the theological pie today than at any time in the last century.

At the same time, once-stable strongholds of this theology have turned away from their historical influences. Examples like Biola University are evident throughout the Christian college and university world. Founded by dispensationalists like Reuben A. Torrey and William E. Blackstone in 1908, Biola today exhibits a thin—and in some places, entirely silent—dispensationalist influence.

Another recent casualty is Multnomah University, a one-time Bible institute and stalwart of dispensational training under its longtime president Willard Aldrich that’s now being subsumed under Jessup University as a satellite school. Moreover, some denominations show the same trend. The Evangelical Free Church of America (merged in 1950 as a solidly premillennial and dispensationalist-influenced denomination) dropped “premillennial” from its statement of faith in 2019.

All that said, the “fall” of this doctrine may be best described as relative rather than absolute. Professional dispensationalist scholars—including Michael Vlach, Michael J. Svigel, and Cory Marsh—continue to publish scholarly works in theology, biblical studies, and history. Midsize and small presses like Paternoster Press and SCS Press issue books advocating dispensational perspectives. Scholarly dispensationalists participate in the Evangelical Theological Society and maintain smaller networks of their own.

3. The effect of these two trends on evangelicalism has been mixed.

These two developments—the spread of a thin, undertheologized pop-dispensationalism and the decline of scholarly dispensationalism—are the essence of what I mean by the “fall” of this doctrine in the last half century. Yet a fall is neither a death nor an absence. Dispensationalism remains relevant, though its influence is mixed today.

Dispensationalism remains relevant, though its influence is mixed today.

There remain seminaries and schools that, at least on paper, adhere to this theology. This includes Dallas Theological Seminary and Liberty University, which are two of the largest nondenominational institutions for training pastors in the country. There are smaller seminaries, like Southern California Seminary, The Master’s Seminary, and Shepherd’s Theological Seminary, committed to dispensational distinctives. Undergraduate schools like Moody Bible Institute remain in the fold as well.

In each of these cases, however, the lived reality of the dispensationalism taught and received by students, at least anecdotally, spans a spectrum from clear and affirming to spotty and sometimes “in name only.” Moreover, adherents admit to difficulty gaining the attention of mainstream academic publishers and journals, which has further circumscribed scholarly dispensationalism’s influence both inside and outside higher education.

The largest and most newsworthy movements to organize and expand evangelical ministry in recent decades have notably been absent of dispensationalist leadership. And not just absent; many have been hostile. These movements, it should be clear, vary in their continuity with historic evangelical theological commitments—but they’re the movements of the day and they reveal where organizational energy in the evangelical world is concentrated.

Going back to the 1990s, the Emergent Church, the “Young, Restless, and Reformed,” the “Third Way” proponents, advocates of Christian nationalism, the Red Letter Christians, and so forth have all been critical of dispensational theology—and for different reasons. Compare this to 70 years ago when the global missions movement, the youth and college ministry movement, and (a couple of decades later) the Jesus People movement and Messianic Judaism, among others, were all animated in significant ways by dispensationalists and their theology.

Perhaps one area where dispensationalists still represent leadership among a broader sector of evangelicalism is in defending a cessationist view of the gifts of the Holy Spirit. Two adherents, MacArthur and Justin Peters, are popular voices on this front. But this theological position is under increasing pressure in the U.S. and globally from both Pentecostal and non-Pentecostal Christians.

Combined, these trajectories point to a decline, though a complicated one, in dispensationalism’s generative momentum within American evangelicalism.

4. Pop-dispensationalism isn’t as relevant to national politics as it once was.

While the fortunes of pop-dispensationalism in commercial and consumer spheres has been stunning, one key area of past influence is waning: church-based political leadership.

In the 1920s, figures like William Bell Riley and J. Frank Norris waged war on evolution and alcohol. In the 1950s, John R. Rice, Billy James Hargis, and J. Vernon McGee had some of the largest platforms in the country to attack communism. In the 1980s, Jerry Falwell and Tim LaHaye led the charge against secular humanism. To a man, they believed or were highly sympathetic to the doctrine.

While there remain examples of prominent dispensational pastors weighing in on politics (Jeffress and John Hagee, or John MacArthur on COVID policies), the center of gravity in conservative evangelical politics has swung in other directions. In the 1980s, one of the harshest critics of this doctrine was a newly vocal postmillennial “reconstructionism” that today finds voice in a growing postmillennial nationalism. Doug Wilson, one of the representatives of this movement, was himself a dispensationalist earlier in his life. His “deconversion” from this theology isn’t unique, and the growth of his brand of conservative Reformed postmillennialism in the Pacific Northwest and elsewhere is a sign of bigger theological trends.

The center of gravity in conservative evangelical politics has swung in other directions.

More relevant even than Reformed postmillennialism has been the Pentecostalization of Christian political activism in America. Paula White and others served as advisors to Donald Trump, and Hagee runs the largest pro-Israel advocacy group in the country, Christians United for Israel.

Hagee combines strands of modified dispensational eschatology (he has published numerous pop-dispensational books) with Pentecostal and prosperity teachings, creating a potent mix of appeals to diverse constituencies and varied motives for Christian support for Israel. Hagee’s influences allow him to be an American bridge with a global Christian Zionist network that’s overwhelmingly Pentecostal, prosperity-oriented (focusing especially on Gen. 12:3), and antidispensational in key parts of its theology. Much of international Christian Zionism today, as hard as it is to imagine from a U.S. perspective, is substantively and rhetorically opposed to the doctrine.

White, for her part, is closer to a Dominionist position, calling for Christians to assume authority in society and culture. In political circles, this vantage—and that of global pentecostal and charismatic “network” Christianity more broadly—aligns more with conservative Reformed postmillennialism than with dispensationalists and today supplies much of the energy organizing evangelicals politically.

Dispensationalism’s Future

These four snapshots paint a complex picture of dispensationalism today, spanning scholarly, cultural, and political spheres. There’s no way to know how exactly this doctrine will develop in the next 50 years, but if it does witness revived influence in evangelical seminaries, or capture the imagination of Gen Z evangelicals, it’ll be a notable reversal of current trends.

At the same time, if pop-dispensationalism loses its commercial appeal, it’ll be newsworthy as well, and it’ll likely signal a sea change in evangelical culture more broadly—the passing of an often dominant presence in evangelical culture since the 1970s.

Christians ever since have found ironic comfort here: If even John the Baptist could have some doubts, I too can live with doubts alongside faith. How do we hold faith and doubt together? Amid our doubts, Christians should seek confidence more than certainty.

Patron Saints of Doubt

If you’ve already heard John the Baptist’s story, don’t let its familiarity diminish its outrageousness. John was Jesus’s cousin. They grew up together. Both their births were considered miraculous. Both John’s mother and Jesus’s mother were convinced Jesus was the Messiah, the One the Jewish people had expected and longed for across generations. John made statements about Jesus that must have astonished the religious leaders who traveled from Jerusalem to the wilderness to hear this unusual preacher. John dared to call them a “brood of vipers” because of their religious hypocrisy (Matt. 3:7).

But then he faltered. Jesus responded to John with pointers to his messiahship: “The blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have the good news preached to them” (11:5). Did this evidence prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that John had no cause to waver? Did it satisfy him? We don’t know. He was brutally executed a short time later.

Another patron saint of doubt was the unnamed man whose son Jesus healed. With words countless people of faith have uttered ever since, the man said, “I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24).

Perhaps we all need to admit some level of doubt, and yet I want to suggest we all need to doubt our doubts. Believers and skeptics alike should examine their doubts. When we do, we may find they aren’t as substantive as we assumed.

Pointers, Not Proofs

Here’s what I mean. What if confidence is a more realistic expectation than certainty? What if we should look for pointers instead of proofs? Search the internet for debates between atheists and Christians and you’ll turn up exchanges about proofs for God’s existence. Introductory philosophy textbooks recount these so-called proofs by Anselm, Aquinas, Augustine, and others (even some whose names don’t begin with A). The proofs have labels like the ontological, cosmological, moral, and teleological arguments.

If confidence is a more realistic expectation than certainty, perhaps we should look for pointers instead of proofs.

I’ve invited friends to events where these proofs have been expounded. I’ve even sponsored such events, and I’ve been embarrassed when these “proofs” failed to prove. Skeptics have found holes in the arguments, and I’ve doubted whether even Anselm, Aquinas, or Augustine could have turned the tide.

But what if we don’t need a proof? What if we only need pointers that suggest a belief in the supernatural makes more sense than a rejection of the supernatural? What if you can’t prove Jesus said the things the New Testament claims he said, but the archaeological, historical, and manuscript evidence points far more in the direction of acceptance than dismissal? What if you can’t prove God created the world with a sense of order or design, but all the complexity and beauty in the physical universe suggest this is more likely than the conclusion it happened through chaos and chance?

Coherence as a Confidence Booster

If we’re seeking confidence more than certainty, one factor can help toward our goal: coherence. If all belief systems contain things we know and things we can’t, we should look to see which systems hold together best or which beliefs resonate with the reality we see all around us.

Let’s say you’re walking in the woods and come upon a turtle sitting atop a tree stump three feet off the ground. Picture it. Knowing what you know about trees and turtles, a few conclusions seem more likely than others.

We know trees don’t stop growing with a flat surface on top. We know people often cut down trees with saws that make for a flat surface on a tree trunk. We also know that turtles crawl horizontally and can’t ascend three-foot vertical planes. We could conclude that (1) someone cut down this tree, and (2) someone lifted the turtle and put it on top of the stump. Or we could conclude that (1) the tree stopped growing and part of it fell off, leaving a flat surface on the stump, and (2) the turtle climbed up the vertical surface until it got to the horizontal plane and stopped for a rest. One conclusion coheres better with what we know about the reality of trees and turtles.

Now let’s consider some issues more important than how a turtle got on top of a tree stump. We live in a world with many competing perspectives—some religious and some naturalistic. A Christian perspective says we live in an ordered world created by a good God who made people in his image. The naturalistic perspective says we evolved by random chance in a universe without any purposeful cause. We also live in a world where people value equality and respect. Which belief system supports our commonly held values? How did we arrive at believing we should treat people with impartiality and kindness?

Will You Trust Without Absolute Certainty?

We may not know with absolute certainty how or when our world was created or grasp all the complexities of human existence. But I want to suggest we can have a high level of confidence that it makes more sense to believe we live in a created world with a personal God than to believe we’re nothing more than cosmic accidents.

It makes more sense to believe we live in a created world with a personal God than to believe we’re nothing more than cosmic accidents.

I say this because we treat people with dignity and fairness, or at least we believe we should. And values like equality and respect cohere better with the Christian view than the naturalistic one.

But what do you think? Do you agree all viewpoints contain some unprovable assumptions? If so, can you identify some of those assumptions in your own beliefs? Are you willing to doubt your doubts? Can you accept a level of confident belief without requiring absolute certainty?

That was nearly 20 years ago, and if I could go back to my younger self, I’d tell her that little would bring her more sorrow than the local church. But I’d also say her suffering in ministry would absolutely be worth it.

Friendly Fire Hurts the Most

Ten years into our ministry, my husband and I were ready to throw in the towel. Pastoring was hard work, with emotional and spiritual burdens we couldn’t untangle from the other parts of our life. I struggled to make friends in our church because I wasn’t sure who I could trust. Members who had previously sworn allegiance left in droves. Criticisms about methodology almost always became personal character attacks, and if people were unhappy with my husband, I usually heard about it. Maybe the comments and complaints weren’t aimed at me, but they stung just the same.

I was surprised by how deeply ministry life hurt. The church is a family, and the wounds inflicted by brothers and sisters cut deep.

During those early years of church turmoil, a missionary on furlough stayed with us, and we shared some of our struggles with him. “Friendly fire always hurts the most,” he told us. He’d endured deep persecution from people hostile to the gospel in the country where he’d served, and yet, he explained to us, nothing hurt as much as problems within his church and between other missionaries.

As people united by the gospel and reconciled to both God and one another through Jesus, we’re supposed to not only get along but love one another with “brotherly affection” (Rom. 12:10). When we fight and stand against one another, that reconciliation threatens to unravel. The place we’re supposed to be safe and loved can become the place we most dread. Church became that place of dread for me, but I couldn’t walk away from the body of Christ because I knew Jesus loved her. Somehow, so must I.

Jesus Loves His Church

Throughout the New Testament, Jesus is called the Bridegroom, and we learn he’ll one day present the church as his pure and spotless Bride before the Father (Eph. 5:27). Paul used the marriage metaphor to help us see how important the church is to Jesus. He laid down his life to make her new and righteous. If Jesus is committed to the church, we should be too.

I couldn’t walk away from the body of Christ because I knew Jesus loved her.

Though we can damage relationships there by our sinfulness, the church is one of the primary means God has given to us for sanctification and perseverance in the faith. It’s not an optional activity (Heb. 10:25). It’s God’s gift to each of us who used to be far off but have been brought near by the blood of Christ. The church is a means of grace by which we’re sanctified, taught, disciplined, and encouraged.

Paul wrote, “Warn those who are irresponsible, comfort the discouraged, help the weak, be patient with everyone” (1 Thess. 5:14, HCSB). The body of Christ offers protection for the wayward, comfort for the grieving, provision for the poor, and teaching for all. John repeatedly called believers to work out their obedience with love for one another, noting many times that this very love would distinguish them from the world (John 13:35; 1 John 4:20–21; 5:1).

Love means exercising forgiveness and kindness to one another as Christ has done for us. It means presuming goodwill, leading with grace, and bearing up with those who are struggling. Obedience is the path forward when we struggle to love the church.

Church Can Hurt—and Heal

In God’s kindness, our church survived a decade of turmoil and began to heal from dissension. Around that time, I attended The Gospel Coalition’s women’s conference for the first time. I signed up for a breakout session on church hurt, and with tears in my eyes, I listened to Jackie Hill Perry say, “God can use the church to heal your church hurt.”

Was it possible that healing could take place in the same church where I’d been hurt so deeply? I believed it was. I went home with renewed fervor to love the body that God called us to. As my church family grew closer and learned to trust one another again, I tentatively sought deeper friendships that I still hold tightly today.

Was it possible that healing could take place in the same church where I’d been hurt so deeply? I believed it was.

My husband and I will soon celebrate 19 years with our church family, and we’re living proof that God has good purposes for his people. He may call us to suffer in ministry, and he may have long lessons of faithful endurance to teach us—but I can assure you it’ll be worth it. The joys of loving my church family far outweigh the sorrows. We won’t always get it right, but we can hold fast to Christ’s promise to one day present us pure and spotless before the Father.

Approximately 3,700 languages remain without Scripture, most of which present significant challenges to the translation task. Many have few, if any, printed resources available, making that job even more daunting.

For these languages, AI is catalyzing change, accelerating the translation cycle, and even enhancing the product’s quality. Using machine learning, whole Bible translations can be completed faster than at any other time in history.

Accelerated Translation Cycles

Before I go any further, I need to explain the role of AI in Bible translation. There’s much misunderstanding and confusion around this issue. We’re not talking about dropping the Greek New Testament text into a tool like ChatGPT or Google Translate and expecting it to output a polished translation in any language. This isn’t possible even for resource-rich languages like English, much less for small and low-resource languages.

Using machine learning, whole Bible translations can be completed faster than at any other time in history.

If we aren’t talking about cut-and-paste translation, how does AI contribute? One way is by leveraging AI models, trained on portions of Scripture already manually translated by humans, to provide a first draft of a full translation. That draft can then be used by translators to complete a final translation. In other words, previously translated portions of Scripture are used by AI to generate drafts of other portions of Scripture that are then checked and developed by translation teams.

Organizations like Avodah have pioneered this model by working with mother-tongue speakers to translate around 1,200 verses and other resources. Each translation represents a different biblical genre, grammar, and vocabulary. These teams then train an AI model on these verses and resources to produce an entire Bible draft. This draft is checked by mother-tongue translators, refined, and tested in the community.

A big strength of AI in Bible translation is that it’s not a static model being developed but a learning process where the model becomes more competent as work progresses.

In traditional models, an average translation takes 23 years and costs over a million dollars, But Avodah’s model takes about four years to produce a completed Bible for roughly $500,000. Avodah is currently using this model in a 10-language cohort, putting them on track to provide 10 new translations by 2027.

Enhanced Quality

Speed is only one area where AI is helping. Organizations like SIL International are at the forefront of developing AI tools for quality assessment in Bible translation. These tools help teams identify and address problems earlier in the process. They’re also being used by consultants to check the translations more thoroughly and consistently by assisting with identifying common translation challenges.

SIL and other organizations have also developed AI tools that significantly speed up the process of drafting and improving translations of new Bible books once other portions are completed.

Concerns about AI being turned loose to translate with little or no human interaction aren’t based on reality. AI works as a copilot. Sometimes it makes drafts and other times it facilitates the repetitive translation process or assists teams in identifying issues. As AI learns from the corrections given to it by humans, future iterations of AI-assisted translations continue to improve.

Humans working under the Holy Spirit’s leadership remain indispensable at every stage. AI is simply a tool used for the creation of clear, accurate, natural, and acceptable translations. According to Shawn Ring, CEO of Avodah, Bible translation is “not about the technology; it’s about the human.”

Future of AI and Bible Translation

While this article has focused on AI’s role in advancing Bible translation, there’s an interesting plot twist about the effects of Bible translation on AI. Meta has taken on the lofty goal of developing text-to-speech AI tools in more than 4,000 languages. Most of these languages have few, if any, resources that can be used for comparison to other languages.

Concerns about AI being turned loose to translate with little or no human interaction aren’t based on reality.

The one book often found in these languages is the Bible. Translation organizations have produced text and audio versions in over 1,100 languages. Companies like Meta rely on these resources to train their large language models to facilitate text-to-speech models. In an odd turn of events, Bible translation is fueling AI solutions for many smaller languages.

But what will be AI’s effect on Bible translation? It’ll result in more people having quicker access to the gospel in their heart languages. Most significantly, it’ll result in more people hearing, believing, and being saved (Rom. 10:14–15).

As one leader working among unreached people groups shared with me, AI-assisted translations will contribute to unprecedented access to the gospel and the incredible expansion of Christianity in the next 10 years. “Whether most of the church understands this yet or not, AI-assisted Bible translations are a global priority.” They’re also an incredible global opportunity.

Almost overnight, our family of four became a family of five—and we were completely unprepared. We had no diapers, clothes, furniture, or bottles. I wrote a quick email to a friend at church giving her an update on our situation.

Several days later, we drove our tiny baby home and found a fully furnished nursery complete with a beautiful crib, a dresser full of clothes, and a changing table stocked with preemie diapers and wipes. I cried when I saw it all. The people of God had pooled their resources to love this tiny, helpless person before they’d ever met him. A week later, a woman from our church texted me saying she wanted to buy his diapers for the first year. I cried again at the kindness of God’s church.

Beyond Diapers and Dinners

Many families experience this kind of generosity at the beginning of an adoption journey. Fundraisers are held to pay for adoption fees and expensive flights. Gifts are brought to welcome children; meals are provided for days and weeks as the family adjusts to a new member. All these encouragements are helpful and needed.

But for some adoptive families, like ours, the most significant needs come later as they parent children who have endured significant trauma or have special needs. A child’s difficulties may begin in the womb, with a mother who struggled with addiction, didn’t have access to prenatal care, was unaware of her pregnancy, lacked nutritious food or prenatal vitamins, or was in dangerous circumstances that caused stress for the developing baby.

Sadly, being adopted into a stable family doesn’t erase these challenges. Many children, like our son, have significant, lifelong struggles. How can churches support adoptive families with ongoing needs?

For some adoptive families, the most significant needs come later as they parent children who have endured significant trauma or have special needs.

1. Provide financial support.

Adopted children may have physical needs requiring expensive surgeries, treatments, and hospital stays. They may need ongoing physical, occupational, and speech therapy. These medical bills can financially overwhelm a family.

Some children come with a history of trauma that can be difficult to treat. Neglected or abused children may, in their anxiety and fear, lash out with physical violence, verbal assaults, and frequent threats. Trained therapists may be needed for long periods, not only for the child but also for adoptive parents and other children who live with these extreme behaviors. Sometimes multiple types of care are needed to help with these behaviors, and not all are covered by insurance. Churches can help with these expenses.

2. Reduce barriers to participation.

Adoptive families may struggle to engage in church activities due to a child’s special needs or extreme behaviors. Our church has cared wonderfully for our adopted son, handling behavior problems and conflicts and allowing him to participate in night events and weekends away, even when that requires managing medications and food intake. Not all churches have the resources to care so comprehensively for a child with special needs, but consider what your church can do to help families with challenges participate as much as possible.

If the adoptive family has other children, get to know them and seek to make them feel welcome at church. Volunteer to sit with them during the worship service or to be a backup in case the parents need to attend to a sibling’s needs or behaviors.

3. Form a care group.

Get to know the family, the diagnoses, and the child’s needs. Form a small group of people to listen regularly to updates on therapies, school, health, and home life—and offer an unshocked ear. These parents may experience difficult behaviors. They can’t share these struggles with everyone, but they need to share them with someone. Be willing to hear what real life looks like in their home and respond with compassion. Pray specifically for these needs and let the family know when you do.

You might also form a support group for adoptive and/or special needs parents in the church that meets semiregularly for encouragement and sharing.

4. Provide respite care.

Encourage members of your church to be trained by adoptive parents or other professionals to provide respite care. Your church could even facilitate group training. Then offer a regular chunk of time (perhaps monthly) when trained church members supervise the adopted child in their homes as a break for both the child and the rest of the family.

Adoptive parents may experience difficult behaviors. They can’t share these struggles with everyone, but they need to share them with someone.

Adoption is a meaningful way to care for the most vulnerable in our society. If a family in your church has stepped out in faith to adopt, by all means, throw them a baby shower. But also check in months and years later to see how they’re doing. Some adoptive families have few problems and adequate resources to deal with the ones that come up. Others may really need your help.

Consider how your church can come alongside adoptive families in your congregation to help these little brothers and sisters who have big needs.

While we can address one another in any style or era of music—including contemporary worship choruses and modern hymns—time-tested, four-part hymns are specifically composed for mutual upbuilding. When we sing these older hymns, we build one another up in at least seven remarkable ways.

1. We teach one another.

The words we sing—whether at a ball game, at church, or alone in our cars—tend to penetrate our hearts pervasively and permanently, so it’s logical that Scripture links teaching and singing (Col. 3:16). In well-written hymns, each verse builds on the previous verse, expositing a rich theology of the hymn’s topic, sharing the testimony of the hymn writer, or recounting plot points in a biblical narrative.

For example, “The King of Love My Shepherd Is” takes much of its text from Psalm 23 and moves singers to consider, verse by verse, Christ’s tender care as a theological truth and an experienced reality.

2. We warn one another.

Colossians connects “admonishing,” which most simply means warning one another, to singing (Col. 3:16). I’ve yet to find a good contemporary judgment day song. But hymns don’t shy away from recognizing Christ as Savior and Judge, and from exhorting Christians to live with faithfulness, expecting his return. I regularly encounter urgent warnings in my hymnal, such as this:

The clouds of judgment gather,
The time is growing late;
Be sober and be watchful,
Our judge is at the gate.

3. We weep with one another.

Proverbs 25:20 says, “Whoever sings songs to a heavy heart is like one who takes off a garment on a cold day, and like vinegar on soda.” If our songs are exclusively exuberant, we fail to be sensitive to one another’s suffering. Worse, we risk neutralizing the grief that leads to repentance by insisting on immediate cheerfulness (2 Cor. 7:10).

Hymns provide appropriately solemn texts and tunes for lamentation and confession, both of which are necessary for transformed lives. Hymns such as “We Sing the Praise of Him Who Died” overflow with grief and gratitude, helping singers sorrow over their sin and, through this, better adore their suffering Savior.

4. We encourage one another.

Hymns provide appropriately solemn texts and tunes for lamentation and confession, both of which are necessary for transformed lives.

The last time I played “Fight the Good Fight” for a worship service, I used a baseball organ riff as the introduction. A couple of singers nearly shouted “Charge!” as we began the first verse. This received a few chuckles, but I did it to emphasize the point of the hymn: Christ is victorious, but we still must “press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call” (Phil. 3:14). Hymns frequently remind singers of their identity in Christ and charge them to persevere. Martin Franzmann captures this succinctly in his line “Glorious now, we press toward glory.”

5. We pray for one another.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote that Christians must sing when they gather “because in singing together, it is possible for them to speak and pray the same Word at the same time.” Hymns provide blessings to sing over one another, often to mark momentous occasions in one another’s lives. For example, “Gracious Savior, Grant Your Blessing” is a prayer for newlyweds that uses the same tune as “Love Divine, All Love’s Excelling,” which praises God for his love. As we sing such hymns, we intercede for one another.

6. We include one another.

Hymns assume confessional unity and vocal diversity. Although the congregation sings the same text, written harmonies empower singers of all ranges to participate appropriately and beautifully (I know the altos in my church choir appreciate those low harmonies!).

Steven R. Guthrie writes that singing together renders Christian unity an “aural reality.” When we sing hymns in harmony, we embody what the church is: many members of differing gifts and abilities, all proclaiming “one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all” (Eph. 4:5–6).

7. We remember one another.

G. K. Chesterton defines tradition as the “democracy of the dead.” In hymns, previous generations of Christians continue to have a vote in what and how we sing. Hymnals are a rich inheritance of theology, poetry, and music, curated and cherished by generations of Christians. By singing hymns, we honor the work and witness of those who came before—and who are praising God even now—as we look forward to rejoicing with them in eternity.

Hymns assume confessional unity and vocal diversity.

I hope these points inspire you to sing more hymns, not from allegiance to a particular musical style but from a commitment to teach, warn, weep with, encourage, pray for, include, and remember one another. These are weighty tasks, but isn’t it wonderful that we can begin practicing them simply by singing hymns together?

Unfortunately, it’s harder to find a way when church folks differ, especially if we don’t have the kind of deep, warm relationships that form a foundation for peace. Church members and leaders disagree frequently. Why do we sing this song so often? Why did the pastor refer to that godless movie? Then there are the big issues—leadership vision, budgets, politics.

Fortunately, Scripture has several foundational concepts that are essential instructions for constructive engagement when people disagree.

• First, no one knows everything. So we learn when we listen to others.
• Second, disagreement isn’t a personal affront. It’s the inevitable result of our limited knowledge, perspectives, and experience and of our sinful nature.
• Therefore, we should be open to correction and healthy disagreement.

James 1:19 says, “Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.” Paul’s description of love in 1 Corinthians 13 also applies to healthy communication. Because “love is patient,” it lets people finish their thoughts. It doesn’t “boast”; it sets aside ego. Love doesn’t “insist on its own way” or its own proposals. It “rejoices with the truth,” so it seeks the truth. Since love “bears all things, . . . hopes all things,” it overlooks minor mistakes and takes the words of others in the best way. All this applies to healthy fighting.

Learn from Jesus’s Disputes

In Matthew 12:1–8, we see Pharisees incorrectly but sincerely objecting to Jesus’s actions when they believe them immoral. Consider this passage and the way it informs healthy disagreement:

At that time Jesus went through the grainfields on the Sabbath. His disciples were hungry, and they began to pluck heads of grain and to eat. But when the Pharisees saw it, they said to him, “Look, your disciples are doing what is not lawful to do on the Sabbath.” (vv. 1–2)

The Pharisees believed that (1) Jesus’s disciples were harvesting, (2) it was sinful to harvest on the Sabbath, and (3) Jesus was responsible for his disciples’ behavior. Notice how Jesus replied fully, patiently, and candidly to their false accusation. He showed why they were wrong, using reasoning they could follow if they were willing.

He said to them, “Have you not read what David did when he was hungry, and those who were with him: how he entered the house of God and ate the bread of the Presence, which it was not lawful for him to eat nor for those who were with him, but only for the priests? Or have you not read in the Law how on the Sabbath the priests in the temple profane the Sabbath and are guiltless? I tell you, something greater than the temple is here. And if you had known what this means, ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice,’ you would not have condemned the guiltless. For the Son of Man is lord of the Sabbath.” (vv. 3–8)

Jesus fully answered the Pharisees’ objection; they truly believed his disciples broke God’s law. That leads to the first two principles for healthy fighting.

Principle 1: Identify the other party’s legitimate concerns and respond to them even if you believe—as Jesus did—that he or she applies those concerns incorrectly.

Principle 2: Listen carefully, even if you’re sure the other party is wrong—even if you have more knowledge or authority.

These principles don’t mean we’re obligated to answer questions that frame a situation incorrectly. It’s good to say, “You’re raising an important issue, but there’s another way to look at it.” Jesus often declined to answer questions; he redirected people to the best way to consider an issue (John 9:1–3; Matt. 15:1–6; 20:20–21).

Work on Problems Together

Jesus often declined to answer questions; he redirected people to the best way to consider an issue.

If a problem or strategic issue lands on the agenda of a leadership team, it’s probably weighty or complicated. If there was a simple solution, the team wouldn’t need to discuss it. Complex, long-standing problems resist easy resolution. Therefore they engender disagreements, which healthy teams don’t fear. We expect debate and make the most of it.

Big discussions tend to have four elements:

Clarification → Ideation → Development → Implementation

To clarify is to define the nature of the problem. To ideate is to formulate several possible strategies or solutions, without assessing them at once. To develop a plan, a team must identify the best option, delegate responsibilities, and assemble resources. Finally, the team implements the plan: they have the needed authority, resources, and support.

There’s room to disagree in each phase. A healthy team welcomes debate, even disagreement. They know it’s dangerous, not helpful or productive, when everyone agrees or pretends to agree. The team is thankful, not defensive, during debates, even if people say, “You’re wrong!” Proverbs 9:7–9 says,

Whoever corrects a scoffer gets himself abuse,
and he who reproves a wicked man incurs injury.
Do not reprove a scoffer, or he will hate you;
reprove a wise man, and he will love you.
Give instruction to a wise man, and he will be still wiser;
teach a righteous man, and he will increase in learning.

Three times, the passage says scoffers and the wicked listen to no one. But the righteous love correction and instruction and grow through it. The wise say, “God knows all things.” They hold him in awe and listen to his agents. Fools are proud and imagine they “know everything” (1:1–17; 12:15; 26:12). Proverbs 9 leads to more principles for healthy disagreement.

Principle 3: If we hope for healthy disagreement, we must be open to correction.

Principle 4: Focus on the problem at hand. We attack problems, not people. An idea may be foolish, but we never call people fools. We expect each other to try to grow in wisdom.

Principle 5: In healthy conflict, we aim to edify each other.

A healthy team welcomes debate, even disagreement.

Proverbs assumes correction is an act of love—as it should be. Ideally, we trust each other’s motives. We all want to be wiser. Healthy disagreement is the fruit of trust. It also increases trust when we handle our differences responsibly.

If the first six people on a team rapidly agree on every major point, the seventh may need to act as if the team has succumbed to collective insanity and attack every point that has a whiff of weakness. The goal isn’t endless discussion. We must shift from reflection to action, but we also question a rapidly formed consensus, if only to identify and shore up weak spots.

Principles for Healthy Disagreement

Allow me to restate these principles somewhat differently.

1. Healthy teams hear all ideas, regardless of the rank of the speaker, as we clarify, ideate, develop, and implement plans. When brainstorming, we list and entertain every serious idea.

2. Healthy teams focus on the problem at hand. We revisit old mistakes only if they have a direct bearing on a discussion.

3. Healthy teams attack problems, not people. A proposal may be foolish, but we never call people fools. Healthy conflict promotes the group’s common interests and goals. They don’t litigate the status of members in the group. They think, If Lisa is in the room, she belongs in the room.

4. Healthy conflict aims for trust among group members. Since truth is the coin of the realm in relationships, members should be clear about their goals and agendas, so everyone knows why they take a debated position.

5. Healthy conflict is a group activity. Every back-channel conversation seeks to improve group processes or functions. Teams don’t form cabals that try to control outcomes.

For Christians inundated with media that saturates their souls with often corrosive content, I can’t stress enough the value of surrounding yourself with Christ-exalting music. To that end, here are ten new albums (released within the last year) that can enhance your devotional life. Listen to all of them in one convenient playlist on Spotify or Apple Music.

Caroline Cobb, Psalms: The Poetry of Prayer

One of my favorite albums of last year, this collection of Psalm-based songs from Caroline Cobb is a musical and lyrical treasure. The accompanying instrumental album is also a nice devotional resource. Much like Cobb’s other Bible-based albums, you can’t go wrong with making Psalms a staple of your household’s musical rotation.

FLAME, 1517 Music, Freedom Lessons

Released in November, this one-of-a-kind album remixes Luther’s Small Catechism as a hip-hop album. If you ever wondered what it’d be like to throw a dance party for your kids while simultaneously teaching them about the church’s sacraments and creedal beliefs, look no further than Freedom Lessons, which landed at #5 on my list of the best Christian albums of 2023.

Eliza King, The Pressing In

Australian singer-songwriter Eliza King has released several singles and EPs in recent years that have caught my attention. On March 1, she releases her debut album, The Pressing In, and I highly recommend it. Featuring 11 tracks of gorgeous devotional worship, including collaborations with artists like Tenielle Neda and Wilder Adkins, the album paints scenes of “pressing in” moments: “of olive groves, narrow roads, alabaster jars, trees planted by the stream, and scars that speak of healing.”

Kingdom Kids, Hymns

A new project from Shane & Shane and The Worship Initiative, Kingdom Kids makes worship music designed for kids and families. Their latest release is a collection of hymns both old (“Praise to the Lord”) and new (“Yet Not I but Through Christ in Me”). Especially for parents of little ones seeking to steep their kids in singable theology, this is a perfect album to put on in the car or in your home.

Ordinary Time, You Are My Hiding Place

Folk trio Ordinary Time makes music to serve the church, often in sync with the seasons of the liturgical calendar. Their latest (releasing February 23) is a selection of songs expressing the array of emotions (from lament to jubilant trust) that often accompany the devotional life. With songs inspired by Isaiah 12 (“I Will Trust”), Psalm 13 (“Good To Me”), and other biblical passages, this six-track EP is a preview of a full album release coming later in 2024.

Psallos, A Sure Hope: Hymns of Romans

Nothing in contemporary Christian music quite compares to the Bible-as-art-rock albums Psallos makes. But as creative and musically brilliant as they are, these albums (inspired by New Testament epistles like Hebrews, Philippians, Jude, and Romans) aren’t exactly singable. That’s why Psallos (led by composer Cody Curtis) is releasing companion albums that are more accessible and congregational worship friendly. The first in this series is A Sure Hope: Hymns of Romans, and I’m enjoying it greatly. Upbeat, melodic, and theological rich, this is a great album to put on in your house to help instill the themes of Paul’s magisterial epistle.

Jess Ray, MATIN: Rest

I listened to this from start to finish on a rainy weekend morning recently, and it was a beautiful experience. Recorded as an uninterrupted, 30-minute set of quiet songs and hymns, performed from first light until sunrise (watch the performance on YouTube), MATIN: Rest takes its name from the early morning prayer period of some church traditions (as well as the French word for “morning”). Featuring beautifully unadorned covers of classic hymns (e.g., “All Creatures of Our God and King,” “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms”) as well as some originals (e.g., “Morning Song,” “Lilies & Sparrows”), the 8-song collection is a beautiful resource to usher you into the day’s challenges with your mind fixed on Christ.

The Soil and Seed Project, Vol. 9 Lent Easter Pentecost

Continuing their aim to “nurture faith through music, art, and little liturgies for daily and weekly use in the home, following the liturgical calendar,” The Soil and Seed Project’s latest release is another great devotional resource. The “catechetical folk” style is fun and low-key, with occasionally surprising genre twists (see “There Is No Fear in Love”). It’s all beautifully Scripture-soaked and full of Christian joy.

sxxnt. & Brother Joe, Hymns in High Fidelity

I’ve talked about this album a few times in recent months (including on my best Christian music of 2023 list), but I’d be remiss to not include it again here. In terms of instrumental music to play in the background of devotional time or everyday tasks, this is my recent go-to. It’s fun to listen for the melodies of familiar hymns with the lo-fi soundscape.

Paul Zach, Joy Joy Joy Joy Joy

This soulful, often funky album lives up to the abundant joy of its title. Produced by Isaac Wardell and featuring collaborators like Jon Guerra, Page CXVI, and iAmSon, this new release continues Zach’s strong track record of combining musical beauty and worshipful lyrics to cultivate a devotionally rich listening experience. Turn this one up in the lead-up to the Easter season.

Wilson explores how idolatry shapes individuals, leading them to become like what they worship, and he contrasts the destructive consequences of worshiping false idols with the transformative power of worshiping the true God. Moses is presented as an example of someone who, through time spent with God, embodies mercy and justice. Wilson ultimately reminds us of the security of salvation through Jesus’s perfect mediation.

It’s true some are trained as professional apologists, but every Christian is called to be an apologist. At the end of the day, apologetics is conversational. It answers honest questions while seeking to love one’s neighbor in the process. There’s no one-size-fits-all approach to defending and advocating for the Christian faith. The context of unbelievers’ questions may change, but the basic principles of apologetics remain the same.

In The Augustine Way: Retrieving a Vision for the Church’s Apologetic Witness, Joshua Chatraw and Mark Allen invite Augustine of Hippo to offer his insights into our current apologetic moment. Chatraw is a fellow with The Keller Center and the Beeson Divinity School Billy Graham chair for evangelism and cultural engagement. Allen is professor of biblical and theological studies at Liberty University. This book represents a continuation of their efforts in their coauthored Apologetics at the Cross.

Though more than 1,500 years old, Augustine’s thought offers an apologetic remedy for what ails a fractured and self-focused society. The method commended here connects Charles Taylor’s work with Augustine’s. It seeks to return apologetic ministry to members of the local church.

Discover the Augustine Way

Apologetic methods in our post-Christian society can’t assume people understand biblical and theological categories. Augustine faced a similar reality. His world was rapidly Christianizing, but the vestiges of paganism persisted. When the Bible was used to explain reality, the explanation was often mixed with abstract philosophy and non-Christian beliefs. This is what led Augustine to the group known as the Manichees. They mixed bits of Scripture into their otherwise pagan view of the world, not unlike New Age spirituality today.

The Augustine Way, as Chatraw and Allen describe it, is a process of addressing the universal questions of our day with hope while humbly critiquing the philosophical and spiritual flaws of alternative worldviews. We know from Augustine’s autobiographical Confessions that he explored several cultural options to solve his deepest questions. None of them could quite satisfy his desire for truth, but each held elements that helped him on his pilgrimage toward truth.

Traditional apologetics relies primarily on evidence and reasoned arguments. The Augustine Way affirms the value of arguments, but it also recognizes we must step inside common cultural narratives, critique what’s lacking, and pinpoint the perennial issues they address. “People reason within the images, stories, and myths they’ve inherited through their social setting,” Chatraw and Allen argue. “Indeed, they will use a kind of logic, but it will be one that fits the larger framework that they live and move within” (39).

Good apologetics considers individual people rather than dealing only with universal ideals. This requires understanding our current “social imaginary,” as Taylor describes it, present in the hearts of late-modern men and women. There’s a need to “zoom out to see the big theological picture,” Chatraw and Allen argue, but those concerned with the souls of others “can’t afford to settle for approaches or arguments aimed at an imagined abstract or universal person” (66).

Good apologetics considers individual people rather than dealing only with universal ideals.

Throughout Augustine’s spiritual journey in Confessions, we see a unique focus on his interior life. Augustine’s inward turn was for the purpose of eventually looking upward to God for ultimate meaning. In contrast, the authors note, “In our day each person imagines themselves creating their own unique meanings out of raw material of a universe devoid of any necessarily true, universal purpose” (39). The Augustine Way understands this modern impulse yet seeks to reorient the inner toward seeking rest in God.

Walk the Augustine Way

The Augustine Way is a renewed apologetic posture for the 21st century. It begins by finding points of agreement in the culture, then offering the hope of the gospel. We need humility to do this. The authors write, “Sometimes it’s tempting (and pleases our Christian base) to simply try to burn rivals to the ground rather than explore what might be apologetically salvageable in their beliefs, excavating to expose foundational posts still standing amid the debris, pointing beyond themselves to the triune God” (97).

The goal isn’t to win an argument or destroy someone’s worldview. From within the church, we’re inviting people to become part of the church, which is “a community of pilgrims on a journey home” (99). This humble posture demonstrates our renewed hope and identity. We’re shaped and formed in our desires and eternal outlook in the community of the saints. We hear the voice of the bishop of Hippo beckoning: Come into communion with the Lord and his body and find rest.

The deeply personal and life-shaping Christology of Augustine brings into focus our new identity as pilgrims. “Christ was not just someone Augustine looked to but rather the one he looked through to see himself and the world around him,” Chatraw and Allen write. “Christ healed his sight and opened his eyes to a point of view in which humility was the key to knowledge” (116).

Continue on the Augustine Way

Chatraw and Allen demonstrate the contemporary applicability of the Augustine Way through their interactions with famous YouTube exvangelicals Rhett and Link and the popular Apple TV+ shows Ted Lasso and The Morning Show, inviting readers to make meaningful apologetic connections. This, however, is a two-edged sword because readers in 2033 will be less familiar with these references than readers in 2023.

The goal isn’t to win an argument or destroy someone’s worldview. From within the church, we’re inviting people to become part of the church.

The argument of the book relies heavily on two main works from Augustine, Confessions and City of God, which are helpful. However, it could have benefited from a deeper engagement with other works, such as Augustine’s sermons and letters. These writings have an “on the ground” quality, demonstrating how he directly addressed the concerns of his audience, whether a wealthy Roman widow or the common Christian worshiping in North Africa. Other works of Augustine are addressed and referenced, but perhaps The Augustine Way could be clearer through a closer examination of additional texts.

Though presented by an academic press, The Augustine Way should make an appearance on every pastor’s shelf. It should also appear in the hands of Christians wishing to understand how to best engage neighbors, coworkers, and others given our secular age. The book is enjoyable, practical, and not burdened by academic jargon. After reading The Augustine Way, perhaps readers will finally see they belong on the apologetics team after all.

A talented group of writers, the students had prepared long lists of questions about world-building and outlining, character development, theme, and the enigmatic mechanics of publishing. I navigated the tangle of inquiries as best as I could, but after a half hour of unraveling the details of revisions, beta readers, and platform, a concern nagged me. In focusing on the minutiae, had I steered these young, eager minds away from the most important principle of all?

“Before we go any further,” I said, holding a hand up and trying to ignore the flush of shame that warmed my cheeks, “the single best piece of advice I can give you is something I learned from my pastor. If you learn nothing else from this class, please remember this one thing: approach every piece of writing as an offering to the Lord.”

Pearl of Pastoral Wisdom

If you love to write, you know the craft is an exercise in weathering crests and falls. An irresistible spark of inspiration propels you to the keyboard, but when your words topple onto the page, they lean off-kilter. The scene you grasped so brilliantly in your mind stumbles out in a mess of elbows and knees, a cheap replica of the elegance you’d envisioned. When your piece finally hobbles into the world as a mere shadow of what you’d imagined, the worry sets in: Will people misunderstand you? Will you offend anyone? Are you wasting your time?

Approach every piece of writing as an offering to the Lord.

It was during one such moment of anxiety that my pastor offered me his words of wisdom. Over cups of coffee in my living room, I wrung my shirtsleeve like a dishrag and voiced my fear that my most recent work would let down my friends and colleagues. What if I’d failed miserably?

He didn’t pause in his answer: “Your work is an offering to the Lord, and your job is to walk as faithfully as you can with what you have to offer,” he said. “What the Lord chooses to do with the finished product is according to his will, not yours.”

Since that conversation on a drab winter’s evening, I’ve cleaved to these words during moments of burnout, doubt, and exhaustion. They’ve infused me with new strength when I’ve been bone weary. And they’ve freed me to approach each new project with joy, knowing that any good that arises from my scribblings is by God’s doing, not my own.

Steward Your Words

When we consider each written piece as an offering to the Lord, writing transforms into an act of stewardship. The impulse to sculpt our observations into coherent sentences takes on new heft, blooming from a private delight into a ministry in which we “work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men” (Col. 3:23). When viewed through the lens of offering, solitary hours spent clacking away on a keyboard become vehicles not for our personal indulgence, nor for our acclaim, but for his glory.

As well they should, as this love of wordsmithing—this urge to translate what we see and feel into language and somehow preserve the essence—is a generous gift from God, not of our own making (Rom. 12:3). Having received from the Lord a heart for words, we’re not to squander it for ourselves but rather to pour it out in service to his people (12:6–8). We’re to “do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him” (Col. 3:17). We’re to provide an offering with all our heart (Matt. 22:37) and craft sentences, however meager, that he may not spurn.

Remain in God’s Word

To write as an offering requires we tether ourselves to Scripture. “Look at the Word, and look at the world, in a quest to see God as marvelous,” John Piper recommended during a writer’s summit last summer. “Cultivate a capacity to see what is there, and to savor what you see. It is more likely you will find heart-awakening words if you are awake yourself.”

We remain awake to God’s work in the world when we hold tightly to Scripture, as we train ourselves to reflect on what matters to him and to set our minds on whatever is true, honorable, and lovely (Phil. 4:8). Whether we write nonfiction, novels, poetry, or children’s stories, we aim to speak the truth in love with greater clarity and precision (Eph. 4:15). “For the word of God is living and active,” writes the author of Hebrews, “sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Heb. 4:12).

To write for the Lord, we must allow his words to guide ours. We must illuminate our own words with the true lamp to our feet and light to our path (Ps. 119:105).

Release Your Work to God

Two months after my pastor’s encouraging words, I received a letter from a young reader about the same piece over which I’d so agonized. At just the right time, in ways I never could have fathomed, the Lord worked through that book to uphold her during a time of sorrow and need. My work was imperfect, but God’s grace abounded.

Writing is a vulnerable calling. We shakily offer a piece of our heart to the world, and as social media spawns criticism like so many hatched flies, we cringe before festering reminders that we’re not good enough. Because the truth is, we’re not. We’re finite and fallen, and the work we create and shape with our own hands will always flaunt cracks. It will always reflect our brokenness.

My work was imperfect, but God’s grace abounded.

And yet our God is the One who redeems. Through Christ, he takes the scarlet stains of our sins and makes them white as snow (Isa. 1:18). He takes our brittle and crumbling works and molds them into mountains.

Writers, approach your work as an offering. Even as we arduously strive with pen in hand to reflect God’s goodness, and even as our desperate efforts fall short, we need not be anxious (Matt. 6:25; Phil. 4:6). Rather than succumb to dismay, turn your work over to him. He’ll do with it what he will, and any good that comes from it will be by his work, not yours (Gen. 50:20; Rom. 8:28).

Aim to transcribe what’s true, good, and pure. And know that when you fail, the Lord can take your broken pieces and assemble them into something lovely and whole—for his glory and not for your own.

The Background: The court’s ruling involves a case in which embryos stored at a fertility clinic were accidentally destroyed.

In December 2020, a patient at an Alabama hospital wandered into the fertility clinic through an unsecured doorway. The patient then entered the cryogenic nursery and removed several embryos. As the court notes, “The subzero temperatures at which the embryos had been stored freeze-burned the patient’s hand, causing the patient to drop the embryos on the floor, killing them.”

Several parents of these embryos sued the clinic under Alabama’s Wrongful Death of a Minor Act, a statute that allows parents of a deceased child to recover punitive damages for their child’s death. A trial court originally ruled that because cryopreserved embryos (i.e., children in the embryonic stage put in suspended animation) don’t fit within the definition of a “person” or “child,” the loss couldn’t be considered a wrongful-death claim.

The Alabama Supreme Court disagreed, stating that “the Wrongful Death of a Minor Act applies on its face to all unborn children, without limitation.” The Court noted that Article I of the state’s constitution of 2022 “acknowledges, declares, and affirms that it is the public policy of this state to ensure the protection of the rights of the unborn child in all manners and measures lawful and appropriate.” That section, titled “Sanctity of Unborn Life,” operates in this context as a constitutionally imposed canon of construction, directing courts to construe ambiguous statutes in a way that “protect[s] . . . the rights of the unborn child” equally with the rights of born children, whenever such construction is “lawful and appropriate.”

In a concurring opinion, one justice wrote that this ruling provided an “opportunity to examine the meaning of the term ‘sanctity of unborn life’” within state law. In explaining the meaning of the term, the justice cites Genesis 1:27, John Calvin, Petrus van Mastricht’s Theoretical-Practical Theology, and the Manhattan Declaration: A Call of Christian Conscience (a statement signed by TGC cofounder Tim Keller as well as Council members Danny Akin, Robert C. Cannada Jr., Bryan Chapell, David Dockery, Tom Nelson, and David Platt). He concludes,

In summary, the theologically based view of the sanctity of life adopted by the People of Alabama encompasses the following: (1) God made every person in His image; (2) each person therefore has a value that far exceeds the ability of human beings to calculate; and (3) human life cannot be wrongfully destroyed without incurring the wrath of a holy God, who views the destruction of His image as an affront to Himself. Section 36.06 recognizes that this is true of unborn human life no less than it is of all other human life—that even before birth, all human beings bear the image of God, and their lives cannot be destroyed without effacing his glory.

The defendants in the case asserted that treating extrauterine children (i.e., unborn children who exist outside the womb) as “children” for purposes of wrongful-death liability will “substantially increase the cost of IVF in Alabama” and could make cryogenic preservation onerous.

Why It Matters: The Alabama Supreme Court decision is one of the morally clearest rulings of the decade. As it rightly asserts, unborn children are “children” and deserve appropriate legal and ethical protections. Unfortunately, many Christians—including those who consider themselves “pro-life”—are lacking in similar moral clarity.

Whether in the womb of a woman or in a fertility clinic’s storage locker, all human embryos have the same moral status and deserve the same level of protection from harm. The pain of infertility doesn’t provide an exemption from this obligation. Yet numerous Christians have participated in IVF in a clearly immoral way.

The problem is that children who are conceived through the process of IVF, who are in the embryonic stage of development, and who aren’t implanted in a mother’s womb are cryogenically frozen and put into storage. The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services estimated in 2020 that “at least 600,000 frozen embryos were in storage nationwide.” According to the National Embryo Donation Center, that number could be as high as 1 million.

The cost of storage usually runs from $500 to $1,000 a year per IVF patient, leading many parents to abandon their created but unimplanted children. This means hundreds of thousands of children have been abandoned, often left until they die. Many are left behind by Christian parents. Why is this reality not considered scandalous?

Many Christians simply haven’t thought biblically about the issue of IVF. Even those who’ve considered the procedure don’t always agree on whether it can be done in a God-honoring way.

With no explicit biblical directives, divergent views are inevitable (I tend to oppose IVF while respecting those who disagree). Yet certain practices within the realm of IVF are unequivocally unethical and should never be done. Creating more embryos than will be implanted is the most glaring example.

A single IVF treatment can cost between $15,000 and $30,000. The likelihood of success is low, with the best technique offering less than a 50 percent chance a live birth will occur.

To lower the cost and increase the chances of pregnancy, it has become a common practice for more embryos to be created than will be implanted. This has led to a grim reality where U.S. fertility clinics often function like dystopian orphanages, generating children only to leave them in a state of indefinite limbo, ultimately leading to their deaths.

While the additional costs incurred to avoid ethical transgressions might be significant or even insurmountable, the ethical price of embryo destruction is far greater. It contravenes God’s will to forsake or terminate one’s child for the sake of cost or convenience. Our duty as Christians and parents is evident: we must never intentionally bring a child into existence if we anticipate his or her abandonment and subsequent death. If IVF cannot be pursued in a biblically moral manner, it shouldn’t be pursued at all.

The Alabama Supreme Court has correctly applied the concept of “sanctity of life” to children outside the womb. It’s time for the church to do the same.

Related: Breaking Evangelicalism’s Silence on IVF by Matthew Lee Anderson and Andrew T. Walker / How IVF Can Be Morally Right by Wayne Grudem

On our flight from Copenhagen for the recent TGC Norden regional event, I sat next to one of the Danish parliamentary representatives from the Faroes, Sjúrður Skaale. He told me his grandmother was committed to a Brethren church, which represents a large portion of the Christians we’d be meeting with.

As our plane began to land, it appeared we were going to try a water landing, since the tiny islands were still not in sight. Suddenly, the wind became turbulent, and the captain told us we’d have to abandon our descent. We circled in the skies for another 15 minutes, and in our second attempt were able to pierce the clouds and land. We’d arrived in the Faroes.

We’d done our research, so we were expecting the physical beauty. What we didn’t anticipate were the people of the Faroes, especially God’s people.

Christianity in Isolation

If you Google the Faroes, you’ll see pictures of waterfalls, mountain lakes, and fjords that have been shaved clean of all natural-growing trees. This gives them the feel of a mountain desert that God flicked into the vast ocean. It’s a harsh beauty unparalleled anywhere in Europe, and as part of our Danish kingdom, it’s surprisingly seldom heralded as a destination.

These remote islands are home to only about 55,000 people, largely supported by the fishing industry. As a part of the Nordic region, the Faroes share many of the Nordic character traits of contentment and minimalism, while lacking one significant feature—atheism.

The Faroes share many of the Nordic character traits of contentment and minimalism, while lacking one significant feature—atheism.

The testimony to the Lord’s glory in nature, an early presence of Celtic monks, and a history of Brethren missions to the islands have made them one of the most Christian nations in all of Europe. The Danish Lutheran church has always been a stronger presence in the Faroes than it was in other parts of the Danish kingdom fellowship. And in the 1860s, Plymouth Brethren evangelist William Sloan came to the Faroe Islands. He preached for 13 years before seeing his first convert, but he eventually saw a significant groundswell of faith.

Christianity Continued

From the moment we arrived, we sensed the love and faithfulness of Christ pouring through the words and works of the Christians there. The Faroes have some of the nicest church buildings in the Nordics. They were recently built and often sit with the best views on the islands. The Brethren Church, whose tradition lies in the neighborhood of the Baptists, doesn’t have professional clergy. This has kept the laypeople engaged in the ministry and given them a sense of shared ownership in the buildings.

When I preached at the fjord-side church of Saloa in Fuglafjørður, the service included long periods of quiet, followed by attendees calling out spontaneous requests from the hymnbook, along with other prayers and Scriptures.

The Brethren Church has been pietist and Anabaptist in its soteriological emphasis, but in recent years, through the internet and connections to preachers like Billy Graham and John MacArthur, there has been openness to an evangelical and even broadly Reformed theology. In an area with few evangelicals, we focus on what we have in common in Christ and in the Word.

Despite the small population, there’s a surprising amount of creativity on the islands. Many of the Faroese are highly skilled musicians in addition to working their regular jobs. In an age where we see reading and art being replaced by screens, the Faroese still spend much of their free time reading or doing handicrafts like knitting and painting. The Faroe people seemed a hidden treasure.

Never Hidden from God

When we’re isolated from the highways and big cities of the world, it’s easy to feel hidden even from the eye of God. But it’s often in our solitude that God forms us into the greatest tools for his glory. Like diamonds buried under the mountains, we’re hardened and refined there.

Exodus 3:1–2 says,

Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law, Jethro, the priest of Midian, and he led his flock to the west side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. And the angel of the LORD appeared to him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush. He looked, and behold, the bush was burning, yet it was not consumed.

The Lord had humbled and isolated Moses as a shepherd in the deserts of Midian. It was only after this time that the Lord revealed himself to Moses and used him to deliver the Israelites.

It’s often in our solitude that God forms us into the greatest tools for his glory.

This period of seclusion and obscurity was exactly what Moses needed to strengthen his character, to help him forget himself, and to look to God’s power that can shine through weakness.

The people of the Faroe Islands have only just begun to be a blessing to us at TGC Norden. We believe they can be a blessing to God’s people throughout the world because they show us we’re never isolated from our omnipresent God.

There’s only one catch: The car has no power train. No engine. No transmission. No driveshaft, axle, or differential. It won’t move unless you push it yourself. Would you take that car?

In A Praying Church: Becoming a People of Hope in a Discouraging World, Paul E. Miller is concerned that this is what many of us have settled for—not in our cars but in our churches. Miller, the best-selling author of A Praying Life and executive director of seeJesus, makes the sobering observation that in large measure, “the American church is functionally prayerless when it comes to corporate prayer” (14). And, he argues, a prayerless church is a church without a power train.

The central aim of the book is to pursue some answers to key questions. How did many churches become “functionally prayerless”? How can we return to this foundational priority (Acts 6:4)? In other words, Who killed the prayer meeting? And who can resurrect it once again?

Who Killed the Prayer Meeting?

In Ephesians 3, Paul prays for the Father to strengthen the church by the Spirit so they might know the love of Christ and glorify his name with the power he supplies (vv. 14–21). This, Miller argues, is the church’s power train: prayer → Spirit → Jesus → power (25). “Prayer, he writes, “is the crucial spark that brings this Spirit engine to life. Consequently, prayer is not one more activity of the church—it lies at the heart of all the church’s ministry” (26).

Praying together used to be a staple of American church life. My grandfather was a pastor from the 1950s into the 1990s. Like so many of his contemporaries, he prepared sermons for Sunday morning and Sunday evening, and he led a prayer meeting on Wednesday nights. But you’d be hard-pressed to find a weekly prayer meeting in many of our churches today. Why is that?

Miller argues that one key factor is the rise of secularism in the West, “which doesn’t just deny God’s existence but denies the existence of any spiritual world” (15). If what you see is all there is, why spend time talking to the invisible God?

By definition, no Christian denies the existence of God, let alone of any spiritual world. But increasingly, our friends, family members, neighbors, and coworkers do. The winds of our culture aren’t pushing us to pray. Even though we may not jettison prayer from our lives, if we’re not careful, we’ll drift away from it.

Even though we may not jettison prayer from our lives, if we’re not careful, we’ll drift away from it.

I doubt there have been many church membership meetings over the years where a vote was passed to cancel the prayer meeting. More likely, attendance at prayer gatherings gradually waned and other good things filled in the space. Slowly, subtly, our churches started praying together less. But if we agree prayer should be a priority, and if we’re hungry for the power that prayer ignites, how do we return prayer to its proper place in the church?

Who Can Resurrect the Prayer Meeting?

In Ephesians 1:17–20, Paul prays that the Father would give the church the Spirit-enabled ability to see the immeasurable greatness of his power toward those who believe, the very power that raised Jesus from the dead. Reflecting on these verses, Miller writes, “The Spirit made Jesus’s body come alive, and now he continues to make Jesus’s body on earth (the church) come alive” (29).

We need to ask the Father to work through his Spirit to resurrect what has died. Ask him to begin this work in your own heart. But get ready, this will lead you into what Miller calls the “J-Curve”: “Like the letter J, Jesus’s life goes down into death and up into resurrection. . . . [And] the Spirit doesn’t bring the power of Jesus separately from the path of Jesus” (106).

Before we rise with Christ, we die with Christ (2 Tim. 2:11). Before God brings us into the fruitful harvest of answered prayers, he’ll often lead us into the humility of confession, the crucible of suffering, and seasons of waiting on him (Isa. 66:2; Rom. 5:3; Ps. 62:1). But in due season we’ll reap, if we don’t give up (Gal. 6:9).

Those in formal and informal leadership within a congregation need the habit of prayer. As Miller notes, “A praying church is difficult to create without a praying leader” (123). Pastors have a special responsibility to shepherd our people in this direction. We cannot lead our churches where we haven’t gone ourselves.

So Miller encourages pastors to “descend into the hidden room of prayer, to slow down [our] entire ministry and learn how to pray together” (122). Then, as we gather our people to pray, and teach them what we’re discovering, we’ll equip the saints (Eph. 4:11–12). We’ll help foster a “vast army of praying saints who, energized by faith, engage [an evil world] with love” (84).

Restore the Power Train

A prayerless church is like a fully loaded vehicle without a power train. Without a working engine, transmission, and driveshaft, the car can’t fulfill its purpose. Better an economy car with a functional power train than a luxury vehicle missing key parts.

A prayerless church is like a fully loaded vehicle without a power train. Without a working engine, transmission, and driveshaft, the car can’t fulfill its purpose.

A Praying Church will benefit pastors, church leaders, and faithful members seeking to ignite the engine of the Spirit’s power through the practice of prayer.

Miller balances his theory of prayer with practical suggestions for praying at regular meetings, small group gatherings, and times of one-on-one fellowship. He reminds readers that “all great movements of the kingdom begin low and slow, with hidden pray-ers who keep showing up to pray. Who pray when they don’t feel like it” (170). This is encouragement for what’s likely to be a challenging effort to change a congregation’s culture.

Miller’s methods flow out of his personality and context, so not every suggestion will work in every church. However, the case he makes will stir the heart, inspiring readers to slow down and seek the Lord with his people, entrusting all things “to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think” (Eph. 3:20).

Such were the words of the pagan philosopher Celsus, written around AD 170. This was just the beginning. His full-scale assault was something to behold. Jesus was a bastard child born of an adulterous relationship. Mary was a poor Jewish spinster with no significant lineage. Jesus was a magician/sorcerer (due to his time in Egypt) who tricked and deceived people. His disciples were a band of depraved, uneducated robbers. Jesus was a poor teacher who stole material from Plato.

While such provocative claims filled Celsus’s On the True Doctrine, his core complaint was always centered on the Gospels themselves. They were “fables”—a “monstrous fiction” filled with “contradictions.”

His attacks disturbed the growing Christian movement. They were so influential that the third-century intellectual giant Origen felt compelled to write a line-by-line rebuttal. Origen was clear about what was at stake: “If the discrepancy between the Gospels is not solved, we must give up our trust in the Gospels, as being true and written by a divine spirit, or as records worthy of credence, for both these characters are held to belong to these works.”

One can almost feel Origen’s “anxiety” over this issue. For him, and for later theologians like Augustine, the fate of the Christian religion seemed to hang on our ability to resolve these apparent contradictions.

The fate of the Christian religion seemed to hang on our ability to resolve these apparent contradictions.

Such anxiety hasn’t dissipated after 2,000 years. The ghost of Celsus lives on as critics seem as fervent as ever about problems in the Gospels. The subtitle of Bart Ehrman’s 2009 book Jesus Interrupted [my review] hardly seems designed to quell people’s concerns: “Revealing the Hidden Contradictions in the Bible (and Why We Don’t Know About Them).”

So how should Christians handle this sort of “contradiction anxiety”? Are we able to trust the Gospels even if there are unresolved challenges? Here are a few principles to consider, followed by a specific (and recent) example.

Honesty About the Problem

We should begin where many Christians probably don’t want to: acknowledging the problem. There are places in the Gospels (and other parts of Scripture) that present sticky issues. It doesn’t help the discussion when Christians act like they don’t exist. To be overly dismissive of tough passages is to look like we’re not taking them seriously.

This sort of “nothing to see here” approach not only makes evangelicals seem uninterested in academic matters but also implies anyone raising questions about the Bible must be engaged in an evil plot to undermine it. After all, if problem passages are always easily solvable, then anyone who finds them difficult must be operating with bad intentions. We’re forced to assume the worst about every person with doubts.

As I discuss in my book Surviving Religion 101, and in my recent talk at TGC23, there’s a better way. We need to learn how to be less defensive, more welcoming to those with questions, and more willing to walk with them through the hard issues. Some people truly struggle with these passages. And some of these passages are genuinely difficult.

We need to learn how to be less defensive, more welcoming to those with questions, and more willing to walk with them through the hard issues.

Of course, this doesn’t mean all questions are born out of honest inquiry. Some critics of the Gospels seem to be professional cynics, unable (or unwilling) to give the other side a fair hearing. They put much energy into pointing out the problems but little toward finding a solution. They’re happy to ask questions but less than thrilled to receive answers.

If evangelicals need to be more open to exploring the problems, critics should likewise be more open to exploring possible solutions.

Ancient Historiography

A second way to address our “contradiction anxiety” is to understand how ancient historiography was different than modern historiography. Our default is to assume the way we do history now is the way they should’ve done history then. If an ancient writer fails to live up to our modern standards, we declare him mistaken.

But the more we learn about ancient historians (Herodotus, Thucydides, Polybius), and about Greco-Roman biographies (of which the Gospels are likely an example), the more we learn how ancient practices were different from our own. In the ancient world, for instance, it was common to tell stories out of order (for thematic reasons), paraphrase and reword quotations, conflate and abridge material, streamline the timeline of events, and so on.

As a classic example, consider the story of Jesus cleansing the temple. In the Synoptics (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), Jesus cleanses the temple at the end of his ministry (Matt. 21:12–17; Mark 11:15–19; Luke 19:45–48), but in John, he cleanses it at the beginning of his ministry (2:13–22). Sure, Jesus could’ve cleansed the temple twice, but it’s more likely John moved the account to the beginning of his Gospel for thematic reasons—namely, his desire to focus on Jesus as the new temple.

Once these sorts of techniques are taken into consideration, many apparent contradictions can quickly be resolved.

What We Don’t Know

But understanding ancient historiography doesn’t solve every challenge. Sometimes sticky passages require more sustained historical analysis.

This leads to a third observation. Even if some passages are more difficult to resolve, we have to remember there’s a lot we simply don’t know. Rather than declaring we must have discovered an irresolvable contradiction (as some critics seem quick to do), we can acknowledge there may be factors or considerations we’re unaware of.

For example, let’s consider the classic objection about the census of Quirinius described in Luke’s Gospel. Luke tells us Quirinius was “governor of Syria” when Jesus was born (2:2) and that the census required Joseph to return to his hometown of Bethlehem (vv. 4–5). For years, scholars have noted a twofold problem here.

First, Jesus was born sometime before the death of Herod in 4 BC, whereas Quirinius wasn’t governor until AD 6 (a date that comes from Josephus). This suggests Luke’s dates are off by more than a decade. Second, we have no evidence any ancient census required a person to return to his or her “hometown.” Critics argue Luke just made this up as a way to get Jesus born in Bethlehem.

Of course, solutions have been proposed to this conundrum. Some argue that Josephus, not Luke, could’ve been mistaken about the date of Quirinius. Others suggest Quirinius might have been governor twice, once in 4 BC and again in AD 6. N. T. Wright recently suggested a simple solution: the preposition protos in Luke 2:2 is best translated “before” rather than “first,” making the translation read, “This census took place before the time when Quirinius was governor of Syria.”

Each of these proposed solutions has strengths and weaknesses and a differing level of plausibility. But, recent academic work has opened up new (and intriguing) possibilities on how to understand this passage.

Help from the Papyri

There’s so much about the ancient world we don’t know, in part because the records of that world—largely kept on parchment or papyrus—are mostly lost. Only a fraction of a fraction have survived. This means every new manuscript discovery holds remarkable potential. It could contain the piece of information we need to unlock certain mysteries or solve certain conundrums.

The historical relevance of ancient manuscripts has been highlighted in Sabine R. Huebner’s recent Papyri and the Social World of the New Testament. While historical knowledge typically comes through the discovery of literary works—histories, anthologies, formal treatises—Huebner points out there’s an entire world of often overlooked material known as documentary papyri.

Rather than formal works of literature, documentary papyri are what we might call everyday documents—letters, tax receipts, leases, contracts, bills of sale, wills, and more. They reveal what life would’ve looked like for a common person in the Greco-Roman world. Among such documents, Huebner observes, are census declarations. These papyri not only record a remarkable level of detail about the family being registered—age, sex, occupation, number of children, possessions, and so on—but also provide clues about how such a census might have been carried out.

One manuscript, known as P. Lond. 3.904, provides this fascinating description of a Roman census: “It is necessary that all persons who are not resident at home for one reason or another at this time return to their homeplaces in order to undergo the usual registration formalities and to attend to the cultivation of the land which is their concern.”

Here we see, contrary to the critics of Luke 2:2, that there were times when an individual had to register in his hometown—namely, when he owned property in that town and was temporarily living elsewhere. This squares well with the Gospel of Luke, where it appears Joseph was only living in Nazareth temporarily. He was originally from Bethlehem, where he likely owned a family plot (as one of David’s descendants). Under this scenario, Luke’s description of Joseph returning to his hometown of Bethlehem proves plausible.

Help from the Church Fathers

Even if ancient papyri can help explain why Joseph had to return to his hometown, there’s still the question of the census’s date. Why does it seem like Luke’s dating is off by more than a decade?

Here we can find help from two church fathers, Justin Martyr and Tertullian.

Justin, writing in Rome in the middle of the second century, refers to this census under Quirinius, whom he calls the “procurator” (epitropos) in Judea. He even challenges his readers to check out the census archives for themselves (something one could’ve easily done, as census record-keeping was meticulous). Such a challenge would be risky if there were no such records.

Huebner points out an often missed detail: Justin doesn’t call Quirinius a “governor” but a “procurator” (epitropos)—a different office entirely. (Another term often used to refer to a procurator is hegemon.) A procurator was a lower office, typically involved in administering and implementing a census. Curiously, Luke appears to confirm this fact. He doesn’t describe Quirinius with the typical Greek word for “governor” but instead uses the participle hegemoneuon (“to be a hegemon”). In other words, a procurator.

Tertullian (AD 160–240) further illuminates Luke’s census. He too says anyone can check out the records of the census Joseph participated in (again, risky if the records weren’t there). Then he adds a remarkable detail: the census took place under governor Saturninus.

With the help of Justin and Tertullian, a picture begins to emerge. Apparently, Quirinius wasn’t the governor during the birth of Jesus but the procurator who executed the census under Saturninus. If so, then why does Luke even mention Quirinius? Why not just mention Saturninus?

The answer is simple: Quirinius would later become governor in AD 6 and would implement a better-known census. Luke knew his audience would be familiar with this later census and wanted to distinguish it from the earlier one Joseph participated in. Thus, Luke tells his audience this was the “first” census associated with Quirinius.

With this additional information, it seems Luke wasn’t incorrect about the date of the census after all. One happened when Jesus was born, sometime before 4 BC, and one happened more than a decade later, around AD 6. Both were associated with Quirinius.

Take a Deep Breath

This article has been about the anxiety we all feel when faced with what seems an insurmountable contradiction in the Gospels. I’ve offered three considerations to help manage that anxiety.

First, we shouldn’t duck the problem, pretending every passage is easy and clean. Some passages are tough; owning that is important. Second, we need to remember ancient historiography was different from modern historiography—sometimes very different. Grasping this reality can solve many apparent contradictions. Third, and perhaps most important, we need to recognize there’s a lot we don’t know. Before we bang the gavel, declaring we’ve found an assured contradiction, we need to reckon with the limits of our knowledge.

When faced with an apparent contradiction, sometimes we just need to take a deep breath.

The census under Quirinius in Luke’s Gospel highlights precisely this point. Imagine if we didn’t have P.Lond. 3.904. Imagine if we didn’t have the writings of Justin and Tertullian to help us. We’d never know there’s a plausible explanation for the confusion around Luke’s census.

When faced with an apparent contradiction, sometimes we need to take a deep breath. Even if we don’t have an answer, that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Sometimes we just have to wait. Sometimes we have to do the hard historical work. And sometimes (really, all the time) we have to trust.

Whether you’ve believed for as long as you can remember or you’re doubting right now, it can be comforting to know the faith journey rarely looks simple. It’s full of twists and turns. Politics, sexuality, family, and religious experience all push us to and fro, especially in the critical years of maturation in adolescence and early adulthood.

Over 40 years, Randy Newman has heard hundreds of stories about people coming to faith. He brings that experience to bear in his new book, Questioning Faith: Indirect Journeys of Belief Through Terrains of Doubt, which releases February 27 from Crossway and The Gospel Coalition. Randy is senior fellow for apologetics and evangelism at the C. S. Lewis Institute. He was formerly on staff with Cru, ministering in and near Washington, DC. He joined me on Gospelbound to discuss motives, plausibility, certainty, and doubt, among other topics.

In brief, more than 700 subpostmasters were unjustly prosecuted for false accounting and theft. Subpostmasters are self-employed business operators with contracts to run branches of the Post Office. Such stores (and postmasters) are commonly at the heart of local communities. But these men and women were ruthlessly prosecuted by the Post Office—a limited company owned entirely by the government.

Some went to prison; many were financially ruined. Marriages broke down, health suffered, four victims took their own lives—yet none of it was their fault. It was the fault of an accounting program called Horizon, created by Fujitsu and rolled out by the Post Office. After multiple investigations, the Post Office has grudgingly admitted the software makes 12,000 errors per year. But at the time, they insisted there were no systemic issues—it must be the fault of hundreds of subpostmasters, all with their hands in the tills. And so they prosecuted their employees at a rate of one per week, year after year.

Why are people talking about it again? Because the ITV drama Mr. Bates vs the Post Office has shone light on the issue, causing a million-strong petition to be written, former Post Office CEO Paula Vennells to return her CBE, and enormous pressure on the government to overturn hundreds of convictions and pay compensation to thousands of victims. With the scandal seen in this frame, a nation’s conscience has been pricked.

Churches can see themselves reflected in the Post Office—a trusted institution that has, at times, harmed many. Church leaders can see themselves, at times, reflected in the institutional blindness and machinations of an organization intent on protecting itself at all costs. Victims can see themselves reflected in the subpostmasters with their long and winding road to restitution. And the world can see the issues framed best when they’re framed biblically. The ultimate David versus Goliath story—the gospel of Jesus Christ—makes sense of such scandals and gives us hope for a future of justice, mercy, and peace.

Whether leaders or victims, Christians or non-Christians, here are eight lessons we can learn.

1. The problem isn’t errors. The problem is insisting there are no errors.

Every IT system has glitches. The problem is claiming infallibility. But the Post Office was so committed to self-justification that it prosecuted its innocent people rather than question its faulty machines. In 2014, the Post Office clapped back at criticisms: “There is absolutely no evidence of any systemic issues with the computer system, which is used by over 78,000 people across our 11,500 branches and which successfully processes over six million transactions every day.” But the system made roughly 12,000 errors a year. It isn’t a good idea to declare infallible something that missteps about every 45 minutes. Yet they doubled down, insisting they were right.

This is at the heart of the human condition, according to the Bible. It’s not just that we’re wrong; the deeper problem is we pretend to be right. Our problem isn’t just our badness; it’s our pretended goodness. The fig leaves we sew together—or to use a New Testament image, the whitewash we apply to deadly sin—cause even more of a problem.

It’s not just that we’re wrong; the deeper problem is we pretend to be right. Our problem isn’t just our badness; it’s our pretended goodness.

2. Technology can lift people up, but it also leaves people behind.

It’s possible to tell a positive tech story about the Post Office. This institution has existed since 1660. Before 1999, you had to do all your accounts with paper and pen. Step forward Fujitsu and its Horizon system, representing technology and efficiency—the future! But many were left behind. And it’s not just users of Horizon.

None of us knows much about the technology that’s become essential to our lives. Our world is irreversibly complex—with systems relying on other systems and few people competent to deal with even one of them, let alone the interlocking networks we depend on each day. Those developing AI are saying even they don’t know the ins and outs of where the technology is going.

3. Technology oppresses as well as liberates.

Eighty years ago, C. S. Lewis considered the promises and perils of technology in The Abolition of Man: “What we call Man’s power over Nature turns out to be a power exercised by some men over other men with Nature as its instrument.”

Horizon promised to be a tool of liberation—freeing people from drudgery and inefficiency. In practice, it became a tool of oppression, freezing out the little people and empowering the organizational machine.

4. Victims and whistleblowers will have complex stories.

Those blowing the whistle on the Post Office tended to be under the cloud of false allegations. Some had done jail time. A great number felt enormous embarrassment at having gotten themselves into this situation. They’d hidden their debts, hidden that they’d had to remortgage their homes. They often felt stupid and ashamed. No wonder it’s taking time for more and more to tell their stories.

Coming forward takes time and courage, and it often requires others to go first. Put yourself in the shoes of the people first hearing these complex stories. If you’re listening to a whistleblower, you’ll have to consider, Can I look past outward appearances to seek the truth? Can I persist in complex situations to seek clarity?

The lessons here for church abuse scandals should be obvious. Victims and whistleblowers will have complex stories, and they’ll be processing feelings of profound shame. It’ll be messy, not straightforward. And that’s just the individuals. Complexities multiply among survivor communities.

5. Survivor communities are difficult to manage.

In 2009, Alan Bates (“Mr. Bates” of the TV drama) formed the Justice for Subpostmasters Alliance. As it grew in size over the next decade, the group had to navigate many complexities. Different people had played different roles in the scandal—some having (knowingly or not) harmed other members.

For instance, some had been part of the National Federation of SubPostmasters, which the Post Office had used to manage and sometimes silence whistleblowers. The Alliance had to accommodate different kinds of victims with different experiences of victimhood, different experiences of one another, and different views on how best to seek redress.

As so many churches face abuse scandals, we should be aware that survivor communities aren’t monolithic. Immense wisdom and grace are needed.

6. Survivor communities can be life-giving refuges.

When each subpostmaster brought a complaint to the Post Office, he or she was told the system was flawless. The complainant also heard that he or she was the only one. It seems likely the Post Office’s helplines were specifically briefed to tell each complainant that same message—as cruel as it was false. But when subpostmasters came together, the sense of solidarity was a lifeline. The first episode of Mr. Bates ends with Bates convening their first meeting:

They told us over and over: “You’re the only one.” And that was wrong. That was a lie. . . . From this moment forward: none of us will be the only one ever again.

It’s glorious. You want “You’ll Never Walk Alone” to blast out at this point. Just five biblical chapters after the Goliath story, David is up against an imposing organization with all the levers of power at their disposal. “Everyone who was in distress, and everyone who was in debt, and everyone who was bitter in soul, gathered to [David]. And he became commander over them. And there were with him about four hundred men” (1 Sam. 22:2).

The Justice for Subpostmasters Alliance became a community of the afflicted. It’s the redemption that comes on the far side of oppression and atomization. Here is community. Here is love. And on a far greater scale, here is church at its best—at least what we aim to be as we gather around our true David, Jesus Christ.

7. Drama is powerful.

In the weeks since Mr. Bates aired, there’s been extraordinary public outrage, complete with petitions, reversals, and government commitments. These didn’t follow simply from the publishing of court reports, nor simply from journalism, but from millions of people inhabiting the victims’ stories.

I was vaguely aware of the story years ago and commented on it in 2022, but I didn’t feel the story until I saw Monica Dolan (playing Jo Hamilton) on the phone to the Horizon helpline. Seeing her click a button and watch her debt double before her eyes was one of the most horrifying experiences I’ve had while watching a drama. I’ve seen The Exorcist; I’ve seen Saw—this was horror. Because we’ve been there: infuriating IT, a faceless corporation, a baffling system, and you get ground in the gears. But the drama put us into Hamilton’s shoes in a way that little else can.

As the show’s star, Toby Jones, has observed, “In most of the political upheavals in history, not least ancient Greece and revolutionary Russia, drama has been at the centre of political change. People have used it to humanise, dramatise, and bring forth change.”

What changes us isn’t simply information. We’re story-driven creatures who inhabit one little drama most of the time—the one in which we’re the hero and others are bit players. We need to be lifted out of ourselves—our egos, our biases—and made to inhabit a new imaginative world.

And which story uniquely resonates?

8. The Christian story is supreme.

In dramatizing the Post Office scandal, many choices had to be made. Multiple people are consolidated into a single character; many more figures and storylines are simply left out. This is necessary if you’re going to tell a compelling narrative. A central hero must be chosen. In this instance, it’s the unflappable, indefatigable Mr. Bates. It’s the story of one man versus a system arrayed against him, but his insistence on the truth will set the many free.

We’re story-driven creatures who inhabit one little drama most of the time—the one in which we’re the hero and others are bit players. We need to be lifted out of ourselves.

This classic David versus Goliath tale depicts a giant running rampant and crushing the little people. The evil empire is even headed up by a priest—Vennells, then-CEO. She’s a self-supported priest in the Church of England, the perfect archetype for a villain in such stories.

Of course, Jesus Christ—son of David and true fulfillment of David’s story—was crushed by the priests of his day, but it became the means of evil being vanquished and captives going free. As author and tech entrepreneur Antonio García Martínez has said, “The Western mind is like a tuning fork calibrated to one frequency: the Christ story. Hit it with the right Christ figure, and it’ll just hum deafeningly in resonance.”

The Christian story is supreme. That doesn’t mean Christians are supreme. Perhaps the preeminent villain of the TV drama—the CEO—is a Christian. And it doesn’t mean Christians always get it right. But what’s supreme is the story in which Jesus has felled the terrifying Giant. Through suffering, oppression, misunderstanding, and appalling miscarriages of justice, the Truth looked dead and buried. But the Truth was vindicated.

The Western mind is like a tuning fork calibrated to one frequency: the Christ story.

He rose on the third day to bring redemption—not to those who pretend to be righteous but to those who know they’re sinners. Not to those who cling to their fig leaves but to those who drop the act in the presence of love. And in his community of the broken, there’s consolation, freedom, and hope.

We’re ordinarily the little people at the mercy of the Giant. Often we’re the perpetrators, caught up in self-justification and institutional obstinacy. But there’s a Giant-Killer who will have the last word.

The Post Office scandal resonates with us for profoundly Christian reasons. On some level, we know—or should know—that the evil systems, powers, and faceless machines of this world will be brought to nothing. In the end, the meek shall inherit the earth.

By 1796, the nation’s first two-party system had already developed from within Washington’s cabinet, leading to Federalist John Adams’s victory over Democratic-Republican Thomas Jefferson in the nation’s first partisan presidential election. Virginian John Leland, the most vocal Baptist defender of Jefferson, welcomed the change. He called the emergence of political parties a “kind of revolution.” Indeed, the election of Jefferson to the presidency was dubbed the “revolution of 1800.” Although Congregationalists and other evangelicals anathematized Jefferson as a heretic and demagogue, most Baptists voted for Jefferson due to his well-known defense of religious freedom.

In the new American nation, however, most Baptists drew an important distinction between parties and partisanship. At Second Baptist Church of Boston, Thomas Baldwin voted for Jefferson in 1800, but two years later he wasn’t as optimistic about the country’s direction. “I am sure many well-informed persons have been seriously alarmed at the progress of party disaffection,” he declared to the Massachusetts legislature, “and have feared lest some untoward circumstance should provoke the mad attempt to divide our hitherto happy Republic. Should we once again begin the work of separation, God knows where it may end, and what the consequences may be.”

For Baldwin, the partisan revolution had gone too far. The spirit of 1776 had turned into a spirit of “separation.” As Congregationalist-turned-Presbyterian minister Lyman Beecher later described it, “These were the days when Democracy was swelling higher, and beating more and more fiercely on old Federalism and the standing order.”

Ubiquitous Partisanship

In the new American nation, most Baptists drew an important distinction between parties and partisanship.

The problem was nationwide. Baptists from New England to the Deep South noted a lack of unity in their churches. Just a year after Jefferson’s election, the Georgia Baptist Association sounded an alarm that “amongst many of [them], a friendly, uniting, and endearing spirit is too little cultivated.”

The hostilities extended to the West. Several years later, the Elkhorn Association of Kentucky announced,

It is with deep distress we view our society as convulsed and mutilated by intestine broils and contentions, which appears to us to be more the wrath of man than the righteousness of God. These things ought not to be. You have not so learned in the school of Christ.

For years, historians have assumed virtually all Baptists voted for Jefferson, as if they were a kind of early 19th-century Super PAC. But Baptists in the early United States were much more conscientious in their party affiliations, diverse in their voting habits, and skeptical of political parties than we might think.

For example, the first president of the Triennial Convention (the first nationwide Baptist denomination in the States) voted Federalist, not Democratic-Republican. The first domestic missionary for the Triennial Convention named his youngest son after John Adams. Long before becoming the first president of the Southern Baptist Convention in 1845, a young South Carolina Baptist named William Bullein Johnson was a Federalist, not a Democratic-Republican. Baptists like Jesse Mercer in Georgia simply refused to vote for either party.

Despite their common cause for religious liberty, Baptists in the early republic weren’t a uniform voting bloc.

Despite their common cause for religious liberty, Baptists in the early republic weren’t a uniform voting bloc.

This presented new challenges in the local church. Many Baptists faced pressure to conform to the prevailing political affiliations of their peers. Partisanship and morality began to overlap. In one body, for example, “There was but one member who was not a Republican; and the wonder among his brethren was, how so good a man could, in so important a matter, err so grievously.”

When party affiliation in churches was more evenly distributed, Baptists found other ways to align themselves with political coalitions. According to historian Thomas Armitage, in the city of Boston, where the state-sponsored Congregationalist church was overwhelmingly anti-Jefferson, pastors Samuel Stillman at First Baptist and Thomas Baldwin at Second Baptist couldn’t avoid attracting partisan listeners on certain days of the year:

Dr. Stillman and [Baldwin] were fast friends and true yokefellows in every good work. As politicians, Stillman was a firm Federalist and Baldwin as firm a Jeffersonian Democrat, and generally on Fast Day and Thanksgiving-day they preached on the points in dispute here, because, as patriots, they held them essential to the well-being of the Republic, especially, in the exciting conflicts of 1800–01; yet, there never was a moment of ill-feeling between them. On these days, the Federalists of both their congregations went to hear Dr. Stillman and the Democrats went to Baldwin’s place, but on other days they remained at home, like Christian gentlemen, and honored their pastors as men of that stamp.

Despite their efforts, some Baptist pastors couldn’t avoid a degree of partisanship. Charleston pastor Richard Furman decried a “party spirit” even as he urged his fellow South Carolinians to vote for Federalist Charles Cotesworth Pinckney against James Madison in the election of 1808. Pinckney was a close friend of Furman’s and a fellow member of the Charleston Bible Society.

By the end of Jefferson’s presidency, political division in America had reached a fever pitch. The honeymoon of the American Revolution was over.

Baptists’ Response

With political coalitions fracturing the unity of the church, it’s little wonder that Baptists of all kinds so frequently warned their fellows against having a “party spirit”—an attitude of divisiveness and antagonism toward those with other viewpoints.

During the War of 1812, the Cumberland Association of Maine charged its members with (1) “unreasonable jealousy, acrimony and illiberality manifested by political partisans,” (2) the “illicit and unwarrantable measures resorted to carry their point,” and (3) “the divisions and party spirit now predominant among all classes of . . . citizens, which have wrecked that happy union once so prominent among the only free people on earth.”

Baptist women also raised their voices against political combat in the church. In an 1814 letter to the editor of the Massachusetts Baptist Missionary Magazine, an anonymous woman wrote, “I long for peace—not to gratify the avarice or pride of this or that political party—but, that the peaceable kingdom of Jesus might be made universally known.” Time and again, Baptists called their brothers and sisters back to the evangelistic work of the church.

Baptists of all kinds frequently warned their fellows against having a ‘party spirit,’ an attitude of divisiveness and antagonism.

A glance at American history reveals that even a “decidedly” pro-Jefferson denomination like the Baptists never fully embraced political parties with open arms. Even as the founders themselves were still alive, and even as the idea of self-government was held to be sacred, Baptists were uneasy with the burgeoning partisan divide and politicization of the church.

Pastors and presidents, clergymen and laypeople, men and women issued the same clarion call to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. Instead of normalizing factionalism, contentiousness, and mudslinging as acceptable parts of American church life, these Baptists educated their peers in “the school of Christ.”

Two centuries later, although the political parties have since changed, the bitterness and hostility of partisanship has not. Faced with another season of deep-seated political division in America, Baptists today have yet another opportunity to proclaim a peacemaking, cross-carrying gospel.

It also wasn’t big enough, so he asked about renting a nearby home to use for children’s ministry. As the house owner was showing Harris around, he was also having window air conditioner units installed.

“I don’t think I got down the block and they were stolen,” Harris said. And in Brentwood, a neighborhood where the median household income is less than $24,000, it’s no wonder.

Still, Harris bought the building and rented the house.

He’s not scared of hard places—he was born into a rough New Jersey neighborhood, spent his teen years bouncing in and out of juvie, and grew up to be a drug dealer in Jacksonville, Florida. He was 23 years old when he got into an altercation with somebody.

“I was going to kill the guy for revenge,” Harris said. “But my house was busy with people because it was the hang-out spot, and we sold drugs. I needed a quiet place to think, to sit and process how I was going to do this murder.”

Hey, he thought, a church is quiet.

It was—he could sit in the back of the large, charismatic, predominately white service and think while the pastor preached. “I snickered at the people praising God,” he said. “But within a couple of weeks, I was staring at them, completely jealous of their joy.”

God saved Harris at that church. He struggled his way out of the party scene, started a T-shirt shop, and married his girlfriend, Alanna, with whom he now has 11 children. In 2014, Harris came on staff at a church plant in a neighborhood just south of Brentwood.

Harris’s first sermon in the Brentwood building was about agape love. He explained how God sees people differently and neighborhoods differently, and how we can do that too. It’s a truth he comes back to over and over.

Harris told The Gospel Coalition how his congregation is learning to see Brentwood through God’s eyes—why they bought a building there, how they’ve seen God at work, and why he doesn’t ever want to leave.

Why did you decide to buy a place in Brentwood?

Brentwood is one of the hardest neighborhoods in Jacksonville. The people are not well off. Violent crime rates are high. Eighty percent of households that include children are run by single moms. This is a place that needs Jesus’s love, so I had been looking for ways to come here.

During COVID-19, our church kept getting uprooted when we had to leave buildings we’d been renting. After a while, people were getting depressed and bewildered. We don’t have a big enough church to keep getting uprooted like that. I knew we needed to own our building if we were going to create sustainability.

I started coming through Brentwood, looking at every building for sale. But I could never find anything. Finally, I said to myself, Man, the building you’re looking for doesn’t even exist. You’re romanticizing, looking for something that isn’t even in this neighborhood.

I asked, What is beautiful in Brentwood? What building here is Brentwood-like? And I thought of this building in like two seconds.

What did your congregation think?

The inside of the church was in bad shape. I had a meeting where I invited people to come and look at it. They said, “Looks good. Let’s start having church in it.”

We were in and out while the renovations were being done. It’s only 2,500 square feet, and we built it out to look like a coffee shop. There’s a kitchen with a counter, and some open space to meet. We did that because this community has no place to gather. So when we’re not using it for worship we want people to use it for meetings or weddings or whatever they want.

The mural outside has already been a catalyst for a ton of conversation.

Yes, you had muralist Chris Clark paint a young boy on the side of the building, along with the name ‘Brentwood.’ Why?

In the city as a whole, nobody regards this neighborhood. Literally, construction companies will pull up and dump stuff out in the middle of the streets. It’s seen like that—like a wasteland. They call it “Pearl World” because Pearl Street runs through it. The city seems to miss the beauty within the community.

I thought, What if we stopped waiting for politicians to do the work? Recently, we did a block cleanup, and guys I didn’t know from the neighborhood showed up to help edge and cut grass all the way up the street. They were like, “This is despicable. We have to clean up.”

The mural is another way of doing that—of having something beautiful and colorful that shows us Brentwood’s potential.

It’s already been effective. One woman told me, “You don’t know how proud it makes me to see the mural when I pull out for work in the morning.” A young man rolled up after it was finished and said, “Finally—some color inside of Brentwood!” People went crazy posting on social media about it. Other communities have since asked the artist to come to them, and we want him to do another one here.

The mural is also a gift to your church members. How?

A lot of the people in our church live or work in the neighborhood. But we also have people who drive in. From a class standpoint, this is not what they grew up in. They come because they are responding to a calling to work in a space like this. For them, the labor is a lot more significant than if they’d stayed in the place they come from.

They are sacrificing a lot, including aesthetically. We don’t have a lot of things you would consider to be beautiful. So when we have wins like this mural, and the community loves it, and it brings real value to the community—that brings satisfaction to our church. We don’t always get that satisfaction for our work, so we’re really grateful when it comes.

The boy’s eyes are a focal point. Why?

I always tell our church to look at our community through the eyes of God. God’s eyes are different than ours. He looks from a redemptive standpoint. If you go by the surface, you’ll get discouraged quick—like right now, I can see somebody with a baby buying drugs across the street.

But if you stop and talk to people, you feel like you’re in a gold mine, like you’re in the presence of God. There are grandmas and grandpas here, and young boys with hope in their hearts. If I have deep conversations, I feel like I am the luckiest human ever. I’m so grateful to be in this community.

And I think being here sanctifies the church. We can come in thinking we’re going to save the community, but I feel like God is using Brentwood to sanctify our church and show us how to love others the way he loves us.

Tell me about a few times you’ve seen God at work in Brentwood.

In December, we helped the community do a toy drive for Christmas. We had a ball wrapping gifts at church, and then my wife and I and all my kids went to another building, where there were more toys. We started wrapping those, and the guy who owns the building was being really quiet.

Finally, he called me outside. He said, “This is crazy.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked him.

“Your family. I have never seen a black brother with this many kids. I have never seen a family move together like a machine. Your wife is beautiful, and she’s in there helping wrap gifts.” Then he asks me, “Do you have a book or a pamphlet or something?”

I said, “I think you have this confused. You think I’m a good guy—that I’m some kind of extraordinary family man. I’m not.”

We talked about the gospel saving a wretch like me. I told him it was God who kept me faithful to my wife through 20 years of marriage. It’s only God’s goodness that allowed me to have a family and not dishonor that. That was the runway to talk about his family, about hurt, and about mercy and grace.

If you just hang out, there are so many opportunities to share the gospel.

Another time, a guy kept circling the house we rent, where we do our children’s ministry on Sundays. I was leery of him, and I went out to see what was going on with him. We started talking, and I was telling him about how I came to Jesus—that I was sitting in a church plotting to murder somebody in revenge.

He said, “Man, this is so crazy. I saw you last week when I passed you to go to the gas station in my car. I got into an altercation there, and I went home, put my phone up, and got my gun. I was coming back to shoot the guy when I got pulled over.”

The police had a warrant for his arrest and took him to jail. He was there for three days until they found out it was a case of mistaken identity.

He said, “I have been so mad about it. But as you’re telling me about your story, I’m realizing God probably just protected me from going to kill that guy.”

That’s the magic that happens in Brentwood. That’s why it’s so beautiful: I keep finding God here.

Is that why you stay?

Listen, this job is hard. Every time we buy a new trash can, it gets stolen. I wanted to get mad about this, but I felt like God was saying, “If you want to be in Brentwood, you have to feel and taste what it means to be in Brentwood. Don’t complain about what is happening to you, because these ladies you talk to—the older ladies, the moms trying to make it—what do you think they deal with?”

That’s why it’s so beautiful: I keep finding God here.

It’s also a hard job because I’m always in the jailhouse with young boys facing attempted murder charges. I’m at funerals. No matter how much glow is on the world, I taste too much pain to fall for it. I’m saying, God, if the gospel isn’t true, we’re done for, because what a wretched place we live in and what a wretched people we can be at times.

One reason I can stay here is that we have partners here. Like 2nd Mile Ministries, which has been working in this neighborhood for 20 years. We recently helped them raise enough money to buy the building across the street from us. I’m grateful.

Working here doesn’t always feel good, but it does feel like giving people a delicious helping of truth you can only find in Christ Jesus. In a world of grabbing and conquest, there is no way to talk about what we’re doing here—giving things away, serving other people—without talking about the gospel. The gospel is the sweetest thing.

For me, it’s not necessarily about finding a great place to live but finding a great place to die. I am content with Brentwood being the place where I lay it all out. It’s beautiful to me.

Those 51 percent are the “casual” dechurchers—those who left because of extenuating life circumstances. (Of those who belonged to evangelical churches, 22 percent left because they moved to a new community, 16 percent because attending church was “inconvenient,” and 15 percent because the pandemic “got [them] out of the habit.” So altogether, 53 percent of once-committed evangelical attendees stopped going for mundane reasons.)

While the casually dechurched may signal hope for a renewed evangelical future, they also cast an indictment on her past.

In his 1973 book Why Conservative Churches Are Growing, the lifelong liberal mainliner Dean Kelley argued that conservative churches outgrow liberal ones because they offer “large-scale” meanings for people. Large-scale meanings guide your life and strengthen you in the face of death. Conservative churches proclaimed cosmic truths that enabled people to face suffering with confidence and hope.

But many mainline churches, embarrassed by Christianity’s supernaturalism, took core doctrines that provide consolation (such as the resurrection) and replaced them with generic moralism and exhortations to justice. According to Kelley, this was a fateful shift—for one could now pursue a “moral life” outside the church doors. With little to distinguish the church’s message from the surrounding culture, people yawned and eventually left.

Religious communities are resilient, Kelley discovered, to the degree they empower congregants to live guided by a “cosmic purpose” that isn’t exportable outside the community.

With little to distinguish the church’s message from the surrounding culture, people yawned and eventually left.

Combine Kelley’s insights with The Great Dechurching, and one must wonder whether American evangelical churches are supplying the large-scale meanings people can’t find anywhere else. The casually dechurched aren’t rejecting Jesus because they desire an alternative truth to guide their lives; in that sense, they’re not rejecting him at all. They’re just apathetic.

Spiritual Sickness of Our Age: Apathy

In Overcoming Apathy, Uche Anizor argues modern people are “captivated by things we don’t really care about and are lukewarm to things that, in our hearts of hearts, mean the most to us.” Apathy doesn’t necessarily manifest as all-day moping around. Anizor quotes the monastic John Cassian, saying apathy can be a “restlessness that entices us to pursue everything but our most important duties.”

To illustrate our culture’s affinity for apathy, Anizor directs our attention to the television show Seinfeld. Although he was a fan of the ’90s sitcom, he suggests it normalized “indifference toward big, meaningful things (such as marriage, family, religion, social concern, even the Holocaust) and a fixation on life’s daily minutia (such as getting a good parking spot, the annoyance of ‘close talkers,’ and maintaining one’s high score in Frogger).” He goes on, “We are citizens of a Seinfeldian society, where only inconsequential things matter.”

In a Seinfeldian society, attention is consumed by entertainment instead of substance. Increasingly unable to prioritize the meaningful over the mundane, we soon cannot discern the difference. Borrowing Kelley’s language, apathetic cultures form citizens who aren’t animated by any large-scale meanings. Travel soccer, golf, and Frogger become our preoccupations, while the Lord Almighty becomes our sideshow.

So as spiritual apathy invades the church, church leaders must ask whether our discipleship practices are inoculating people from the surrounding toxins of meaninglessness. That millions have stopped attending altogether suggests we have room to grow.

Cure: Worship

So what can we do? The answer isn’t merely more instruction. According to Davis and Graham’s research, dechurched evangelicals possess a much better understanding of orthodoxy than their Catholic or mainline dechurched counterparts. Dechurched evangelicals’ beliefs are almost identical to evangelicals who still attend church. This suggests doctrine isn’t the main thing dechurched evangelicals lack. The main problem is indifference.

In other words, apathy emerges less from lack of knowledge than from lack of conviction about what you know to be true.

In Preaching, Tim Keller references a young girl he counseled in his early pastorate in rural Virginia. She was spiritually depressed, and he tried to encourage her by reminding her of all Christ had done for her—how he’d forgiven her, bought her with his blood, and confirmed her status as a child of God. “Yes,” she replied, “I know Jesus loves me, he saved me, and he’s going to take me to heaven—but what good is it when no boy at school will even look at you?”

Apathy emerges less from lack of knowledge than from lack of conviction about what you know to be true.

Keller described her spiritual plight: “The attention (or lack of it) of a cute boy at school was far more consoling, energizing, and foundational for her joy and self-worth than the love of Christ.”

What that girl was missing was a sense-appreciation for how the gospel makes her beautiful in God’s sight. Like all of us, she must connect the doctrines of her faith to the longings of her heart. And this connection occurs through worship. In worship—Sunday morning church, midweek small group, everyday devotions—we ponder the truth of our beliefs and drill them down into our hearts. While reclaiming the casually dechurched requires opening the “front door” to the disaffected in our midst, shoring up the “back door” requires focusing our lives on the Holy One in our midst.

We shouldn’t lower the bar—like the mainline church did in the 20th century—to make Christianity more palatable. Rather, reversing the dechurching trend will require doubling down on counterformative practices that reinvigorate hearts deadened by our culture of apathy. The gospel must increase and become more demanding, even as it becomes more satisfying. Only large-scale meanings will do.

As our King soberly said, whoever’s unwilling to sacrifice “father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be [his] disciple” (Luke 14:26, NIV).

Sadly, this is a common sentiment we hear as we travel to speak about deconstruction. We’ve heard countless stories from concerned parents, siblings, spouses, and pastors. They’re desperate to understand what’s happening to their loved ones, and they hope to find a way to engage and reconnect with them.

Understand Deconstructors

In today’s culture, “deconstruction” is defined in many ways. Regardless of the definition, it’s important to remember that without a deconstructor, there’s no deconstruction. Every faith deconstruction story is about a person who has unique experiences.

While the Bible doesn’t use the word, it does offer significant insights into faith deconstruction. Scripture gives an accurate description of who we are as people and how we relate to God. Therefore, if we want to better understand our deconstructing loved ones and how to relate to them, we should pay attention to five ways they’re described in the Bible.

1. Deconstructors as Image-Bearers

There are some things we know about everyone who has deconstructed his or her faith because they’re true of all human beings. Every deconstructor—regardless of age, race, gender, sexual attraction, or social status—is made in the image of God (Gen. 1:27). Therefore all are intrinsically valuable and worthy of love, dignity, and respect.

2. Deconstructors as Sinners

Sin affects everything about us—our relationships, our desires, our emotions, and even our beliefs. Our sin nature isn’t something we simply put on the shelf until we feel like sinning. It’s always with us. And so deconstruction isn’t a morally neutral process. Whether we like it or not, we all experience a pull away from God. That’s why the apostle Paul reminds us to “put to death the deeds of [our] sinful nature” (Rom. 8:13, NLT).

3. Deconstructors as Seekers

Writing to the Romans, Paul says, “[God] will render to each one according to his works: to those who by patience in well-doing seek for glory and honor and immortality, he will give eternal life; but for those who are self-seeking and do not obey the truth, but obey unrighteousness, there will be wrath and fury” (Rom. 2:6–8, emphasis added). Notice Paul puts people in two groups: self-seekers and truth-seekers.

It’s important to remember that without a deconstructor, there’s no deconstruction. Every faith deconstruction story is about a person.

There’s a temptation to think that if we can provide enough evidence, our loved one will change his mind. But for many, it’s not an evidence issue; it’s a heart issue.

While ridiculing Jesus as he hung on the cross, the chief priests said, “Come down now from the cross that we may see and believe” (Mark 15:32). The implication is that they’d believe in Jesus if they could see the evidence. However, Jesus had already provided plenty of evidence to warrant belief. The problem wasn’t a failure to provide evidence. The problem was a failure to accept it.

4. Deconstructors as Captives

The Bible describes how some people are “captured by [the Devil] to do his will” (2 Tim. 2:26). One of the snares Satan uses is deception. That’s why Paul warns, “See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the world, and not according to Christ” (Col. 2:8).

Sadly, many false ideas are propagated in the deconstruction online space. Just scroll through the hundreds of thousands of posts tagged with #deconstruction and #exvangelical.

For example, one deconstructionist posted, “#EvangelicalismIsUnreformable because any way you slice it, the primary belief is that child sacrifice saved the world.” Whether intentionally or not, this completely mischaracterizes Christianity. When our loved ones are held captive to false ideas, we respond with truth. We must “put on the whole armor of God,” which begins with “the belt of truth” (Eph. 6:11, 14).

5. Deconstructors as Rebels

While many deconstructors are captives of false ideas, some are simply rebels against God. Paul describes those “who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth” (Rom. 1:18). These people have the truth, but they actively suppress it. Later in the same letter, he says, “The mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God’s law” (8:7).

For many, deconstruction is about self-rule. They refuse to bow their knees to the sovereign Lord. No one, including God, gets to tell them what to believe or how to live. In a candid post on Instagram, a deconstructor sums it up:

Part of my deconstruction has included no longer allowing the opinions or expectations of others to determine my self-worth, my choices, or my identity. I no longer look to anyone else to define me. Not God, not people. I am my own person.

Love the Deconstructor

When faced with the reality of a loved one in deconstruction, we recommend doing triage. That’s what hospitals do when there’s a major accident on the highway and people begin to flood the ER. Doctors assess each injury and treat them in order of urgency. A punctured lung will receive treatment before a broken wrist.

There’s a temptation to think that if we can provide enough evidence, our loved one will change his mind. But for many, it’s not an evidence issue; it’s a heart issue.

Similarly, when engaging a deconstructing loved one, we recommend responding to the most urgent situation first. In the deconstruction space, traditional Christian doctrines (like original sin, penal substitutionary atonement, and the doctrine of hell) are seen as toxic. That means your loved one likely sees you as an unsafe person, and you may have a fragile window of opportunity to stay in her life. The most urgent need might be maintaining the relationship.

Then, if there’s an open door for communication, seek to understand where the deconstructor is coming from. Remember the different ways deconstructors are described: image-bearer, sinner, seeker, captive, and rebel. Try to discern what heart posture is driving his deconstruction. It’s only after we understand a deconstructor’s perspective that we’re able to engage him.

And never underestimate the power of prayer. God can open any hard heart. We’re never powerless unless we’re prayerless. Seeking relationship, living out the beauty of the gospel, and devoting time to prayer is critical in loving those in deconstruction. And have hope! Acts 16:14 tells us that God opened Lydia’s heart to hear what Paul had to say. He did it for her, and he can do it for your loved one too.

In his message at TGC’s 2023 National Conference, Ligon Duncan teaches from Exodus 24 and emphasizes the key themes of representation, substitution, and communion in the context of worship. He highlights the importance of Moses as a mediator between God and the people, the significance of Scripture in worship, and the foreshadowing of Christ’s sacrifice as the ultimate substitutionary atonement for sins. Duncan’s message reminds us of the central role of God’s covenant and grace, and the communion with him that believers can experience through Christ.

In his compelling new book, Get Married: Why Americans Must Defy the Elites, Forge Strong Families, and Save Civilization, Brad Wilcox shows how the antimarriage narratives we hear nearly everywhere—from the mainstream media and political pundits to Hollywood and the ivory tower—are wrong. And he has the data to back it up.

Wilcox, professor of sociology and senior fellow at the Institute for Family Studies, doesn’t shy away from deeply embedded cultural myths, taking on an array of commonly parroted assertions and disproving them with groundbreaking new research.

These myths—that marriage is of no benefit, that personal satisfaction matters more than the good of the family, that kids make life miserable, that the religious are just as likely to divorce as the nonreligious—are only a few of the many assumptions Wilcox debunks in his timely and informative book. It’ll be as useful for the pastor as it is for the policymaker, the married as the unmarried.

Faith Benefits Marriages

Get Married isn’t a Christian book, nor is it released by a Christian publishing house. However, it should be encouraging to Christians due to the data it presents. In each chapter, Wilcox highlights the four categories of people most likely to succeed in their marriages: Asian Americans; “strivers” (the college educated); political conservatives; and, yes, the religiously faithful. Most encouraging to me—as a married Christian woman—were the findings regarding religious marriages in the U.S. The data is sunnier than we’re often told.

According to Wilcox, “Faith is the strongest predictor of marital quality—when compared to other factors like ideology, education, race, and income” (32). Perhaps most inconsistent with the cultural narrative is the finding that “women who regularly attend church are about 50 percent less likely to divorce” (176). But that’s not all. Religious men are less likely to be unfaithful or use pornography, more likely to talk about guardrails and erect fences to protect their marriages, and especially likely to receive “top marks” from their wives for provision and attentiveness.

Religious couples are “significantly happier in their marriages, less likely to end up divorced, and more satisfied with their lives” (175), as well as more likely to have children who are flourishing, with “better self-control, social skills and approaches to learning” (178). Oh, and religious couples are also better than the average nonreligious couple at displaying what Wilcox calls “sexual generosity.” How’s that for puritanical?

While these trends are encouraging, nothing is guaranteed. After all, Job was “blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil,” and he still lost everything important to him (Job 1:1). Alongside every comforting statistic, there are still those who will suffer in ways we might never fully understand on this side of eternity.

However, there’s a moral order to the universe as God created it. God has shown us what’s good through the natural, created order as well as through the revelation of Christ and his Word. Christians shouldn’t be surprised to find there are scientifically observable benefits to living in keeping with the grain of the universe.

Marriage Is Good for Children

Another interesting (though perhaps unsurprising) finding is that children thrive in traditional marriages between their biological parents. But this flies in the face of a secular narrative that says “family diversity” is a “mark of moral progress” that “requires silence when it comes to any advantages that marriage might afford kids” (59).

Christians shouldn’t be surprised to find there are scientifically observable benefits to living in keeping with the grain of the universe.

Similar to Steve Jobs, who created the iPad and iPhone but didn’t let his own children use them, secular elites promote the “family diversity” myth while mostly practicing traditional family structures themselves. There’s a reason why many elites “talk left but walk right”—it’s because, according to the data Wilcox presents, they (and their children) are more likely to succeed, to be happy, and to be well-off when they do. Whatever views our cultural elites might espouse, they cannot help but “lapse” into these “traditional” habits.

Like Paul at Mars Hill, Christians have a responsibility to proclaim the truth about reality to those who stumble after it in ignorance: we were made to be like our Maker, giving ourselves to each other in faithful, long-suffering love. The family thrives most when it looks like Christ and his church (Eph. 5). Our secular culture, and specifically our post-Christian nation, tends to operate on the assumption that when it comes to experiencing happiness and goodness, you can, as Andrew Wilson says, “keep the fruits of Christianity while severing its roots.” But Wilcox’s findings show the opposite.

Church Attendance Matters

By now, you may be wondering, If I’ve been hearing negative statistics about Christian marriages for my entire life, why are Wilcox’s findings different? As every good sociologist should, Wilcox controls for regular church (or synagogue or mosque) attendance instead of simply grouping everyone who self-describes as religious. People regularly engaged in faith communities are morally shaped by them.

We shouldn’t be surprised, then, that the data-driven recommendations for healthy marriages are consistent with a Christian understanding of marriage. In his conclusion, Wilcox highlights five pillars that tend to support successful marriages: communion between the couple that emphasizes oneness over the individual, prioritization of child-rearing and family activities, stubborn commitment to fidelity and the longevity of the marriage, intermingled finances and co-ownership of assets, and participation in communities (like the church) that affirm and support marriage.

It’s no coincidence these pillars are consistent with what churches have long taught to be good for marriage. Church leaders should be encouraged to continue leaning into the message of Scripture, rather than seeking out the latest counseling trends, when giving advice about successful marriage. We need to tell a better story about Christian marriages using data that controls for church attendance.

The philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre writes that the stories we use to describe ourselves influence our decision-making because mankind becomes “a teller of stories that aspire to truth.” Perhaps it’s time, especially in an age where fewer people are getting married and having children, that the narratives we perpetuate about Christian marriages are closer to the truth. While it’s good to heed the warning that divorce could happen to anyone, it’s also good to recognize that faithful adherence to biblical ethics works in tandem with the moral order of the universe.

Faithful adherence to biblical ethics works in tandem with the moral order of the universe.

Ultimately, the data is encouraging: faithful Christian marriages are stronger, are happier, and produce more successful children than nonreligious marriages. Wilcox’s book is a resource I expect I’ll be turning to frequently in the coming months and years. It’d be a valuable addition to any pastor’s library and an encouragement to any Christian who is or someday may be married.

This book offers encouragement to the faithful men and women of our nation to do the one thing statistically likely to make them happier and more prosperous, in an age where being happy and prosperous seems increasingly elusive: get married.

Those were the words I mumbled to myself as I turned the corner and started limping down the corridor toward the glass-enclosed conference room at Midwestern Baptist Seminary. I’m not using “limping” as a metaphor. My first battle with plantar fasciitis was in full swing, and I could barely walk without wincing in pain.

As I looked up, I could see my dissertation committee waiting at the executive table, laptops and papers scattered about like I was being summoned before a secret underground war council.

The committee was made up of godly, patient, kindhearted men who had helped me throughout my studies. So, unsurprisingly, they greeted me warmly as I entered the room.

I assured them my limp wasn’t done to garner their pity, but that I hoped it wouldn’t hurt. I can’t remember if they laughed, but I can tell you this: I wasn’t laughing. Defending a paper I’d spent over a year writing was the least funny thing in the world at that moment. And my limp was just one hard providence in a long season of struggles. My oral defense was an experience I’d not soon forget. Why? Because seminary broke me.

Let me be clear. The problem wasn’t seminary. It was me.

The problem wasn’t seminary. It was me.

I’m a creative type, so academia challenges my preference for more organic and improvisational learning. I’m certainly not opposed to growing my intellect, but reading academic books, writing research papers, and making technical arguments is to me the equivalent of assembling IKEA shelving units. God hasn’t blessed me with a heart or mind eager to navigate complexities in a stimulating and life-giving way. My mind just gets dizzy.

At this point, you’re probably thinking, Hey buddy, nobody forced you to do this. And you’re right. I chose to do something I knew would go against the grain of my natural abilities and interests. But here’s what I wasn’t expecting to happen: God humbled me.

What I Learned

Seminary taught me so much.

1. I learned I have a lot to learn.

Being a lead pastor (or in any ministry role) can play tricks on your mind. People call on you to provide wisdom so often and for so many things that you can begin to “believe your own hype.” You can assume your knowledge about theology, relationships, leadership, counseling, pastoring, preaching, and life in general is far beyond what it is.

When a pastor begins to think of himself as an expert at everything, it’ll hurt him. As Paul says, “If anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself” (Gal. 6:3).

Seminary showed me my knowledge only scratched the surface. As someone who preaches weekly, has authored many books and articles, and has spoken at a variety of churches, conferences, and retreats, I was sobered to receive assignments so marked up that I wondered if I grasped theology at a Sunday school level.

Of course, the most important thing isn’t adding knowledge (though that’s important); it’s what our knowledge can do to us if it’s not constantly being forged in the refining fires of humility: “‘Knowledge’ puffs up, but love builds up. If anyone imagines that he knows something, he does not yet know as he ought to know” (1 Cor. 8:1–2).

God graciously used seminary to provide me with a more pronounced limp. The classroom surrounded me with so many brilliant students and professors that “faking it” wasn’t going to work. Nor should it have. Seminary challenged me at every corner, and it changed me, sharpened me, and brought me to my knees.

Which is the place we’re supposed to be.

2. I learned to appreciate the scholarly men and women who paved the way for my learning.

If you’ve been to seminary, you know it comes with a lot of required reading. Academic reading can be tedious. But one thing it taught me was to appreciate the men and women who did the research and writing so I could learn the truths I lacked. When I think of the technical commentaries I studied for my dissertation, my mind is boggled by the level of research and intellect that goes into writing even one of them.

In all my academic angst, God gave me an appreciation for those writers who use their gifts to train and equip pastors and leaders around the world. I may consider myself a practical theologian, but I need good theology before I can be practical. That’s why I’m so grateful for the people God has gifted to be scholarly theologians.

3. I learned the most important thing about seminary wasn’t the degree.

Most of us seminarians have our eyes on the prize. We’ve paid good money and spent precious hours to achieve a goal we hope pays dividends down the line. Our spouses, kids, churches, and friends have paid something too.

I believe seminary is a privilege, and I’m grateful the Lord has been gracious enough to open this door for me not once but three times in my ministry journey. Yet I can’t express what a traumatic experience it was (even if my opening story seems like I’m making light of it now).

I may consider myself a practical theologian, but I need good theology before I can make it practical.

While in seminary, I felt like God was laying me low intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. I felt out of my element. The demands to perform kept me in a constant state of doubt about my abilities, and I wondered why I was putting myself through all the anguish. I questioned my motivations for going in the first place, and this surfaced in my comfort-driven tendencies in life as a whole. I battled with guilt over the sacrifices of my wife, Melissa. She endured with so much patience and encouragement that her name should be featured on my diploma.

After it was over, I learned the most important thing about seminary wasn’t the degree. It was that the Lord broke me down in areas that had become blind spots. I’d unconsciously believed that the persona I’d developed as a pastor, preacher, and speaker was enough to cover my lack of inner development.

Seminary showed me that my intellectual inefficiencies and somewhat sour relationship with academic training were the fruit of a spiritual deficiency: my tendency to draw back from anything resembling discomfort.

In the End

Two hours into my oral defense (could’ve been two days), I miraculously passed, and that was simply because there’s a God in heaven who loves me and a committee who loved God enough to shower me with mercy.

It was a surreal moment for my committee chair to put his hand out and say, “Congratulations, Dr. Martin.” Some tears found their way through, but I’m not sure if it was due to the relief I felt in that moment or the pain throbbing in my foot.

In the end, seminary didn’t break me after all. God did. He used something good but uncomfortable in my life to usher me into greater maturity. That’s how his grace and mercy become evident in us all. I may never pursue another degree, but I’ll never forget how God pursued me through this one.

And isn’t that so fitting of God?

As with many legal questions, the answer is “it depends.” But recent court rulings have started providing more clearly concrete answers. And those answers are looking increasingly favorable for people of faith. Take two recent examples.

Meriwether v. Hartop

In Meriwether v. Hartop, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit ruled that a Christian philosophy professor couldn’t be required to use a student’s preferred pronouns.

If your employer demands you use another’s preferred pronouns, and you cannot in good conscience comply, can your employer fire you?

Professor Nicholas Meriwether taught at Shawnee State University—a small public college in Ohio—for 25 years with a “spotless disciplinary record.” Because of his sincere religious beliefs, Meriwether couldn’t use a student’s preferred pronouns. However, the university had just adopted a policy to that effect and refused to accommodate his religious beliefs. So Meriwether challenged the policy in court, claiming it violated his First Amendment rights under the Free Speech and Free Exercise clauses.

The Sixth Circuit ruled for Meriwether. Under the Free Exercise clause, the university must give “neutral and respectful consideration” to a person’s sincerely held religious beliefs. But that didn’t happen here for two reasons. First, in response to Meriwether’s request for a religious accommodation, “the university derided him and equated his good-faith convictions with racism.” Second, the university departed from its normal investigatory and disciplinary procedures, which further suggested Meriwether’s religious beliefs weren’t treated with respect.

He also prevailed on his free speech claim because “a professor’s rights to academic freedom and freedom of expression are paramount in the academic setting.” The university could not, as a result, compel him to affirm a belief with which he disagreed.

Kluge v. Brownsburg Community School Corporation

In Kluge v. Brownsburg Community School Corporation, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit initially reached the opposite conclusion. There, the court ruled that a local high school could force a Christian teacher to use transgender students’ preferred names and pronouns.

Much like in Meriwether’s case, Brownsburg High School adopted a policy that required all teachers to refer to transgender students using their preferred first names and pronouns. But Kluge, a Christian music and orchestra teacher, objected to using preferred names, explaining it would violate his sincere religious beliefs.

Kluge requested a religious accommodation from the school. Specifically, he asked he be allowed to refer to all students by their last names. At first, the school agreed this was a reasonable compromise. But as the year progressed and complaints began to accumulate, the school reversed course. Kluge would no longer be allowed to use students’ last names. Instead, the school gave him a choice: use preferred first names and pronouns or be fired.

In response, Kluge sued for religious discrimination and failure to accommodate under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act. Under this title, employers must accommodate their employees’ religious beliefs unless doing so would cause “undue hardship.” At the time, courts interpreted “undue hardship” to mean anything more than a minimal cost to the employer.

With that definition in mind, the Seventh Circuit ruled it would be a hardship to accommodate Kluge’s religious beliefs. In the court’s view, Kluge’s “last-names-only practice conflicted with the school’s philosophy of affirming and respecting all students” and his requested accommodation undermined this objective because it “resulted in students feeling disrespected, targeted, and dehumanized.” Thus, according to the court, the school didn’t have to accommodate Kluge’s religious beliefs.

More to the Story

That wasn’t the end of the story, however. Shortly after the Seventh Circuit’s unfavorable decision, the Supreme Court clarified what it means to impose an “undue hardship” in a case called Groff v. DeJoy. No longer would an employer be able to refuse to accommodate an employee’s religious beliefs because they impose minimal costs on the employer. Instead, under Groff, employers must now prove that “granting an accommodation would result in substantial increased costs.”

Because of this heightened standard, the Seventh Circuit vacated its previous decision, and Kluge’s case is now being reconsidered under this more rigorous definition.

The bottom line is this: Although much uncertainty remains, federal law requires employers to accommodate their employees’ religious convictions—including their convictions about not using preferred pronouns—unless doing so would impose substantial increased costs on the employer. Thus, individuals like Meriwether and Kluge will often have viable defenses under both the First Amendment and Title VII if an employer tries to force them to use preferred pronouns.

Encouraging Signs

Other positive signs exist too. For one, the tide of public opinion appears to be changing.

In the 2023 Religious Freedom Index—an annual survey published by my firm, the Becket Fund for Religious Liberty— Americans showed resounding support for religious pluralism. Over 80 percent of Americans (both religious and nonreligious) support the freedom to practice one’s religious beliefs even if they’re contrary to accepted majority practices. On preferred pronouns specifically, 58 percent of Americans agree that schools shouldn’t be able to force their employees to use them—up from 46 percent in 2021.

The tide of public opinion appears to be changing.

Examples from other contexts are also encouraging. For instance, when an Iowa school adopted a policy requiring students to use other students’ preferred pronouns, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Eighth Circuit struck it down under the First Amendment in Parents Defending Education v. LinnMar Community School District. When the Obama and Biden administrations created a policy known as the Transgender Mandate that would force religious doctors and hospitals to perform gender transition procedures, two federal courts of appeals blocked the mandate from taking effect, explaining that the government can’t force doctors to violate their religious beliefs.

In the 1940s, West Virginia public schools expelled several Jehovah’s Witnesses children for declining to salute the American flag. In a famous opinion protecting their freedom of speech, associate justice Robert Jackson wrote, “If there is any fixed star in our constitutional constellation, it is that no official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nationalism, religion, or other matters of opinion or force citizens to confess by word or act their faith therein.” Fortunately, early returns are that this principle will hold true for preferred pronouns too.

Woolf’s vision, particularly on this second point, still captures the cultural imagination today. It’s the artist as lone, as lonely, as lonesome. According to Woolf (and her many ideological heirs and successors), we write and paint, compose and illustrate insofar as we’re permitted to inhabit long, deep, sustained silences. Solitude is the condition for creativity. If the muse pays a visit, she’d better find us hunched over a desk, “recalling the real world” as Annie Dillard puts it.

“Let me make,” today’s artist is tempted to say. “If I am to achieve artistic brilliance, I must be left alone.”

What role, then, can the church community play in the artist’s life? Why should the artist move toward people and small talk, the church’s Sunday morning commitments, its weekly small groups, its chronic pleas for volunteers?

Biblical Vision for Communal Making

I read Woolf for the first time as a college undergrad and was mostly persuaded by her argument. It’s why I imagined, for too many years, a constant warring between my life as a wife and mother and my life as a writer. In truth, I was ill-formed in my Christian imagination. I needed to be restoried by the Bible, to be captured by the Trinitarian vision for communal making as it’s figured in Genesis 1.

There, when the curtain opens on the drama of creation and heaven and earth take shape, Father, Son, and Spirit together call a world into being: “Let us make” (v. 26). According to Genesis’s poetic rendering of God’s creative acts, stars and sea horses, biomes and beasts are birthed from the loving circle of God’s eternally communal being. From the beginning, making was no solitary act.

I needed to be restoried by the Bible, to be captured by the Trinitarian vision for communal making.

Throughout the Bible, the human act of making is patterned after God’s collaborative work. When God commands the Israelites to make the tabernacle—the elaborate and portable worship structure carried with them for 40 years in the wilderness—they execute the work under the artistic leadership of Bezalel and Oholiab (Ex. 35:30–37:7). These two shepherd the efforts of artisans of all kinds. As the work concludes in Exodus 40, the narrative signals this national enterprise has imitated God’s making of the world. God’s glory settles on this new house, and it’s decreed good.

The Psalms might well be another example of communal making, if less obvious to us. According to one rabbinic tradition (noted by Robert Alter), the Psalter was collected and ordered by a communion of saints. I imagine the Psalms’ editorial process, undertaken long ago, resembled the years of animated late nights I spent with a team of church volunteers producing a magazine called Imprint. The articles we compiled weren’t inspired by the Holy Spirit, of course, but our work to arrange and produce that periodical was collaborative and communal, and it imaged forth God-like creativity.

If artists forget these examples (and many more like them), we’re left vulnerable to Woolf’s powers of persuasion. We might be tempted to reject God’s good idea of community, failing to see that our participation in church life is meant to enhance our creative endeavors, not threaten them.

Genius of Creative Communities

“It has been said [by C. S. Lewis] that the joys of Heaven would be for most of us, in our present condition, an acquired taste,” wrote Dorothy Sayers in her introduction to the third canticle of Dante’s Divine Comedy. “In a sense,” Sayers continued, “Dante’s Paradise is a story about the acquisition of that taste.” By quoting Lewis in the opening line of her introduction, Sayers reminds readers of the extraordinary literary community formed by devout Christians in Oxford in the wake of the Great War.

In Lewis’s smoky rooms at Magdalen College, members of the Inklings—J. R. R. Tolkien, Charles Williams, Owen Barfield, and others—read aloud drafts of works Christians have come to treasure: The Screwtape Letters, The Great Divorce, and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The men offered encouragement when words dried up; they provided critical feedback for revision. They spent 17 years in each other’s company, and though Lewis was heard saying, “No one ever influenced Tolkien—you might as well try to influence a Bandersnatch,” Diana Pavlac Glyer suggests “common sense” says otherwise.

Glyer has studied other writing groups, including the Bloomsbury Group to which Woolf belonged, and has concluded decidedly in favor of a Christian vision of communal making: “I was struck by how often the members gratefully acknowledged the help they received and how readily scholars took influence for granted.” Though we may claim a “lone artist” vision in principle, in practice we’re drawn to our great need for each other.

In historical terms, the lone artist is a recent invention. As Glyer explains, before the Renaissance, “genius” was considered a quality to possess rather than an identity to claim. You couldn’t be a genius; you could only have genius. Moreover, before the Enlightenment, the test of literary “genius” wasn’t originality in the way Woolf posits it. Instead, it was assumed writers participated in larger historical conversations. Ben Jonson, cited by Harold Bloom, describes this as converting “the subject or riches of another poet to his own use.” Art was an act of imitation before it was an act of invention.

Lewis took issue with the word “originality” in his essay “Christianity and Literature.” He wrote, “A [Christian] author should never conceive himself as bringing into existence beauty or wisdom which did not exist before, but simply and solely as trying to embody in terms of his own art some reflection of eternal Beauty and Wisdom.”

Christian writers admit the limits of their imaginative capacities and confess their work is derivative. The effect on making then shifts. As soon as “originality” is removed as the proof text of good art, Christians are free to collaborate. They can recover an older, saner, more sensible vision of genius, even the one captured by Dante.

Dante’s Communitarian Vision

The Divine Comedy is a masterful work of carefully constructed poetry; its artistic structure, designed around the number three, celebrates God’s Trinitarian being. The epic poem is composed of three volumes, or canticles; each canticle is made up of 33 cantos, or chapters—and each canto is composed in stanzas of three called “tercets.” The poem, in its very composition, cries out, “Let us make!”

As soon as ‘originality’ is removed as the proof text of good art, Christians are free to collaborate.

Dante the Pilgrim’s journey also illumines a communitarian vision in both artistic and spiritual life. Though at first glance, this may look like a lone pilgrim’s movement toward salvation (and has been read this way mistakenly, with the epic poem reduced to modern therapeutic advice), this reading fails to see the pilgrim’s need for help along the way. Dante can’t travel apart from faithful guides. He must rely on others to remove the stain of his sin. Forgiveness is only found through confession, contrition, and Christ’s satisfying work on the cross.

In Dante’s vision of three spheres, hell is the most solitary, and sin’s deforming effects are there grotesquely visited on human personhood and relationships. Throughout his journey, Dante’s capital vices of envy, greed, sloth, and pride are cleansed and renounced, and he’s taught the ways of divine love until, in Paradise, he finally achieves the beatific vision, meeting God face-to-face. Dante the Pilgrim experiences God’s love, which has the power to make us new, and Dante the Poet is called to bear faithful witness to this love.

As Sayers reminds readers in the introduction to her translation of Paradiso, the epic poem, though deeply theological, never attempts to outline a didactic argument about sin’s penalty or Christ’s atoning work on the cross. Rather, through imagery and narrative arc, it relies on whetting the appetite for God, holiness, and salvation’s repair of sin. The book doesn’t attempt an analysis, but its poetry effects one’s longings. Its mode, maybe even its mood, isn’t that of a three-point exegetical sermon. And in this way, it speaks of the gifts artists can offer to the church.

Virtue in Telling the Truth Slant

By God’s grace, I’ve spent most Sundays of my life in church pews. Weekly worship (and participation in the broader life of the local church) is a habit that regularly sustains my faith. Moreover, my public writing—in the form of Christian books and articles like these—was birthed from a writing community I found through my local church. It was a community created because my pastor had a vision for writing as vocation.

That community was a gift, but it’s often not what most artists receive in their experiences of church. Instead, we’re tempted to feel an inherent tension between preachers and poets, perhaps even to doubt our spiritual fitness.

I’ve inhabited this tension for years. Two and a half years ago, I finally decided on a graduate degree in fine arts, though I could as easily have chosen theology or biblical studies. Some have asked (and I’ve often asked myself), Would I have been better off mastering a passable knowledge of Greek, rather than learning the craft of an essay?

After two and a half years of MFA reading and writing, I can at least say this: I better understand the tension between artist and church, between the suggestive qualities of artistic work and the declarative qualities of theological argument. If the role of the pastor is to oversee the church’s spiritual health, to protect the sheep from wolves, and to declare the whole counsel of God (Acts 20:26–35), the role of the poet (and artist) is different. As Kimberly Johnson explains, the poet’s business isn’t proclaiming the truth but “figuring things out.”

Many have identified the “fundamental enmity between art and truth,” Johnson writes. She cites George Herbert’s poem “Jordan,” which (ironically) casts suspicion on the “embroidery” of poetic verse. The question many earnest truth seekers would ask is this: Why tell the truth slant when it could be set forth plainly?

One answer is that the Bible itself affirms that art and argument both have their place. Who can’t help but fall into Job and marvel that God has given us a book that figures, at its center, a human beset by terrible suffering and warring with the certainties of his friends, the certainties of his believing community? “How long will you cause me grief?” Job asks of these friends. “Look, I scream, ‘Outrage!’ and I am not answered” (Job 19:2, 7, Alter’s translation).

As an artist, I’m eager to worship the God who gave us more than Job 13 and 38–42—and more than theological argument. Those chapters are likely easier to exegete, but how generous and gracious of God that for the bulk of this book, space is made for poetic tirade as Job feels his way for God in the great dark of his soul. Perhaps art is better suited than argument in tragedy, when comfort is more necessary than explanation.

Perhaps art is better suited than argument in tragedy, when comfort is more necessary than explanation.

There are, of course, dangers inherent to the exploration necessary for artistic making and the artist’s preference for “slant” truth. Some artists transgress the bounds of orthodoxy, radically prizing their intuitions above God’s self-revelation. And yet I don’t think the Bible, seriously read, lets us get there, even as we absorb its poetry.

In the end, Job gets an answer—and Job’s friends get their rebuke. It’s almost enough for me, though I still wonder what repair can be made of all those dead children, the seeming threat that God might give us up into the hands of our enemies. But that’s my artist’s mind at work—and I imagine it will be welcomed when I meet the One whose thoughts are not my thoughts, whose ways are not my ways.

Artists Made to Worship

When Dante the Pilgrim met God in the final canto of Paradiso, he understood that his powers of speech would never match the exaltation of the divine vision:

O Light exalted beyond mortal thought,
Grant that in memory I see again
But one small part of how you then appeared

And grant my tongue sufficient power
That it may leave beyond a single spark
Of glory for the people yet to come. (XXXIII, II. 67–72)

According to Dante, the work of the artist is—first and foremost—to faithfully gaze. We don’t make until we see. We must behold the One who has loved us, “becoming more enraptured” (I. 99). All Christian poetry—indeed, all Christian art—begins here: in the long looking to Christ that is worship.

This would suggest a final reason the lone artist needs the church. It’s not just to be restoried in a vision of communal making but to inhabit, week after week, the deliberate and sacred pause of a long-looking liturgy. The church calls artists away from our busy (and too often solitary) lives to gaze on the beautiful, broken One who—(according to the great hymn of the early church)—did not consider equality with God a thing to be grasped but made himself nothing (Phil. 2:6–7). This same Jesus sends us back into the world, to the office and the kitchen, to the classroom and canvas and page, to make more of the world he’s made and sustained, loved, and redeemed.

But we aren’t sent until we’re first gathered. When the artist is gathered and enfolded into the life of the church, his making is reordered, his vision sanctified. He gains a vision for making that the world cannot offer to him, insisting as it does on his lone status.

Let the artist in the church say, “Let us make.”

Then together, let us see what is yet to be made.

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Friend for Pastors

TGC exists to renew and unify the contemporary church in the ancient gospel of Jesus Christ, and we accomplish this mission by supporting church leaders in their efforts to declare and defend the good news, and apply it to all of life. We aim to be an edifying friend to pastors and church leaders—and through them a friend to those they disciple.

We aim to be an edifying friend to pastors and church leaders—and through them a friend to those they disciple.

Our new TGC Pastors landing page focuses on equipping men serving in, or training for, pastoral ministry. It’s designed to direct them to our best resources on preaching, ministry practice, and spiritual formation. You’ll find our latest articles, books, cohorts, and podcasts designed especially for pastors. These tools will help you hone your counseling skills, improve your sermons, and grow together with like-minded leaders.

One Stop for Ministry Resources

We hope this page will be a deep encouragement to pastors, as well as a one-stop hub where they can learn about new initiatives like Jeremy Treat’s Keller Center for Cultural Apologetics cohort, “Preaching Christ in a Post-Christian World.” If you want to be one of the first to know when we roll out new offerings, be sure to bookmark the page and sign up for our ministry newsletter.

Some days you may scroll to the TGC Pastors page after an encouraging conversation with a new believer. Other times, you’ll land there after a difficult board meeting. But whatever is going on in your circumstances when you pull up the page, our prayer is that you’ll receive the resources we offer as an expression of gratitude for all you do to build up Christ’s body. We want to support and encourage you as you serve and lead your local church community.

While Burn-Murdoch perhaps overstates his case—other data suggests the gap isn’t quite so large—he isn’t the only one in recent years citing evidence of a growing political gender gap. Late last year, the Washington Post even ran an editorial arguing the growing gender ideology gap posed an ominous threat to the already beleaguered institution of marriage.

Much ink has been spilled pondering why young women and men are diverging ideologically. Daniel Cox—director of the American Enterprise Institute’s Survey Center on American Life—argues that the #MeToo movement united Gen Z women politically: “No event was more influential to their political development than the #MeToo movement.”

Others cite the larger dynamics of social media (which of course made #MeToo possible), and particularly algorithmic echo chambers, as fertile ground for polarization of every sort. Still others point to a correlation with a similar widening gender gap in education, as girls pull increasingly ahead of boys in both high school and college degree completion.

Whatever the key causes—or constellation of causes—might be, the divergence is almost certainly connected to trends like delayed marriage and declining fertility rates. When single men and women differ on politics—in a partisan age when politics is ever more central to identity and the “other side” is ever more othered—it makes sense that misunderstandings and social anxiety between the genders might grow, making them less likely (or at least in no hurry) to marry and commit to a shared life together.

Or maybe it’s a chicken-or-egg situation, where the growing ideological divide is downstream from declining and delayed marriage rates. If young men and women aren’t spending their formative twentysomething years dating and getting married, establishing political views alongside their spouses in early adulthood, they’re likely developing those views in other places: among like-minded friends of the same gender, in online echo chambers, or under the TikTok tutelage of “influencers” who inflame resentment and grievances between men and women.

Either way, there’s clearly work to do in fostering healthier relationships between the sexes. And one global institution is well positioned to facilitate that work on the local level: the church of Jesus Christ.

Offline, Mixed-Gender, Shared Goal Space

Gen Z young adults often prefer the conveniences of staying at home (on devices) to the oft-uncomfortable dynamics of #IRL community. But curating a like-minded, good-vibes-only online community is a poor substitute for the messy but beautiful formation that happens in the context of embodied communities.

There’s clearly work to do in fostering healthier relationships between the sexes.

A local church provides a space for men and women of different ages and ethnicities to mingle with one another in a diverse but united community of growth. The key to making this “messy” conglomeration work is the shared goal: worshiping Jesus Christ and spurring one another on in the pursuit of Christlike living and gospel mission. When men and women can sing, pray, and hear God’s Word preached side by side, Sunday after Sunday, gender friction gradually gives way to the unity of shared hope, confession, worship, and mission.

For today’s young adults, the mixed-gender experience of church is a beautiful opportunity to grow in the “one anothers” and ultimately come to understand and love the ways God created men and women different yet to complement and bless one another. Men have much to gain from wise sisters and mothers in the church. Sisters have much to gain from wise brothers and fathers. Created to image God (Gen. 1:27), men and women are equal in status before God (Gal. 3:28) and vital in the church’s mission. A healthy local church can be a picture to the world of what gender harmony looks like.

A happy by-product of the mixed-gender church community (though not the primary goal) is that it can be a healthy place for singles to find godly mates. I’ve led small groups where single young adults met, started dating, and got married. My wife and I have discipled several young couples who met in church and went on to get married. Some of our greatest joys in ministry have been seeing the origins and progression of marital unions that take root in the context of a local church.

Healthier Models of Manhood and Womanhood

Part of healthier cross-gender relationships is a better understanding of one’s own gender. Men and women inevitably clash when their ideas of manhood and womanhood are malformed by gender agitators online who emphasize stereotypes, zero-sum power dynamics, and a “war” between the sexes.

A healthy local church can be a picture to the world of what gender harmony can look like.

Instead of gaining a sense of womanhood from the man-bashing anthems of pop stars, or of manhood from misogynists like Andrew Tate, men and women in the local church can see gender lived out in the flesh by godly people in mundane contexts (family, home, work, volunteering). Instead of an online world where gender is a “discourse” (and usually a partisan, adversarial discourse), embodied local life in the nuclear family and in a church family provides a forum where gender is simply lived, and modeled, in the context of shared rhythms and common goals.

Importantly, this happens both in the church’s mixed-gender forums—especially shared worship, Bible study, and prayer—and in gender-specific ministries, gatherings, and mentorship. Churches should be places where men and women can demystify and learn from the “other” as well as come to know their own gender better through men-to-men and women-to-women discipleship. The church can be a safe place for fostering healthy relationships between men and women but also for men to grow and be shaped among men and women among women. Among other things, these interactions will show us that not everyone of the same gender looks and acts the same. Contrary to the narrow stereotypes of algorithms and stifling confines of echo chambers, “manhood” and “womanhood” are multifaceted concepts and diversely expressed—even as they are two distinct things that are not, by God’s good design, fluidly interchangeable.

Be Thou (Our) Vision

When I look at my social media feeds, so much of what I see between men and women is ugly acrimony and compounding distrust. When I look around at church on Sundays or in my midweek small group, what I see is much more encouraging.

I see men and women singing corporately with hands raised, the different tones of their lower and higher voices creating beautiful harmony: “Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart, Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art . . .”

In Christ, men and women are bound by the same Thou. Our common object of love fuels mutuality and harmony.

I see this shared vision in the eyes of men and women in my church as they eagerly scribble notes during sermons or ask questions in small groups. I see this shared vision in their passionate prayers for one another, in their service of one another, in their forbearance with one another.

Are you feeling the gender acrimony of our age? Have you been hurt by a member of the opposite sex? Join a healthy church and stick with it, even if it’s uncomfortable at first. Take advantage of the mixed-gender and single-gender gatherings at your church. Seek out opportunities to serve alongside, pray for, and interact socially with churchgoers of the opposite sex. If you’re a single young adult, maybe ask an older, faithfully married couple in the church to mentor you. Develop a close group of same-gender friends in the church—maybe you could even be roommates—who model godliness and healthy expressions of gender to one another, including group interactions with the opposite sex.

There are lots of ways local church life can help bridge the gender gap, though it won’t happen overnight. But over time, as the Holy Spirit ministers to you through the gifts of both sexes and as you bow with your brothers and sisters before the “Thou” of your common vision, the breach will begin to repair.

“Demand for Alpha was insatiable,” wrote historian Andrew Atherstone in Repackaging Christianity: Alpha and the Building of a Global Brand. The organization grew to include marriage seminars, prison workshops, and leadership conferences.

Attendance peaked around 2012, then stabilized to a million attendees a year—with a brief jump during COVID-19. Since its inception, Alpha has opened the door for thousands of churches to evangelize their neighbors. The classes have reached nearly 29 million people in about 70 countries.

The person most responsible for this growth is a British Anglican priest named Nicky Gumbel. But Alpha’s story didn’t start there. It began 16 years earlier, with an assistant pastor named Charles Marnham.

The thing is, Marnham wasn’t supposed to be a minister. He was planning to be a lawyer, like his dad. He even worked his way through an entire education at Cambridge, graduating with a law degree.

In 1973, he was finishing up his time in Cambridge when a pastor suggested he go into the ministry instead. It wouldn’t be a popular choice with his parents, who weren’t churchgoers. His dad would be especially disappointed to hear of the change. Marnham would have to give up his planned professional training course and start theological training. And this time, he’d have to pay for it himself.

What should he do?

“I don’t often tell this story, because I don’t recommend what I did,” Marnham said. “I was quite a new Christian. And I said, ‘Lord, if you want me to do this, which is way beyond my comfort zone, you’re going to have to show me. I think my friend Charles Wilson has got to become a Christian.’”

To make it even harder, he threw in Wilson’s fiancée—“And Julia does too.”

Marnham and Wilson: The Beginning

If you grew up in Britain in the 1960s, your parents almost certainly participated in the war effort. Marnham’s father had been at Dunkirk and D-Day; his mother had been an ambulance driver. Wilson’s dad had been a paratrooper and fought in the battle of Arnhem. Julia’s mother worked for Bletchley Park, where German messages were decoded, while Julia’s dad had been imprisoned for three and a half years in a Japanese POW camp.

“We believe he lost his faith in the camp,” Wilson said of Julia’s dad. “A lot of people did, during the war. They just couldn’t believe there was a God.”

Marnham’s father might have been another one. “He took us to church as children, and he was a very moral and upright man,” Marnham said. “But I think the resurrection and so on seemed to him wishful thinking when faced with the hard realities of life.”

After the war, these men and women didn’t all go back to church, and attendance across the country began to fall. Their children would kick off a growing trend to claim no religion at all.

One of them was Marnham, a reserved and serious child. He loved to read, finished his homework on time, and knew the answers when the teachers called on him.

When he was 13 years old, at boarding school, he met the talkative and outgoing Wilson—who also loved to read but didn’t always finish his homework. Wilson was happy, constantly moving, and eager to share in class even if he didn’t know the answers.

The two bonded the way opposites do, admiring each other’s strengths and filling in each other’s weaknesses. Both played brass instruments and liked orchestral music. They started together in the same class, but Wilson was far less motivated to study, and his grades ended up “rubbish,” he said.

After boarding school, he headed to business school. Meanwhile, Marnham enrolled at Cambridge, one of the best universities in the U.K.

But something was bothering him.

Marnham: A Proper Conversion

“I knew I was a believer, but there was something missing,” Marnham said. “Eventually, I was recommended to go and talk to a Church of England minister about it.”

Over six sessions, the minister put the pieces of Christianity together for him.

“I hadn’t understood substitutionary atonement,” Marnham said. “I mean, it’s one thing to say Jesus died for the sins of the world. But it’s quite another to say that he died for you.”

The minister told Marnham to read John Stott’s Basic Christianity, which he obediently did.

“I prayed the prayer, as John Stott would recommend,” Marnham said. “There were no shining lights or anything, but clearly, something had happened. I discovered God was real and personal.”

He wrote Wilson a letter, telling him what had happened.

Hmm, Wilson thought. That’s the kind of thing a proper chap like Charles would do.

Wilson: Loving Julia

At business school, Wilson was also busy—not studying, but starting a music society with a friend. About 15 students showed up at their first meeting.

From the front where he was speaking, Wilson caught sight of a girl sitting on a desk at the back of the room. “When I went home on the bus that night, I could think of nothing but this beautiful woman who looked incredibly serious,” he said.

She didn’t feel the same attraction. When he asked her out, climbing over a dozen students in the crowded library to do so, she told him, “No, thank you.”

The next time he asked, she said, “Maybe some other time.”

The third time, she said, “I’m not going out with you on your own. But I’ll go if we go out with some others.”

Wilson was thrilled. Over Christmas break, he grabbed Marnham and another girl to round out a double date to the opera. At the end of the night, Wilson exuberantly made his way home, completely forgetting his manners. It was Marnham who walked Julia home.

But it was Wilson who wouldn’t give up. Eventually, his persistence won her over, and they began dating. Four years later, both had finished school and landed jobs—and they were still dating.

“My dad got fed up with Charles motoring around with intent but not actually doing anything about it,” Julia said. “He said he was going to send me abroad to finishing school.”

Quickly, Wilson proposed.

Marnham: Law or Ministry

By now, Marnham had finished his formal legal education at Cambridge and was studying at The College of Law in Guildford for his professional legal qualification.

“I hated the law, I’m afraid,” he said. “Just before I left Cambridge, the minister who had helped me find Christ said he thought I ought to consider the possibility of ordination.”

That was appealing, except for all the reasons it wasn’t—he’d have to restart his professional training, this time as a minister, without his parents’ approval or their financial support.

“I was on the horns of a dilemma,” he said. “I had a list of things that had to be resolved. But the real one was ‘Is God calling me or not?’ That was the heart of the problem.”

So he laid his fleece before the Lord—if this is your will, Charles Wilson has to become a Christian. Julia too.

Wilson: ‘Hit by God’

In the months before his wedding, Wilson was working for a movie theater company. With the invention of TVs and VCRs, cinema admission was plummeting, and they needed another use for their huge buildings. Wilson and a colleague began turning some of them into squash clubs and disco nightclubs.

They were doing well—they’d opened their first clubs, given a contract to their first staff member, and received the promise of half a million pounds in backing from a major brewer.

“Then I was told there had to be a pause,” Wilson said. That employee he’d just hired? He’d have to fire him.

“I was really upset,” Wilson said. “I wasn’t a Christian, but I knew that was not the right way to treat people.”

Grieved and furious, he picked up the book Marnham had given him a few weeks before—Stott’s Basic Christianity. He skipped the first eight chapters, heading to the back where Stott explains how to respond to Christ’s death. As Wilson read, he pictured in his mind the mural in his school chapel of Abraham and Isaac, Abraham’s arm raised to kill his child.

“I saw this was the death I deserved,” said Wilson, who still cries when he talks about it. “I saw that Jesus saved me from all of that. . . . I got hit by God that night.”

The next morning, he called Marnham, who told him to call a respected London rector named Dick Lucas. Lucas invited him to come over in a few weeks.

“I can’t wait that long,” Wilson told him.

So Lucas said he could come later that evening. He asked Wilson a pile of questions: Who is Jesus? Why did he need to die on the cross? What is sin? What is a Christian? How does anyone get to heaven?

“I was a brash young marketing guy, and I invented answers that were complete rubbish,” said Wilson, having skipped the majority of Basic Christianity. “After about 20 minutes, he stood up and said, ‘Well, Mr. Wilson, it’s not what you think that matters. It’s what God says.’”

Lucas gave Wilson a Bible, and for the next half an hour, he explained the gospel from Genesis to Revelation.

Toward the end of their time, Wilson said he was getting married in nine days. Lucas gave him a tract for Julia but cautioned him to be careful.

“Don’t push it down her throat,” said Lucas, who picked up on Wilson’s irrepressible enthusiasm. “In fact, I’m not sure you should even give this to her on your honeymoon.”

Wilson: Julia Too

Lucas was too late. Earlier that day, Wilson had called Julia at work. In a flurry of excited, incoherent words, he’d told her everything.

“It was a bit like being in the middle of a whirlwind, honestly,” she said. She gathered that he’d seen some kind of vision of Abraham, that he was a Christian, and that he was planning to quit his job and become a minister. By the time she got off the phone, she was a wreck.

“I went in to see my boss in a flood of tears,” she said. “I was completely confused.”

Give it a little time, her boss reassured her. Things will settle down.

But she didn’t have any time, and nothing settled down. Ignoring Lucas’s caution, Wilson met Julia the following night. He explained his conversion again, this time in person.

“I knew—it must have been the Holy Spirit—that I couldn’t get married to him unless I was a Christian too,” she remembered. He handed her the booklet from Lucas called How to Become a Christian. “I read it through and prayed the prayer at the end.”

That Sunday, they went to church together, and she felt as if the words in the Bible were standing out to her in 3D.

Julia, too, had been saved.

Wilson: Aftermath

The following Friday, Wilson quit his job. The next day, he married Julia.

“Making the vows before God meant something I hadn’t been expecting,” she said.

After their honeymoon, she went back to work at the Bank of England while Wilson read Christian books and thought about what he should do with his life.

“After three or four weeks, Dick Lucas caught wind of this,” Wilson said. “He said, ‘Charles, it’s not good for you to just be sitting at home thinking great thoughts. You need to go get a job.’”

So Wilson went to work—in construction, in a factory, driving a delivery truck. He went to law school and spent a few decades as a lawyer—for several years, he ran the U.K.’s Lawyers’ Christian Fellowship as general secretary. Then he started a business doing commercial debt recovery.

The Wilsons have been just as energetic in serving the church—for the last five decades, they’ve volunteered, given generously, and attended services faithfully with their four kids. All of their children and grandchildren are walking with the Lord.

The oldest, Andrew, is now a teaching pastor at King’s Church London. But his work is bigger than that—over the last 16 years, he’s published more than a dozen books, spoken at multiple conferences (including TGC23), and released a podcast with Glen Scrivener.

“Andrew is one of the most insightful young Bible teachers and cultural critics I know,” said Collin Hansen, executive director for The Keller Center for Cultural Apologetics. “He models the kind of humble, joyful leaders we hope to raise up at The Keller Center.”

“He’s a very interesting and original thinker,” Marnham said. “It is great that his wonderful gift is recognised and being used.”

Marnham, by the way, is Andrew Wilson’s godfather.

Marnham: Aftermath

After Wilson and Julia’s wedding, Marnham started seminary.

“There was absolutely no way to avoid it,” he said with a chuckle. “If it had been just Charles coming to faith, I could have said that was just luck. But both of them?”

Three years later, he had a theology qualification and a job as an assistant minister at an Anglican church in London called Holy Trinity Brompton.

In his new congregation, a young trainee lawyer was asking for a class to disciple people who were new to the faith. Like Marnham, Tricia Algeo had become a Christian at her university. Afterward, she worked for a few years with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship and a year with the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association. Over those years, she had the benefit of help from older saints.

“I’m getting a new assistant,” the pastor told her. “Why don’t you get together and work on this?”

Marnham and Algeo started with a breakfast meeting one Saturday. “We eventually worked out a six-week course,” Marnham said. It was fairly simple: the two of them would take turns giving a talk about topics such as how to know if you’re saved, how to read the Bible, and how to understand God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. Then they’d split the participants into groups and discuss.

Algeo suggested the name “Alpha” because it was aimed at those beginning a new life in Christ.

It worked. At the first meeting, held at Marnham’s apartment above the church hall in November 1977, about six people came. Within two years, there were so many discussion groups squeezed into Marnham’s apartment that his roommate couldn’t even get in to use the bathroom.

“What we discovered very early on was that people were coming who had made a commitment to Christ, but it also drew people who had not made a commitment,” Marnham said. He made sure to give lots of opportunities for questions.

“I think giving people that permission was a huge relief, because it’s embarrassing, particularly in English circles, if there are spiritual things you have to admit you don’t understand,” he said. “Also, I felt when I was struggling for faith that Christians were answering questions I wasn’t asking. And they weren’t answering the questions I was asking.”

Two years later, Marnham married Algeo and eventually took the pulpit at his own church in the north of England. He left behind the course, which future leaders would continue to refine as it grew. By 2022, it had influenced millions of people around the globe, helped by a serious boost from COVID-19. In that year alone, more than 400,000 people participated in more than 13,000 courses.

Marnham knows why it grew so fast and so well: “That’s God, isn’t it?”

Marnham: Local Church Leader with International Links

Marnham didn’t start any other massive global initiatives. For the next 35 years, he preached sermons, counseled people, and trained assistant pastors in two congregations.

But like many pastors, his work has spread far beyond the local church walls. His second congregation, located in London, welcomed members from as many as 16 countries, including the United States, Mongolia, and Eritrea. Marnham worked with Anglican churches in Tanzania, and since 2002, has been a trustee and board member of the Emmanuel Foundation. Through that organization, he’s worked both as consulting editor of the online Kairos Journal and as a senior adviser to BibleMesh, which offers online theological education.

“There have been good moments and really bad moments, as any minister will tell you,” he said. Though he’d never recommend laying out a crazy challenge to God the way he did, he doesn’t regret his career change for a moment.

“God knew me, and he knew what was best for me,” Marnham said. “I’ve been a church minister for 42 years. In the way that God works, it was marvelous. . . . It has been a huge privilege.”

“Nones” is a term used to describe individuals who, when surveyed about their religious identity, respond with “none,” indicating no specific alignment with established religious traditions. A recent Pew survey finds that 17 percent of Nones identify as atheist and 20 percent say they’re agnostic. But the majority (63 percent) choose “nothing in particular.”

Among Nones, 69 percent are younger than 50, while 31 percent are 50 or older. (By comparison, 45 percent of U.S. adults who identify with a religion are younger than 50, while 55 percent are 50 or older.) Nones overall are roughly split between men (51 percent) and women (47 percent).

The evidence seems to reveal the overall number of people identifying as Nones has swelled in the past 50 years. Gallup surveys show the number of religiously unaffiliated was close to zero in the 1950s. But today, just over one in four Americans (28 percent) identifies as a None.

This trend has garnered significant attention, both in religious circles and in the broader societal discourse, for what it seemingly indicates about the modern world’s spiritual state. The presumption is the rise of the Nones signals an abandonment of faith and increasing irreligiosity.

That could be true. But it seems more likely that the Nones have always been with us.

The presumption is the rise of the Nones signals an abandonment of faith and increasing irreligiosity. That could be true. But it seems more likely that the Nones have always been with us.

Throughout church history, there have been “cultural Christians.” In Cultural Christians in the Early Church, Nadya Williams defines the term as “individuals who self-identify as Christians but whose outward behavior and, to the extent that we can tell, inward thoughts and motivations are largely influenced by the surrounding culture rather than by their Christian faith and the teachings of Jesus.”

Williams’s book argues that while we think of cultural Christianity as a modern concept, it has occurred since the beginning of the church. I’d argue the rise of the religiously unaffiliated is a related phenomenon and that many Americans who identify as Nones today are merely those who would have been cultural Christians a few decades ago.

Christianity as a Fashionable Belief

We tend to assume people adopt a religious identity because they think the religion’s beliefs are true. We think people become Christians, for instance, because they believe the statements found in the Nicene Creed. Conversely, if they reject the Christian faith, it’s because they reject those propositions.

This is, of course, one way people can form their religious identities. The reason Nones give most often for not having a religion is that they question religious teachings: 60 percent say doubt about these teachings is an extremely or very important reason why they’re nonreligious.

Yet while atheists and agnostics are the most likely to say their belief is based on questioning religious teachings (83 percent and 78 percent respectively), fewer than half (48 percent) of the “nothing in particulars” say the same. A near majority (47 percent) of the Nones say their dislike of religious organizations is an extremely or very important reason they’re nonreligious. About a third (30 percent) cite bad experiences with religious people. Altogether, 55 percent of Nones mention religious organizations or religious people (or both) as key reasons for being nonreligious.

This isn’t surprising, since belief formation is complex and not solely based on reasoning. Tim Keller once pointed out that human knowledge has three aspects: (1) rational/intellectual, (2) experiential/intuitive, and (3) social/pragmatic. “We come to ‘know’ something well,” he said, when (1) “there are good reasons for it,” (2) “it fits with our inward experience,” and (3) “we find a trustworthy community that holds it too.”

Keller believed that “at least some folks—who go from ‘firm, active believers’ to ‘complete disbelievers’ through disillusionment with the church—had rested their belief in Jesus’ resurrection almost completely in the #3 social aspect.” Many of our beliefs—especially about social phenomena such as religion and politics—are essentially formed by this social/pragmatic aspect. Often, this type of belief is what economist Arnold Kling has dubbed a “fashionable belief”: one that will raise, or at least maintain, your status among your peers, regardless of whether it makes sense. “For example,” Kling says, “I speculate that young, affluent teenagers are increasingly declaring themselves LGBTQ+ because it is fashionable to do so.”

Many conservative Christians (including me) will nod in agreement. We’ve noticed the surge in negative behaviors—such as bisexuality, eating disorders, and transgenderism—and we attribute their escalation to their underlying beliefs becoming popular and being spread by their peers. What we often fail to recognize, though, is that the same process can work for beliefs that we want to become popular and widely adopted—namely, Christianity. Because Christian beliefs are true and important, we want the orthodox, evangelical faith to be a fashionable belief.

In America, it was a fashionable belief for a long time. From the 16th to the 20th century, Christianity maintained its status as one of the most—if not the most—fashionable of fashionable beliefs. Only around the 1960s did it begin to lose dominance as a cultural brand. It would take another 50 years before a significant number of Americans felt comfortable shifting their religious label from “Christian” to “nothing in particular.”

In hindsight, it’s easy to become nostalgic and assume that in the past, Christianity was a fashionable belief because people accepted its teachings as true. But as with any other belief that has become fashionable, there was always a large percentage of people who accepted it because it helped raise or maintain their status among their peers.

If this thesis is correct and a significant number of Americans adopted Christianity as a fashionable belief, then the prominence of the Nones is less likely to be solely about an increase in total irreligiosity and more about an unveiling of what has always existed. Some Americans are merely exchanging one group of previously fashionable beliefs for a new set that’s more in vogue. This situation provides us with both a lamentable challenge and a considerable opportunity.

Better Morality Through More Hypocrisy

Let’s first consider the challenge. When Christianity was fashionable in America, Christian morality held a higher status. This was good for everyone.

Some Americans are merely exchanging one group of previously fashionable beliefs for a new set that’s more in vogue.

Admittedly, plenty of Christian morals—namely, racial equality—have been flouted for our entire national history. Yet in earlier eras of American history, many Christian moral principles (especially those connected to sexuality) were indeed held in high esteem in broader society and thus served as a moral compass and a check against sinful impulses. The Ten Commandments, the prophetic writings, the Sermon on the Mount, and the Pauline epistles, for example, provided a clear framework for ethical behavior that was widely acknowledged, even by those not fully committed to the faith. This societal reverence for Christian morality played a significant role in curbing certain behaviors and promoting a general sense of right and wrong based on biblical principles.

Conversely, as the status of Christian morality has declined in the public sphere, there has been a corresponding erosion of these external restraints on sinful behavior. We’re seeing the result of the apostle Paul’s warning in Romans 1 about a society given over to a “debased mind to do what ought not to be done” (v. 28). Without the wider societal endorsement of Christian ethics, individuals are more likely to explore and act on impulses once held in check.

Ironically, this system was held in place because many cultural Christians were hypocrites. Hypocrisy is defined as the practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which your behavior doesn’t conform.

For instance, in 1973, less than half of Americans (43 percent) supported premarital sex. Yet many of those who opposed sex outside of marriage, and did so because of Christian teachings, still engaged in illicit sexual behavior. They didn’t let their stated beliefs affect their behavior and thus were, by definition, hypocrites. But they at least understood or acknowledged that their behavior was considered (by society, if not by themselves) to be immoral.

Is such hypocrisy preferable to the alternative? Many Christians would say it is. As Ramesh Ponnuru has argued, hypocrisy serves an important social function: “If a public standard of moral conduct is to have any force at all, inevitably some people who believe in that standard will sometimes fail to meet it. For a society to be both decent and tolerable requires a healthy amount of hypocrisy.” In other words, the best option is for people to act in a biblically moral way because they believe that’s what God requires. The second-best option is for people to pretend to believe what God requires, even if they have no intention of acting on such beliefs.

Whether we should prefer such hypocrisy is debatable. But there does seem to be a significant loss that came with the shift from cultural Christianity to None status. When Christianity was fashionable the on-ramp to true faith didn’t have as many external obstacles as we see today. It also made it easier for genuine Christian to “lead a peaceful and quiet life” (1 Tim. 2:2), without fear of losing their livelihood because of their faith.

It’s therefore understandable why so many Christians in America want to return to that system. But Christianity isn’t likely to become fashionable any time soon, and an appeal for Nones to return to the hypocrisy of cultural Christianity will fall on deaf ears. We’re not going back to pre-Christianity or nominal Christianity. We’re entering a new, more confusing stage where Christian morals guide Nones in condemning Christians for not being moral enough. The challenges we face should not be underestimated.

New Goat Detector

Fortunately, along with the significant challenges comes a possible opportunity. When those who would’ve previously been cultural Christians become Nones, they’re more readily identifiable as “goats.”

The Scriptures acknowledge that not all who are part of the religious community are true believers (Matt. 7:21–23). Jesus even says that when he returns, “before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left” (25:31–33).

In the future, the goats will be identified by Jesus. But imagine if a “goat detector” had been invented in 1776. We’d be able to identify who was truly a disciple of Jesus and who was a “goat”—someone who identified with Christianity because she considered it fashionable enough to increase her status and maybe even lived a moral life, yet was not “born again” (John 3:3).

With such a goat detector, Christianity may have become unfashionable even sooner—and the decline of morality in the United States might have started decades sooner. But the upside would be that we could have been, through every stage of our nation’s history, identifying the fashion-attracted goats and separating them from the true-believing sheep. Christians would have been better able to deal with the perpetual problem of not knowing who in their churches still need to put their faith in Jesus. As Bob Johnson points out, “Some of our most obvious evangelistic opportunities are with the people who are members of our churches.”

Think of the phenomenon of the Nones as a type of self-identifying goat-detecting device. Instead of remaining unregenerate goats among Christian sheep, these would be unregenerate unbelievers who self-identify and self-separate in a way that makes them easily recognizable. Once recognized, they’re easier to evangelize. (Ask any pastor—or the short-story writer Flannery O’Connor—who is easier to lead to Jesus: an unbeliever who has never heard the gospel or a self-righteous unregenerate cultural Christian.)

About 44 percent of Nones (including 73 percent of atheists) say they’re nonreligious because they don’t see a need for religion in their lives or they don’t have time for religion. We see the need in them that they’re blind to. And we’ve got a solution—Jesus—to the problem they don’t recognize they have.

None like Jesus

This emerging shift in religious identification presents us with a unique opportunity for evangelism. While it may seem daunting, the shift from cultural Christianity to a more honest self-identification among the Nones provides a clearer landscape for sharing the gospel. It’s an opportunity for us to engage with those honest about their disbelief or indifference toward religion, making them potentially more open to hearing the truth of the gospel without the barriers of cultural pretense.

The shift from cultural Christianity to a more honest self-identification among the Nones provides a clearer landscape for sharing the gospel.

It’s similar to the situation in the parable of the sower (Matt. 13:3–9). The sower spreads seeds on various types of ground, representing different responses to the gospel. Some seeds fall on the path; some on rocky ground, among thorns; and some on good soil. The Nones, in this analogy, can be seen as the ground that has been cleared of the thorns of cultural Christianity. They’re not pretending to be something they’re not; their ground is ready to be worked on. Our task as Christians is to sow the seeds of the gospel diligently and prayerfully, trusting some will fall on good soil and bear fruit.

The rise of the Nones also calls us to introspection and reformation within the church. It prompts us to ask critical questions: Are we presenting a Christ-centered gospel, or are we merely promoting a cultural form of Christianity? Are our churches communities where the transformative power of the gospel is evident in our lives, or have we succumbed to the pressures of conforming to the patterns of this world? This is an opportunity for the church to recommit to its core mission of making disciples (Matt. 28:19–20) and to ensure our faith isn’t a fashionable accessory but a life-transforming relationship with Jesus Christ.

Because of this, the rising trend of the Nones should neither dismay us nor make us complacent. It should invigorate our evangelistic efforts and encourage us to live out our faith authentically. We can be faithful in sowing the seeds of the gospel, trusting in the Lord’s sovereignty to bring the increase (1 Cor. 3:6), and we can live as true disciples of Jesus, showing with our lives the transforming power of his grace and truth. In doing both, we can help lead the Nones from identifying as “nothing in particular” to embracing “the name that is above every name” (Phil. 2:9).

That’s what you hear on TV talk shows, watch in popular movies, and read in best-selling self-help books.

Right?

No?

Well, it’s what the survey data says. You can see it for yourself in the new book Get Married: Why Americans Must Defy the Elites, Forge Strong Families, and Save Civilization by the eminent sociologist Brad Wilcox.

You can see from the ambitious subtitle that Wilcox is writing about an epochal shift of the highest magnitude—as he puts it, “a shift away from marriage and all the fruits that follow from this most fundamental social institution: children, kin, financial stability, and innumerable opportunities to love and be loved by another.” For the first time in American history, less than half of adults are married. The birth rate has never been lower, resulting in 7 million fewer babies since the Great Recession.

Wilcox has been a professor of sociology and director of the National Marriage Project at the University of Virginia for the past 15 years. And while he doesn’t focus in this book on his personal story, he grew up with a single mother after his father died when Brad was 3. He’s now raising a family with his wife. Wilcox makes this bold claim in the book:

Nothing less than the future of our civilization depends on more Americans succeeding in this most fundamental social institution. And in a world where trust is falling, loneliness is soaring, and economic inequality is endemic, nothing may matter more for your future and the sake of your children than forming, feeding, and enjoying your own family-first marriage.

Brad Wilcox joined me on Gospelbound to discuss the modern priority on money and free time, the two-parent privilege, and the role of churches in reinforcing the values and virtues of good families, among other subjects.

The transitions between these three worlds have necessitated new strategies for evangelical engagement with wider culture, according to Renn.

For example, the strategy of “cultural engagement” wherein the Christian seeks to influence and “leaven” existing cultural institutions may have made sense in a positive or neutral world, but it seems a fool’s errand in an openly hostile culture. Living in the negative world means living as a religious minority in an anti-Christian environment. That, he argues, requires rethinking strategies for how to fortify the Christian community and to engage effectively in the church’s positive mission.

Expanded Analysis

Renn, a senior fellow at American Reformer, begins the book with a slightly modified version of the original essay. He then amplifies his earlier explanations of the various cultural strategies evangelicals employed during the positive and neutral worlds, which he labels “culture war,” “seeker sensitivity,” and “cultural engagement.”

However, he argues none of these models stemmed the tide of secularization and the corresponding decline toward a post-Christian America. The current task, he suggests, is to adapt to the reality of the negative world. He writes,

In adapting to the negative world, the best and most relevant parts of the other models should be honored and retained. The culture warriors, for example, understood that sometimes it’s necessary to be lower status and unpopular with society’s elites. The seeker sensitives were focused on the Great Commission and ensuring there were no artificial, man-made barriers between people and the gospel. The cultural engagers understood the value of the life of the mind, as well as having a more sophisticated understanding of cultural power than other evangelicals. (42–43)

The rest of the book is Renn’s attempt to craft such an adapted strategy for living in the negative world. He raises important questions for individuals and institutions in a post-Christian culture: How is the individual believer to live in the negative world? What are the new challenges, and how might they be met?

He also expands his view to important institutional questions: What are the best ways for Christian institutions to survive and even flourish in the negative world? How can the church best engage in its mission in the context of the negative world?

Everyone can feel Christianity’s diminishing prospects in contemporary American culture, along with society’s increasing hostility to Christian beliefs.

Renn tells an intuitive and elegant story that instantly resonates with readers, as is evident from the reception of his original First Things essay. Everyone can feel Christianity’s diminishing prospects in contemporary American culture, along with society’s increasing hostility to Christian beliefs. Christians are rightly concerned about the rapid cultural acceptance of LGBT+ values and the harm those will have especially on children and teens. Constant pressure from various fronts encourages Christians to compromise their convictions and limit their speech about issues of faith. Christians are experiencing negativity as they move through this world. But Renn’s analysis of the reason for this and what we should do about it is altogether too simplistic.

Synthetic Story

Renn can be concrete and particular—he can date the transitions between worlds with near pinpoint accuracy (it’s “1964” and “1994” and “2014”)—and yet simultaneously be elusively vague and abstract. After telling this “how we got here” story, he writes,

The three worlds model is a simplification of complex phenomena designed primarily for practical purposes. These frameworks aren’t like theological or scientific models, which are claims to objective truth. They’re more akin to tools. (13)

This is a strange comment, as it follows a dozen pages filled with what appear to be actual truth claims. He then writes that there are other models or tools one could just as well use:

In fact, there may be many different such frameworks that can explain the same phenomenon, each useful to some people but not to others or for illuminating a different dimension of the situation. People should try out different frameworks or lenses on a problem to examine it from multiple angles in order to give them the best overall understanding of the world. Rod Dreher’s Benedict Option is a related but different lens, for example, on the changes that happened with the transition to the negative world. (13)

I wonder if, when Renn appears to be writing about the worlds, he’s actually writing about his tool. Is it possible the “three worlds” isn’t a story about the actual history of our culture but rather a story about the practical usefulness of his story of the three worlds? His emphasis throughout on “models” and “frameworks” for cultural understanding tends to reinforce this impression. Because his model isn’t tethered to any objective norm (more on that shortly), it’s liable to become a sort of self-referential solipsism.

Moreover, myriad facts undermine the tidiness of this story. Renn even mentions some of them, but his proposed framework doesn’t budge. In cultural analysis, this is usually evidence of a procrustean bed, where any facts not fitting the theory aren’t considered relevant.

For example, he mentions Tim Keller’s treatment at the hand of Princeton Theological Seminary as evidence we’ve arrived in the negative world. I wonder what he makes of that same Princeton’s treatment of J. Gresham Machen in the 1920s—back in the supposed positive world. How is it he can casually mention that the U.S. Supreme Court escorted God to the door of the public school in 1962—the heyday of the positive world—and not notice it’s in tension with his thesis? Were elite American institutions generally positive to the kind of evangelical piety represented at the Scopes trial back in the halcyon days of 1925? Not hardly. Why do some at the center of one of his leading examples dispute his interpretation of the events?

I could ask similar questions about any of his narrative’s plot points. The strangely confident arbitrariness of his chosen “transition” points gives the impression the “three worlds” framework is superimposed on history rather than emerging from a genuine examination of it.

Normative Sociology

Renn is engaged, then, in an exercise of multiperspectivalism, in which his model or “lens” is just one among many. But there’s often a missing ingredient: the normative. He is, above all, asking normative questions: “I talk about how to live as Christian individuals and families, how we should structure our churches and institutions, and how we can take advantage of the new opportunities the negative world will open up for mission and evangelism” (xvii).

These are imperative questions (how ought we), and here his toolbox is limited, which Renn acknowledges:

I want to be clear that I am neither a pastor nor a theologian. I don’t claim to be an authoritative Bible teacher—although with limited exceptions, I mostly avoid making arguments based on the Bible. And as an evangelical, I, of course, use Scripture to inform and illustrate my work. But this book is primarily in the genres of cultural analysis and strategy, where I do have significant professional experience. It’s about the social, cultural, and political context in which pastors and theologians have to apply God’s Word today. (xvii)

That approach may sound reasonable at first glance, but notice Renn’s analysis of the “social, cultural, and political context” is explicitly untethered from the Bible. It stands on its own and can be understood on its own through a variety of sociological methods and models. First we understand the world, then pastors apply God’s Word to it.

The subtle assumption is that the Bible doesn’t dictate our understanding of the world. This is unfortunate, and it negatively affects the book. For example, he emphasizes that the negative world is “unknown territory” (43) and even a “fundamentally unknown world” (44). This means, according to Renn,

Creating models for the evangelical church in the negative world will thus involve a large number of people exploring various parts of the landscape. It will involve a lot of trial and error. It will involve experimentation. It will involve false starts and the ability to adapt and adjust quickly. It will require wide but loose alliances and networks with a lot of information sharing. (46)

But the negative world isn’t unknown territory or a “fundamentally unknown world.” It’s not true that we’re groping around in the dark by way of trial and error and false starts. The entirety of the Bible—every word of it—was written to people living in the negative world; it describes that world in painstaking detail and tells believers explicitly how they should live in it. Renn’s book is long on sociological models and pragmatic, prudential, and utilitarian propositions but short on normative, biblical ethics.

In with a Bang, Out with a Whimper

When Renn finally begins building his “adapted” strategies for living in the negative world, it’s remarkable how anodyne they are. So uncontroversial are most (not all) of his proposals that the reader ought to wonder what all the fuss is about.

His chapter titles summarize his recommendations for the negative world: “Become Resilient,” “Become Excellent,” “Pursue Institutional Integrity,” “Pursue Community Strength,” “Be a Light,” and “Be Prudentially Engaged.” These suggestions are what you’d expect to find in a business leadership book at an airport bookstore.

Renn’s analysis of the ‘social, cultural, and political context’ is explicitly untethered from the Bible.

It’s a letdown after the dramatic and overheated framing that we’re in a new, uncharted, and unprecedented world. Few, if any, of the strategies he proposes are new, and they don’t represent a shift from what Christians of earlier generations did.

Some of Renn’s benign proposals are salutary. However, the arbitrariness and vagueness of the “three worlds” model, combined with its lack of normative input, haven’t had a salutary effect. Instead, it has opened the door for malefactors to co-opt its themes and language in service to radical and often ugly agendas. I fear it’s proving an empty vessel that may be filled with whatever one desires. Unfortunately, some of Renn’s readers seem to believe the prescription for Christians living in a negative world is to commit to whatever fight the algorithm serves up next.

Phrases like “They don’t know what time it is” are used to casually dismiss friendly critiques from those with similar theological convictions. “They think we’re living in a neutral (or positive) world” eliminates the need to consider outreach approaches that aren’t overtly hostile because of ideological differences. The terms “positive world” and “negative world” are now used as though the model carries moral weight.

Authors are generally not responsible for what readers do with their ideas. In this case, however, the overly dramatic framing of the problem invites equally dramatic solutions. It turns out Renn had in mind all kinds of benign, sometimes insightful, and occasionally useful suggestions like how to be resilient and financially independent and how to strengthen our communities. I have no hesitation in recommending you get the book and read all about it.

As he lauded the cooperation and support he received throughout his lengthy ministry, it sounded like a pleasant dream, not reality. You’d expect hyperbole, but for the rest of us who’ve not experienced such pastoral grandeur, it would’ve been encouraging to hear of at least one rough patch. Surely he had difficult times he considered inappropriate to mention.

Seasons of discouragement are inevitable for any gospel minister. It comes with the territory. But I learned something else in 44 years of pastoral ministry: the Lord uses seasons of discouragement as seasons of growth.

Alone and Needy

My first pastorate was rural. A lonely gravel road led to the whitewashed church building, with an accompanying cemetery and mid-19th-century gravestones. Learning to preach twice each Sunday, develop pastoral disciplines, and shepherd the congregation proved challenging.

But to add more pressure, the bivocational job I was assured would be available when our family moved into the pastoral residence after seminary didn’t materialize. On my first Sunday as full-time pastor—after having pastored there part-time for eight months—the deacons recommended a five-dollar-a-week raise. Yes, five bucks. I smiled, anticipating that the job I’d been promised would start the next week and we’d be OK. But it didn’t, and we weren’t.

As I soon learned, there were no jobs available in the depressed area near the church. I’d moved from a comfortable income to below the poverty line—with no remedy in sight.

I’d moved from a comfortable income to below the poverty line—with no remedy in sight.

Everything unraveled. I struggled. When my parents visited, I poured out the sad story to my dad, hoping he might help bail us out of our financial woes. I can still hear him saying, “The Lord will take care of you.” That was it. No cash or check, just a word of encouragement to refocus my trust on Christ. I was annoyed. And he was right.

The Lord did take care of us, in part by providing work on a county road crew. By tightening my discipline and helping me better identify with those I was called to shepherd, that job increased my capacity to serve the church. The same Lord Jesus who laid down his life for us wouldn’t abandon us in time of need (Rom. 8:32).

Later, my wife and I realized this had been a training ground—a different seminary. The Lord was teaching us to trust him, and the lessons from that first pastorate have stayed with us. The gift of discouragement led to the greater gift of trusting Christ.

Fractured Church, Increased Discouragement

A later pastorate I took appeared promising. With several hundred attending, my pastoral duties increased. But so did the challenges and discouragements.

The search committee sold me on the church’s unity and love. After a few months, the aura dissolved. I discovered the church was fraught with division, bickering, and conflict. I’d walked into an ecclesiological war zone, ambushed by various factions who wouldn’t be satisfied unless I sided with them against the others.

The gift of discouragement led to the greater gift of trusting Christ.

Rather than siding, I sought weekly to expound God’s Word. So the factions unified against me. The one thing many of them were not interested in was gospel-focused biblical exposition. Whenever I sought to lead the congregation toward more biblical leadership and community and mission, opposition mounted. Sniping, complaining, undermining, and stonewalling characterized those years.

Early on, I felt like leaving. But by God’s grace, experienced pastor friends encouraged me to stay—to keep preaching Jesus, modeling the Christian life, and leading toward biblical transformation. As Jesus observed, “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (John 10:11). My friends who’d walked the same path reinforced this truth. I began to learn that the good news of Jesus as the Redeemer demands perseverance in gospel ministry. Yet it seems we only learn this lesson in the trenches. So we’re helped to persevere by learning from others who’ve been in the trenches far longer.

Through these discouraging struggles came an unparalleled gift. I learned how deeply I needed fellow pastors to speak into my life and teach me humility, submission, and trust. Just as Timothy and Titus needed Paul, Martin Luther needed Johann von Staupitz, and John Ryland Jr. needed John Newton, I needed godly men to shepherd this shepherd. And pastor, so do you.

Three Strategies

How do we make good use of discouragements rather than letting them paralyze us? Here are three ways.

1. Discouragements are about God’s reign—so yield to his wise, loving providence.

Whatever is causing discouragement isn’t outside the Lord’s governance. Your senses may tell you he’s as paralyzed as you are, but his Word corrects that lie: “The steps of a man are established by the LORD, when he delights in his way; though he fall, he shall not be cast headlong, for the LORD upholds his hand” (Ps. 37:23–24).

Does God only order things you like? That’s the assumption the psalmist corrects. Sometimes you need discouragements to stretch, test, and reinforce trust in the Lord. Confessing his wisdom and love—even when you feel the weight of distress—trains the heart to trust him in discouraging times.

2. Discouragements are about learning spiritual consistency—so maintain spiritual disciplines.

The paralyzing effects of discouragement can deflate the rhythms of spiritual practice. Your emotions will tell you to nurse your hurt instead of your soul. Discouraging seasons will expose sins you need to confess, even die to. Such times provide an opportunity to praise God in every circumstance as you realize nothing can distance you from his love (1 Thess. 5:18; Rom. 8:38–39).

Even if your time in the Word and prayer aren’t lively, persist in these daily disciplines. A discouraging season can ready you for other life shifts and hard times that will likely come, so use the present discouragement as preparation for future trials.

3. Discouragements are about the affections—so cultivate a heart of worship.

As the apostle John witnessed the heavenly vision, he made a triumphant declaration concerning the Lamb: “He went and took the scroll from the right hand of him who was seated on the throne” (Rev. 5:7). Jesus, the Lamb of God slain to ransom you for God, took the book of divine history and rule into his hands. As the emperor Domitian’s persecution raged, those witnessing the Lamb’s triumph worshiped (vv. 8–10). And so can you.

He reigns over the details, so move from eyeing your trouble to worshiping your King, who took the book and who rules every aspect of your life.

Embrace the Gift

Don’t waste discouragement, brother pastor. See it as a gracious gift. Learn even to use discouragement to your spiritual advantage by letting the least hint of it bring you to Jesus.

In his grace, even the most disconsolate heart finds solace.

With the surge of the “nones” (religiously unaffiliated) and the dechurching phenomenon in the U.S. (the largest and fastest religious shift in our history), Gen Z’s indifference toward religion shouldn’t surprise us. But it shouldn’t discourage us either. It should motivate us.

Maybe you’ve heard Gen Z is “spiritual but not religious.” Some find that troubling, but we see it as an opportunity. It means Gen Zers are spiritually open. They’re hungry for more than what our culture is offering, and this has increasingly created an opportunity for renewal.

Growing Gen Z’s love for Jesus isn’t without its challenges. An increasing majority are biblically illiterate, anxious, digitally native, and uninterested in church. We must understand these obstacles, but it’s also crucial we see them as opportunities for growth, transformation, and grace.

4 Obstacles and 4 Opportunities

We believe some of the biggest “hindrances” to Gen Z’s faith in Jesus might be how God draws a generation to himself. Here are four examples.

Obstacle #1: Gen Z doesn’t know the Bible.

According to a 2018 study, just 4 percent of this generation has a biblical worldview. This means Gen Zers don’t have accurate answers to the questions of who God is, who they are, where they belong, and what their purpose in life is.

But these are the questions they’re all asking. Which means they’re going to look somewhere for answers. Where will that be?

Despite Gen Z’s low biblical literacy, there’s some good news: 44 percent say they’re extremely curious about the Bible and/or Jesus. So in an era where “truth is relative” prevails, we have an incredible opportunity to guide them not to their truth but to the Truth (John 14:6).

But how?

The church must teach the story—the whole story. Gen Zers are curious and thoughtful. They want answers to their questions. It’s tempting to avoid the hard stuff, but this is a mistake. Skirting tough issues won’t make Jesus more palatable; it’ll make him seem less relevant to the issues they’re facing.

Skirting tough issues won’t make Jesus more palatable; it’ll make him seem less relevant to the issues they’re facing.

If we want Gen Zers to know the truth, we must be willing to teach all of it. Doing so will mean we have many difficult conversations. It’ll require wisdom, patience, and grace as we navigate their doubts and fears. We’ll need to be honest about the cost of following Jesus—and dare to discuss the cost of not following Jesus.

They want the truth. Will we help them find it?

Obstacle #2: Gen Z is socially anxious.

Lest we’re tempted to believe the highlight reels and filters, everything’s not fine. Poor mental health is reaching epidemic levels among Gen Z. A recent study revealed 42 percent have diagnosed mental health conditions. Of this group, 9 out of 10 struggle with anxiety and 57 percent are taking medication for their conditions.

Fifteen years ago, this wasn’t a conversation our college ministry was having. But the more we’ve sat across from anxious students, the more we’ve realized how prevalent this is and how confusing it is for them to navigate. Many college students think the Bible’s answer to their anxiety is simply “Don’t be anxious!” But they can’t, and so they feel shame, which leads to hiding or coping with it in unhealthy ways.

The worst thing we can do with Gen Zers’ anxiety is ignore it or explain it away. We don’t know all the reasons they’re feeling the way they do. They might not either. Most likely, it’s complicated.

But again, what some consider an impassable obstacle, we see as an opportunity—to empathize, listen well, be patient, and model a healthy, nonanxious presence in their lives. Most importantly, their anxiety is an opportunity for us to drive them into the arms of the Lord. That’s what he wants. He doesn’t dismiss their anxiety. He invites them to bring it to him because he cares deeply for them (1 Pet. 5:7).

Gen Z is looking for peace that only Jesus can give.

Obstacle #3: Gen Z lives online.

Make no mistake: Gen Zers are being formed. Between social media, TV, video games, and the 24-hour news cycle, they’re being shaped. The question isn’t if they’re being shaped but by what—and how this kind of discipleship is forming them.

In a recent study, 73 percent of Gen Z reported feeling lonely all or some of the time. The digital age has made us more connected than ever before, and yet Gen Z is the loneliest generation of all time. In a world of polished highlight reels, likes, and clever captions, this generation craves the kind of depth that can only come from real relationships.

In a world of polished highlight reels, likes, and clever captions, this generation craves the kind of depth that can only come from real relationships.

Tim Keller touched on this fundamental human need when he said, “To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial.”

Gen Z needs physical spaces to be known and loved—to experience the gospel. In our churches, do we have spaces for Gen Zers to practice the kind of depth and transparency they crave? Are they invited to participate and serve in weekly worship, small groups, Bible studies, and discipleship relationships? Do you have opportunities for young adults to come, connect, and invite others along?

In the longest in-depth longitudinal study on human life ever conducted, researchers found that deep, nurtured relationships are the key to the good life. The deeply relational life is messy, but Gen Z is hungry for it. Are our churches places where Gen Zers can find a more meaningful community than what they encounter online?

Obstacle #4: Gen Z thinks church ‘isn’t important.’

In a 2018 study, more than half of Gen Z said church isn’t that important. When this group was asked why, nearly 60 percent of the non-Christians said, “Church isn’t relevant to me.” About the same percentage of Christians—yes, Christians—said, “I find God elsewhere.” This is a serious problem. Maybe the biggest of them all.

But here’s something to consider: if we want Gen Z to think church is important, then we have to ask our churches, “Is Gen Z important to us?”

When college students walk into our churches, do they feel seen, expected, and welcomed? Do young adults have places in our ministries where they can learn and grow alongside others in their stage of life? Are they embraced in the pews and from the pulpit? Do they feel like they belong?

It’s no secret that Gen Z is looking for places to find their identity, purpose, and belonging. But what does a cycle studio, a local bar, or an online community offer them that our churches don’t? Here’s where we have an opportunity. And the good news is that we don’t have to reinvent the wheel.

The Jesus movement has always been contagious because of its radical hospitality, countercultural love, and sacrificial service aided by the transformative power of the Holy Spirit. We believe Gen Z will be drawn back to the church by the same.

We’re hopeful for this next generation. They’re spiritually open, curious, starved for deep connection, and craving a sense of belonging that we believe only Jesus can meet. Raising up the next generation will take the whole church not just seeing past these obstacles but meeting Gen Zers in them to bring about the transformative power of God’s grace in their lives.

The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory: American Evangelicals in an Age of Extremism is a New York Times bestseller, national conversation starter, and journalistic exposé. But it’s more. Alberta is a Christian and a pastor’s son, so his personal connection injects intimacy into his exploration of faith—a faith that’s often at odds with the teachings of Christ. Through vivid portraits of believers, Alberta paints a picture of a faith tarnished by fear, a promise distorted by partisan subterfuge, and a reputation marred by scandal.

Part memoir and part cautionary tale, Alberta’s book brims with righteous anger and dissatisfaction. He depicts an American church seeking to embrace right-leaning politics and Jesus in equal measure. It’s meant to be a warning against political idolatry at a time when the political temperature only seems to be getting hotter. However, the book is imprecisely argued and fails to offer a positive solution beyond Christians retreating from cultural engagement.

Problematic Definition

Alberta, a staff writer for The Atlantic and author of the bestseller American Carnage, hinges his book on one question: Who are evangelicals? He defines them as essentially synonymous with politically conservative Christians, a group he critiques yet with whom he shares some theological views. According to Alberta, “‘Evangelical’ became shorthand for ‘conservative Christian’ during the Moral Majority era.” Eventually, it became synonymous with “white conservative Republican” (11). While this politicized meaning prevails culturally, it seems reductive and doesn’t reflect the doctrinal distinctiveness of evangelicals.

Alberta states, “I’m no theologian” (3). His lack of theological awareness shows up as he engages in a debate that requires some understanding of his own presuppositions and those of whom he’s examining. He’s clear throughout the book about his favored group, which he generally paints positively, but it doesn’t seem like he’s done the work to fully understand those he critiques. For example, Alberta makes broad statements like this: “From a purely organizational standpoint, Christianity is in disarray” (439). Such sweeping claims would be difficult to defend and they tend to undermine his substantive critiques.

Evaluating evangelicalism requires grappling with its diversity of views. Alberta is rightly disturbed by the syncretism of a politician telling his followers to “put on the full armor of God and take a stand against the left’s schemes” (257) or a pastor praying for his “state be turned red with the blood of Jesus, and politically” (252), but many churchgoing evangelicals don’t fit neatly into his right-leaning, obsessively political box.

Evaluating evangelicalism requires grappling with its diversity of views.

While Alberta spotlights vocal conservatives, studies suggest the overall level of political engagement may be just as high, if not higher, among left-leaning evangelicals. Alberta’s focus on politically engaged subgroups risks committing the fallacy of composition, attributing the actions and beliefs of a few to the entire evangelical population. Additionally, he fails to distinguish the way nonchurchgoing people who claim to be evangelical distort the discussion. Alberta isn’t alone in his generalizations, but it’s discouraging when that error comes from a self-identified insider who claims to want to make things better.

Unfriendly Fire

At times, Alberta is unmerciful with his subjects. This isn’t surprising given his raw experience with his father’s right-leaning church. However, this leads him to create caricatures and impugn motives. People who lean in Alberta’s direction are “learned and well-read,” while those who disagree offer “adolescent commentaries” (321). The pastor whose preaching he likes is presented with sage-like veneration. The casual repetition of pejorative descriptions undermines Alberta’s points, even when his criticisms are valid.

Alberta doesn’t fairly evaluate doctrines with which he disagrees. For example, he asserts that the biblical case for restricting women from the pastorate is “thin and unconvincing” (386). He fails to genuinely engage with Scripture or historical theology. Somehow, for thousands of years, the majority of Christians have been convinced and found biblical support for this position, but many readers wouldn’t know based on this telling.

In the end, Alberta’s book doesn’t stand or fall solely on the issues he’s raised or the arguments he makes. The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory will also be judged by the way it makes its arguments. Though Alberta doesn’t make this point, he illustrates the fact that what we say and how we say it are both vitally important.

Spiritualized Politics

In multiple cases, Alberta sets up false dichotomies that highlight his preferred positions. He writes, “The crisis of American evangelicalism comes down to an obsession with [a] worldly identity. . . . Instead of fleeing the temptation to rule all the world, like Jesus did, we have made deals with the devil” (13). Undoubtedly, political engagement can become a form of idolatry. Yet Alberta seems to assume a particular political theology—one with an anabaptistic flavor—and conclude the only real alternative is idolatry.

Ultimately, the only remedy for idolatry of any sort is the gospel of Jesus Christ. Only grace can melt hardened hearts and establish Christ-centered priorities in lives and communities. Political views are complex, and solutions imperfect, but the kingdom of God stands eternal (Eph. 3:21). Our fractured nation needs the hope only the Prince of Peace can provide.

Only grace can melt hardened hearts and establish Christ-centered priorities in lives and communities.

By assuming the “faithful presence” model as the primary alternative to extremism (443), Alberta glosses over other legitimate forms of Christian cultural engagement. The book concludes by quoting 2 Corinthians 4:18, where Paul states, “The things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” The message seems to be that Christians should abandon the politics of this world for spiritual concerns.

This, however, ignores the ways believers have historically worked to end slavery, care for orphans, and abolish foot binding. Many of the social goods normalized in the West are the result of Christians being politically active, often in ways that seemed uncouth and inconvenient to the surrounding culture.

Alberta’s focused criticism of the political right isn’t surprising given the vocal extremism from some within evangelical churches. Those who already have a negative view of evangelicals will find more support for their dislike. Readers unaware of the most egregious issues will benefit from reading this book to understand the concerns some evangelicals (many of them politically conservative) have about the current climate of the political right. But this book will join a host of others criticizing evangelical Christians with little advice to offer beyond being quiet or leaning politically left.

Ouch. But he was right.

The way we experience corporate church worship can follow the same pattern. We can get so little out of it because, frankly, we put so little in. We’re physically present but spiritually disengaged.

Disengagement in worship has been a great sin among God’s people from the beginning. God said through the prophet Isaiah, “This people draw near with their mouth and honor me with their lips, while their hearts are far from me, and their fear of me is a commandment taught by men” (Isa. 29:13). And 700 years later, Christ reiterated Isaiah’s words: “In vain do they worship me” (Matt. 15:9).

What more awful assessment could a person hear from the One he presumes to worship than that it was all in vain? Yet each of us is probably more guilty of this vanity than we’d like to admit. It’s easy to go through the motions of worship without engaging our hearts.

Here are five rules of engagement that can help us put more into corporate worship.

1. Prepare in advance.

Sundays may be a day of rest for believers, but I’m convinced it’s the day Satan works hardest. If he can’t stir up discord in the home, he’ll at least help you forget where you left your keys before you leave for church. He may not be able to keep your body out of church, but he’ll do his best to keep your heart anywhere else.

We can’t prevent every problem, but a little preparation goes a long way. Logistically, do what you can to minimize issues: lay out your clothes and your offering check in advance, and eat breakfast so your belly doesn’t speak louder than the preacher.

Satan may not be able to keep your body out of church, but he’ll do his best to keep your heart anywhere else.

For spiritual preparation, the more you seek the Lord through the week, the more you’ll understand and profit on Sundays. This is why our church makes Scripture passages and songs for Sunday available in advance. Review those so you’re familiar with them and ready to meet with God before you arrive at church. Our hearts are more easily set aflame in worship when the coals are already hot.

2. Remember that God is the object of our worship.

We say the reason we gather in worship is for God, but how often do our post-worship reflections betray our true mindset? Did I enjoy the sermon? Was it my style of music? Was there anyone I was glad to see? Such questions, common to most of us, reflect Martin Luther’s observation that man is “curved in on himself.”

When we’re so curved in that what matters most is our own experience, we miss the blessing of being caught up in the wonder of One infinitely greater than ourselves. When we make worship about our experience rather than God’s glory, we insert ourselves into the place of God—as if his only role is to entertain us.

We must remember the object of our worship is God. He looks beyond the outward appearance to the heart (1 Sam. 16:7).

3. Be a participant, not a spectator.

What happens every fall Saturday in college football stadiums around the country? As someone quipped, 80,000 people desperately in need of exercise stand around watching 22 people desperately in need of rest.

Churches tend to model this same approach. Prior to the Reformation, worship was vicarious: a congregation gathered to watch the clergy do the spiritual work. But even today, many churches are vicarious: we simply show up to watch a praise team or listen to a preacher.

We aren’t called to be spectators; we’re called to be participants. As we gather in worship, we’re showing up for work, and we ought to be fully engaged—heart, soul, mind, and strength—in praising the living God.

So what does a participant in worship do?

• Fight distraction: Whether the potential distraction is your rumbling belly, the totally out-of-style dress the woman in front of you is wearing, or the man singing off-key behind you, worship God as you offer him your attention span.
• Sing heartily: God created your voice and he’s pleased when your heart overflows through it—even if it doesn’t sound great. One day, we’ll all be able to hear one another with the same sanctified ears God receives our praises with today. In the meantime, remember the only thing that can make our voices acceptable to God is what Jesus did for us.
• Engage with the sermon: Don’t be passive as the Word is preached. I pay attention most when I’ve read the passage in advance, have my Bible open the whole time, and take notes. You may have different practices, but the result must be the same: as the seed of the Word is sown, it finds soft ground in a ready and receptive heart.
• Take the sermon with you: Your work isn’t done when you exit the church doors. Matthew Henry speaks with great wisdom: “Do we think when the sermon is done, the care is over? No, then the greatest of the care begins.”

Just as my workout partner challenged me to invest more so I’d get more out of the exercise, we should honestly ask ourselves, Do I come to participate in worship, or do I see myself as a spectator, standing by as others do the work?

4. Be a relentless encourager.

Hebrews 10:25 is frequently used as a reminder of the necessity of corporate worship, and that’s right, but we often neglect verse 24: “Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works.” One of the chief reasons we gather is to encourage.

What does it mean to encourage one another? It means being intentional to care for one another’s souls and point one another to Jesus. A ministry of encouragement is an unsung ministry, but as a pastor, I can’t think of a greater gift I’d urge my people to cultivate and deploy in the church.

5. Actively seek out visitors.

Most of us know how intimidating it can be to visit a new church, and the warmth of the people can make or break the visit. We’ve had many guests over the years, and the most common remark they make is how warmly they were welcomed.

Unless you’re one of those few who thrive on meeting new people, seeking out visitors can be difficult. Uncertainty and insecurity abound: Have I met him before? Will she think I’m weird if I just go strike up a conversation? Don’t let insecurities prevent you from doing what God intends and visitors need. Go, introduce yourself (even if you’ve met before and forgotten his name). Ask someone who’s alone to sit with you. Introduce a visitor to someone else.

A ministry of encouragement is an unsung ministry, but as a pastor, I can’t think of a greater gift I’d urge my people to cultivate and deploy in the church.

You may also want to set an extra place or two at the lunch table so you can invite guests. No matter your church’s shortcomings, if you feed people, they’ll keep coming back. Good food covers a multitude of weaknesses.

I realize all this can be overwhelming, especially if your pattern has been to disengage in worship. Old habits die hard. But remember, this is why Jesus came. As he told the Samaritan woman in John 4:23, the Father is seeking worshipers. Jesus didn’t come only to give us eternal life; he came to give us his Spirit to stir us from within so we could present worship that pleases his Father.

What the Father seeks, the Spirit will enable to the glory of the Son. So let’s worship God this Sunday.

Gladd currently serves as professor of New Testament at Reformed Theological Seminary in Jackson, Mississippi, where he teaches courses on hermeneutics, biblical theology, the Gospels, Hebrews through Revelation, Greek exegesis, and the use of the Old Testament in the New.

In the last several years, Gladd has contributed to The Gospel Coalition’s concise essay series on the topics of idolatry and the two ages, spoken alongside G. K. Beale at our 2021 national conference, and served as a member of the editorial board of Themelios (since 2019). He recently began working alongside Don Carson as the series editor of New Studies in Biblical Theology (IVP Academic).

The Carson Center will benefit from Gladd’s wide-ranging theological expertise. From his PhD work at Wheaton College (focusing on the use of “mystery” language in Daniel and 1 Corinthians) to his recent works, such as From Adam and Israel to the Church, The Story Retold (with Beale), and Dictionary of the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (with Beale, Carson, and Andrew David Naselli), he brings a wealth of knowledge in biblical theology—helping people come to deeply appreciate the grand story of the Bible.

Gladd was raised in Maryland, and his wife, Nikki, is from Grand Rapids, Michigan. They are parents of two sons, Judah and Simon.

“It is difficult to think of anyone more qualified than Ben Gladd to take up the leadership of TGC’s The Carson Center,” said Carson, cofounder with Tim Keller of TGC. “With his impressive grasp of biblical theology, years of fruitful teaching, publishing record, and love for the church, Ben displays a set of gifts and graces that promise fruitful service in the coming years.”

Alongside our forthcoming Fellows, Gladd is prepared to lead The Carson Center in fostering spiritual renewal around the world by providing excellent theological resources—for anyone called to teach and anyone who wants to study the Bible. You can hear Gladd from June 7 to 8 in Oklahoma City as he delivers the B. B. Warfield Memorial Lectures for the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals.

“I’m thrilled to join TGC and The Carson Center,” said Gladd, who will be supported by program director Phil Thompson. “My hope is to invigorate the global church’s love of Christ by explaining the richness of Scripture and equipping leaders with the tools to proclaim it.”

Gladd’s work will begin full-time in June, and we will offer online learning cohorts through the Center starting this fall. To learn about these courses and other announcements, subscribe to The Carson Center’s mailing list. When you sign up today, we’ll send you free ebooks from Don Carson over the course of the next 12 months.

To do this work of theological renewal, we need your help. Please pray for Benjamin Gladd as he takes up this important role. We have an ambitious goal to add resources beyond the whole-Bible commentary, systematic theology essays, and free courses. We have begun translation projects in multiple languages. We need ministry partners who will come alongside The Carson Center and support these ongoing efforts for the health and growth of the global church. Please consider making a one-time or recurring gift to support The Carson Center’s work.

In his keynote message at TGC’s 2023 National Conference, J. D. Greear teaches from Exodus 19–20 and derives four observations about the Ten Commandments, emphasizing their authority from God, their role in restoring order and true freedom, their connection to idolatry, and their foundation in God’s grace. These commandments challenge contemporary cultural ideals and serve as a guide to living within God’s beautiful design.

Most folks in the 21st-century WEIRDER West take the notion of human rights for granted. As the Declaration of Independence puts it, rights are “inalienable” and ought to be “self-evident.” But the only thing I was convinced of by the end of the human rights survey was that none of the secular programs could pull it off. Each had debilitating criticisms of the other positions. As far as I could see, no secular, rational grounding could bear the tremendous weight of such a crucial concept in contemporary moral discourse and international law.

In a philosophy class, you can shrug and move on once your paper is done. But out in the real world, what happens when the basis for your entire international moral order is exposed to be an emperor with no clothes? What happens when we discover there’s no “there” there?

Out in the real world, what happens when the basis for your entire international moral order is exposed to be an emperor with no clothes?

This question isn’t confined to university classrooms; it’s being debated in public forums. Witness the recent controversy surrounding the comments on human rights by Yuval Harari—public intellectual, history professor at Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and author of bestsellers Sapiens and Homo Deus. In a video that circulated on X, he said,

Human rights are just like heaven and like God: it’s just a fictional story that we’ve invented and spread around. It may be a very nice story. It may be a very attractive story we want to believe. But it’s just a story; it’s not reality. It is not a biological reality. Just as jellyfish and woodpeckers and ostriches have no rights, homo sapiens have no rights. Take a human, cut him open, look inside: you find their blood, and you find the heart and lungs and kidneys, but you don’t find there any rights. The only place you find rights is in the fictional stories that humans have invented and spread around. And the same thing is also true in the political field. States and nations are also, like human rights and like God and like heaven, just stories. A mountain is a reality: you can see it, you can touch it, you can even smell it. Israel or the United States, they’re just stories. Very powerful stories. Stories we might want to believe very much, but still they are just stories. You can’t really see the United States—you cannot touch it; you cannot smell it.

Reflecting on these comments, as well as the surrounding controversy, is worth our time. They lay bare some key fissures in the moral consciousness of our post-Christian culture. They carry lessons for those looking to speak well about the God of creation and redemption to a world that lacks a grasp of the former—and so cannot understand the latter.

Just a Story?

Given Harari is an atheist and a naturalist, it’s no surprise he articulates a fairly standard, philosophically unsophisticated form of scientism, a nonscientific belief that itself cannot be scientifically verified. The only “real” things are biological realities such as mountains, bugs, and blood—things that can be tested, tasted, smelled, or physically observed.

On that account, things like God, heaven, hell, nations, and even “human rights” aren’t real—they’re nice stories we tell ourselves to get along with the world. But they aren’t “there” in the structure of things. There are no human rights to the left of your pancreas or written into your physical being, like your DNA or chromosomal structure. A consistently naturalist metaphysics looks around at the world that exists as it does, just because it does, and can’t find a place for an absolute ought written into the way things are—much as we might like there to be one.

That this speech sounds like the prelude to a cartoon villain’s revelation of his master plan—to eliminate large swaths of the planet to avoid climate change or something—doesn’t seem to bother Harari. It’s the way things are. We need to accept it if we’re going to deal rationally with the world.

No ‘There’ to Be Seen, but the Story’s True

Seen from another angle, this isn’t far from a point historian Tom Holland makes in his groundbreaking book Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World. The concept of human rights emerged in a specific time and place (12th-century Italy), from specific people (canon lawyers), under the influence of specific doctrines (for example, the image of God), based on a specific story (the Christian narrative of creation and redemption).

In one sense, human rights are the secularization of a deeply Christian concept. As Holland himself affirmed, they have “no more objective reality than, say, the Trinity. Both derive from the workings of Christian theology. Both, if they are to be believed, require people to make a leap of faith.” (Happily for Holland, he seems to have since made that “leap,” affirming human rights as true along with their source.)

In some aspects, Holland and Harari seem to agree—there’s no objective there there to be observed when it comes to human rights; it must simply be taken on faith. The difference is that Holland is happy to do so while Harari isn’t. Holland believes the there really is there when it comes to rights, though he shares Harari’s epistemological premise of empiricism—the only thing that counts as “objective” is what can be tasted, seen, smelled, and so forth.

There’s a ‘There’ There, Regardless of the Story

One more response is worth noting. Weighing in with partial disagreement with Holland, psychologist Jordan Peterson challenged the shared premise that, when it comes to human rights, there’s no “objective” there there:

The doctrine of rights will soon be shown to be an inexorable consequence of the semantic network of meaning—that it’s encoded implicitly into the relationship not only between words and verbal concepts, but stories and also patterns of behavior. Built into the structure of human being, and perhaps even Being itself. In other words, “rights” are the semantic representation of the archetypal reality that characterizes sustainable, upward-oriented, reciprocally altruistic human interactions.

Not arbitrary at all. Quite the contrary.

The language is admittedly Byzantine and convoluted. But Peterson is holding out for confirmation that our sense of unique human dignity and value is rooted in the nature of thing, being, or Being itself. It’s not arbitrary, not a social construction, not a social-ideological chimera foisted on the Western conscience with no root in the world.

Of course, given the murkiness of his metaphysics and theology (Peterson’s evolving views seem to be a nontheistic, quasi-religious mashup of Jungian psychology that tries to add depth to some of the findings in the developing field of evolutionary psychology), he doesn’t have an account of what that value is or how it exists there. There’s a sense of promise, an anticipatory expectation—a faith, as it were—that this truth will indeed become verifiable or quantifiable in some way. But at this point, it seems a conviction without a rational justification or explanation.

Natural Law, Natural Rights, and the Conscience: Suppressed or Supported?

What are we to make of this conversation with these thinkers? What light can Christian doctrine and the Christian “story” shine on the confusion of the current moment? Understanding the basic shape of Christian anthropology can illumine the various ways they’re all right and wrong—as well as point the way forward in our conversations with neighbors and friends.

The Law Written on Our Hearts

In Romans 1–2, Paul tells us all humans were created with a natural knowledge of God and a sense of right and wrong (1:18–23). This is known as “natural theology” and “natural law.” When our moral and cognitive properties are functioning correctly, we come to understand both that there’s a Creator who transcends it all, who is worthy of all worship and honor, and that he makes demands suited to the kinds of creatures we are. One such demand is to treat other creatures with dignity and respect—not abusing them, engaging in unnatural sex with them, murdering them, slandering them, and so forth (vv. 24–32).

Further, we must be clear it’s not just Jews or Christians in view but also Gentiles—non-Jews who don’t know and haven’t received a special or supernatural revelation from God. When Paul talks about the Gentiles, he says that even without the law, they act as a law unto themselves and “by nature do what the law requires” (2:14), because “the work of the law is written on their hearts” (v. 15). There’s a universal human sense of right and wrong—a notion of law written into our being that transcends all times, cultures, and places. This is what C. S. Lewis called “the Tao,” which everyone knows they ought to be abiding by in some way.

So while someone might not be able to articulate a clear doctrine of the image of God as given in Genesis 1, the Bible says they should be able to look at their fellow humans and, morally and rationally, have a proper sense of how not to treat them.

Fallen Reason and Ideology

What accounts for the moral divergences within and between societies? How can one society think something is absolutely just and heroic while another opposes it as intrinsically disordered and unjust?

There is a universal human sense of right and wrong—a notion of law written into our being that transcends all times, cultures, and places.

There’s no such thing as an amoral society. Each one has comprehensive norms it teaches and ingrains and by which it orders itself—testifying to that inborn, universal sense. That said, the Bible insists humanity’s natural knowledge has been bent because of sin. Our capacity to discern the lineaments of the created order is broken due to our alienated relationship with God. Our moral compasses no longer point due north, and so we tend to suppress and distort the knowledge of God and his law.

We do this in all sorts of ways. We make up false gods, idolizing features of the creation and remaking the moral law into our own bent images. To invoke Harari’s idiom, naturalism is a nice story we tell ourselves to cope with the fear we might face divine judgment for how we treat our neighbors. In that sense, ideology is one of the more sophisticated implements in the human arsenal of truth suppression.

Consistency, Materialism, and Grasping at Truth

This is what we find in Harari’s technobiological naturalism which, at its core, is a rationalized, truth-suppressing ideology. It at least has the value of being consistent. Indeed, the sociobiologists, evolutionary psychologists, and naturalist philosophers working on the problem agree there’s no way to generate a normative account of morality. (See James Davison Hunter and Paul Nedelisky’s Science and the Good.) The problem is that it’s a consistently false read of reality that exacerbates our natural tendency to deny God and the true value of our neighbor.

Peterson, on the other hand, has been publicly wrestling with the question of God and the truth of the Gospels for a while. He rightly is trying to affirm the truth of natural law and natural rights, but without a God who commands and gives rights, who authored “the archetypal reality,” rendering it worthy of dignity and respect. His is a fallen, groping inconsistency.

Leap of Faith?

What of Holland’s response? While historically the doctrine of human rights arose under the influence of Christianity, Holland’s take is too fideistic and historicist in not recognizing the revelation given in nature. Holland looks at the fact that “rights” talk arose in a particular way under the influence of the story of the gospel as evidence that “rights” can’t be inherent in nature as an “objective” reality.

Tackling the idea that ethics is mostly a matter of choosing to believe the right story, theologian Oliver O’Donovan writes,

We cannot object to the idea that history should be taken seriously. A Christian response to historicism will wish to make precisely the opposite point: when history is made the categorical matrix for all meaning and value, it cannot be then taken seriously as history. A story has to be a story about something; but when everything is a story there is nothing for the story to be about.

O’Donovan is arguing that while the gospel is a story, it’s a story about reality that’s there outside its narration. It’s telling a story about what is and exists, about the world God made in a particular way with a particular shape, which is there for us to discern. For that reason, natural law and natural rights ought not to be seen as supervening or imposed on the reality of nature but inherent within it.

Believing the gospel is a matter of receiving a message that clarifies, purifies, and, in some key cases, confirms what our fallen reason was grappling to acknowledge despite itself. Supernatural revelation corrects our fallen and sinful perception of natural revelation and completes it by giving it a truth that’s nonetheless beyond it.

Peterson is right to hold out for a moral meaning within nature that we discover, not decide. Holland is similarly correct in recognizing this meaning needs a warrant and a clarifying revelation from beyond nature. Only if the story of God creating the world in this way is true can it have the moral meaning we so desperately hope for in our affirmation of human dignity. Ultimately, only a word from God—the story of God—can help us believe, understand, and be confirmed in what we know deep in our bones.

Confidence in the Story of Reality

Where does this leave us?

First, it’s good to recognize to what degree Harari is right if there’s no God and no gospel. We are meat, and we have no rational basis for asserting the dignity of human nature. This is a point as old as Dostoevsky and Nietzsche but no less relevant or worth pressing on people for the simple reason that Harari isn’t right about the matter—and most know better.

Believing the gospel is a matter of receiving a message that clarifies, purifies, and, in some key cases, confirms what our fallen reason was grappling to acknowledge despite itself.

Most are unwilling to publicly suppress the truth of the dignity of human nature to the extent he does. Even extremely secular folks have instincts like those of Peterson. They want to affirm human dignity and rights, if only to be assured of their own. Christianity offers a clarifying justification that goes far beyond what they could come up with under their own metaphysical and rational steam.

Christians, rooted in the truth of Scripture, can affirm that all humans of every tribe, tongue, and nation have unparalleled value and dignity rooted in their being made in God’s image. Not only that, they have the further dignity that comes with the gospel. Humans are so valuable that God himself became one in the person of Jesus to die, pay for all their crimes and sins and injustices against their fellow image-bearers, and restore them to their intended glory.

Second, there’s something counterintuitive about this result. In the contemporary moment, the biggest challenges against Christian doctrine and truth come not against our miracles but against our morality—not against the supernatural but against our understanding of the natural order, especially expressed in our beliefs about marriage and the nature of men and women. Here we seem to be on our back foot, performing a rear-guard action, scrambling to defend our views as loving and just.

This is only an optical illusion. The moral order is precisely the place Christians need to be prepared to press the apologetic advantage for the truth of the faith. Secular ideologies are being exposed as insufficient to counter violent ideologies that demean human dignity and encroach on human rights. Christianity stands in firm contrast and can give full-throated affirmation to that which other ideologies can only offer weak wishes.

Humans are so valuable that God himself became one in the person of Jesus in order to die, pay for all their crimes and sins and injustices against their fellow image-bearers, and restore them to their intended glory.

If this story is true, Christianity cannot come as a mere confirmation of what we’ve always believed. We must be prepared to receive it as a correction of all the ways we’ve suppressed the truth of our consciences. We must be willing to hear not only a confirming word but a convicting word that stands in judgment over us.

Given humanity’s violent crimes and sins and atrocities against our neighbors—our genocides, rapes, racism, and bigotries—we might also expect our reason to have suppressed the truth in other areas. When Jesus comes along teaching what we don’t want to hear about our sex lives, sexualities, or gender identities, might we not expect some shocks? We must.

Third, as we press these points, we cannot do so without ourselves being pressed by them. We speak as created and fallen image-bearers to other created and fallen image-bearers. That means speaking with both humility and confidence. We speak as those who ourselves regularly must receive correction from the Word for all the ways we suppress the truth in unrighteousness.

This humility is an excuse for neither laxity nor hopelessness. Not only do we have the truth of the gospel and the power of the Spirit, but God has left a witness in the hearts of those we’re trying to reach—the law itself is written there, pressing on their consciences, longing for the liberating judgment of gospel of Jesus Christ (Rom. 2:16).

His accomplishments include founding one of the first newspapers in India, printing portions of the Scriptures in nearly 40 languages, and writing one of the most important documents in the history of Christian missions, the Serampore Form of Agreement (SFA).

The Serampore mission contributed hugely to the great missionary expansion of the 19th century. The audacity of the team’s vision and the scale of their accomplishments set the pattern for much that would follow. Remarkably, the missionary principles guiding their work can be incorporated into contemporary missions with little change. One of the most critical principles in the SFA states the missionary task is incomplete until we’ve trained locals to lead a national church and carry the gospel to their people.

Train Leaders

First published in 1805, the SFA draws on Carey’s experience on the field, but it was composed by Ward. Before his call to missions, Ward had been a newspaper editor with a taste for radical social activism. Evidence points to his having authored a controversial manifesto that could have landed him in jail. By the time he joined Carey in India at the end of 1799, he was committed to a higher cause, but the SFA reveals he retained a passionate nature and gift for evocative prose.

Today, each statement of the SFA remains relevant, but article 8 is worth special attention. Ward called for the missionaries to form the “native brethren to usefulness, fostering every kind of genius, and cherishing every gift and grace in them.”

The Serampore team recognized that Europeans could never evangelize the vast Indian subcontinent alone. India would only be reached for Christ by Indian believers. Accordingly, article 8 describes missionaries’ duty “to advise the native brethren who may be formed into separate churches, to choose their pastors and deacons from amongst their own countrymen, that the word may be statedly preached, and the ordinances of Christ administered, in each church, by the native minister.”

Effective Preachers

The SFA outlines a system in which the missionaries would push forward, opening new areas to the gospel while assisting existing works. A combination of enterprises for translating and printing the Scriptures and establishing native schools supported these church-planting efforts. The Serampore missionaries understood that self-governing churches need literate members capable of reading the Scriptures and pastors trained to preach.

The Serampore team recognized that Europeans could never evangelize the vast Indian subcontinent alone.

To prepare Indian leaders, they included them on itinerant preaching expeditions. Carey, for example, took Pitambar Singh to Sukh Sagar and Krishna Pal to Jessore. Ward organized similar expeditions. In 1818, the missionaries established Serampore College to “train devout youth for the Christian ministry, to enhance the biblical understanding of those already engaged in preaching, and to support those who, due to societal exclusion, have fallen into poverty.”

The wisdom of this strategy became evident in 1806 when, following the Vellore Mutiny, the Serampore missionaries were barred from preaching. Still, Krishna Pal and Jagannath Das ventured into Burdwan, in northeast Bengal, with what Ward described as “the spirit of martyrs.” The missionaries could endure being silenced if men like these preached openly. The messages of the local believers were often more persuasive than their own. After hearing a young evangelist speak in Hindi, Ward wrote, “Oh, I saw that the Gospel was as sweet in this as in any other tongue! At his aptness and tenderness I could scarcely hold back tears.”

Recovering Ward’s Vision

John Clark Marshman, a missionary kid who grew up at Serampore, would write decades later about the SFA’s original emphasis on training national leaders, “It is lamentable to reflect that no systematic effort has been made by any missionary body to carry out these sound views during the subsequent half century of missionary labours, and that the attention of missionary societies has been too prominently directed to the multiplication of European labourers.”

As the Serampore missionaries aged, some newer missionaries believed the work was best left to Europeans. The effects on local churches were devastating; Marshman lamented the loss of 50 crucial years. He noted that “it is scarcely possible to estimate the impression which might have been produced in the country” if the focus had remained on training the Indians.

Two centuries later, we might ask if we’re doing better. By one estimate, only 5 percent of pastors worldwide have formal theological training. The Great Commission includes the imperative of teaching to obey all that Christ commands (Matt. 28:18–20). This requires education and, for some, academic training at the highest levels.

By one estimate, only 5 percent of pastors worldwide have formal theological training.

Thankfully, there’s a growing awareness of the need, and efforts are being made to provide solutions. Internet platforms have made possible the delivery of educational content in ways never dreamed of even 20 years ago. Reformed believers in my area of service, Latin America, have been blessed with programs including Integridad y Sabíduria, Seminario Carey, and offerings in Spanish from major American seminaries. Other organizations, such as Reaching and Teaching, Training Leaders International, and WordPartners have made theological training accessible to locals. Yet there’s much left to do in Spanish and an even greater need in other languages and cultures.

We live in a new missionary era. In Ward’s day, at the dawn of the modern missionary movement, missionaries were sent from the Global North to the South. Now, missionaries go out from everywhere to everywhere. While we still need pioneer missionaries from the North, one of the greatest services Americans can offer is theological training at every level.

Following Ward’s vision, we need a renewed effort to strengthen national churches and prepare missionaries from places like Latin America to carry the gospel to parts of the world Americans might only reach with great difficulty.

This generation has suffered under overbearing leaders. Again, perhaps every generation has. But recent years have seen a reckoning: a recognition that far too many men (and they’re almost always men) have trampled over the flocks under their care, fleecing and exploiting rather than feeding and tending them. Several high-profile ministry leaders have been exposed as abusive. Others have been challenged and have closed ranks. Some leaders have repented and stepped down; still others have claimed to repent and then started up again as if nothing happened. Even now, I doubt the reckoning is over. The fallout certainly isn’t.

Accentuating each of these challenges is the existence of the other one. Many an overbearing leader has remained in place and retained support from his team by portraying himself as courageous and his critics as cowardly, spineless, effeminate, or oversensitive. Equally, I suspect many pastors have failed to address clear errors, abuses, divisions, and sins in the church, or immaturity and underperformance in their staff teams, because they fear that to do so would make them strident, overweening, overbearing bullies.

The presence of each error provides cover for its opposite. Cowardice and heavy-handedness are symbiotic.

We all want to have or be courageous pastors—not overbearing leaders. How do we tell the difference? Some Christian leaders know perfectly well that their behavior is abusive and evil; it’s difficult to sexually assault someone without realizing you are doing so. But I suspect many people become domineering and overbearing without realizing the extent to which they have. That’s partly why they’re so resistant to the charge when it comes—sin almost always involves self-deception.

What are the defining traits in each case? How might recognizing them help us grow into courage without becoming overbearing?

Biblical Portraits

An obvious place to start is with the biblical qualifications for eldership. (I use the NIV throughout; all emphases are mine.) Several of Paul’s criteria in 1 Timothy 3:1–7 warn against an explosive, hectoring, or domineering use of authority: “Now the overseer is to be above reproach, faithful to his wife, temperate, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not given to drunkenness, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money . . .”

At the same time, throughout this letter, Paul urges Timothy not to be squeamish about confronting those who are threatening the church, using robust and even military language: “command certain people not to teach false doctrines any longer” (1:3), “fight the battle well” (1:18), “command and teach these things” (4:11), “those elders who are sinning you are to reprove before everyone” (5:20), “fight the good fight of the faith” (6:12), “command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant” (6:17), “guard what has been entrusted to your care” (6:20).

The same both/and is present in Titus 1:7–11:

Since an overseer manages God’s household, he must be blameless—not overbearing, not quick-tempered, not given to drunkenness, not violent, not pursuing dishonest gain. Rather, he must be hospitable, one who loves what is good, who is self-controlled, upright, holy and disciplined. He must hold firmly to the trustworthy message as it has been taught, so that he can encourage others by sound doctrine and refute those who oppose it. For there are many rebellious people, full of meaningless talk and deception, especially those of the circumcision group. They must be silenced . . .

We find it in 1 Thessalonians 5:12–15:

Now we ask you, brothers and sisters, to acknowledge those who work hard among you, who care for you in the Lord and who admonish you. Hold them in the highest regard in love because of their work. Live in peace with each other. And we urge you, brothers and sisters, warn those who are idle and disruptive, encourage the disheartened, help the weak, be patient with everyone.

It also comes across beautifully in 2 Timothy 2, which begins with a call to strength and resilience, like that of a soldier or farmer or athlete (vv. 1–7), and ends by insisting that “the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but must be kind to everyone,” and that “opponents must be gently instructed” (vv. 24–25).

Again, 1 Peter 5:2–11 has a similar balance:

Be shepherds of God’s flock that is under your care, watching over them—not because you must, but because you are willing, as God wants you to be; not pursuing dishonest gain, but eager to serve; not lording it over those entrusted to you, but being examples to the flock. And when the Chief Shepherd appears, you will receive the crown of glory that will never fade away. In the same way, you who are younger, submit yourselves to your elders. All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because “God opposes the proud but shows grace to the humble.” Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings. And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.

Notice the ease with which the apostles move between calls to strength, courage, fortitude, resilience, and resistance on the one hand and gentleness, humility, self-control, kindness, and care on the other. In healthy churches and healthy individuals, they’re two sides of the same coin.

The apostles move between calls to strength, courage, fortitude, resilience, and resistance on the one hand and gentleness, humility, self-control, kindness, and care on the other.

Both sides were needed in biblical times because overbearing leadership isn’t a modern invention. It’s plain in the pages of the New Testament. Third John, to take a prominent example, addresses the problem of a certain Diotrephes: “[He] loves to be first, [and] will not welcome us” (v. 9). Jude describes shepherds “who feed only themselves” and seek power through a combination of boasting, flattery, and slander (vv. 11–16).

The writers in each case respond to such overbearing leadership with courageous confrontation, not squishy evasion. “When I come, I will call attention to what he is doing,” says the elder (3 John 10). Jude is even punchier: “Contend for the faith that was entrusted once and for all to the saints. For certain individuals whose condemnation was written about long ago have secretly slipped in among you” (vv. 3–4).

We don’t have to choose between men of jelly and men of steel. It’s possible to shepherd with courage and compassion, humility and bravery, clarity and charity. Correcting your opponents with gentleness (2 Tim. 2:25) requires no less.

Contemporary Sketches

How do we tell the difference between courageous pastors and overbearing leaders today? This is important to ask, because while few pastors will mentally (let alone verbally) dismiss the importance of biblical qualifications for eldership, we may fail to recognize we’re falling foul of them.

A similar error can be true of fellow elders, staff, and church members, especially where there’s a significant power imbalance. It feels like a serious charge to say of one’s pastor that he’s domineering or lacking in self-control, so people usually don’t speak up. But if presented with a list of more descriptive characteristics, they might recognize something they’d otherwise miss.

Drawing on the wisdom of one of my fellow elders, here I present 20 contrasts between the two types. This list isn’t exhaustive, but it may help.

Both of these are sketches, even cartoons. Few pastors are as bad as the left-hand column, and few consistently live up to everything on the right. But as a diagnostic tool, this chart has helped me better see myself and the team I’m part of, and it’s helped me understand and learn from what has gone wrong in other situations.

Somehow, translating the biblical language into explanations of the dynamics that occur daily in pastoral ministry makes it easier to see the potential problems. It also makes it easier to ask colleagues “Do you find X approachable and consultative?” rather than “Is X an overbearing leader?” I particularly like to ask junior colleagues these questions; most of us reveal our character flaws more when we interact with people we see as “under” us than we do with our peers or with people “over” us.

The root of the differences relates to biblical qualifications. Gentleness (as opposed to violence) and humility (as opposed to pride) are indispensable for shepherds. Put positively, humble men and women are just about the most admirable and beautiful beings God has created.

Humble men and women are just about the most admirable and beautiful beings God has created.

Put negatively, something like the following has happened to me often enough not to be a coincidence: I’m at a conference when I meet a gifted individual I’ve heard of, and I talk to him for a while and see the way he interacts with me and others. He strikes me as somehow lacking in humility, or gentleness, or both, and I mention my discomfort to my wife afterward and wonder if it’s just me, given the person’s position and reputation. Then within a few years, or even months, we hear his ministry has imploded in some way. God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.

What Can Churches Do?

All this raises the key practical question: What can churches do to ensure their pastors are more like the right-hand column than the left? How can churches hold their pastors accountable if they’re not? Both the institutional church and individual church members have responsibilities here.

Institutionally, churches can make feedback and accountability as easy as possible through a combination of church surveys, staff appraisals, clear job descriptions, anonymous staff-culture surveys, a competent and empowered board, and rigorous HR processes. (Not all these details will translate into every church setting, but this has been the pattern of good practice we’ve sought to adopt in ours.)

Individually, it’s all too easy to say church members should simply speak to the leader in question about their concerns. But in cases of heavy (or even abusive) leadership, this could be disastrous advice. In a controlling environment, even fellow pastors or staff members may be inclined to close ranks around the leader rather than challenge him.

So as church members, we may need to speak to people in authority who are a degree removed from the situation; in our case, that might be one of our marketplace elders, the board of trustees, or denominational or network leaders who provide oversight and outside input to the church. If no such individuals or institutions exist, or church members have no way of knowing who these leaders are, that’s probably a red flag.

Ultimately, we take our pastoral cues from the Good Shepherd, who came that we might have life and have it more abundantly. He’s no pushover. He has a rod and a staff, and he makes a feast in the presence of our enemies. But his rod and staff are a comfort to us. He restores our souls, leads us beside still waters, and makes us lie down in green pastures. He’s clear about the dangers of thieves and robbers and wolves; he sharply distinguishes himself from hired hands who are too scared to confront them, and he’s ready to die for his sheep.

But oh, what a tender Shepherd he is. His sheep know his voice. He knows his own, and his own know him. He longs for his sheep to find pasture, life, and perfect unity under his pastoral care, and he’s prepared to pay the ultimate price to ensure they do.

Let us undershepherds go and do likewise.

The cook—Tony Smith—wasn’t even supposed to be working that night. He was planning to watch the Giants play the Rangers in the 2010 World Series with his grandma. But someone asked him to cover the shift, and he said he would.

When the would-be thieves found Tony, they took him up front and told him to unlock the cash register. It was jammed, and he couldn’t do it. So one of them—a 17-year-old high on ecstasy—fired his gun.

Tony’s father, Beeson Divinity School preaching professor Robert Smith, was at a conference in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, when he got the call that his youngest child had been shot. Forty-five minutes later he got another call—Tony was dead. He’d been killed for literally nothing—his attackers didn’t make off with so much as a penny.

“You learn to say that God is sovereign,” Smith said. “It’s easy to say that when the sun is shining, but when the sun goes down, and you have to live that, it becomes real.”

Smith has spent a lot of time in the darkness. His first wife died of lupus when their three boys were young. His oldest son battled cancer for 15 years before passing away last year. He’s experienced his own health challenges, including a stroke in 2021.

He has no idea why those things happened to him.

“We are not to demystify the mystery, or unscrew the inscrutable, or figure out the unfigureoutable,” Smith said. “We always have to go back to Calvary. God did not spare his own son. God hurt himself for us. Pilate and the soldiers all thought they were carrying out their own plans, but they weren’t.”

Holding onto God’s sovereignty, Smith forgave Tony’s killer and began writing letters to him in prison. He kept working, teaching and speaking all over the world. He read the entire Bible aloud for Crossway’s new audio version of the ESV. In a few months, he’ll retire after 27 years at Beeson.

The Gospel Coalition asked Smith about grieving, the process of forgiving Tony’s killer, and what it was like to read the entire Bible aloud in six weeks.

You’ve lost three members of your immediate family—but only Tony was killed by force. Do you grieve his loss differently?

All the losses were painful, and yet they were distinct. His mother’s death was not tragic. You could attribute it to illness. And we had time—she was sick for two and a half years. To some extent, the same is true of his brother Robert III, who was also sick. In fact, we rejoiced over him, because he lived 15 years after he received a cancer diagnosis that should have killed him in two to three years.

Tony was just 34 years old. And we had no notice—just a call.

But all of this was allowed by God. What God permits, God has a purpose for. And so we go on, and we say, “God is the owner of everything. Therefore Tony did not belong to us. Tony belongs to God. And he waits on us. And one day we will rejoin him and worship together.”

How have you seen God’s purposes in this tragedy?

I did the eulogy at Tony’s funeral, and out of that came a book called The Oasis of God: From Mourning to Morning. It’s a book I never wanted to write, but it has opened up so many doors. People across the world, where I’ve been to represent the Lord, have been drawn to me, and I’ve been drawn to them—because we’ve had similar experiences. And I’ve had an opportunity to share what God can do in the depths of grief. It has been an incredible opportunity to represent God.

You’ve even been able to represent God to the young man who shot Tony. How did that happen?

At first, I was so angry. It was so senseless.

About eight months after the murder, I was in Nairobi, Kenya, on a mission. And I felt the Lord ask me a question—not audibly, but I began to think, Do you believe in forgiveness?

Yes, I do.

Do you teach and preach on forgiveness?

Yes, I do.

I want you to forgive Tony’s murderer.

I knew forgiveness was something I would need to do, not out of duty but really out of delight. I say that only because I think that you have to get inside the heart of a person before something becomes real. I had to see the situation—remember the courtroom, see the young man handcuffed and on his way to a 15-year sentence, revisit my son’s death.

Then I thought about what Jesus went through for me. I know that I was born in sin, shaped in iniquity. I’ve committed infraction after infraction, fallen short of the glory of God.

I realized what God had done to forgive me. I lost Tony, but not willfully. God himself preordained the death of Jesus. God did that. Abraham came within a second of killing his son Isaac and God stopped the knife. But God let the knife come down on Good Friday on his own Son. He didn’t stop it.

When I think about that—oh my goodness, then it’s an experience. It’s an encounter that touches my heart. And the Spirit gives me the ability to do what I don’t want to do and what I couldn’t do. Then it becomes a delight to participate in what God has already done, which is forgiving the one who committed the infraction against me.

Did you tell the young man you forgave him?

I did. I wrote to him and told him I was praying for him, that I loved him, and that I was forgiving through him by the grace of God.

I didn’t hear from him for a good six or seven months. I wrote him twice before he finally wrote me back. He said he didn’t write me back at first because he was afraid I’d expose what he’d done to other people in prison, and maybe people who knew Tony would retaliate against him.

When he did write, he wanted to know why I continued to write him, why I would love him, and why I would forgive him. So we kept writing back and forth. He shared with me that he had come out of a Christian home. He sent pictures of his pastor, pictures of his church. I know exactly where his church was. I preached in that area. He said that night he was with the wrong people, that he was high on drugs.

Some of my relatives couldn’t understand my love and forgiveness. I was not at all saying that there are no consequences—no, there are consequences to sin and to wrongdoing. But we must forgive.

Is it hard? I say to people that forgiveness is not difficult. It isn’t. It’s just impossible—without God.

Forgiveness is not difficult. It isn’t. It’s just impossible—without God.

Do you find you have to keep forgiving over and over again?

Of course. It’s done, and I know it’s done because I don’t have any ill will toward the young man. I wish him the best. Whenever he gets out, I’d be open to having a relationship with him—having lunch or taking him to church. I’m not put off by that.

But also, when I go to a funeral of a young man—time doesn’t heal all wounds. There is a throb there. It’s like having a broken leg. God has fixed the break, but the bone still throbs. I feel that. I wish the incident had never happened because it robbed me of so much.

It’s natural to feel anger at Tony’s killer, but we can also feel anger at nonhuman killers. Cancer, car accidents, and dementia are all caused by sin and allowed by God. What do you tell people who are angry at God in their grief?

I don’t tell them anything. I let them be mad at God. Because God is not fragile. God is faithful. God can take it.

Look at Jeremiah (20:7) and Jesus (Mark 15:34) and Job (chaps. 3–37). God gives us time to blow off steam; he gives us time to say what we want to say. And then God speaks. Our God moves. Our God works. And we end up singing, “Great is thy faithfulness.”

So I just let people be frustrated. Let them go through this. Because they’re going through a metamorphosis. Like a woman cannot give birth without pain, we sometimes cannot get to the joy without hurting.

Sometimes in our grief, it seems like we’ll never feel joy again. How long does it take?

Psalm 30:5 says that weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. Now what does that mean? What time in the morning? I don’t know. Nights can be so long.

We need to stay in the presence of the Lord, to share our hearts and frustrations with him. As we keep close to God, joy comes at a time that is unpredictable. You don’t know when you’ll find yourself rejoicing in spite of it all.

It doesn’t mean that anything has changed. What it does mean is that God has changed your heart. I’ve had a lot of grief, a lot of sorrow. But my joy has outdistanced and transcended my sorrow. My grief has been swallowed up in my joy. I’m not trying to sound theological or unreal—it’s true.

One of your joys has been teaching at Beeson. You’ll retire in a few months. What will you do then?

The work the Lord has given me to do does not stop. I will be teaching, preaching, lecturing, and writing continuously. I’m excited. It’s like I am sailing uncharted waters and traveling under sealed orders. I’m kind of like Abraham in Hebrews 11:8: “Abraham went out not knowing where he was going.”

It’s an adventure. That’s exciting.

This spring, Crossway will release the audio version of the ESV that you created. What was it like to do that?

It was the most challenging ministerial assignment I’ve had in almost 58 years—and also the most rewarding.

I would rise before 3:00 a.m. and head to my office, and I’d read the Bible from 3:30 a.m. to 8:00 p.m., six days a week, for six weeks. Every night, I’d spend several hours preparing for the Scripture I was going to read the next day. I needed to go over the stories and see the emotional output and connections that were being made.

For example, when Thomas said, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe,” and later said, “My Lord and my God!” he didn’t say that with no emotion. It floored him.

I prayed for the Lord to help me identify with the biblical characters in emotional and vocal expression—in frustration, pain, and jubilation. That’s the slow part—to feel it—before you begin to read.

Every day, I was reading Scripture for about 18 to 19 hours. I even dreamed about reading specific verses of Scripture.

It was life transforming. D. L. Moody said it’s not how many times you’ve been through the Bible but how many times the Bible has been through you. I was like that, like I needed to hear the stories as if I was hearing them for the first time.

“You may not want to get into audio Bible production,” the expert told Crossway chief publishing officer Don Jones. “Audio Bibles are really complicated and time consuming.”

He was right—they are.

“An audio Bible involves around 70 to 75 hours of listening time,” Jones said. But recording one—including catching and rereading errors—takes around 200 to 250 hours. Editing and proof-listening requires another 800 hours. In all, producing an audio Bible takes around 1,000 hours of labor.

At the end of 2023, Crossway released six of them, read by Conrad Mbewe, Kristyn Getty, Ray Ortlund, Jackie Hill Perry, Robert Smith Jr., and Michael Reeves.

“This was the most exacting, precise, detailed, and demanding task I’ve performed since my doctoral work 40 years ago,” Ortlund said. “It was also immensely satisfying.”

Smith said the same thing: “It was the most challenging ministerial assignment I’ve had in almost 58 years—and also the most rewarding.”

The Gospel Coalition asked the six narrators how they managed to pronounce all those names in Numbers, which books were their favorite (and least favorite) to record, and how reading the Bible aloud affected them.

Narrator: Jackie Hill Perry
Occupation: Speaker, author, spoken word poet, hip-hop artist
Age: 34 years old
Accent: American
Length of project: Two years

Reading the Bible aloud “kinda changed my life,” Jackie Hill Perry said. “That sounds dramatic, but it did.”

She’d always wanted to read the whole Bible, so Crossway’s ask seemed like a dream come true. “At the same time, I knew it would be a commitment, because the Bible is big.”

She started reading at home during the pandemic. Right away, she ran into trouble.

“I was pregnant, so I couldn’t breathe as well,” she said. “I had to keep stopping to gather my breath.”

The second problem was her house. “I realized it isn’t the best place for me to do disciplined work,” she said.

So she moved to a nearby studio, planning to record for five to six hours a day. But that didn’t work either.

“My voice couldn’t take it,” she said. “I’d record, pause, vaporize. I’d be hoarse.”

So she slowed down. She tracked the word count on her phone, figuring out she could manage 10,000 to 12,000 a day. Then she planned accordingly: She could do Matthew in one sitting. Jeremiah would take two days. Jude would take an hour.

Perry reads quickly—sometimes she had to slow down to pace herself. Still, the whole project ended up taking almost two years.

“I had writing projects, school, and a baby in between all of it,” she said. “Crossway was extremely patient with me.”

Her favorite books were 1 and 2 Samuel and 1 and 2 Kings. “Those stories gave me so much perspective for Israel’s history, in a way I didn’t have before.”

She made her way through Hebrew names and places by pulling up David Cochran Heath’s earlier audio version of the ESV. “I’d play it, pause it, say it,” she said.

She didn’t mind the difficulty—“I think it helps you to realize the Bible involves real people,” she said. “We so often skim past the names and we miss they’re real human beings God decided to write about.”

She preferred the lists to the book of Matthew.

“I don’t like parables,” she said. “And when you’re reading, it has this rhythm that feels redundant.” (In Matt. 25:14–28, “talent” is written 17 times. In Matt. 13, “seed” shows up 10 times, in addition to the similar-sounding “weed.”)

As Perry recorded, studio engineers would follow along to make sure she didn’t miss any words.

“None of them were Christians,” she said. “I would pray before every session, ‘Lord, use this to draw them to yourself.’ One engineer was with me throughout the whole Old Testament. I would ask, ‘What did you think about Habakkuk? Or Amos?’ He was like, ‘Man, it’s crazy. The more you read, I realize it feels like people just don’t know how to get it right.’”

“Exactly,” she told him. “That’s why we need Jesus.”

That wasn’t the only fruit she saw.

“Now when I am doing podcasts or interviews, I can pull Scripture out of my pocket quicker,” she said. “I had a really hard situation recently, and the amount of Scripture I have in me kept me stable. Two years ago, I don’t think I would have had as much stability in a trial like this.”

She was recently in a conversation with a friend about how life feels chaotic. “I was thinking that Scripture begins with God putting order to chaos,” she said. “And then God organizes the chaos when Israel was in Egypt. I have a frame of reference, multiple texts that relate to the Lord’s ability to make things right.”

She pauses a moment, considering her experiences. “That thing is alive.”

Narrator: Conrad Mbewe
Occupation: Pastor in Zambia, author, speaker, TGC Africa Council member
Age: 62 years old
Accent: Zambian
Length of project: 18 months

When Crossway staff asked Conrad Mbewe to read the Bible aloud, he was surprised.

“I didn’t expect that I would ever be asked to do anything like this,” he said. “I embraced it with both hands—I think partly because I thought it wasn’t going to take as long as it ended up taking.”

At first, he figured all he needed was a quiet space, so he headed to a local Christian radio station with his laptop and a request—could he record the Bible in one of the rooms they weren’t using?

“The assistant manager just started laughing,” he said. “She said to me, ‘Pastor, we have done this kind of project before, and it is not that simple.’”

He ended up using a studio there, with a pastoral intern reading silently along. When he misread anything, the intern signaled by knocking on the table.

“Then I would repeat that sentence, which happened quite a few times,” Mbewe said with a laugh. “The human mind sometimes reads what it thinks is there.”

After each chapter, a radio station producer would clean up the audio. Then Mbewe would listen to it again, usually picking up one or two remaining mistakes. Once he was finally happy with it, he’d send it to Crossway and get to work on the next one.

The most difficult parts were the long lists of names, he said. The most enjoyable were the histories of the kings of Israel or Judah, one after another.

“It gave me a sense of flow, a sense of why God finally got fed up and put judgment on them,” he said. “I was able to see that quite easily in a sitting or two.”

Because Mbewe’s style of teaching is what he calls “microscopic,” concentrating only on a verse or two at a time, he loved the panoramic view that came from reading all of Scripture in a limited time.

He also loved the emotional experience. “It went beyond head knowledge,” he said. “It was more like you were warming your heart before a fire.”

That’s exactly what Crossway was hoping would come across.

“We wanted to find readers who had a genuine living relationship with the Lord and were full of his Spirit,” Jones said. “There is a life, a power, an authenticity that comes through when a Christian is reading the words of their God.”

Narrator: Kristyn Getty
Occupation: Hymn writer and singer
Age: 43 years old
Accent: Northern Irish
Length of project: A year

When the Gettys publicly perform their hymns, Kristyn loves to read Scripture aloud. So she was thrilled when Crossway asked her to read the entire Bible.

“Although I did wonder how I would juggle the children and the touring and this,” she said, laughing.

Turns out, she didn’t have to. COVID-19 shut down all public performances, and the Gettys relocated from their Nashville home to Northern Ireland. Kristyn read mostly at night, after the kids were in bed.

“I absolutely loved it,” she said. She’d start each session by reading a prayer she’d taped to her microphone: Lord, give me clarity and fluency. Please let this impact my own heart, and please use it as you will.

Kristyn read the Psalms first. “It was like the first song in a concert—I was fresh,” she said. Because it’s poetry, she was also able to read with a little more emotion. For the rest, she tried to read as neutrally as possible.

“I’ve studied the Bible my whole life,” she said, “but I haven’t done intensive academic study on every verse to determine—Was Jesus’s voice raised there? Was he making a joke? Was he a little bit angry?”

She took advice from her brother, a film and television director. “Just use a normal speaking voice,” he told her.

That felt hardest when speaking the Lord’s words, Kristyn said. “One of the most challenging parts was reading the direct words of God in the Old Testament and Christ in the New Testament. I found myself treading even more carefully, eager to speak them plainly and not get in the way.”

Her favorite book—and the one that affected her most—was Isaiah.

“I had not realized how much Isaiah is a foundational book for the understanding of biblical picture language,” she said. “There was something about reading Isaiah that unlocked my understanding of the Bible. It made me want to study that book more deeply—to dig into it as a songwriter.”

We may hear all kinds of Scripture-inspired offerings from Getty Music in the future.

“There are some beautifully written parts of the Bible, and when spoken out loud you get a greater sense of how they might sound being sung,” Kristyn said. “Sometimes I’d read a verse and make a note of it in my journal or songwriting notes—Oh, that passage needs to be a hymn.”

Narrator: Ray Ortlund
Occupation: President of Renewal Ministries, pastor, author, TGC Emeritus Council member
Age: 74 years old
Accent: American
Length of project: Most of a year

Fifty years ago, Ray Ortlund was sitting in a seminary class in the basement of the Dallas Theological Seminary library when he had an epiphany.

“Lewis Johnson was teaching basic New Testament exegesis,” he said. “Suddenly God gave me two clear and distinct realizations. One, this is what I was born to do. Two, for the rest of my days, I’m going to be a serious student of the Bible.”

So when Crossway staff asked Ortlund to be a narrator, he couldn’t say yes fast enough.

“It could not have been more appropriate, meaningful, purposeful, or satisfying,” he said. “This is a sacred privilege I don’t deserve. And my grandchildren will be able to hear me reading the Bible after I’m gone. There’s no way I was going to turn that down.”

Crossway arranged a small “whisper room” in his spare bedroom, constructed with fiberboard and foam to absorb sound.

“It was great—I just had to walk in and press a button and talk,” he said.

Unfortunately, talking was the tricky part.

“There are about 750,000 words in the ESV,” he said. “I suddenly, embarrassingly, discovered what a sloppy reader of the Bible I was. Without realizing it or intending to, I was leapfrogging over little bits along the way.”

He was also too optimistic about how fast he could go. “I thought it would take a few months, but it took most of a year,” he said.

Ortlund read on his iPad, except when he got to the genealogies. For those, he pulled out the big guns.

“I have a pulpit Bible—a huge ESV,” he said. “I wrote diacritical marks over each name so I’d know which syllable to emphasize.” To figure it out, he used the Harper Collins Bible pronunciation guide. The little green paperback was his best friend but also his worst enemy.

“I often disagreed with it,” Ortlund said. “For example, for hundreds of years, people in the English-speaking world have been pronouncing the word Shechem ‘sheck-um.’” But the proper Hebrew pronunciation is ‘sh’kem.’”

When they fought, the guide almost always won.

“Nine times out of 10, I’d cave,” Ortlund said. “I’d swallow my pride and pronounce this beautiful Hebrew word in a technically incorrect way, because I didn’t want my reading to become a distraction. For people whose ears are accustomed to ‘sheck-um,’ I don’t want them to wonder why I said it a different way and lose track of the message of the Bible.”

He read straight through, from Genesis to Revelation. “When I got through Ezekiel and Daniel, the minor prophets are such a joy and go quickly. And the New Testament was pure pleasure.”

His favorite books to read were Psalms, Isaiah, John, and Romans.

“Of the biblical Himalayas, those are the high peaks,” he said. “I think of Isaiah as air traffic control for the Old Testament. The lines of thought and aspiration and understanding run through it. Romans does the same thing for the New Testament.”

Since that day in seminary, Ortlund has never stopped seriously studying the Bible. He’s read through it many times. But this time was different.

“The cultural and historic foreignness of the Bible landed on me with fresh clarity and impact,” he said. “Being careful, word by word and syllable by syllable, made me more attentive and sensitive to what was actually there. I came out of myself and my world and my mind and more into the Bible itself. It was a journey into a distant land—it was Tolkienian in that sense.”

Narrator: Robert Smith Jr.
Occupation: Preaching professor at Beeson Divinity School, author, speaker
Age: 74 years old
Accent: American
Length of project: Six weeks

“I’ve never had an opportunity to do anything like this before,” Smith said. “In terms of impact, this is an opportunity to participate in disseminating the Word of God throughout the world.”

Since Smith carries a full travel and speaking schedule in addition to his seminary employment, his only window to record was in the summer. Six days a week, for six weeks, he got to his quiet office around 3:30 in the morning and worked until the evening.

He read from xeroxed copies of the Bible with extra-large font so he could hold it up instead of having to look down. The administrative staff made his copies and brought him meals.

“I always had coffee or tea,” he said. “And I had people who were praying for me.”

The hardest part was 1 Chronicles. “It doesn’t give you a break,” he said. “The list of names goes for nine chapters.”

First, he tried to pronounce them on his own. Then he looked in pronunciation books and listened to other recordings. Some he had to say over and over until he got them.

“After a while I had to take a break,” he said, chuckling. “I love the Bible, but some parts are more interesting than others. I did not have a shouting spell when I read those names, believe me.”

He did love reading Joshua—it’s his favorite book of the Bible.

“I’ve had a chance as a preacher to walk through it,” said Smith, whose commentary Christ-Centered Exposition: Exalting Jesus in Joshua was released last April. “Christ is in there, you know, so vividly and so clearly.”

After a full day of reading, he’d head home to prepare for the next day. “First of all, I had to pray,” he said. “Then I needed to go over the stories, over the Gospels and the narratives, to see the emotional output and connection that was being made.”

The preparation was “the slow part,” he said. He wanted not only his voice but his face to express the emotions of the passage accurately. And while some books—such as Genesis—he’s familiar with from 28 years of preaching, some—such as Ezekiel—took a little extra studying.

In all, Smith spent about 18 hours a day thinking about, reading, and rereading the Bible.

“I even dreamed about reading specific verses of Scripture,” he said. He knew that familiarity could be dangerous—just as dangerous as it is to people who sit in church every Sunday and open their Bibles every morning.

“I tell people the greatest obstacle to the knowledge of the Bible is the knowledge of the Bible,” Smith said. “What keeps us from knowing more about the Bible is that we think we already know it.”

He asked God to help him become like a child who had never heard the words before.

God gave that to him, he said. “It was life transformative.”

(Read more about Smith’s experience.)

Narrator: Michael Reeves
Occupation: President and theology professor at Union School of Theology in the U.K.
Age: 49 years old
Accent: British
Length of project: A year

A few weeks before Crossway approached Michael Reeves, he was listening to Heath’s audio version of the ESV as he exercised.

“I was really enjoying it, but because he’s American, sometimes I had to do a bit of translation work,” Reeves said. “I thought about sending an email to Crossway to say, ‘Is there any chance you would ever do a British one?’”

Before he could inquire, he got the ask from Crossway. He was delighted—“Yes. Definitely. I didn’t even have to think about it.”

Reeves read alone in his small home study. Sometimes he read at night, sometimes in the morning. Some days he’d read 10 chapters; some days he’d only do one.

He didn’t often study the passages ahead of time, but he did think about how the context would affect his tone.

“I know of one Bible narration where the Lord in the Old Testament sounds like the Emperor from Star Wars, while New Testament Jesus has a lovely, gentle voice,” he said. “And I thought, That’s actually quite theologically important. You’re saying something significant with your tone, whether you meant to or not.”

Reeves wanted to make sure all the Lord’s words were rooted in love—even those meting out hard discipline. He read them from a screen so the mic wouldn’t pick up the sound of pages turning. That decision only gave him trouble once.

“I opened up the wrong Bible translation,” he said, laughing. “I recorded a few chapters before I realized it was the NIV.”

He started with Ruth, mainly so he could avoid Genesis.

“I was particularly terrified of Genesis and John,” he said. “The first chapters are so iconic, so well known. . . . John is rammed with meaning, and the Pentateuch is the foundation for the whole Old Testament, so it feels like the pressure is heightened.”

Still, Genesis was one of his favorite books to read, along with Revelation and Psalms. “To be reading out such glorious, heavenly doxologies!” he said. “I didn’t want to move because the mic would pick up the sound, but I couldn’t hold it in. My arms were going all over the place.”

He half wondered if Crossway would send those parts back to be read more sedately. They didn’t.

Before each reading, Reeves would pray for his heart, for clarity of mind and speech, and for those who would eventually hear it. He’s already been able to see fruit.

“Over the last month, I’ve seen a lot of younger people in my church pick this up,” he said. “They’re on their screens more, and so less prone to open up their Bible for very long. They are really enjoying having audio.”

They’re also listening to longer sections of the Bible, he said. “If they open up their print Bible, they’ll read a few verses. But this way, they’ll listen to maybe a couple of chapters. I’ve had conversations with youngsters in my church who are suddenly seeing how books of the Bible fit together better because for the first time, they’re listening in big chunks.”

He’s also seeing fruit in his own life.

“When you read the Bible in different ways, it can shift what you get out of it—different things pop out,” he said. So having a variety of voices is almost like having multiple translations of the ESV. Reeves has been listening to passages from each of the other authors and comparing their emphasis and inflection.

“I’m finding that absolutely fascinating,” he said. “This entire project was an absolute delight. I want to do it again.”

Crossway probably won’t ask Reeves to read again. But that doesn’t mean they’re done. Spoken word artists Trip Lee and Thomas Terry are already working on future releases. And Jones is starting to look for more international voices, such as Indian, Asian, and Australian.

“We recognize the Lord is saving people from every tribe, people, and language,” Jones said. “It is a joy to reflect that diversity in the voices we record.”

The challenges believers face can create a sense of hopelessness, cynicism, and despair, making us question God’s faithfulness in a broken and divided world. Looking at social media feeds, news headlines, the struggles of life, and the reality of the world’s brokenness can cause us to wonder if our hope in God is a hustle.

In Hope Ain’t a Hustle: Persevering by Faith in a Wearying World, Irwyn Ince reminds us that God isn’t a hustler. He isn’t playing a cruel joke by providing people with unsustainable expectations in a hard and hostile world. Instead, Ince argues that Christian hope is grounded in a “confident trust in God and his promises” (8). A hope rooted in Jesus isn’t absurd; it’s the only way to live.

Multifaceted Community of Hope

Ince, coordinator of Mission to North America for the PCA, uses the New Testament book of Hebrews as his foundation. The author of Hebrews, whom Ince calls “the Pastor,” writes to a church experiencing persecution and questioning whether following Jesus is worth it—Is hope a hustle? He tells them the eternal hope we have in Jesus is greater than the hope of this world’s temporary comforts. Ince argues that Christian hope is grounded in God’s covenantal promises through Christ’s redemptive work as the glorious Prophet, Priest, and King. Hope is a gift from God that provides a sanctuary for our souls and our lives. It must be cultivated and protected. As Ince argues, “Sacrificial Christian love demonstrates to the world that as unreasonable as Christian hope might appear to be, it is rooted in something far better than anything this world has to offer” (73).

A hope rooted in Jesus isn’t absurd; it’s the only way to live.

This hope isn’t found in isolation but within the multifaceted diversity of Christian community that often comes at a high cost. Christ’s lordship assures believers our hope isn’t disembodied. In him, we have a tangible hope for real life, best experienced as God’s family—the church. And yet, there are “deep divides in the American church.” He notes, “our current culture of contempt makes it difficult to hold on to hope” (8). These divides are often seen through racial disunity within the church.

In 2015, I was a college football chaplain in Charleston, South Carolina. I remember the shooting at Mother Emanuel AME Church where nine people were murdered by a white supremacist. I had friends at that church who were close to the families of the victims. I witnessed in my community the power of Jesus in the middle of unspeakable pain and tragedy. It was evident through surviving family members’ forgiveness of the perpetrator and proclamation of the gospel.

My hope––and the hope of other believers both locally and abroad––was strengthened by seeing others persevere in their faith in Jesus. He’s the only one who can change sinners into saints, as he brings saints together in his family despite our earthly differences. Ince observes, “We naturally desire to build community with others based on all sorts of preferences and affinities. But that’s not how God operates” (74). Our hope in Jesus reminds us that God provides a love and power that seals us in our shared identity as brothers and sisters in Christ. It compels us and empowers a unity that transcends the dividing lines of our society. Our hope provides a vision for the beautiful community embodied by the local church. It’s a certain hope that helps us persevere.

Perseverance in Hope

An athlete has confidence before what seems to be an easy victory. The game hasn’t been played, but everyone is certain of the outcome. However, the score is still unknown. And sometimes the figurative David knocks out Goliath. That’s what makes sports exciting: our hope is uncertain until the final whistle.

But as Christians, our hope is based on what has happened through Christ—not on possibility but on the reality of his redemptive and reconciliatory work. This hope is sure. Ince offers encouragement, noting that we receive assurance through “hope that brings joy to the heart even though we’re not happy about our struggles or the disappointments we face” (127). This is the sort of hopeful endurance Jesus showed on the cross (Heb. 12:1–3).

Hope is central to the Christian life. It requires total commitment to Jesus. This seems easy when things are going well, but what about when you’re exhausted? In the world of college football, I’ve experienced the joys of winning and the sorrows of losing. I don’t remember how tired we were during our championship seasons; I remember getting our rings at the end. Endurance was the price for winning. Ince reminds us, “We need to endure because endurance is ultimately what distinguishes us as belonging to Jesus Christ” (127). Just as at the ring ceremony we find joy in enduring a season, so we’ll find joy in enduring the storms of this life when we participate in Christ’s championship ceremony.

Perpetual Hope

How do we stay encouraged to remain faithful when division defines every aspect of life and culture?

We’ll find joy in enduring the storms of this life when we participate in Christ’s championship ceremony.

Ince answers this question using the image of running. We run in unity with God’s people. We drop the weight of sin to run better. We run with the finish line in mind, which we want to reach together. We run despite the burdens and reproaches of this world.

My favorite part of running is when I’m done. Running is exhausting. Ince reminds us that the race of the Christian life is hard, but it’s worth it even when people resist our message of hope. He writes,

Jesus bore reproach because his message was not comfortable and did not conform to the acceptable teaching of the day. His people will, therefore, also bear reproach because they carry his same message. Yet they endure because they understand that they do not have an abiding city. They seek after the city that is to come—home. (191)

There’s something about running with the hope of getting home. As Christians, we live with hope in Jesus, knowing each step we take is a step closer to home. Hope Ain’t a Hustle is an extended exposition of Hebrews, articulating a shepherd’s heart for God’s people to persevere in hope. Although times change, the human condition remains, and we’ll continue to deal with the issues that sin creates. Ince reminds us hope ain’t a hustle; instead, hope is something we hustle to.

In the shrubbery—dangerously close to the glass sliders of the new foyer—a gray sports car, smoking and steaming, has come to a halt. Before you can gather your thoughts, looking around for the police car that’s surely on this chase, the gull-wing doors open and a figure jumps out and races over to you.

“Quick! We haven’t a moment to lose!”

It’s your pastor. Or is it? An older version, by the looks of it. Your mind scrambling to make sense of it all, you shoot a look into the sanctuary. You can see your pastor chatting with one of the elders. What? What’s going on?

Before you can speak, your pastor—this older one—grabs you by the arm. “Jump in! Strap yourself in! Don’t worry. I’m still your pastor, but I’m back from the future: 2054, to be exact. You’re gonna see what it takes to stay Christian in 30 years’ time. What it looks like doing church in the West. Prepare to have your mind blown.”

Before you know it, you’re screeching out of the parking lot at 88 miles per hour. You look over your shoulder. People are rushing into the lot. You spot a church lady raising her hands to the heavens in anguish at the desecrated shrubs, then pow! You’re gone. You’re on your way to see what life as the people of God looks like 30 years from now.

Scary Present, Uncertain Future

Sure, it’s a bit of imaginative fun. But who hasn’t speculated? We’re watching the gathering storm clouds of a culture fracturing along ideological lines. We’re seeing increasing polarization in communities, with our political opponents no longer regarded as merely wrong but as evil—not helped, of course, by the geriatric clingers-on on Capitol Hill.

We’re witnessing the decline of church attendance at a rate we’ve not seen before. We’re nervous about the rise of reactionary nationalism countering an equally hard post-Christian globalism. We despair and rage over radical gender theory infesting our education systems and pushing untested drugs on children, constantly backed by legislation hostile to biblical anthropology.

And then there’s the explosion of social media, opposed to deep-rooted faith in both content and form, which is being manipulated by foreign forces. We see resulting anxiety and addictions in people young and old.

And then there’s war. Everywhere. It’s like Whac-A-Mole. Push down one conflict; another pops up somewhere else, with the usual round of slaughters, recriminations, and bloodied images beamed into the smartphones in our pockets.

And then there’s work. It’s more invasive of our time and our values. HR departments demand allegiance and alliance to convictions that run counter to ours. Why have that break-room conversation about Jesus your pastor tells you to have when it could cost you that promised promotion?

Amid such challenges, who wouldn’t want a Back to the Future experience? We could head to 2054, take extensive notes, capture some video on our iPhones, then come back and prepare ourselves for what’s coming. We could batten down the hatches in the face of an approaching storm. Or (we hope) we could chill out because, surprisingly, things are coming up roses for us.

Nervous Church

How do we “futureproof” our churches, and our lives as God’s people, amid such rapid change? How do we get ready for what we don’t know?

The church is nervous. We see it in the theological capitulation to progressive ideas on sexuality. We see it in the embrace of an increasingly hard nationalism that wraps a flag around the cross. We see it in the increase of parents bunkering down, taking their kids out of state schools, or—in the case of one family I know—moving to conservative Poland. Even as evangelicals, they feel a staunchly Roman Catholic country is a safer bet. (That is, until Poland catches up with the rest of us. Then where do we go?)

Nervousness isn’t new to God’s people. When storms were approaching the nation of Israel in the time of the prophet Isaiah, the first instinct for many was to tap into their version of Back to the Future, sending ever more inquiries to mediums, necromancers, and false gods who—for a price—could tell them what the future held (Isa. 8:19).

Yet the God of Israel told his people not to trust in such false hopes but instead to put their trust in him. There’d be no sports car whizzing them forward to see Jerusalem’s fate. But there would be a God—their covenant God—who’d be with them as they stepped into an uncertain future.

Israel’s covenant God would be with them as they stepped into an uncertain future.

The false gods, the false hopes, the other nations, the syncretistic efforts to manipulate history and outcomes—all needed to be rejected. The one, true, and living God had futureproofed them already.

Futureproofed Church

While we cannot predict black swan events (pandemic 2.0, anyone?), the trend indicates we’ll only become more polarized, more isolated, and more meaningless and despair-ridden. Doesn’t sound like a happy future.

Yet in the gospel of Jesus Christ, the church has a way of outrelating, outpurposing, and outlasting a culture that’s being reassessed by many of our disillusioned neighbors. This is already creating a head swivel among those who confidently predicted Christianity’s demise. The gospel’s transcendent message—grounded in the person of Jesus in actual history—is a compelling background against which to live in our rootless age.

As Tim Keller wrote in his final piece in The Atlantic, the church in the U.S. (and across the West) is due for revival. Things have become so fractured and uncertain that people who were once the “dones” or the “nones” are now asking serious questions about God again. British author Justin Brierley’s new book The Surprising Rebirth of Belief in God: Why New Atheists and Secular Thinkers Are Considering Christianity Again doubles down on Keller’s view. However the future of religion appeared in the eyes of Richard Dawkins, it ain’t going that way—or at least it’s far from settled.

But back to the future. How do we futureproof the church? Despite various pressure points—ecological threats, technological changes, polarizing effects of post-Christian societies looking for new (and often contradictory) sources of meaning—we must hold our nerve. And in holding our nerve, we must double down on things we know are true and on ways of life that have done well for us so far. We must put into the bank the communal, moral, theological, relational, and intellectual credit we’ll need in 2054, should this cultural trajectory continue.

We must hold our nerve.

So let’s determine to put time and energy into building resilient churches that take forgiveness seriously in a cancel culture, practice deep community as more and more people live alone, offer costly generosity in an era that worships self-care, and discern how to navigate a culture given over to technique and technology when it comes to sex and the body.

At the very time it feels safer to dial faith down, to put our hope and interests into our “paneled houses” (Hag. 1:4), a deeper, stronger Christianity is the answer.

Flash Forward

It’s counterintuitive at times like this, but if you could jump into that car and head off to 2054, I reckon you’d be surprised by the markers of a faithful and flourishing church. I imagine, despite present concerns and fears, you’d love to be part of it. And perhaps so might those young, non-Christian friends of yours who are still in college and still hostile to your beliefs.

Hey, they might even be the elders and worship leaders in 2054. God works like that.