In this episode of The Everyday Pastor, Garrett Kell joins Matt Smethurst and Ligon Duncan to discuss lessons he’s learned the hard way, how to foster transparency among leadership, practical tools for pursuing purity, and more.

Recommended resource: Pure in Heart: Sexual Sin and the Promises of God by Garrett Kell

But I quickly learned Good News Church is a part of a global movement, the Good News Mission (GNM), that has been denounced by the larger body of Christ in Korea. If GNM hasn’t already come to your city, they’ll likely arrive soon.

Here are seven things you should know about GNM.

1. GNM is a growing movement.

It’s a rapidly spreading global movement with roots in Seoul, South Korea. At the time of writing, they already have outposts in 26 U.S. states and four Canadian provinces. They have a staggering 1,008 active locations in more than 90 countries.

2. GNM’s founder, Ock Soo Park, has a checkered history.

Park founded GNM 50 years ago, and he’s highly venerated despite being rejected by the broader evangelical movement in Korea. When I began to research his history, I found allegations of fraud, a multimillion-dollar legal battle over building violations, and another over food sanitation violations.

The food sanitation accusation is a reduced charge from a more serious accusation of fraud. Park claimed a product unapproved and untested by the Korean equivalent of America’s FDA has the ability to cure cancer and AIDS.

3. GNM has invested heavily in reaching youth.

One of GNM’s key strategies is reaching college and high school students. The International Youth Fellowship, a mission-focused outreach organization also founded by Park, boasts 2 million participants in their events in 40 countries. They eagerly train youth in GNM’s key doctrines.

4. GNM teaches a variation of perfectionism.

One key doctrine that stands out is perfectionism. When I spoke to the GNM missionary in my city, he told me, “One of the greatest sins someone can commit is continuing to confess they are a sinner [after coming to Christ]. This is offensive to God.” This central tenet of GNM’s “gospel” is at odds with New Testament teaching: “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8).

In one of Park’s books, How I Became Free from Sin, he argues that the moment a person accepts Christ, all his or her “heart can be freed from sin.” Park believes not only that believers are free from sin’s power but that they’re freed from all sinful identity and actions. There’s no remaining sin at all. In a video on his personal YouTube channel, Park strings together statements like these: “God, you made me perfect.” “Jesus paid for all my sins. You have to have faith in that.” “Your heart is connected to God’s heart.”

Some of these statements are true, but Park’s teaching implies that once a person has faith in God, the impulse to sin is eradicated. As Park states in another video, “[Jesus] forgave our sins forever,” so when we believe, “we are people without sin.”

Perfectionism’s emphasis contradicts how the Bible talks about Christians. New Testament authors use both “sinner” (1 Tim. 1:15) and “saint” (1 Cor. 1:2) when describing believers. Our complex doubleness is captured in the Reformation conviction that Christians are simul justus et peccator—simultaneously justified in God’s sight and still sinners. We’re both declared righteous and continue to fight indwelling sin until our death or Jesus’s return.

Perfectionism’s emphasis contradicts how the Bible talks about Christians. New Testament authors use both ‘sinner’ and ‘saint’ when describing believers.

I asked the missionary how GNM interprets key Pauline teachings that contradict their doctrine. I asked specifically about Romans 7 and the “downward trajectory” of Paul’s sanctification. What I was told (and later found reinforced in Park’s preaching) was that thinking less of myself and more of how “Jesus paid it all” and completely cleansed me of my sins should free me of the burden of continually confessing them. Park says not only that we’re free from confessing our sinful identity but also that we’re free from confessing sinful actions because we no longer sin.

5. GNM teaches a form of hypergrace or antinomianism.

In one sermon, Park argues that in Jesus’s parable of the good Samaritan, we should identify Jesus as the Samaritan (so far, so good). He then claims that because Jesus has done the good works of the Samaritan for us, we don’t need to “add to his works” by living a changed life. To do so is to trust in our own works. This sadly ignores Jesus’s clear words at the parable’s conclusion: “You go, and do likewise” (Luke 10:37).

In another message, Park quips, “Spiritual life is not something you have to do diligently”—a statement that ignores the New Testament calls to diligent self-examination (2 Cor. 13:5) and mortification of our sinful flesh (Col. 3:5–10). Park seems to deny the necessity of “performing deeds in keeping with [our] repentance” (Acts 26:20). Such teaching leads to shirking Christ’s lordship and moral demands in favor of a form of secret inner faith.

6. GNM shares key teachings with the prosperity gospel.

If Park’s claims about cancer (#2 above) sound like something you’d hear from a televangelist, that’s because there’s a good degree of overlap between GNM teaching and the prosperity gospel. In 2014, John Piper outlined several keys to detecting the prosperity gospel. Park clearly checks the boxes:

• GNM has no robust doctrine of suffering or call to self-denial.
• Their exposition of Scripture involves frequent proof texting to make points undermined by the broader context (e.g., Park’s treatment of the parable of the good Samaritan referenced above).
• Instead of wrestling with biblical tensions with nuance, GNM’s teachings flatten the text into dangerous either-ors—either you’re a sinner or a saint, either you always have faith, or you’re a doubter and outside the faith.
• Anecdotally, I’d say Park spends more time in his sermons talking about himself than about Jesus.
• Given the accusations of financial impropriety made against Park, it’s also hard to believe the movement is economically trustworthy.

7. GNM has been denounced by orthodox Baptist and Presbyterian churches in Asia.

The Christian church has long denounced antinomian teaching like that of Ock Soo Park and GNM, and that’s also true in this case. Baptist and Presbyterian denominations in Korea and India haven’t been shy about denouncing GNM and warning their churches not to participate in GNM’s evangelistic crusades. Though GNM claims its message is biblical, it falls woefully short of what has been confessed by orthodox Christian churches throughout the world.

It may sound like good news, but when held up to the truth of God’s Word, the message preached by the religious group known as the Good News Mission turns out to be false and dangerous.

My initial goal was to create a distinct mission and vision statement. I wanted clarity—something to guide us in deciding what to say yes and no to. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize our statement was already set because the church had a clear mission and vision. The question wasn’t what our mission and vision should be but how we, as a women’s ministry, could uniquely contribute to the church’s direction.

Evaluate an Established Ministry

Aligning a women’s ministry to the church’s mission and vision is easier said than done. So from the start, we prayed. We asked God to reveal his will. We asked for wisdom and insight as he’s the Great Shepherd of the sheep and loves our women more than we ever could. We asked him to show us what to let go of and what to keep. And we kept praying throughout the process.

Our mission and vision were already set because the church had a clear mission and vision.

Then we evaluated our ministry efforts. We considered what was working well and what wasn’t. Who were our women, and what were their needs? What were our strengths, growth opportunities, threats, and challenges as a ministry?

We offered various events—all good things—but we soon discovered activity didn’t always equal effectiveness. Many of those events were part of the women’s ministry culture and had been done for a long time, but not all were the best use of time and resources because some didn’t clearly connect to our church’s mission.

So we made it our practice—when considering something new and on an annual basis as we evaluated existing efforts—to discuss how each event, study, discipleship group, or initiative helps us accomplish our larger purpose of supporting our church’s mission and vision. Looking at the bigger picture helps us make decisions about what to offer and how to structure each aspect of our ministry.

Align with the Church’s Mission

Whether you’re setting the direction for a new women’s ministry or reevaluating an existing one, here are some questions to help you align your efforts with your church’s direction. Remember as you plan to pray for God to give you wisdom and direction about how to foster that vision and mission in the lives of the women under your care.

• What is your church’s mission statement or vision?
• How would your ministry planning be different if you started with the church’s vision first?
• What unique needs do the women in your church have, and how can your ministry address these needs within the church’s overall vision?
• As you evaluate your current offerings, what aligns with the church’s vision and what doesn’t? Is there anything you need to prayerfully start, stop, or strengthen?
• How could your women’s ministry be stronger by collaborating with other staff members and ministries at your church?

Apply the Mission to Women

While ministry to women involves some unique aspects—the times and places where we equip women, or how we disciple women in their different roles and responsibilities—it isn’t meant to function separately from the rest of the local church.

Women’s ministry is a strategic part of the body of Christ, but it’s not the whole.

We’re part of a unified body working toward a common goal. Ultimately, by trusting the Lord’s leadership and simplifying our efforts to align with his purpose for the church, we find freedom—knowing that “from him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work” (Eph. 4:16, NIV).

It’s a gift to not be on our own. We’d be limited if our women’s leadership team were the only ones helping women mature in their faith. Thankfully, the church has pastors and elders along with many members who carry out the mission and vision together. Women’s ministry is a strategic part of the body of Christ, but it’s not the whole. As a women’s ministry director, my role is to help women grow in faith by aligning our ministry with the church’s mission, knowing that discipleship and flourishing happen best within the whole body of Christ.

How does a pastor decide which songs to introduce? Why one song and not another? Here are a gauntlet of questions I ask when considering a new song for my church. If we’re going to sing a song on Sunday, it’s got to pass all the way through.

1. Are the lyrics biblically sound and clear?

Admittedly, a song’s tune often catches my attention first. But I always read the lyrics line by line without the music so I can assess the message objectively. Does the song exhibit sound theology? If a line is abstract, can the intended point still be reasonably understood? I’m looking for clarity. Many beautiful and biblical songs don’t pass the first stage of the gauntlet because of overly abstract lyrics.

There’s nothing wrong with artistic expression, but while I may be able to charitably understand what an artist is going for, I won’t adopt a song for Sunday if I can’t expect everyone attending my church to hear its message clearly.

The songs we sing on Sunday teach our people, and they’re a worship pastor’s primary teaching platform.

As an example, Hillsong’s “What a Beautiful Name” has this line: “You [God] didn’t want heaven without us.” This line doesn’t pass the first test, because it makes ambiguous the doctrine of God’s aseity—his self-satisfaction and fullness within himself. I don’t want our people to be confused about who God is, so that eliminates “What a Beautiful Name” as a Sunday song. If you’re not certain if the song’s lyrics are orthodox, ask one of your church’s pastors or elders before introducing that song. Because they want biblically sound songs sung in church, they’ll be happy to help.

2. Is it singable (and playable)?

Worship leaders are notorious for choosing songs (or keys) that make them sound great vocally but are difficult for the average person to sing. There’s nothing wrong with a few high notes, especially at a powerful moment in a song. But generally, the song should be played in a comfortable key for both the music team and the congregation, even if that means compromise for both. Worship pastors must also consider the musicians’ skill level. If the prospective song can’t be played or sung in a congregational key, it doesn’t pass the test.

The same must be said for rhythm. Congregations will have different aptitudes for following complex songs, but I do my best to choose songs my people will be able to follow once they’ve heard them a few times. If a song is too tricky rhythmically, I won’t adopt it for Sunday. At the same time, congregations can and should grow musically just as they do spiritually, so don’t be afraid to gently push your congregation with a more complex song from time to time.

Even if a song is singable, the congregation will still need to learn to sing it. I aim to introduce a new song to our church three times in a four-week period. Thematically, I want the song to fit with what’s being preached. Sometimes that means I wait months before introducing a song. But ideally, once I’ve introduced it, the congregation will remember it and be able to sing it confidently and with joy.

3. Does it meet a theological or musical need?

I think through our current repertoire and determine if there are theological or musical holes to fill. Does my church regularly sing songs that express sorrow over personal sin and call for confession? Songs of longing that anticipate the joys of the new heavens and new earth? Songs that teach my people to lament biblically? These are a few areas I’ve found to be lacking most often.

Musically, is there a good balance of upbeat and slow, loud and soft, contemporary and old? Our repertoire shouldn’t solely consist of power anthems with long, building bridges. If you’re not sure whether you’re balanced, get input from trusted church members.

4. Do I trust the source?

For better or worse, we’re giving the artists whose songs we sing on Sunday a platform with our people. So if a song has made it through the gauntlet this far, I research the artist. I want to ensure the artist is (as far as I can tell) living a commendable Christian life and that he or she hails from a Christian tradition that teaches orthodox doctrine. With Instagram and Patreon, Christian artists are much more accessible than they used to be. You may be surprised at your ability to interact with an artist and ask questions if you try.

I want to ensure the artist is (as far as I can tell) living a commendable Christian life and that he or she hails from a Christian tradition that teaches orthodox doctrine.

As I research artists, I aim to be gracious. But I’m generally more careful with songs produced by churches or ministries that also post their sermons or other teaching resources publicly. I vet the teaching resources carefully before I recommend songs from these churches.

If a song makes it through the gauntlet, that means its lyrics are biblically sound, the melody is singable, my music team and I can play it, it fills a gap in my church’s worship, and it comes from an artist I trust (or at least don’t have major reservations about). It’s a strong candidate to become a Sunday song.

It was an imperfect speech by an imperfect man, but the thrust of Reagan’s message is worth remembering as we face the evils of our own day.

Reagan’s Speech

I’ve summarized the “evil empire” speech below in five points.

1. The United States is unique in its founding.

Reagan knew America’s founders were informed by the ethical system Jesus taught. Thus, he says the First Amendment was designed to “protect churches from government interference.” He also knew his audience embraced “the Judeo-Christian tradition” with its clear distinction between good and evil. But before he aimed the spotlight on the evils of the Soviet Union, Reagan turned his attention to the evil in the United States.

2. We must oppose evil in the United States.

In another speech, Reagan articulated the pro-life argument with precision and passion. In Orlando, Reagan continued his argument by predicting that legislation protecting unborn children would “someday pass Congress,” and declaring, “You and I must never rest until it does.” When addressing racism, Reagan acknowledged America’s “legacy of evil,” proclaiming that “there is no room for racism, anti-Semitism, or other forms of ethnic and racial hatred” in the United States. He implored evangelical pastors, “Use the mighty voice of your pulpits . . . to denounce and isolate these hate groups in our midst.” Then, Reagan turned to the USSR.

3. We must oppose evil in the Soviet Union.

Karl Marx stated, “Communism begins where atheism begins.” Denying God’s existence yielded a moral system that freed totalitarian leaders like Joseph Stalin to murder nearly a million of his own people and to deny freedom to millions more. The Soviet Union confused good with evil, cheapened life, suppressed the truth, controlled the press, and condemned religion. The state brazenly replaced God, brutally persecuted the church, and actively hindered the spread of the gospel. This kind of evil, argued Reagan, couldn’t be restrained by “simple-minded appeasement.”

4. There’s no moral equivalence between the two nations.

The Soviet Union confused good with evil, cheapened life, and condemned religion. This kind of evil, argued Reagan, couldn’t be restrained by ‘simple-minded appeasement.’

The evil that stained the United States wasn’t morally equivalent to the Soviet Union’s evil. Reagan’s opponents reasoned that the evils of each nation carried the same moral weight, giving the United States no moral standing to criticize the Soviet Union. Reagan denied this false equivalence (and invoked C. S. Lewis’s Screwtape), warning evangelicals to beware the proud temptation to “label both sides equally at fault.”

While biblical and democratic principles shaped America’s founding and the Constitution guaranteed religious freedom, Marxist atheism permeated the USSR’s government. These two political philosophies yielded drastically different fruit. Reagan could’ve asked in 1983, “Where would you rather live?” The United States, with all its faults, received a steady stream of immigrants and asylum seekers from the Soviet Bloc, but few (if any) American citizens sought refuge in the Soviet Union.

5. Pray for peace; prepare for war.

Evangelicals in 1983 cared for people in places like Russia who desperately needed Jesus. They also knew of Moscow’s evil effort to silence the gospel. Reagan called on America’s evangelicals to “pray for the salvation of all those who live in that totalitarian darkness—pray they will discover the joy of knowing God.”

Then, Reagan asked for evangelical support to build a mighty military, not to bully or extort free and peace-loving nations but to dissuade brutal regimes from expanding their borders, murdering their neighbors, and stealing people’s freedom. He couldn’t ignore “the aggressive impulses of an evil empire.” If America was to be an instrument of peace, it would be a “peace through strength.”

State of Evil in 2025

The Evil Empire speech arguably hastened the Soviet Union’s dissolution. There’s much to celebrate 42 years after an American president stood up to the menace in Moscow, yet we still live in an evil world. We thank God that Roe v. Wade was overturned in 2022, but the number of abortions in the United States increased in 2023. We’ve seen progress in racial justice, but we’ve also suffered setbacks in recent years as pastors who once denounced racial hatred now fear the “woke” label. We rejoice in the demise of Moscow-based communism, but we regret that it was replaced by another ideology that now threatens religious freedom.

American evangelicals commit two common errors when considering how the Soviet Union of 1983 relates to Russia in 2025. Some see complete correlation, but Russia isn’t the Soviet Union. Others see complete disconnect, though many similarities exist. Today’s Moscow-based ideology is that of the Russian World (Russkiy Mir). Communism envisioned global dominance, and Vladimir Putin similarly envisions dominance of the region controlled by the former Russian Empire (1721–1917), which includes Ukraine.

Religious Freedom in Russia and Russian-Occupied Ukraine

One can argue Russia has more religious freedom today than in 1983, but the only religion with freedom is the one that supports Putin’s agenda (and, even then, it doesn’t have true freedom). The Russian Orthodox Church provides theological justification and moral cover for Russia’s illegal war against Ukraine by deeming it a “Holy War.” Patriarch Kirill assured his national flock that Russian soldiers dying in battle will have all their sins forgiven since a soldier’s sacrifice “washes away all the sins that a person has committed.”

Russian law severely restricts evangelicals’ freedom to worship and evangelize. Pastors who question the war can be fined or imprisoned. As Catherine Wanner observes, evangelicals are “especially targeted.” She says, “There is no place for Protestants in the Russian world.”

The only religion with true freedom in Russia is the one that supports Putin’s agenda.

Evangelicals may disagree about whether Russia attacked Ukraine because of NATO expansion or NATO expanded because of Russia’s history of attacking its neighbors and assassinating its critics. But we can agree that Ukraine has been a model of religious freedom in eastern Europe, allowing for growth of the evangelical church. By contrast, evangelicals in Russia-occupied Ukraine have faced harsh persecution. This seems to be part of Russia’s battle plan. Russia’s war against Ukraine is, in effect, “Russia’s war against evangelicals.”

God Rules over Raging Nations and Evil Empires

As news broke last week that Ukraine was losing American support, a young pastor from Ukraine stood in our church’s annual missions conference to give a sober but hopeful report on the progress of the gospel in that war-weary nation:

We serve a people who are deeply broken and have experienced the depth of human cruelty and depravity. We don’t know when and how the war will end or what will happen to us at any given day. But one thing remains true. God is sovereign over all and he remains loyal and steadfast to his people at all times. That’s why we stay in Ukraine.

For our brothers and sisters in Russia and Ukraine, the immediate future looks bleak. With the psalmist, they ask, “Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain?” (Ps. 2:1). And they confess that because God’s purposes can’t be thwarted by earthly rulers, “he who sits in the heavens laughs” (v. 4). With these believers, we pray that proud leaders of raging nations would heed Psalm 2’s counsel: “Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and you perish in the way, for his wrath is quickly kindled. Blessed are all who take refuge in him” (v. 12).

In 2025 as in 1983, we believe the day is quickly coming when the Lord of raging nations will vanquish every evil empire. Until then, we pray and we preach, rejecting any false equivalencies. It’s just as important today as it was 42 years ago to name evil for what it is. We’ll continue to do so even if that means we must prepare to suffer.

The words may not have been audible, but they were undeniable—no doubt from Scripture that had taken root over the years.

As I sat alone in a stark white room of the pediatric psych ward as a teen, these words of hope broke through the deafening noise of pain, insecurity, and shame. I may have hit rock bottom, but at rock bottom, I found Jesus.

By his grace, God used that season to open my eyes to the truth that my worth, identity, and true joy weren’t found in myself or the world but in Christ alone. It not only changed the trajectory of my life but has shaped the way I parent my children. Over the years, I’ve seen a similar “mistaken identity” surface through many of the struggles my children experience.

Search for Identity and Worth

Within each of our children’s hearts lies a gaping hole. They long to be filled and longs to be known and loved—as did the older and younger brother in the biblical account of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11–32).

This parable points to two primary ways our hearts search for fulfillment and worth apart from our Heavenly Father. One is to pursue it outside of ourselves; the other is to look within.

Within each of our children’s hearts lies a gaping hole that aches to be filled.

Although the outer workings of the brothers’ hearts may have looked different, the motivation was the same: a desire to belong, a longing for fulfillment, and a need for happiness.

If we look beneath the surface of our children’s emotions, desires, struggles, pride, and insecurities, we’ll see that same motivation at work. Whether they’re prone to look within themselves for worth or in the world around them, the heart issue remains the same. Both contain the sinful thread of independence intertwined with the God-given longing to be known, loved, and satisfied by the One who created them.

Over the years, many challenges we’ve walked through have gradually revealed a common theme of longing within each of my children. Often, their angst results from searching for their identity and worth in one of three ways.

1. Perfection

Our kids’ challenges and emotions can stem from their futile pursuit of perfection. Like the older brother in the prodigal son parable, they strive to be worthy based on their merit. But this unrealistic pursuit of perfection only leads to a fear of failing, self-loathing when they do, and a judgmental spirit.

When we see this struggle in our children, it’s an opportunity to point to the freeing truth of the gospel, reminding them that perfection isn’t where our hope is found—it’s in Jesus and his perfect righteousness. The gift of the gospel isn’t for the infallible; it’s for those who know they’re sinful, flawed, and in need of Jesus’s forgiveness and grace (Eph. 2:8–9).

Faith in Jesus means trusting him not only for our salvation but for his grace to cover our limitations and humanity. We (and our children) can rest in the truth that Jesus looks on us with love and affection, not condemnation.

2. Prosperity

Prosperity promises our kids happiness, security, comfort, and admiration. The problem? It’s like a race where someone keeps moving the finish line. We strive for happiness, only to find it doesn’t live up to what it promised.

Regardless, our children remain keenly aware of their second-hand jeans, the car their friend received the day he turned 16, and the fact that “everyone” has a smartphone but them.

Again, we have the privilege of helping our children see that no matter what or how much they have, nothing in this world can satisfy the longing within them. It’s a hole that can only be filled by God himself. We are not the sum of what we own. Therefore, in a culture that worships the created over the Creator and gifts over the Giver, we can help our children see that their worth and happiness will never be found in having the next best thing. When they find their identity and joy in Jesus above all, they’re free to enjoy the gifts he gives, not find their worth or happiness within them.

3. Popularity

Our children’s sense of identity can become entangled with the desire to be affirmed by those around them. They long for favor and acceptance among peers, siblings, teammates, and social media followers. They become so wrapped up in how they’re viewed by others that they give people the power to determine their worth (a struggle common to us all).

Our child’s sense of identity can become entangled with the desire to be affirmed by those around them.

But we can help our kids learn to discern the belief behind their emotions. If we explain that the desire to be cherished isn’t wrong, just misguided, we can point them to the truth that they’re fully loved, known, and cherished by their all-knowing Heavenly Father (Isa. 49:15–16). Not because of how lovable or talented they are, or how they compare to those around them, but because they’re fearfully and wonderfully made by God.

Adoration from others is fleeting, but Jesus’s love is unconditional.

Heart That’s for Us

We have the privilege of learning right alongside our kids. We can all struggle to remember that our identity, value, and happiness aren’t found within ourselves or the world around us. And yet, instead of God shaking an angry fist at us, we have a Heavenly Father who’s always calling us to himself with open arms, longing to fill us with a joy, security, and rest that can only be found in him.

No matter how far we (or our children) wander, or how entangled we are in our pride or the pursuit of happiness apart from him, Jesus stands ready to forgive and welcome us home. What a gift we give to our children to point them to the heart of their Heavenly Father for them. For, as Jonathan Edwards said, “There is no love so great and so wonderful as that which is in the heart of Christ.”

COVID-19 has settled into the background, but its aftermath persists as we clamor for stronger immune systems, lower cholesterol, and ever-elusive peace of mind. We all strive for wellness.

Yet what does it mean to be “well”? That’s a central question Tyler J. VanderWeele takes up in A Theology of Health: Wholeness and Human Flourishing. VanderWeele is an epidemiologist who directs the Human Flourishing Program at Harvard and codirects the Initiative on Health, Spirituality, and Religion. His work guides academics toward a cohesive and all-encompassing view of health with the Christian worldview at its center. According to VanderWeele, true health doesn’t hinge on technology or trends but rather on union with Christ and conformity to God’s will.

Industrial Wellness

As the reports linked in this article’s introduction show, people pursue health in many domains—from pharmaceuticals, doctor’s visits, and nutrition to mindfulness, spas, and hot springs. The studies note trends in at-home diagnostics and wearable biomonitoring, as well as mounting interest in personalized health recommendations using biometric data. Does such technology guarantee wellness? Will the right diet, the best workout regimen, and the optimal cocktail of vitamins ensure we’ll always be healthy, whole, and flourishing?

Our instincts—and our Christian faith—tell us otherwise. Even if we carefully regulate our intake of protein and omega-3 fatty acids, our muscles will eventually shrink and our bones thin with age because “the wages of sin is death” (Rom. 6:23). Even if we prioritize sleep and stress reduction, we’ll experience grief and exhaustion because, as Jesus said, “in the world [we] will have tribulation” (John 16:33).

While we’re called to steward the bodies God has given us (1 Cor. 6:19), no industry—even one worth $6 trillion—can sponge away the sin that stains our hearts and corrupts all creation. True wellness, health, and flourishing come only through Christ. Only through his wounds are we healed (Isa. 53:5). Only through faith in him can we truly be made well (Mark 5:34).

True wellness, health, and flourishing come only through Christ.

Defining Health

Harvard’s secular and pluralistic halls seldom encourage works on Christian theology, but VanderWeele, a Roman Catholic, has a track record of deftly navigating scholarly discussions across traditions. His experience teaching a course on religion and public health inspired the book, and he offers an overview of health theology not only for Christian scholars but also for “audiences who are not Christian, but who are directly engaged in public health or medicine, or in research and scholarship within these fields” (xvi).

In unpacking the concept of “health,” VanderWeele wisely differentiates between the health of the physical body and the health of the person. He notes that overall health depends on one’s physical condition but explores a much broader, more holistic concept that reflects human flourishing. “Understood theologically,” he writes, “to be healthy is to be whole, to be in perfect conformity with God’s intent” (7).

Christian readers will discern similarities between this definition and the shalom of the Hebrew Scriptures: a state of peace and completeness rooted in the covenant relationship between God and his people. “A state of full health, of wholeness, of flourishing, in which all aspects of one’s life are good, entails right relationship with God,” VanderWeele writes. “That relation with God, described sometimes as communion or love or charity or friendship with God, is central to human well-being” (21).

Accounting for Sin

VanderWeele develops a vision of health that (1) defines health as communion with God and alignment with his intent, (2) characterizes disease and poor health as consequences of sin (both personal and as effects of the fall), and (3) points to restoration through Christ as our only hope for true healing.

His exposition ties human illness to its root cause and highlights the gospel as our only remedy. “From a Christian perspective, this spiritual well-being, this charity of friendship with God, constitutes not the only but the most important aspect of the health of a person,” he explains. “It is what brings about the final and perfect flourishing, that communion with God, that is the final goal of the human person” (79).

Although his discussion touches on multiple domains of wellness (physical, mental, communal, and so on), VanderWeele acknowledges we cannot attain true healing while sin still grips the world. “We are in search for a greater wholeness, a fuller flourishing, a more complete healing,” he writes, “but, from the perspective of Christian theology that healing cannot come about without addressing sin as the movement away from wholeness as God intends it” (128). He elaborates further,

By our own efforts, however, we cannot fully prevent ill health or fully restore the health of persons. We cannot eliminate ill health. We cannot eliminate sin. For complete restoration and fulfillment of health and wholeness, we need the action of God. For compete restoration to health, we need the fullness of God’s salvation. (161)

That salvation, of course, comes only through Christ: “It is in union with Jesus Christ in his death that we are ultimately freed from sin and brought to new life and new wholeness” (220).

Narrow Audience?

As VanderWeele acknowledges, he writes from a “predominantly Catholic perspective” (xii). In keeping with this background, he draws heavily from Aquinas, with Augustine, the papal writings, and Aristotle also making regular appearances, but he references Scripture less frequently. While his exposition’s main points align with the gospel narrative, readers approaching A Theology of Health from a Reformed background will yearn for more biblical engagement, especially as Scripture has so much to offer on questions of healing and wholeness (Jer. 30:12; Isa. 53:5; Mark 5:34; Luke 5:31; Rev. 21:1–4).

‘For compete restoration to health, we need the fullness of God’s salvation,’ says VanderWeele.

VanderWeele also acknowledges that “the question of the intended audience of the book is a difficult one” (xiv). He targets scholars in health-related fields, but even those well versed in academic writing may struggle with this book’s repetitive sentence construction and the lengthy footnotes that distract from key arguments.

His aspiration to inform—but not evangelize to—those from non-Christian backgrounds gives the work a mildly conciliatory tone, with passive language during descriptions of redemption and the resurrection creating a sense of distance and with a “nontheological postscript” reframing the discussion in non-Christian terms. Perhaps to foster a spirit of unity, in a lengthy footnote VanderWeele suggests Buddhist loving-kindness meditation may have applications in Christian contexts. His intent seems charitable, but such an assertion risks sliding toward syncretism.

Yet even with these caveats, VanderWeele provides scholars in health-related fields with a robust, comprehensive, and theologically rich framework for understanding human flourishing. According to VanderWeele, true wellness springs not from one’s resting heart rate and step count but from the almighty God who gives us life and breath and everything (Acts 17:25). That truth—and the necessary salvation in Christ to which it points—promises us a greater healing, a greater wholeness than any industry this fallen, postpandemic world could ever offer.

But do these other books have anything to do with what Jesus actually taught? While some people drive a wedge between Jesus and the rest of the New Testament, a far better approach is to train ourselves to recognize Jesus’s voice in the whole New Testament.

We should expect the apostles to frequently look back to Jesus’s teaching. And when we read their letters, we find his teaching popping up in all sorts of ways.

Thus Saith the Lord

First, and most obviously, we discover direct quotations of Jesus’s words. This is what we see in places like Paul’s speech in Acts 20:35: “In all things I have shown you that by working hard in this way we must help the weak and remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he himself said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’” You won’t find these words in the Gospels (see John 20:30–31; 21:25), as they were part of the early church’s transmission of Jesus’s sayings. Paul, in his years of ministry alongside other Christians, picked up a wealth of knowledge about Jesus’s life and ministry, to which he occasionally refers (e.g., 1 Cor. 15:3).

While some people drive a wedge between Jesus and the rest of the New Testament, a far better approach is to train ourselves to recognize Jesus’s voice in the whole New Testament.

Similarly, in Paul’s first letter to Timothy, he refers to the words of Jesus as Scripture, saying, “For the Scripture says, ‘You shall not muzzle an ox when it treads out the grain,’ and, ‘The laborer deserves his wages’” (1 Tim. 5:18). The first quotation is derived from Deuteronomy 25:4, but the second quotation of “Scripture” likely originates from Jesus’s saying in Luke 10:7.

Between these two passages, then, we have Luke (the author of Acts) quoting Paul citing Jesus and then Paul quoting Luke citing Jesus.

I’ve Heard Something like That Before

Another way for one book to reference another is through allusion, or indirect reference. In an allusion, we have a clear and recognizable similarity of wording that connects to a passage in another book but without word-for-word exactness.

For example, consider 1 John 3:15, “Everyone who hates his brother is a murderer, and you know that no murderer has eternal life abiding in him.” If we think about the wording of this passage for a moment, it calls to mind Jesus’s words in the Sermon on the Mount: “You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment’ . . . But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment” (Matt. 5:21–22).

Notice the similarities: Hating or being angry with your “brother” is likened to “murder,” and this has eternal spiritual consequences. John is reusing Jesus’s argument from the Sermon on the Mount but in his own words. See also that John isn’t recalling his own Gospel (as he often does in 1 John) but referring to Jesus’s teaching contained elsewhere, in Matthew.

Family Resemblances

We also find the themes of Jesus’s teaching filling the rest of the New Testament.

The apostles wrote often of the kingdom of God (e.g., Rom. 14:17; 1 Cor. 4:20; Gal. 5:21; Heb. 12:28; James 2:5; 2 Pet. 1:11; Rev. 1:16), the need for repentance (e.g., Rom. 2:4; 2 Cor. 7:10; Heb. 6:1; 2 Pet. 3:9), faith in Christ (e.g., Rom. 1:17; Gal. 2:16; Eph. 2:8–9), care for the poor (e.g., Gal. 2:10; James 2:14–16), and so on. The New Testament organically builds on and develops the themes first taught to Christians by Jesus himself.

Remember the Words of the Lord Jesus

The apostles clearly believed it was important not only to say true things about Jesus, but also to cling to and use his words often. Beyond discerning another connection to the earthly ministry of Jesus, what benefits do we find when we recognize the teaching of Jesus in the rest of the New Testament?

First, seeing Jesus’s teaching can guard us against certain errors. At times, it has been popular to distance Jesus from the apostles, or Jesus from Paul, or Jesus from the development of the early church. Some, on a popular level, even prioritize the “red letters” of the New Testament over the rest of the text that God inspired.

The New Testament organically builds on and develops the themes first taught to Christians by Jesus himself.

When we see no such separation exists, we’ll avoid errors that pit one part of Scripture against another. Paul looks to Luke’s account of Jesus, while Luke looks to Paul’s preaching of Jesus, and John consults Matthew’s Gospel.

Second, the New Testament’s unity teaches us how to read. We should expect Acts to continue the story of Jesus. We should look to the Epistles to apply Jesus’s teaching to broader circumstances than Jesus addressed during his earthly ministry. Once we look for Jesus’s words and ideas everywhere in the New Testament, we’ll find more and more of them.

Finally, seeing Jesus’s teaching in the rest of the New Testament reminds us that whatever book we’re reading, the whole New Testament leads us in the way of Jesus. We receive his teaching and walk in his paths.

Recommended Resources:

• Growing Together by Melissa Kruger
• The Knowledge of the Holy by A. W. Tozer

Related Content:

• Let’s Talk: Finding a Mentor and Being a Mentor
• 3 Reasons You Can Say ‘Yes’ to Mentoring
• When Mentoring Gets Messy
• Mothering in the Internet Age

Discussion Questions:

1. What has mentoring or discipleship looked like in your life to this point? Who is one person that has played a significant role in helping your faith grow?

2. In what ways have you experienced other believers “bearing witness” to God’s faithfulness? How did this encourage you?

3. Who has powerfully spoken into your life and “loaned courage” to increase your confidence to serve God?

4. Do you tend to prioritize time alone with God or time in community? Why is it necessary to pursue both, and how might you need to adjust your focus?

5. What are the primary ways you’re being mentored and discipled right now? Who is mentoring you “from a distance?” and who is walking alongside you, allowing you to see the messiness of her own faith as she pursues God imperfectly?

6. What next step do you want to take to pursue mentoring or discipleship, and how can others pray for you?

And it’s not just me. My generation, Gen Z, has been labeled “the most skeptical generation,” and for good reason. We grew up with front-row seats to the rise and fall of public figures, exposed not in history books but in real time. Scandal after scandal taught us to expect the worst as trusted authorities were unmasked like Scooby-Doo villains—revealing the greed, corruption, and hypocrisy lurking beneath their carefully crafted personas. (And they would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for those meddling Twitter kids!)

The result? My generation is reluctant to trust anyone in authority. A 2023 Gallup poll found that 50 percent of Gen Zers have “very little” trust in Congress, and only 3 percent have “a great deal” of trust in the news and the presidency. Even institutions like the church—once a cornerstone of societal trust—are faltering, with Springtide Research Institute reporting that Gen Z rates the church as a 4.9/10 regarding trustworthiness.

The message from my generation is clear: Your title won’t earn our trust. But this raises a question: Why trust the “Son of God”?

Gen Z Skeptic vs. Jesus

When I began studying the Gospels, my questions were deeply influenced by the leadership failures I’d witnessed—yet Jesus passed each test.

Did Jesus schmooze the wealthy and influential? No. Jesus went out of his way to pursue the people society ignored. His guest list included not kings or high priests but tax collectors, lepers, sinners, and children. He didn’t spend time with the elite to boost his reputation—he spent time with the broken, the marginalized, and the unimportant. Jesus’s ministry was marked by compassion for those with nothing to offer him in return (Matt. 9:10–13; Luke 5:12–16).

Was Jesus a cult leader manipulating his followers? Not even close. Cult leaders demand unquestioning loyalty, isolate their followers, and prey on people’s vulnerabilities. Jesus did none of that. When the rich young ruler walked away, Jesus didn’t chase after him or try to manipulate him into staying (Matt. 19:16–22). When a man hesitated to follow because he wanted to bury his father first, Jesus simply told him the cost: “Leave the dead to bury their own dead” (Luke 9:60). Jesus didn’t coerce; he was honest about the difficulty of following him and let people choose for themselves.

Scandal after scandal taught us to expect the worst as trusted authorities were unmasked like Scooby-Doo villains.

Did Jesus change his opinions for public approval? Nope. Jesus didn’t shift his teachings to gain followers or avoid controversy. When his hard teaching about eating his flesh and drinking his blood offended many, the crowds walked away (John 6:66). Instead of softening his words, Jesus turned to his disciples and asked, “Do you want to go away as well?” (v. 67). Jesus wasn’t interested in saying what people wanted to hear; he was committed to speaking the truth.

Was Jesus an egomaniac seeking praise? At first glance, Jesus’s call to follow him might sound self-serving. But his ministry is nothing like the ego-driven leadership I’ve seen so often. Jesus didn’t seek attention for himself; he often avoided it. When crowds wanted to make him king, he withdrew to pray. When he healed people, he frequently told them not to tell anyone. Jesus’s leadership wasn’t about inflating his image but about serving others.

Jesus: Trustworthy Leader

The Gospels reveal something striking: Jesus isn’t like the leaders I’ve grown up distrusting. Where worldly leaders often chase power and fame for personal gain, Jesus led differently. He critiqued the religious elite for their hypocrisy (Matt. 23:27–28), called the king a “fox” for his schemes (Luke 13:32), and refused to use political power to assert his authority, declaring, “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36).

Jesus isn’t naive about the world’s brokenness—he sees the selfishness and corruption in human hearts (John 2:25). And yet, instead of avoiding the mess or exploiting it, he steps into it with humility and compassion.

Jesus is a leader worthy of my trust.

Call for a Trustworthy Church

Sadly, the same can’t be said of his church. My generation’s trust in the church is sitting at 4.9/10, and honestly, I get it. Too many Christian leaders have failed to live out the trustworthy leadership Jesus modeled. Too many have chased power instead of service, image instead of integrity, performance instead of truth.

But if I’m being honest, the problem isn’t just out there—it’s in me, too.

I despise showy, power-hungry leaders, but following Jesus has exposed those same tendencies in my own heart. I care about the poor, but I’m too eager to broadcast my good deeds. I value honesty, but I idolize transparency just as much as earlier generations idolized respectability. I call out empty leadership, yet I crave the spotlight too. We say we want humility, but we chase influence. We claim to admire servant leadership, but we follow the loudest voices. We long for something real, yet we’re just as consumed with our own image as those before us.

At the same time, our own skepticism is exhausting. We’ve spent years rolling our eyes at institutions, questioning authority, and tearing down everything that doesn’t meet our standards. But what happens when tearing down isn’t enough?

We’re tired of being cynical. We want to believe in something again.

We’re tired of being cynical. We want to believe in something again.

That’s why millions tuned in to the Asbury Revival—because we wanted to see if something real was happening. It’s why people are drawn to Forrest Frank, who sings about Jesus with the kind of joy that doesn’t need to prove anything. And it’s why “my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” made a comeback in college sports this year.

We may be skeptical of institutions, but we ache to trust in a story again. And in truth, Jesus is the story every generation needs.

Jesus is already trustworthy. The question is—are we willing to trust him?

He teaches the following:

• A biblical perspective on the church as the only eternal human institution
• How Christianity is fundamentally different from other religious movements
• The role of grace in transforming individuals and societies
• How the cross has created peace between Jews and Gentiles
• The Holy Spirit’s role as a helper to believers
• Why suffering for Jesus is a privilege and a gift
• How evangelism brings a spiritual transformation that secular efforts alone cannot achieve

Many evangelicals seem interested in doing something similar with Christian mysticism. Spiritual formation gurus like John Mark Comer and other modern mystics might not be quoting Marcus Aurelius, but you’ll hear names such as Brother Lawrence, Julian of Norwich, and John of the Cross.

John Eldredge, of Wild at Heart acclaim, has joined the chorus of those promoting Christian mysticism as the way forward for disenchanted modern believers. In his book Experience Jesus. Really: Finding Refuge, Strength, and Wonder Through Everyday Encounters with God, Eldredge invites Christians everywhere to become “ordinary mystics” and, by doing so, to live the life “God always intended [us] to have . . . It will prove an absolute rescue to [our] faith” (xxi).

According to Eldredge, becoming an “ordinary mystic” is the only way to combat being a “Disciple of the Internet,” a problem he perceptively defines and illuminates. But as insightful as Eldredge’s diagnoses of modern challenges to spirituality are, it’s worth asking, Why do so many evangelicals find mysticism appealing? Eldredge’s mysticism is likely less an essential aspect of Christianity that we’ve lost than it is the resurgence of themes from historical Pietism and early modern liberalism.

Ordinary Christians or Ordinary Mystics?

Eldredge says, “Discipleship to the Internet has shaped your soul to expect immediate answers to your questions; given you a deep suspicion to all forms of mystery; fueled your addiction that the ‘practical’ is the real stuff of life; while eroding your confidence that you can know anything for certain because yesterday’s facts are savagely overturned” (1). And so Christians must learn to live with one foot in the material world of information and reason and one foot in the unseen spiritual world. Ordinary mystics live in both worlds intuitively, according to Eldredge. Through their example, we can find guidance on how to get out of a materialistic, information-based mindset and get “back into the fullness of the life of God” (217).

So how can Christians become ordinary mystics and experience Jesus?

At this point, readers might expect a technically defined and narrow sketch of Christian mysticism or what it means to be an “ordinary mystic.” Christian mysticism, after all, has a long and convoluted history in the church with eccentric figures and different schools of thought such as the Dominicans, Franciscans, Benedictines, Carmelites, and Cistercians.

Eldredge instead drastically broadens the term to mean that every Christian prior to the Enlightenment could have been called a mystic. The list would include Jesus, the prophet Ezekiel, and the apostle Paul. Eldredge argues, “When we understand mysticism as simply the daily experience of God and his Kingdom, we can say that mysticism is the normal Christian life” (5, emphasis original).

The bulk of the book outlines how normal Christians can experience God and his kingdom in daily life. So far, the book sounds like usual evangelical fare. Yet Experience Jesus is ironically modern in the way it prescribes formulas for achieving spiritual growth.

Mysticism and Technique

According to Eldredge, modern people have a hard time accessing Christ’s benefits because the average person is “a functioning materialist, trained to be so from the moment of birth” (157). Mysticism is thus necessary for Christians to become attentive to God’s presence in daily life.

Yet for all the lamentations about the bare practicality of modernity with its internet searches, mysticism has often functioned as a kind of spiritual technology. If you do certain spiritual practices, you’ll have predictable results. Historically, mysticism tended to assume the philosophical categories of Middle Platonism and later Neoplatonism, which said that God is on a higher continuum than man, attainable via spiritual techniques. Therefore, through practices like negation and other ascetic means, mystics could ascend to God within themselves if they followed the prescribed process.

Mysticism has often functioned as a kind of spiritual technology.

Similarly, though Eldredge describes mysticism as being mysterious and spiritual, he can’t seem but to speak of it in terms of efficiency. Describing the effectiveness of one of his personal written prayers, he says, “It helps, my skeptical friends; it works . . . mightily” (74). Elsewhere he writes, “The Blood [of Christ] and the River [flowing from the temple in Ezekiel 47] are very powerful substances for the cleansing and healing of trauma. This is especially true in the trauma of spiritual attack, which can be terrible. Washing it away works” (157).

Eldredge prescribes his own prayers and spiritual practices throughout the book. He notes, “I often need to [call down Fire and Glory from the Lord] after a rough night of attack, to make sure there aren’t any lingering spirits still around. . . . Try it. You’ll see” (167). When spiritual exercises are prescribed and mixed in a kind of regimen that “works,” it ironically smacks of modern techniques and protocols you might find on . . . the internet.

Normalizing the Exceptional

While Eldredge originally claims the goal is for everyone to become ordinary mystics, he also alludes to the idea that we can develop into “mature mystics” (32, 78, 108), those who can ostensibly experience God even more than ordinary mystics (194).

He describes Scripture less like the revelation of God and his plan of redemption and more like a collection of texts that model the kinds of experiences many mystics should expect to have. So Paul’s encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus, Isaiah’s vision of the heavenly throne room, and John’s visions in Revelation are what mystics can “literally” expect to experience (209, xix). He asserts,

I know several mystics who have “been” to the [heavenly] City as well, or seen it, or been given a vision of it. The mystic doesn’t really care. Remember—if you allow for mystery, you can experience God in many ways. If you demand the latest scientific proof of it, like a faithful Internet Disciple, you won’t enjoy much at all. (211)

Eldredge encourages Christians that they don’t need to understand all these practices to benefit from them. He discourages asking for theological clarity and seeking reasoned answers. “Be a mystic, friends,” he writes, “don’t get stuck in the mechanics” (135). This doesn’t sound much like testing the spirits, as Scripture instructs (1 John 4:1).

Eldredge might think he’s channeling the mystics of old, but much of what he advocates for sounds closer to early modern liberal theologians. As Friedrich Schleiermacher wrote in On Religion, “My heart is properly cultivated . . . and is not left to wither under the burden of cold erudition, and my religious feelings are not deadened by theological inquiries. You must seek these heavenly sparks that arise when a holy soul is stirred by the universe, and you must overhear them in the incomprehensible moment when they are formed.”

Mystics Don’t Need the Church

Another major concern is what’s missing in Eldredge’s vision for mystical practice: the church. Corporate worship, the preached Word, and baptism and the Lord’s Supper seem to have little place in Eldredge’s experience of Jesus. The only time he mentions church in the book is when he refers to its “impotence” (158).

Corporate worship, the preached Word, and baptism and the Lord’s Supper seem to have little place in Eldredge’s experience of Jesus.

Before there was a crisis of internet dependence, there was a crisis in philosophy and theology that caused 18th- and 19th-century Christians to doubt whether they could be certain of God’s existence. Modern theologians like Schleiermacher abandoned the usual means of piety, worship, and theology for more direct and immediate means of knowing God through, you guessed it, mystical experiences.

As Roger Olson summarizes in The Story of Christian Theology, Schleiermacher believed that the “essence of religion lies not in rational proofs of the existence of God, supernaturally revealed dogmas or churchly rituals and formalities, but in . . . the feeling of being utterly dependent on something infinite that manifests in and through finite things.” The desire to be spiritual but not religious has ancient roots and has never entirely disappeared from Western culture.

In a distracted age, mysticism at least recognizes the problems stemming from having a computer in our hands at all times. But we don’t have to perform mystical practices to experience God’s presence. That’s what living by faith and not by sight is all about. Even though our spiritual experiences ebb and flow, God still promises to meet us through his Word, his sacraments and ordinances, and his church. In Experience Jesus, Eldredge addresses an important problem with discipleship, but he points readers in an unhelpful direction.

Shortly before you leave, you see a large photo from the Buchenwald concentration camp. Dated April 16, 1945, it shows inmates sleeping three to a bed, with bunks stacked four high. The bodies are nothing more than skin stretched over skeletons.

Tucked away in the second row of bunks in the picture, seventh from the left, is a 16-year-old face. I didn’t recognize it in the picture. But the face would become famous around the world. It’s the face of Elie Wiesel, winner of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986. His book Night recounts his experience of the Shoah, or catastrophe.

Night is the story of Wiesel’s experience at Auschwitz and why he never slept soundly again. When he arrived in Auschwitz, he saw babies tossed in a flaming ditch. How was this possible? How could the world be silent when men, women, and children perished in fires? Wiesel heard his father cry for help as SS guards beat him to death. Wiesel didn’t move to help him, and he never forgave himself.

He was silent.

Wiesel wrote:

Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed.

Never shall I forget that smoke.

Never shall I forget the little faces of the children, whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky.

Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever. . . .

Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust.

Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself.

Never.

When three Jewish inmates, including a young boy, were hanged at Buchenwald, Wiesel heard a man behind him ask, “Where is merciful God, where is He?”

Silence. The details they witnessed are too gruesome for me to share. The man asked again, “For God’s sake, where is God?” A voice answered to Wiesel: “Where He is? This is where—hanging here from this gallows.” It was the voice of Wiesel’s own conscience. Wiesel became the accuser. God the accused.

Wiesel survived the camps. And so did his belief in God’s existence. But his doubt lingered. He could no longer trust God’s justice.

How do we account for God’s silence amid the greatest of human suffering? Is God is dead? Did we kill him? Or did we just put him on trial and find him guilty of crimes against humanity?

Moral Revolution

The Holocaust precipitated nothing less than a moral revolution in Western civilization. Historian Alec Ryrie observes that World War II exposed Christianity as setting the wrong priorities: “It now seemed plain that cruelty, discrimination and murder were evil in a way that fornication, blasphemy and impiety were not.”

Wiesel survived the camps. And so did his belief in God’s existence. But his doubt lingered. He could no longer trust God’s justice.

In other words, the Holocaust transformed our standards for evil. Before the war, Jesus Christ was the most potent moral figure in Western culture, according to Ryrie. Even non-Christians measured themselves according to his standards of love. But the overwhelming tragedy of the war displaced Jesus as the fixed reference point for good and evil.

Who replaced Jesus as the new moral standard?

Adolf Hitler.

“It is as monstrous to praise him as it would once have been to disparage Jesus,” Ryrie writes in his book Unbelievers: An Emotional History of Doubt. “While Christian imagery, crosses and crucifixes have lost much of their potency in our culture, there is no visceral image which now packs as visceral an emotional punch as a swastika.”

If Christians marched down your street behind a cross, you might shrug them off as eccentrics. But if Nazis marched down your street behind a swastika, you would physically feel their presence as an existential threat to yourself, your family, and the entire public order.

You might not be proud of everything you’ve said and done. You don’t pretend to be perfect.

But at least you know this: You wouldn’t put up with Hitler. You wouldn’t be silent in your protest.

Horseshoe Theory

Wiesel wrote the most harrowing account of the Holocaust I’d read—until I came across Vasily Grossman’s epic novel Life and Fate. A Jewish journalist in the Soviet Union during World War II, Grossman became one of the first writers to observe a Nazi death camp when Treblinka was liberated in eastern Poland.

I was overcome with emotion in one of the novel’s scenes where a young child is separated from his parents during the selection for the Treblinka gas chambers. I can hardly write about the story without weeping. A Jewish doctor could have avoided immediate death due to her profession. Instead, she elected to hold the panicked child’s hands through the horrifying process, all the way until death. The childless woman had one final thought before she perished: I’ve become a mother.

Life and Fate depicts the evils of Naziism like no other work. I’ve never seen such a vivid description of the banality of evil in building and operating a gas chamber. But Grossman doesn’t depict the Soviets as paragons of virtue just because they aren’t Nazis. Despite Grossman’s acclaim as a writer and battlefield witness, Life and Fate almost didn’t survive the Soviet censors. Grossman refused to valorize Stalin for fighting against Hitler. The Soviets wanted to shut Grossman up, just as they had tried to silence God through state-mandated atheism.

Grossman, however, retained an objective standard of evil that allowed him to judge both sides. He helped the world to see that communism and fascism weren’t so much two ends of a left-right spectrum as mirror images of totalitarian evil. They might have been mortal enemies in ideology and war. But in morality, they were partners in crime. They shared a common goal of silencing God’s voice of judgment against their plans for world subjugation.

The war displaced Jesus as the fixed reference point for good and evil. Who replaced Jesus as the new moral standard? Adolf Hitler.

Grossman died in 1964, nearly a decade before Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn published his Gulag Archipelago about the evils of the Soviet state. Solzhenitsyn’s shocking account of Soviet prison camps explains why “don’t be a Nazi” morality hasn’t stopped evil. Anti-Nazi morality fails because it shifts evil from something inside us to something out there among our enemies. It leads us to sanctify ourselves and demonize our enemies, moving us from defendant to judge, as if we’ve become righteous merely by virtue of being born after Hitler’s death. Solzhenitsyn, as a Christian, saw evil not just as something “out there” but also “in here.” He famously observed, “The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either—but right through every human heart.”

Solzhenitsyn wouldn’t be fooled by Vladimir Putin’s pretensions as defender of the Christian faith in our day. Putin justified his invasion of Ukraine—home of Grossman and of his mother, who died when the Nazis massacred the Jews of Berdychiv in 1941—as “de-Nazification.” When we externalize evil to an out-group, we deceive ourselves in self-righteousness. The rockets Putin has sent raining down on apartment complexes throughout Ukraine should remind us: all manner of evil begins when we underestimate the human penchant for self-deception.

God in the Dock

Another Russian writer anticipated the results when humans make God the defendant, when we sanctify ourselves and demonize our enemies. Fyodor Dostoevsky warned that when we judge God, we don’t replace him with a superior morality. Instead, anything goes. We make the rules. But no one’s in charge.

In Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, Ivan Karamazov argues with his younger brother, Alyosha, about God. Like Wiesel, Ivan is horrified by the suffering of innocent children. Like Wiesel, Ivan protests against God for allowing injustice. Here’s the riveting passage:

And if the suffering of children goes to make up the sum of suffering needed to buy truth, then I assert beforehand that the whole of truth is not worth such a price. . . . Imagine that you yourself are building the edifice of human destiny with the object of making people happy in the finale, of giving them peace and rest at last, but for that you must inevitably and unavoidably torture just one tiny creature, that same child who was beating her chest with her little fist, and raise your edifice on the foundation of her unrequited tears—would you agree to be the architect of such conditions?

Dostoevsky calls this chapter “Rebellion.” No wonder. Ivan says, “It’s not that I don’t accept God, Alyosha, I just most respectfully return him the ticket.” That’s the famous line. Never has a more powerful argument against God been mustered than this: “I believe in him. I just hate him.”

In the next chapter, with Ivan’s poem “The Grand Inquisitor,” Dostoevsky puts Jesus on the literal witness stand, but the trial ends in an unexpected way.

When the Inquisitor fell silent, he waited some time for his prisoner to reply. His silence weighed on him. He had seen how the captive listened to him all the while intently and calmly, looking him straight in the eye, and apparently not wishing to contradict anything. The old man would have liked him to say something, even something bitter, terrible. But suddenly he approaches the old man in silence and gently kisses him on his bloodless, ninety-year-old lips. That is the whole answer. The old man shudders.

Silence, and a kiss.

Is that the best Jesus can do? A kiss?

Why won’t God speak up and defend himself?

He does—in the shouts for justice from the very voices that fault him.

Suffering Servant

Back before the dawn of creation, there was only silence. Then God spoke in the darkness and there was light (Gen. 1:1–3). And when God finished with night and day, when he finished with the eagles and dolphins and gazelles, he created his greatest masterpiece. On the sixth day of creation, God made man and woman. God created nothing else in his image (Gen. 1:26). Nothing else in his likeness. Only man and woman. What does this mean?

It means the dolphins don’t cry out for God in the silence. It means the eagles don’t ask, “Where is God?” It means the gazelles don’t wonder if they should forgive. Every man, woman, and child—regardless of whether he or she believes in Jesus or acknowledges him as Creator—has been made in his image.

We demand justice because we’ve been made by a God who is just. We cry out for mercy because we’ve been made by a God who is merciful. We ask “Where is God?” when babies burn in the fire, when children walk alone into the gas chamber. God’s image can be seen in Elie Wiesel, Vasily Grossman, and everyone else who screams into the dark void. We’re the only creatures who argue with God as our Father. Like exasperated teenagers we shout, “It’s not fair!”

We demand justice because we’ve been made by a God who is just.

And we know something’s wrong, because justice doesn’t always prevail. We know this isn’t the world as God made it. But man and woman have rejected God. We, humanity, have gone our own way. We may be made in the image of God, but we deny his parentage. Eve listened to the lies of the Serpent over the promises of her Creator. Adam listened to Eve instead of God (Gen. 3:17). In the aftermath of this catastrophe, evil roared in victory. Now the human story plays in a minor key. Grief hit home almost immediately when Adam and Eve’s righteous son was killed by his jealous brother. There in the Garden, the seeds of the Soviet gulag were planted. The lies of the Serpent presaged the Shoah. Humanity has turned a deaf ear to God and turned in violence on one another.

The book of Job gives us God’s response to the question of innocent suffering. Of course, God’s response isn’t what we expect. For the evil he endures, Job receives no explanation at all. Yet God is anything but silent when he answers from the whirlwind. The Creator will not be judged by his creation:

Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?
Dress for action like a man;
I will question you, and you make it known to me.
Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding. (Job 38:2–4)

But Job isn’t the only response to innocent suffering we see in the Hebrew Bible. Isaiah was one of the greatest Jewish prophets. In Isaiah 53:7–9, he spoke this word from God about a suffering servant:

He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
yet he opened not his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he opened not his mouth.
By oppression and judgment he was taken away;
and as for his generation, who considered
that he was cut off out of the land of the living,
stricken for the transgression of my people?
And they made his grave with the wicked
and with a rich man in his death,
although he had done no violence,
and there was no deceit in his mouth.

He opened not his mouth. Silence. The lamb led to the slaughter.

The Hebrew Bible, then, gives us a complex answer to inexplicable suffering, to the questions posed by Wiesel and Dostoevsky and everyone else who knows this world isn’t as it should be.

First, we can object because we’re created in the image of God who is just.

Second, we have no right to accuse the Creator, whose purposes transcend our comprehension.

Third, an innocent servant’s suffering will somehow pardon the transgression of God’s people.

His chastisement will bring us peace. By his wounds, our world will be healed (Isa. 53:5).

Sounds of Salvation

The first sounds of salvation emanated from a hill outside Jerusalem called Golgotha. For six hours, the Creator and Sustainer of the universe hung on a Roman cross, slowly dying. In solidarity with its Maker, the land descended into darkness of night (Mark 15:33). Then Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” That is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34).

Night has never been darker. Quiet has never been quieter.

Jesus cried out again, and he died.

The Son offered friendship to all, but he made enemies of those who claimed to speak for God while they made every follower “twice as much a child of hell” (Matt. 23:15). The Son’s every good deed, his every healing miracle, enraged the self-righteous. In their show trials, they couldn’t find a single transgression by Jesus. Still, the religious and political leaders threatened by his innocence silenced his prophetic voice.

Then, on the third day, the sun rose. Light shone on Jerusalem. The women who loved Jesus went to his tomb. “An angel of the Lord descended from heaven.” The sound was deafening. The earth shook while he rolled the stone away from the tomb. The light was blinding. “His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow” (Matt. 28:2–3). He came with news of a new creation.

The former things had passed way. “In Christ God was reconciling the world to himself” (2 Cor. 5:19).

“For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin,” we read in 2 Corinthians 5:21, “so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” Theologians call this the “great exchange.” In union with Christ, he takes on our sin and dies the death we deserved on the cross. He gives us the righteousness of his sinless life so one day we’ll hear from our Father, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matt. 25:23).

God Has a Son

For now, the sounds of slaughter still haunt every corner of the earth. “Never again” gives way to war crimes in familiar Ukrainian cities with yet another land war in Europe. The League of Nations couldn’t stop the last major war. The United Nations can’t stop this one. Over the clanging gong of breaking news, we listen for the first notes from a trumpet that will signal the end of evil (Matt. 24:31). Then, final judgment will be rendered to the butchers of Buchenwald and Berdychiv. No evil word will go unpunished. On that day, every child’s cries will find consolation.

For God himself has a Son. Though he did no wrong, that Son suffered. And his suffering availed to our eternal salvation. This sheep may have been silent. But his sacrifice silenced the original accuser, Satan. The first enemy can rage. In the end, however, Satan cannot win.

The first enemy can rage. In the end, however, Satan cannot win.

Even now, God prepares to send his Son again. In Christ, new creation is coming. Jesus overcomes evil with good (see Rom. 12:21). He’s making all things new (Rev. 21:5).

When Christ returns, all who believe will kiss the very lips that were betrayed. Jesus will wipe away every tear from our eyes. Death will be no more!

No mourning. No crying. No pain.

We’ll hear a “great multitude, like the roar of many waters and like the sound of mighty peals of thunder, crying out, “Hallelujah! For the Lord our God the Almighty reigns” (Rev. 19:6).

God is never silent. His sheep hear his voice (John 10:27). Through the noise of this evil age, they hear the most reassuring promise of all: “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand” (John 10:28).

He hears your cries. He sees your tears.

Your Father may not owe you an answer. But he gives you his Son.

They discuss the post–World War II shift in morality, the rise of Hitler as a moral standard, and how modern comparisons often lead to self-justification. Drawing from Job and the Psalms, Collin highlights the importance of presence, silence, and crying out to God amid suffering.

This obscene etching from the late second or early third century AD depicts a man with the head of a donkey hanging from a cross with his posterior exposed. At the foot of the cross, a man wearing the sleeveless tunic of a slave prays with an outstretched hand. Three words have been scratched around the praying figure; the misspelled Greek clause can be translated into English as “Alexamenos worships God.”

The aim of the unknown graffiti artist seems to have been to mock an enslaved person named Alexamenos, who had devoted himself to Jesus. This artifact stands as a silent reminder of how shocking the reports about Jesus seemed to ancient Romans. Followers of this new way had devoted their lives to a deity who endured a death reserved for traitors and slaves. The word “crucify” was a vulgarity in ancient Rome, spoken sparingly in polite company. The Jewish historian Josephus referred to crucifixion as “that most wretched of deaths.”

Nevertheless, Christians persisted in praising a crucified God. Even more embarrassing from their neighbors’ perspective, the Christian deity apparently didn’t leave his body behind and ascend to the realm of the gods after he died, which is what any self-respecting deity would surely do. Instead, according to the Christians, the same scarred body that died was raised to life and transformed into the first sign of God’s new creation.

Message That Conquered an Empire

Despite making such distasteful claims, the movement multiplied. By the end of the first century, the news that a crucified Jew had returned to life had spread across the Roman Empire from Syria to Spain, and four written retellings of his life were circulating in the empire’s largest cities. Despite sporadic local persecutions, the communities that devoted themselves to Jesus kept gaining adherents.

After failing in their attempts to crush Christian communities through a series of empire-wide persecutions in the late third and early fourth centuries, the emperors finally gave up their efforts to force Christians to sacrifice to the venerable gods of Rome.

By the end of the first century, the news that a crucified Jew had returned to life had spread from Syria to Spain.

Looking back on this remarkable sequence of events, Augustine of Hippo saw evidence that the resurrection had really happened. He wrote,

Now, we have three incredible things, and yet all three have come to pass: First, it is incredible that Christ rose in the flesh and ascended with his flesh into heaven. Second, it is incredible that the world has come to believe something so incredible. Third, it is incredible that a few unknown men, with no standing and no education, were able to persuade the world . . . of something so incredible. Of these three incredible things, the people we are debating refuse to believe the first, they are compelled to grant the second, but they cannot explain how the second happened unless they believe the third. (author’s translation)

For Augustine, the church’s spread in the aftermath of the crucifixion provided evidence for the truth of the resurrection. Unless the first witnesses actually saw death reversed, it seems almost impossible they’d have persisted in their proclamation about a crucified man.

“The founders of the other great world religions died peacefully, surrounded by their followers and the knowledge that their movement was growing,” Tim Keller once pointed out. “In contrast, Jesus died in disgrace, betrayed, denied, and abandoned by everyone.” Unlike Confucius and Siddhartha Gautama, who spent many years training their disciples, Jesus taught his disciples for only three years or so. Unlike Muhammad, Jesus died in humiliation, with no armies, no wealth, and no heirs. Yet the message of his death and resurrection eventually conquered an empire.

Longing That Calls You to Faith

Much of this evidence for believing in Jesus’s resurrection is historical, but one piece of evidence isn’t so much historical as personal. Whether or not you think Jesus’s resurrection happened, there’s a longing for resurrection inside you. You yearn for a world where all things are made right and new. You long for a realm where death no longer reigns. You may not want Jesus. Like the vulgar “artist” behind the Alexamenos Graffito, you may think the idea of a crucified God is absurd. But you want resurrection.

Perhaps these yearnings are merely empty fantasies and wishful thinking. But what if they aren’t? What if you were made with a longing for life that never ends? If so, maybe your aching for eternity isn’t a defect in your mind but a part of your design. If you disbelieve the resurrection, or if you’re not sure what to think about a man returning from the dead, my encouragement to you is to read the four New Testament Gospels with an open mind. Consider Jesus’s claims, and hear this invitation Augustine spoke to his fifth-century congregation in North Africa:

Jesus . . . promised us his life, but what he actually did is even more unbelievable; he paid us his death in advance. [It is as if Jesus said,] “I’m inviting you to my life, where nobody dies, where life is truly happy, . . . to the region of the angels, to the friendship of the Father and the Holy Spirit, to the everlasting supper, to be my brothers and sisters. . . . I’m inviting you to my life.”

By suffering the punishment for sin in our place, the crucified Christ made a way for you and me to have fellowship with him through faith. Through his resurrection, the same Christ opened the door for us to share in his eternal life. Will you at least consider the possibility that all this might be true?

Victory That Changes the World

If Jesus has truly been raised from the dead, every victory has been won. The kingdom yet to come has burst into our present world, and that present-yet-future kingdom is every believer’s true home. Jesus’s resurrection guarantees the renovation of the world. That’s why we’re not those without hope, or hoping in hope alone. Resurrection shows that this world isn’t our home. Because every wrong will be made right, you can forgive, trusting that God will deal with every sin and abuse of his creation in his time and in his way.

Through his resurrection, Christ opened the door for us to share in his eternal life.

Since Jesus has been revealed as the risen King of all creation, you can be set free from placing your hope in earthly political allegiances. Because your future home is guaranteed to be a place of perfect peace and justice, you can commit yourself to practicing peace and justice in the present. As Esau McCaulley says, “If the resurrection is true, and the Christian stakes his or her entire existence on its truthfulness, then our peaceful witness testifies to a new and better way of being human that transcends the endless cycle of violence.”

If Jesus left behind an empty tomb—and there’s good evidence he did—that changes everything. What will the resurrection change for you?

Popular thinking suggests that painful or dysfunctional relationships like these can often be remedied by going “no contact.” In my practice, I’ve encountered more and more children who have already cut off their parents or are moving in that direction. And I see the effects on other family relationships that often become strained or disrupted as a result. Grandchildren may be severed from their grandparents; siblings may begin to avoid one another due to misunderstandings and disagreements about family dynamics. How we handle a difficult parent-child relationship can have far-reaching effects.

While our culture presents cutting off your parents as a viable option for self-care, it isn’t the only option. What does the Bible say about challenging relationships with parents? What does it look like to apply biblical wisdom and gospel hope to our relationship with our first caretakers? Here are three biblical principles to consider before you cut off your parents.

1. Honor your father and mother.

Scripture is full of imperatives about how we should relate to others, but the most often repeated message specific to our parents is that we’re to honor them (Ex. 20:12; Lev. 19:3; Deut. 5:16; Mark 7:10; Eph. 6:1–3). As Thomas Keene explains, when we’re children we primarily demonstrate honor through obedience, but as adults we “honor by being a blessing.”

We’ll address some complexities of challenging relationships later, but for now, let’s recognize that none of the Bible’s commands to honor our parents offers qualifiers. None of them says, “Honor your parents if . . .” The Bible is incredibly realistic about the human condition. It assumes we’ll have flawed parents who will fail us, and yet the consistent call is for us to honor them.

The Bible assumes we’ll have flawed parents who will fail us, and yet the consistent call is for us to honor them.

One way we can be a blessing to our parents as adults is by maintaining a connection with them, even when we recognize problematic patterns in their lives. It’s difficult to honor someone you don’t interact with. This certainly doesn’t require us to agree with our parents on everything, nor does honoring mean accepting abuse or mistreatment at their hands. Persistent dysfunction may require loving confrontation and thoughtful boundaries, but few situations other than abuse present a compelling reason to sever a relationship entirely.

2. Forgive as you’ve been forgiven.

As Christ-followers, we’re called to forgive others for the ways they hurt or offend us, because of the forgiveness we’ve received in Christ (Matt. 18:21–22; Luke 6:37; Eph. 4:31–32; Col. 3:12–13). But even in the best situations, when a parent is clearly apologetic and seeking restoration, forgiveness can still be painful and difficult. In my experience as a counselor, I’ve seen few examples where parents communicate repentance so well in a conciliatory meeting that the hurt child is completely satisfied.

Forgiveness is difficult because releasing the person from his debt means we now absorb it. The loss doesn’t disappear; we just no longer hold it against the offender. If we wait until we feel completely comfortable and satisfied in the relationship again, we may live in perpetual waiting. Moving forward without getting stuck might involve making relational adjustments to encourage healthy interactions and prayerfully considering how we might extend grace (unmerited favor) in the relationship.

But what about situations where the offending parent doesn’t repent and seek forgiveness? We can still seek to honor our parents by guarding our hearts against growing bitter. In this case, navigating the relationship will likely require wise safeguards to prevent further harm. But we can still maintain a connection with parents who have caused hurt, while praying for the Lord to bring them to repentance. Maintaining the relationship to some degree can even be instrumental in bringing that parent to a place of repentance.

When we genuinely pursue a process of forgiveness, we’ll rarely arrive at the decision to cut off the relationship. Biblical love compels relational wisdom; the relationship may look different, but forgiveness will most often make space for continued connection.

3. Bear with others in love.

To bear with others (Eph. 4:1–2; Col. 3:13) means “to put up with,” to have patience with others’ errors and weaknesses, to endure. In relationships with other sinners, we’ll feel inclined to flee, condemn, or fall into sin ourselves. Bearing with others in love means we fight against those urges.

If a parent has a pattern of problematic behavior, you’re right to ask her to work toward healthier patterns. But whether or not your parent is willing to change, you can bear with her by learning to establish different responses to her behavior.

When we genuinely pursue a process of forgiveness, we’ll rarely arrive at the decision to cut off the relationship.

If your parent tends to be passive-aggressive, you can choose to not allow her behavior to make you feel stuck in guilt, and you can choose not to engage when she makes passive-aggressive comments. If your parent tends to be controlling or overly opinionated, you can learn to maintain your convictions and plans while still demonstrating respect and care for her. If your parent has dysfunctional behavior that brings out dysfunctional behavior in you, you can repent of your sinful responses and consider how to wisely respond with grace and truth.

It’s helpful to recognize that the ultimate goal of creating distance or boundaries in any relationship is to disrupt and prevent further sinful or dysfunctional behavior. Abusive relationships require boundaries and wisdom to safeguard against further harm. But in most challenging parental relationships, it’s possible to discourage problematic patterns by learning to respond differently, by bearing with one another in love. Consider how you might live out humility, gentleness, and patience (Eph. 4:1–2) with difficult parents rather than severing the relationship.

Opportunity to Bless

Having a difficult relationship with your parents is often painful. What you hoped or imagined for your relationship and for holidays, celebrations, and family gatherings may differ from your lived experience. Without dismissing this pain, we still have an opportunity to bless our parents, living out of the grace we’ve been freely given in Christ.

A relationship of mutual grace and forgiveness is a beautiful, tangible expression of the gospel. Of course, we can only control one side of the relationship and pray for the Lord to work on the other. So as far as it depends on us, let’s choose to be people who honor, forgive, and bear with one another in love—especially with our parents.

In this episode of The Everyday Pastor, Matt Smethurst and Ligon Duncan discuss how to apply the gospel to nominal Christians (who shouldn’t have assurance), struggling Christians (who should), and all Christ’s sheep who are meant to revel in marvelous news: “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:1).

Recommended resources:

• Mark Dever on assurance (video)
• Mark Dever’s sermon application grid
• Assured by Greg Gilbert
• Heaven on Earth by Thomas Brooks
• Covenant and God’s Purpose for the World by Thomas Schreiner

When the Lord asked Solomon to request from him anything he wanted, Solomon asked not for riches or fame but for wisdom (1 Kings 3:9). This is often understood as nothing more than a morally selfless request. While it’s certainly not less than that, there’s more going on with Solomon’s request when it’s understood in light of earlier Scripture and the son of David’s role.

Role of the Son of David

Solomon was the son of David. This is more than a genealogical fact, akin to you being the son of Joe or Bill. The son of David is a title, more similar to royal titles such as the British Prince William bearing the title the Duke of Cornwall.

Such titles often come with specific roles or tasks. As outlined in the Lord’s covenant with King David, the son of David was to build the temple for the Lord (2 Sam. 7:13). Firemen put out fires, nurses tend to the sick, and sons of David build temples.

Firemen put out fires, nurses tend to the sick, and sons of David build temples.

Solomon must have known this. And as he rose to the throne (1 Kings 1) and established his rule by defeating those who opposed him (1 Kings 2), Solomon knew the time had come to build the temple. Building the temple is the major act in Solomon’s life that the author of Kings slowly details over four chapters (1 Kings 5–8). And so, before he sets out on this defining accomplishment, we read of Solomon asking the Lord for wisdom (1 Kings 3).

Once you know your role, you need to be equipped. Firemen need hoses, nurses need needles, and temple-building sons of David need wisdom.

Wisdom and Temple-Building in Earlier Scripture

First Kings 3:9 states that Solomon asked for wisdom “to govern [God’s] people, that [he] may discern between good and evil.” I’m not saying Solomon requested wisdom only to build the temple. This verse clearly states—and the subsequent case of Solomon settling the dispute between two prostitutes showcases—he gained wisdom to discern between good and evil (vv. 16–28). But building the temple was one reason he needed wisdom. While this isn’t stated explicitly in 1 Kings, it resounds throughout earlier Scripture.

In response to Solomon’s request, the Lord gave him a “heart of wisdom and understanding” (v. 12, author’s translation). The Hebrew word for “wisdom” is hokmah, and it first occurs in the Bible in relation to building the tabernacle. The leading craftsmen, Bezalel and Oholiab, along with the other workers possess this wisdom (Ex. 28:3; 31:3, 6; 35:26, 31, 35; 36:1, 2). Unfortunately, hokmah is translated in these occurrences as “skill” or “ability.” For example, regarding Bezalel, the Lord says, “I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with ability (hokmah) and intelligence, with knowledge and all craftsmanship” (31:3).

Scripture teaches that those building the tabernacle, God’s dwelling place, needed wisdom (hokmah) from God.

Many scholars have argued convincingly that the creation of the world occurred in such a way that it echoed the creation of a temple, a place for God to dwell with mankind; and that the garden of Eden was the first templelike structure. As we look at how the Bible retells God’s creation of the world, the first “temple,” we see that it also was created with wisdom. For example, Psalm 104, recounting God’s creation and sustenance of the universe, declares, “O LORD, how manifold are your works! In wisdom (hokmah) have you made them all” (Ps. 104:24; see also Prov. 3:19; 8:22–31; Ps. 136:5).

Thus, Scripture records that previous templelike structures, both the earth and the tabernacle, were built by the wisdom of God. Solomon, who as king knew his Bible well (Deut. 17:18–19), would have known this is how God’s dwelling places have been built in the past. And so, in light of his role as the son of David, Solomon asked for wisdom to build God’s temple.

Son of David and the Sons of David

This pattern of the temple-building son of David continues into the New Testament even as the details are reworked. Christ, the One greater than Solomon (Matt. 12:42), is the true son of David (9:27; Mark 12:37). We therefore shouldn’t be surprised to read that Jesus grew in wisdom (Luke 2:52) and that he foretold he’d rebuild the “temple of his body” (John 2:21).

And so he did. Christ built his church—that is, his body—into a holy temple for God (Matt. 16:18; 1 Cor. 12:27; Eph. 2:22). All Christians are said to be “living stones” (1 Pet. 2:5) within this new temple structure. And just as God’s presence filled the tabernacle and Solomon’s temple, so Christ has filled his temple with the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 3:16).

Christ built his church into a holy temple for God. All Christians are said to be ‘living stones’ within this new temple structure.

Our identity in Christ means we also are sons of David. Paul applies the Lord’s promise of his fatherly relationship with the son of David to Christians (2 Cor. 6:18; see Jer. 33:22). And if we’re sons of David, we also bear the role of the son of David—that is, temple-building. How do Christians build temples? Our gospel work builds on the existing foundation (1 Cor 3:9–17); through evangelism, new “living stones” are placed within the temple, and through discipleship, existing stones are fortified.

Knowing our identity as sons of David informs our purpose and role as Christians to be temple-builders—those who build up the body of Christ (Rom. 15:2; Eph. 4:16; 1 Thess. 5:11). And just like Solomon, we need to ask God to give us his wisdom, not just to navigate a hard personal decision but for the work of ministry, for building up Christ’s body, for building the temple (Eph. 4:12; Col. 1:9; James 1:5).

In Ukraine, the fallout was “pretty discouraging,” said American missionary Caleb Suko, who has lived in Ukraine with his family since 2007. “The feeling amongst Ukrainians and in the churches is [that we’ve been] betrayed by America and by President Trump.”

At the same time, he says, “I hear people saying this might be meant to teach Ukrainians that they should not rely on America to save them, but on God. We can see how God is using this to shift affections and hope in things.”

Suko felt that shift as well.

“As an American, it was sad for me to see President Trump not supporting a country that has freedom and democracy,” he said. “It helps to remember my most important citizenship is in heaven, and I think Ukrainian believers are sensing that more than ever now too. If they’re going to have peace through victory in this war, we’re going to have to give that praise to God, not to America or to any other country.”

The Gospel Coalition asked Suko about the mood in Ukraine, how the churches have been faring, and how he has seen God at work.

Russia invaded Ukraine on February 24, 2022. It’s been more than three years. How is the general mood of the country?

In general, the war has a wearing-down effect on people. They’re tired, and they’re feeling a hopelessness, wondering if this thing is ever going to end.

How are the churches doing?

Ukraine is a large country, so it’s hard to generalize. It depends a lot on where the church is. Certainly, many churches are smaller than they were before since many people have fled the country. But some are growing.

It helps to remember my most important citizenship is in heaven, and I think Ukrainian believers are sensing that more than ever now too.

You see a contrast between the churches that decided, back in 2022, to hunker down and try to survive versus those that saw this as an opportunity for the gospel. They housed fleeing people, used their vehicles to help with evacuations, started soup kitchens, or gave out basic food or hygiene products. Some Ukrainians came only for the resources, but there were people who were touched by the gospel and they ended up staying. Those churches are healthier and often growing.

In the last six months, the overwhelming difficulty for all churches in Ukraine is that we’re losing our young men. They’re being drafted, they’re away fighting, or they’re being injured or killed. Some are fleeing the country illegally.

The men who are still around are often unable to participate in ministry because they are afraid to leave their homes. In Ukraine, the draft does not work like it does in America. You don’t get a letter in the mail. Instead, recruiters roam around the city and set up checkpoints. If a man of fighting age—between 25 and 60—is spotted, the recruiters can draft him.

For example, last year our worship leader was driving to the mountains for a retreat. He got stopped along the road and was deemed eligible for military service. He had to go right then, leaving his car on the side of the road.

Another difficulty for the church is that everyone knows someone in the military, so the constant theme is praying for the military or somebody’s father or son who was killed or injured.

What’s it like to be an American missionary in Ukraine right now?

It’s difficult. Back when the full-scale war started, we knew a terrible evil was coming into our country. That’s been true—our brothers and sisters in Russian-occupied areas have been tortured or murdered because they were Christians.

In the beginning, we felt amazing support from the American churches and government. But since Trump has taken office, we don’t feel the support from the American government. Even some of our supporting churches in the United States are questioning what is really going on in Ukraine. We’re so thankful for those who still support us.

The most precious thing is actually the moral support right now—it brings tears to our eyes to hear people saying, “We’re praying for you.”

We are praying for you! What are some specific ways we can lift you up to the Lord?

Pray for faith and boldness for Christian men—that they would be able to minister well.

Pray for the families of those who have loved ones who are fighting, injured, or who have been killed. That pain is really difficult to deal with.

And pray that Christians would be able to direct their frustration, anger, and other emotions about this prolonged war in a righteous way—to be able to give those things over to God, and not just be angry at Russia or the United States. And after that, to be able to passionately continue to pursue evangelism and discipleship.

Is there a hunger for evangelism and discipleship in Ukraine right now?

Surprisingly, yes.

Immediately after the invasion, the church was focused on humanitarian efforts—and some churches still are, especially those near the front lines. I teach seminars on evangelism and discipleship, and for two years, I couldn’t do any of that.

But in the last three or four months, there’s been a resurgence in interest in those things. All of a sudden I have more requests to teach than I can physically fulfill.

Wow! Why do you think that is?

There is more stability now in the churches than there was in the last three years. In the areas farther from the front, people have gotten used to living like this. Someone asked me the other day how things were going, and I said, “Pretty quiet.” After I thought about it, I realized there had been a ballistic missile in a hotel downtown and a large kamikaze drone attack earlier that week. And while our kids were riding the bus home from school today, a ballistic missile hit a ship in the port while they were going by. The shock wave moved the bus.

But for us, that’s pretty quiet.

My ministry here is through Blagovistya Today, a center for evangelism and discipleship. Among other things, we produce evangelistic Bible studies, sort of like the Alpha course, to be used with people who just started coming to church. One is a chronological Bible study with 48 lessons. We have about 300 students in that course right now.

That’s amazing. Are there other ways you’ve seen God at work in Ukraine?

In the last couple of years, there has been so much turnover of leadership. It’s been very difficult, but we’ve also seen new people rise up that didn’t have an opportunity to serve before. Some of them are really gifted, and we’ve benefited from them.

In the last three or four months, there’s been a resurgence in interest in evangelism and discipleship.

In general, the war has a simplifying effect on the church. We aren’t worried anymore about bells and whistles, lights and stages. If we have a room with some chairs and maybe a guitar, we don’t need anything else. And it is still meeting every spiritual need.

We’ve also seen a huge influx in the growth of chaplain ministries. The Ukrainian army has almost a million people in it. So there has been a growing training for chaplains, teaching them how to deal with grief and loss or how to deal with PTSD. That’s definitely something we didn’t see in years past.

How has your faith changed in the last three years?

More and more, I am realizing that I can’t fit myself wholly under any political banner. The only banner I can fit myself under is the banner of Christ. No country—Ukraine, Russia, or the United States—is the everlasting kingdom. My sense of being a citizen of heaven has grown a lot stronger.

I want to help you have the latter experience. I want to offer advice based on years of reading the Bible cover to cover and processing such experiences with others who’ve attempted the same. My advice boils down to this: As you read, keep going and don’t worry too much about understanding. That will come.

At first, such advice can feel blunt and, frankly, even unspiritual. But it’s a key part of succeeding in Bible-in-a-year reading plans and increasingly knowing Scripture in order to increasingly know God.

Reading Habits

From a young age, we’re trained not only to read but also to comprehend what we’re reading. Reading pedagogy focuses on decoding texts, and we’ve developed tools to help us do so. In decades past, we used to stop to look up words we didn’t know in physical dictionaries. Nowadays, we pause to google words, references, or concepts we don’t understand. We’re frustrated when we don’t comprehend our text and can be tempted to quit altogether.

God wants us to grasp the meaning of his Word. Yet an expectation that we’ll always comprehend what we’re reading can be perilous.

Bible study methods common among evangelicals often reinforce these reading habits. We’re taught to stop and ask questions when we don’t understand a verse or passage. One of the most common questions small group leaders in inductive Bible studies ask is “What questions did you have about the passage?”

This is a good impulse. The Bible is meant to be understood (Ps. 119:105; 2 Tim. 2:7). God wants us to grasp the meaning of his Word. Yet an expectation that we’ll always comprehend what we’re reading can be perilous when attempting to read the Bible in the space of a year. Left unchecked, this expectation keeps us from the understanding we’re diligently seeking. How so?

Parts and the Whole

Grasping the meaning of a long, unified book like the Bible requires two types of mutually reinforcing understanding. To understand the parts (individual verses or passages), we must understand the whole. Yet to understand the whole, we must understand the parts. This forms a sort of interpretive spiral we must constantly negotiate.

The great strength of Bible-in-a-year reading plans is that they help us, as disciples, begin to grasp the whole of God’s Word. David Mathis tells us plans help us read for breadth, not necessarily for immediate depth. Whole-Bible reading plans aid us in seeing the unified narrative of redemption that ties 1 Chronicles to 1 Corinthians, that links Job, Jonah, and John. Yet such plans become difficult, cumbersome, and often incompletable when we try to use them to do something they aren’t well suited for—to understand all the individual parts of Scripture as we go.

I’ve often seen something like this happen: We begin a Bible reading plan that assigns to us three or four chapters per day and continue well enough in it until we come to a part of Scripture we don’t understand. What, we wonder, is the edifying value of Judah’s troubling sexual encounter with his daughter-in-law Tamar (Gen. 38)? Or what do long lists of Levitical laws about impurity and the cleansing of skin diseases have to do with following Jesus today (Lev. 14)?

These are good questions, and we should ask them. Yet they derail Bible reading plans when we allow them to constantly interrupt our reading. Perhaps we pull out our phone to run a quick google search, or we turn to read the notes at the bottom of the page in our study Bible. When we do so repeatedly, our reading experience becomes interrupted and choppy, reading three to four chapters at a time becomes a time-consuming and exhausting task, and our pace slows to a crawl. Not infrequently, we soon fall behind on our plans and then abandon them altogether.

Understanding Will Come

Consider a different approach. What if, on coming to Leviticus 14 or any other potentially confusing passage, we kept reading instead of stopping to ask (and search out answers to) our interpretive questions? What if we didn’t worry right then and there about the degree to which we understand what we’re reading? What if we trusted that through faithful, diligent, prayerful, year-after-year Scripture reading, God would gradually grow our understanding in fruitful ways?

Such an impulse to simply press on can often feel like borderline unspiritual neglect. Is it good to read when we’re not grasping what the text says? Isn’t it better to stop and attempt to clarify a passage’s meaning?

We must remember the interpretive spiral: The parts of Scripture help us to understand the whole, and the whole helps us to understand the parts. Evangelical culture rightly values Bible study, but I suspect we need to value Bible reading more. We should allow proper space for uninterrupted, extensive reading.

The parts of Scripture help us to understand the whole, and the whole helps us to understand the parts.

There’s good news: Bible study will only be enriched by increased Bible reading. As I read the Bible cover to cover from year to year, something exciting happens. A passage that one year left me befuddled begins to make more sense the next year. As I’ve gotten a greater grasp on Hebrews one year, I more easily understand Leviticus the next. The more times I’ve read about Abraham’s life in Genesis, the more Paul’s argument about justification in Romans 4 clicks for me.

If I only ever attempted Bible study for depth, without complementing that with Bible reading for breadth, my study would become impoverished, narrowly focused, and almost inevitably less rewarding. The opposite, of course, is also true: If I only ever read (without worrying too much about understanding), I’d also greatly benefit by devoting time to in-depth study.

The lesson here isn’t an either-or but a both-and. Study the Bible, by all means. But also simply read the Bible. If you’re trying to read the Bible cover to cover this year, don’t allow your interpretive questions to too regularly interrupt the reading process. Understanding will come over time. For now, just keep reading.

Prominent evangelical pastors like Ulf Ekman, Keith Nester, and Brook Thelander made headlines when they converted to Roman Catholicism. Similar stories are littered across social media, YouTube, and websites like The Coming Home Network.

Prior decades witnessed numerous prominent Protestant-to-Catholic conversions, including Francis Beckwith, Christian Smith, and Thomas Howard.

What drives these Christian thinkers to make this jump? Several theories could be explored, but one factor might concern the surprising savvy of online Roman Catholic apologetics, particularly on platforms like YouTube. When someone has questions surrounding various views on Christian traditions, doctrines, or sacraments (e.g., the Eucharist), a YouTube search will turn up a litany of Roman Catholic videos, while Protestant perspectives are rarely sufficiently and accurately presented. I suspect there are are least two reasons.

First, Catholic apologists are much more focused on growing Roman Catholicism as an institution (i.e., “the one true church”) than on merely winning souls for Christ. This makes sense given Catholicism’s traditional view that to be outside the church is to be outside Christ. The call “home” is a call to the institution of the Catholic Church, not merely a call to find redemption in Christ. Second, Protestant apologetics has leaned heavily into addressing atheism, postmodernism, and modern secular culture’s loss of morality, without focusing enough on learning and practicing our Protestant distinctives. But it’s precisely this focus on Protestant distinctives that would naturally clarify the differences between the Protestant tradition and Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy.

Protestants Are a Primary Catholic Mission Field

Where Protestant apologetics is more focused on winning the secular world to Christ, Roman Catholic apologetics often has a different audience in mind: their “separated brethren.” Targeting Protestants is explicitly encouraged. One writer argues, “We have from baptism a mandate to evangelize, and Protestantism is one of the fields most ready for harvesting.”

Protestant apologetics has leaned heavily into addressing atheism, postmodernism, and modern secular culture’s loss of morality.

William Lane Craig recently commented on this trend: “Many Catholic apologists seem to be more exercised and worked up about winning Protestants to Catholicism than they are with winning non-Christians to Christ. And that seems to me to be a misplaced emphasis.”

Protestant apologist Mike Winger (BibleThinker) made a similar observation: “I believe Roman Catholic apologists are presenting content that’s inconsistent with Roman Catholicism because it’s useful in getting Protestants to become Catholic. And that I find problematic.”

Italian Protestant pastor Leonardo De Chirico points out that it was once often perceived that evangelical Christians were proselytizing Roman Catholics. Now, it appears Rome is returning the favor in full force via YouTube and the internet. De Chirico cites as one example Bishop Robert Barron’s Word on Fire ministry, which has “exploded with videos, books, and courses designed to attract disappointed evangelicals toward Catholicism.”

Much of this is downstream from Vatican II, the contentious council many perceive to be the Catholic Church’s strategic move to appeal to their separated brethren (Protestants) to return to “home sweet Rome.”

Why Should It Matter to Protestants?

Roman Catholic apologists sometimes misrepresent actual Catholic doctrine. They soften terminology to appear harmonious with Protestant views on soteriology, among other doctrines. In using similar terminology and softening the severity of the numerous anathemas against Protestants, these influencers are attracting disillusioned or dissatisfied Christians to a tradition with its own concerning history.

Behind the curtain of liturgy, aesthetics, and reverent ceremony is a mountain of doctrinal, dogmatic, and ritualistic accretions that bind the consciences of faithful Roman Catholics. Such accretions (that were unknown to the early church) include teachings on purgatory, the Marian dogmas, transubstantiation in the Eucharist, papal infallibility, and priestly celibacy. Sometimes, the concept of “doctrinal development,” a view accentuated by Cardinal John Henry Newman, has been used to defend these dogmatic additions to early church confessions.

Where Protestant apologetics are more focused on winning the secular world to Christ, Catholic apologetics often have a different audience in mind: their ‘separated brethren.’

The truth is, significant theological differences still exist between Protestants and Roman Catholics, most crucially the nature of the gospel itself. Protestants argue from Scripture that salvation is through grace by faith alone, a salvation imputed to the believer through the finished work of Christ. Such a forensic declaration of righteousness will result in good works, but it is not obtained through good works. Roman Catholic theology teaches infused grace in which the believer is empowered to live a righteous life, with the hope of remaining in a state of grace. Rather than a forensic declaration, Roman Catholic soteriology is ultimately one of participation where the believer is dependent upon the grace of God and merit through their own good works and the sacraments (particularly penance). Despite similarities in language, the two ideas are vastly different at their core.

The gospel is unbelievably great news, especially when held in its proper context without accreted doctrines and additional requirements that burden believers’ consciences. My heart is heavy knowing that, in the pursuit of church tradition perceived as rooted and reverent, many believers will find their consciences bound to fallible doctrines.

Protestant Response

What are some practical ways Protestant believers can respond to the rise of online Catholic apologetics? Here are four suggestions as a start.

1. Revisit Reformed roots.

Many Protestants, particularly American evangelicals, need to explore their roots beyond Billy Graham and Charles Spurgeon. What was taking place in the Roman Catholic Church in the 16th century that required reform? Has Catholicism been consistent in its teaching? Is Protestantism a “new” church that apostatized from the “one true church,” or was the Reformation motivated by a desire to return to catholic apostolic doctrine without the accretions of Rome?

Protestant Christians must reclaim their tradition, becoming familiar not only with Reformation-era theologians but also with the significant contributions of post-Reformation Protestants. We should retrieve the theology of our tradition before delving into the complexities of non-Protestant traditions. Without familiarity with the best of our tradition, it’s easier to fall into doubt when we hear opposing claims.

2. Equip the laity.

Evangelicalism, especially in the United States, tends to be perceived as shallow in doctrine, modern in praxis, and disconnected from any knowledge of church history. Unfortunately, this often a fair evaluation. When our churches neglect doctrine and church history, those wishing for rootedness in an intellectual and historical tradition may find their way to Rome.

Local church pastors should incorporate the wisdom of church fathers in sermons rather than merely regurgitating quotes from C. S. Lewis and other modern theologians. Outside of Sunday worship services, local churches can host classes that delve into different aspects of church history or historical theology. Revisit core creeds and confessions. Equip the local church with resources for anyone wrestling with ecclesial and theological questions.

3. Be rooted in Scripture.

I’m convinced that if you were to come to Scripture without a Protestant or Roman Catholic framework, you’d complete your study with a much more Protestant theology than a Catholic one. This is why Rome depends on claims of oral tradition and ecclesial authority in addition to the infallibility of Scripture.

Does this mean tradition is inconsequential? No. Protestants value tradition (lowercase t) when it aligns with and upholds the truths of Scripture. Sola scriptura (Scripture alone) isn’t antitradition. But it does subject church doctrines, traditions, and leadership to the higher authority of Scripture. To recognize and rebut unbiblical ideas in Roman Catholic teaching, Protestants need to know the Bible inside and out.

4. Participate in reforming Protestantism.

If you’re a biblically faithful Protestant with knowledge of church history and the Reformation, prayerfully consider how you might provide a Protestant response in contrast to the surge of Roman Catholic content online. This could be a YouTube channel or online writing, leading a study offered at your local church, or starting a book discussion group with a mix of Protestants and Catholics. Engage in the discussions from an informed perspective, and do it in a spirit of charity and love, not argumentation.

Recommended Resources

Whether you’re a Protestant wrestling with the claims of Roman Catholic apologetics or a Christian simply interested in learning more about these matters, see the brief list of resources below for further study.

If you want a deeper dive into the rich history of Protestant thought, check out the works of classical Protestants such as Philip Schaff, Francis Turretin, Herman Bavinck, Martin Bucer, Martin Luther, John Calvin, and Martin Chemnitz.

YouTube Channels

• Truth Unites (Gavin Ortlund): Protestant polemics with a scholarly approach. Ortlund (a Baptist with a Reformed theological framework) is an excellent representative of Protestant thought, regardless of your tradition within Protestantism.
• Just & Sinner (Jordan B. Cooper): Cooper provides Protestant apologetics with a Lutheran perspective. He not only addresses Protestant polemics but also delves into historic Lutheranism and theology.
• BibleThinker (Mike Winger): Winger is a powerful evangelical voice on YouTube and social media platforms for Christian edification and instruction. He has addressed Roman Catholicism in a series of videos that are worth checking out.
• Wesley Huff: Huff’s name is probably familiar to you after his recent episode on The Joe Rogan Experience. Coming from a Reformed perspective, his content isn’t as polemical as some others. However, his research and knowledge of the canon of Scripture is relevant and needed.

Books

• In Search of Ancient Roots by Kenneth J. Stewart
• What It Means to Be Protestant by Gavin Ortlund
• The Reformation as Renewal: Retrieving the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church by Matthew Barrett
• Roman Catholic Thelogy and Practice: An Evangelical Assessment by Gregg R. Allison
• Disillusioned: Why I Left the Eastern Orthodox Priesthood and Church by Joshua Schooping (despite the focus on Eastern Orthodoxy, this book can assist in the search for doctrinal clarity regarding Catholicism due to similar beliefs such as the Marian dogmas)
• Introducing the Apocrypha: Message, Context, and Significance by David A. deSilva

Websites

• Canon Fodder (Michael J. Kruger, Reformed Theological Seminary)
• Truth Unites (Gavin Ortlund)
• BibleThinker (Mike Winger)
• Credo Magazine
• Reformanda Initiative
• The Davenant Institute
• Wesley Huff

They discuss the following:

• Australia’s spiritual context
• Gospel movement in Australia
• Ireland’s spiritual context
• Encouragements in Ireland
• Challenges and opportunities in Ireland
• Latin America’s spiritual context
• The revival of the gospel in Latin America
• Practical ministry strategies in Latin America
• Afghanistan’s spiritual context
• Ministry to Afghan refugees in the United States

Vos’s endeavor to promote biblical theology drew on years of teaching and preaching the Bible. His magnum opus was published in 1948 as Biblical Theology: Old and New Testaments. Though dated in some ways, this work and the approach established by Vos in it have unmistakably influenced contemporary evangelical biblical theology. This book is a classic that deserves rediscovery by every generation.

Confessional Coherence

Vos envisioned a method where biblical theology occupies a unique space between exegesis and systematic theology. This helped give shape to biblical theology as a discrete discipline.

While exegesis deals with the granular details of specific texts and systematic theology presents a logical, organized overview of biblical teachings, biblical theology focuses on the historical unfolding of the truths of Scripture. For Vos, the discipline’s subject matter is best characterized as the “history of special revelation” (v). Accordingly, he structures his study around significant historical epochs like the patriarchal period, the Mosaic era, and the time of prophetic revelation, culminating in the New Testament’s “new dispensation” (302).

Through biblical theology, we see the coherence of the Bible’s message. Vos presents God’s action in the world as a unified and organically unfolding revelation of God’s redemptive plan rather than as a collection of disjointed stories. With Scripture’s narratives serving as an authoritative source for his reconstruction, Vos illuminates the interconnectedness and coherence of God’s redemptive work in history.

Vos illuminates the interconnectedness and coherence of God’s redemptive work in history.

A helpful feature of Vos’s method is his engagement with critical scholarship. Throughout Biblical Theology, he summarizes the historical-critical consensus about specific periods of Israel’s history. He then shows both the inadequacy of the critical construct and the reasonableness of the biblical narrative’s witness as summarized by traditional Christian confessions.

This confessional instinct serves an apologetic function but also an exegetical one. Vos uses the insights raised by critical questions even as he rejects the answers that critical scholars give. For example, against critics who doubt the historicity of the Abraham narratives, Vos observes that “according to the Bible they are real actors in the drama of redemption, the actual beginning of the people of God” (67). The account of the patriarchs isn’t only a historical data point but also a foundational feature of the Bible’s redemptive message.

Redemptive History

Vos balances the striking unity of the Bible’s message with its diversity across the history of redemption. For Vos, divine revelation unfolds progressively in the saving events and covenantal relationships recorded in the biblical narrative. Each stage builds on the previous one. In this view, revelation is a dynamic divine activity unfolding within a providentially guided timeline. This perspective allows the biblical theologian to trace key themes like covenant, law, kingdom, and salvation from their initial forms in the Old Testament to their fulfillment in Christ.

Vos also speaks of the “organic” nature of special revelation. Redemptive history has a profound theological unity, yet God’s people grow in understanding of God’s work across time.

According to Vos, the progress of revelation is like “a tree whose root system and whose crown spread out widely, while the trunk of the tree confines the sap for a certain distance within a narrow channel” (79). This word picture illustrates the relationship between the nature of God’s actions during the patriarchal period (the growing root system), the Mosaic era (the narrow trunk), and the time of the New Testament (the outwardly expanding crown of revelation).

Divine revelation unfolds progressively in the saving events and covenantal relationships recorded in biblical narrative.

Most significantly, Vos argues that the focal point of special revelation and the history of redemption is Jesus Christ. After the revelation of God in “a son” (Heb. 1:1–2), “no higher speech [is] possible” (302). Indeed, “Jesus does not represent himself anywhere as being by his human earthly activity the exhaustive expounder of truth. Much rather he is the great fact to be expounded” (302).

Just as Israel’s history involved mighty acts of God (like the exodus) alongside interpretation of those acts (like God’s speech to Moses), so too the person and work of Jesus as the Christ is interpreted by the apostles’ preaching. The contemporary church must find its bearing within this interpretive framework. As Vos notes, “The New Testament revelation, being the final one, stretches over all the extent of the other things Christ came to inaugurate” (303).

Continuing Legacy

Biblical Theology is worth engaging on its own terms. Yet the book also has a continuing legacy.

Key ideas within contemporary Reformed approaches to biblical theology trace back to Vos’s work. For example, the redemptive-historical hermeneutic developed by Herman Ridderbos in Redemptive History and the New Testament Scriptures builds on Vos’s foundation.

Vos’s emphasis on tracing themes across redemptive history is echoed in evangelical biblical theology projects such as the New Studies in Biblical Theology series edited by Don Carson and works like A New Testament Biblical Theology: The Unfolding of the Old Testament in the New by G. K. Beale.

Furthermore, Vos’s ideas have been both used and interrogated in the biblical studies field more broadly. For example, in Biblical Theology of the Old and New Testaments: Theological Reflection on the Christian Bible, Brevard Childs affirms the importance of redemptive history but seeks to prioritize the portrayal of this biblical history in light of the canonical context. In Introduction to Old Testament Theology: A Canonical Approach, John Sailhamer pursues the unity of the Bible’s narrative shape but does so with a special focus on the compositional strategies of biblical authors.

These kinds of interactions are some ways that Vos’s work has been productively received. Whether as an explicit theological resource or as an implicit dialogue partner, Biblical Theology continues to play a role in contemporary discussions among evangelicals.

Above all, as we navigate the complexities of our own time, Vos’s work reminds us that the Bible isn’t merely a collection of ancient texts. Scripture is living and active. It speaks with authority and clarity to the questions and challenges of every generation. Biblical Theology shows us how to discover the richness of the biblical story as we’re drawn ever closer to the heart of God’s redemptive purposes.

Unlike in the Hogwarts mania of the ’90s, however, most attendees were women. Their costumes often included leather bodysuits. And the book in question featured not only dragons and a magical realm but also explicit sex scenes.

Rise of Romantasy

The title that sparked so much excitement was Rebecca Yarros’s Onyx Storm, the third book in the Empyrean series of novels within the “romantasy” subgenre. Romantasy blends the tropes of romance with the imaginative world-building of fantasy, creating novels described as “The Bachelor meets The Hunger Games.” Bloomsbury Publishing claims to have recently coined the term “romantasy” to promote their author Sarah J. Maas’s books, but the definition appeared on Urban Dictionary as early as 2008. “It’s not really a new genre, but one that’s grown so much as to receive its own nickname,” explained Marian A. Jacobs during my interview with her; Jacobs is a contributor to the Christian fantasy site Lorehaven and the author of the forthcoming On Magic and Miracles: A Theological Guide to Discerning Fictional Magic.

The book in question featured not only dragons and a magical realm but also explicit sex scenes.

Whatever its origins, romantasy has soared in popularity in recent years. Onyx Storm sold 2.7 million copies in its first week, breaking a 20-year record. At the time of this writing, Yarros’s books occupy the top two spots on the New York Times bestseller list for hardcover fiction and the top three spots on Amazon’s “most sold” list. Maas, another author driving sales in the category, has also seen meteoric success; her A Court of Thorns and Roses series has sold more than 13 million copies.

Why have these books achieved such a wide readership over the last few years? Even more importantly, what should Christians know about romantasy—and how can we guard our hearts as these titles become increasingly prevalent?

Lure of Escapism

Social media has played a pivotal role in romantasy’s surging popularity. In the months following the release of Yarros’s first Empyrean book in 2023, fan videos on BookTok attracted more than a billion views. Influencers often praise the female empowerment they encounter in these books. Romantasy “allows women to have it all,” Instagrammer Christina Clark-Brown told The Guardian. Its editorial staff elaborated:

The romantasy heroine speaks to the cultural moment. The strong, female-led stories show young women can be nerdy and sexy, vulnerable and powerful, both “not that girl” and “that girl.” . . . You can be anyone—or anything—you please. This is the fantasy.

Such remarks hint at women’s yearning for meaning and identity. We crave control over our fate. We desire love, to be lovable—and yet to be like God (Gen. 3:4–5). It’s an undercurrent of wayward longing also evident in the link between romantasy and the pandemic. Fantasy book sales climbed by 45 percent from 2020 to 2021, the largest increase across all genres except graphic novels. “Along with the rise in cosy crime, romantasy’s soaring popularity has been attributed to the appeal of escapism in dark times,” The Guardian reflected. “For its devotees, the genre offers the joy of getting lost in another world and connecting with others.”

When I asked a group of Christian high schoolers about their experiences with romantasy, they echoed these themes of loneliness and longing. “My friends who are really into these books are trying to experience what they want, but don’t have,” one student shared. “The boys in these books are all impossibly perfect. My friends can’t find these perfect relationships in their own lives, so they seek them out in books. It makes me sad, because they’re chasing after something they’ll never find.”

Jacobs has observed the same phenomenon. “Post-Covid, women are hungrier than ever to fill that Jesus-shaped hole in their heart that only festered during the loneliness of quarantine,” she said. “And where men usually gravitate toward online pornography in those moments, women are more likely to pick up a romance novel or even erotica.”

Watch Out for Spice

The erotic content in romantasy poses the greatest concern for Christians. While euphemistically labeled “spice,” these scenes are often explicit. For example, in his review of Yarros’s Fourth Wing, Plugged In contributor Kennedy Unthank noted that the main characters “engage in two different graphic sex scenes, both of which are multiple pages long and describe the sex in such detail that readers will get a full anatomy course by the end.” Even some secular readers have found the depictions alarming. “During my journeys in romantasy,” a fan wrote in The Sunday Times, “I found it disconcertingly easy to veer from vanilla stuff to some fairly violent sexual tropes, almost without meaning to.”

As 82 percent of romance readers are women, the soaring popularity of spicy romantasy has implications for the sisters, daughters, and mothers who sit beside us in church. Jacobs, who has written extensively on the topic of women’s lust and fiction, says romantasy “can absolutely be a gateway drug to a pornography and/or erotica addiction.” While most research on pornography emphasizes its dangers for men, Jacobs has encountered increasing numbers of women who struggle with lust in silence and shame—even in the church. In 2018, she conducted a small, anonymous survey of Christian women and found that 94 percent struggled with lust; this same percentage reported that literature and television exacerbated their temptation.

While alarming, these findings shouldn’t surprise us when we consider that the content we consume, whether written or visual, shapes our minds and hearts (Rom. 12:2). Diving into explicit fiction reflects a chasing after wind (Eccl. 1:14) as we search for meaning, connection, and love down avenues that will never satisfy. In her book Pulling Back the Shades: Erotica, Intimacy, and the Longings of a Woman’s Heart, Dannah Gresh writes,

Reading erotica, like viewing pornography, may lead to an intense sexual reaction but the characters are one-dimensional lies. With each page of erotica . . . evil is reinforcing the lie that sex is just about physical pleasure—divorced from true commitment, unselfish love, and God’s holy design. You will be left with a deep ache for something more. The truth is you were created for something more! (40)

In a world riddled with anxieties, the lure of stories that offer diversion and fantasy can be powerful. Yet they leave us yearning for something deeper and lasting because we were made not for transient pleasure and escape but for communion with Christ (Matt. 22:37, John 15:9, 1 John 3:1).

Caution for Families

The potential to accidentally stumble into sexually explicit scenes in romantasy is a warning to parents and a risk teenagers actively navigate. In an interview for Reedsy, romantasy author Jennifer L. Armentrout commented, “A lot of romantasy covers look like fantasy books, so new readers may not be aware that they’re reading a fantasy romance, which is expanding the readership.”

This ambiguity means young readers may see an intriguing cover and unwittingly end up reading grievously inappropriate content. The high schoolers I interviewed said the back-cover copy of fantasy books rarely offers clues about spice. After discovering a scene that troubled her for weeks afterward, one student learned to look up books on Common Sense Media or Goodreads before purchasing.

In a world riddled with anxieties, the lure of stories that offer diversion and fantasy can be powerful.

Such review sites are a valuable resource for families. “I’ve been warning parents for years about the young adult novel market,” Jacobs noted. “There are very, very few secular authors that write without using sensuality in young adult books. . . . If a teen is avidly reading secular young adult novels, I guarantee they are reading softcore porn. And their parents may have no idea.” Yarros’s books illustrate Jacobs’s point. When she first pitched Fourth Wing, Yarros set the story in a military unit. Her publisher, however, had a different idea: They “suggested a tweak that would appeal to a younger audience: rather than a military unit, the setting should be a war college, with new recruits.”

Guard Your Hearts . . . and Your Bookshelves

In this murky environment, how do we guide one another toward books that are true, pure, commendable, and lovely (Phil. 4:8)?

Critically, we need to cultivate discernment, shepherding one another toward a biblical understanding of God’s design for relationships. Sisters in Christ should dialogue about the beauty, the gift, and the fulfillment of covenant marriage as an image of Christ and his church (Gen. 2:24; Eph. 5:21–33). We should point one another to satisfaction not in the transient things of this world, and not in adoration from man (Col. 3:23–24), but in a restored relationship with God through Christ, who so loved us that he laid down his life for us (John 3:16; 1 John 3:16).

Thankfully, we also have safeguard options. We can adopt a practice of screening for objectionable content through review sites, whether for our children or ourselves. Plugged In, Common Sense Media, and Lorehaven all offer reviews of popular media and fantasy books, with a focus on identifying inappropriate elements.

Additionally, we can fill our bookshelves and minds with life-giving stories and recommend them to others. Delve into classic literature. Draw out themes of redemption, hope, and self-sacrifice. To find good books for kids and teens, grab a copy of Honey for a Child’s Heart or Wild Things and Castles in the Sky and peruse the pages for recommendations. Also, check out Read-Aloud Revival, Good Book Mom, Redeemed Reader, and WORLD Magazine for reviews from a Christian perspective.

Jacobs urges believers to consider the plethora of vibrant and God-honoring literature from modern Christian authors. “There are literally hundreds of Christian authors of speculative fiction [writing that includes genres other than realism] that are desperately trying to get their books into the hands of Christian kids, teens, and adults, and are struggling to do so,” she said.

She had a word for Christian publishers as well: “They should publish clean, God-glorifying romantasy that seeks to lead readers closer to Christ rather than into a life of sexual addiction. Romantasy is a genre that can be, and sometimes is, done well. The danger is not that this genre exists but that readers need help finding the right books.”

But in recent years, the genre’s quality has vastly improved. I’m increasingly delighted to praise quality offerings—not because they’re not awful but because they’re genuinely praiseworthy.

Jon Erwin (I Can Only Imagine) has been part of an emerging renaissance of faith-based film and TV. It’s a welcome trend that also includes his brother Andrew, Jon Gunn (Jesus Revolution), and Dallas Jenkins (The Chosen). Still, when I heard that Erwin’s new Wonder Project studio was kicking off with a Prime Video series about David, decades of low expectations had me fearful. Would Amazon inflict a Rings of Power–style spectacle on the sacred biblical texts? Would Erwin’s storytelling talents get subsumed beneath the corporate formulas of a major streamer? Narratively, would God be relegated to a supporting character in favor of the juicy human drama of Scripture’s most Shakespearean soap opera saga?

Having previewed all eight episodes of House of David season 1, I can say with relief that my fears were (mostly) allayed by a narrative that exceeded my expectations.

Strength That’s Also a Vulnerability

Fans of The Chosen will find much to like in House of David, even as those inclined to dislike The Chosen will probably dislike House of David for the same reasons.

What works for both shows is the long-form, multiseason television show canvas, which gives iconic biblical characters breathing room to be rendered in textured brushstrokes rather than flannelgraph one-dimensionality. Amazon, which this month announced its exclusive streaming rights to The Chosen’s new season, clearly recognizes that this multiseason show format—more than the compressed limitations of a feature film—is a winning recipe for biblical material to go deeper and wider on screen.

But the flip side of this strength is a vulnerability that exposes these shows to frequent critique. How do you create relatable, fleshed-out characters out of people only mentioned in a few verses of biblical text? You have to speculate. And how do you fill in the narrative gaps in a way that’s plausible, compelling, and not contradictory to what is in Scripture? It’s a tough balance to strike, but Erwin’s House of David does a commendable job of being both narratively interesting and biblically faithful.

Narrative Focus

Season 1 narrates the biblical saga of David (Michael Iskander) from his shepherd-boy beginnings in Bethlehem to his rise as a beloved court musician for King Saul (Ali Suliman) and ultimately to his underdog confrontation with Goliath (Martyn Ford). Along the way, we see iconic moments like David fighting a lion and being selected and anointed by the prophet Samuel (Stephen Lang).

Samuel is the thematic and spiritual heart of the show, and Lang’s performance elevates every scene he’s in. As God’s mouthpiece, Samuel delivers both words of rebuke to Saul—who disobeys God by not completely wiping out the Amalekites (1 Sam. 15)—and words of prophetic encouragement to David, the Lord’s anointed.

Samuel is the thematic and spiritual heart of the show, and Lang’s performance elevates every scene he’s in.

Samuel continually directs characters—and the audience—to heed God’s white-hot holiness. In keeping with Scripture’s emphasis, House of David assesses the relative heroism of characters based largely on their posture toward God. The heroes have a healthy reverence and humility before God—trusting and obeying him more than they follow their own hearts. The villains are those inclined to sideline God’s authority and esteem themselves more highly than they ought.

One early scene illustrates this theme. After defeating the Amalekites, Saul sets up a memorial on a mountain to, he says, “the greatness of our house and the glory of Israel.” His virtuous son Jonathan is there, and he corrects his father: The monument should be dedicated to “the greatness of God.” Saul then replies, “Our greatness is his greatness.” It’s a line that conveys Saul’s half-hearted devotion to God and the insidious pride that will be his downfall.

Cast Highlights

Israeli actor Suliman is well cast as Saul. He infuses the conflicted, mentally unwell king with volatile complexity and inner turmoil as he struggles to retain his crown rather than defer to God’s authority. Most of us can see in Saul a bit of our own reluctance to fully cede control over our lives to God.

It took me some time to warm up to Iskander as the warrior-poet David. At first, Iskander (an Egyptian-born stage actor in his first major screen role) felt too scrawny and artsy: believable as a bard but less so as a battle-winning, lion-slaying warrior. But then Scripture’s own words (uttered by Samuel in the show) reminded me: “The LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart” (1 Sam. 16:7). One of the key takeaways from David’s arc in Scripture—as with so many other people God chooses to use—is that he’s not a likely leader by all appearances. His ascent speaks to God’s glory, not David’s.

One highlight from Iskander’s performance (and the series generally) is the rendering of David’s music: numerous moments of him singing prayers and psalms (in Hebrew) as he strums a lyre. A standout scene shows David singing “The Song of Moses” (Deut. 32:1–43) for Saul and his family, bringing them to tears. Iskander uses his own musical talents in these scenes, and the effect is beautifully authentic.

Occasional Missteps

Though I liked season 1 overall, a few episodes felt uneven, likely because the episodic scripts were helmed by various screenwriters with differing degrees of biblical knowledge and faith devotion.

Some elements of the narrative come across as a bit anachronistic. The burgeoning romance between David and Mychal (Indy Lewis), for example, occasionally feels like a Hallmark rendering of Romeo and Juliet. And there are a few cringey moments when “Believe in yourself!” values of contemporary Western individualism seep into an ancient Near-Eastern context where they would’ve been alien. At one point, Saul gives what feels like a contemporary American college commencement speech to David:

All is possible. You can be anything, no matter where you start. And do not let the words of any one man take your destiny from you. It’s yours. Hold on to it tight.

In another scene, David echoes this seize-your-destiny mantra when Mychal tells him, “David, there is a difference between desire and duty. My future is not mine to decide!” David responds, “That is true only if you believe it.”

In these moments, the show feels like it misconstrues David’s ascent as a “You can do anything!” hero narrative that celebrates expressive individualism and humanity’s self-willed achievement more than God’s greatness. The vibes occasionally evoke a giant-slaying prosperity gospel, where the accent isn’t on God’s glory as much as on what we can conquer on the coattails of his power and blessing.

Grounded in God’s Glory

Thankfully, these scenes are exceptions in the series, not the norm.

Especially when Samuel shows up—as in a memorable scene where he reminds David of Joshua’s encounter with the commander of the Lord’s army (Josh. 5:13–15)—House of David is grounded in God’s transcendent glory and amazing grace. Though various characters are tempted to leverage God’s power for their own glory, the show ultimately highlights the folly of this. God isn’t our cheerleader or cosmic ATM. He is “remove your sandals in my presence” holy and worthy of worship, obedience, and undivided devotion. As one character remarks, the question men should ask isn’t “Is God for us?” but “Are we for God?”

Every house—the house of Saul, the house of David, your house, and my house—will rise or fall on this question. Choose this day whom you will serve. Will we respond as Joshua did? “As for me and my house, we will serve the LORD” (24:14–15). I hope so. And I hope House of David’s writers and creatives, in season 2 and beyond, keep answering in this way too.

But do Americans truly feel the state of the union is strong? A new report reveals a profound contradiction between America’s material abundance and its spiritual emptiness—a nation blessed with unprecedented economic prosperity yet increasingly impoverished in spirit and relationship.

The recently released “State of the Nation Project” can be useful in providing American Christians, and especially church leaders, a reality-based assessment of our current condition. This project was led by an ideologically diverse board of scholars and leaders from seven leading think tanks across the political spectrum, including members who advised the last five presidential administrations. Under the direction of Douglas N. Harris of Tulane University, this group set out to determine what could be objectively measured about America’s well-being and where consensus might emerge about our nation’s strengths and challenges.

Through a deliberative process of debate and supermajority voting, they identified 15 topics and 37 measures that together create a nuanced portrait of America’s condition. They then validated their findings through a survey of 1,000 representative American adults. The result is a rare achievement in our polarized age—a shared assessment of reality that transcends partisan narratives.

Disconnect Between Prosperity and Well-Being

Perhaps the most striking conclusion from the report is that America exists as a nation of profound contradictions—a people blessed with unprecedented material abundance yet increasingly impoverished in spirit and relationship. This divide between America’s economic strength and emotional health isn’t just a statistic in a report. It’s what pastors see every day in counseling sessions with successful entrepreneurs battling depression, during hospital visits with teenagers who’ve attempted suicide, and in conversations with church members who seem to have everything but feel profoundly empty inside.

America is blessed with unprecedented economic prosperity yet increasingly impoverished in spirit and relationship.

America’s economic strength is an undisputed reality. The data confirms what many have long recognized: America’s economy continues to outpace nearly all global competitors. Our GDP per capita ranks among the world’s highest; our workers produce more per hour than in almost 90 percent of other nations, with our output consistently growing year after year. Despite weathering economic storms and navigating the unprecedented disruptions of a global pandemic, America’s productive capacity continues its impressive upward trajectory—a testament to our resilience and innovative spirit even in challenging times.

Our educational achievements also show encouraging signs of improvement relative to other nations, with increasing years of education and greater percentages of young adults either working or in school.

Beneath this gleaming surface of prosperity lies a landscape of growing spiritual and emotional desolation that reveals itself most painfully in our children’s lives. One of the most troubling findings is that America ranks second-to-last among 112 higher-income countries for youth depression. This crisis didn’t emerge gradually but accelerated dramatically beginning around 2007—precisely when smartphones began transforming adolescent social dynamics. Our teenagers now inhabit digital worlds their parents barely comprehend, worlds that promise connection but often deliver isolation, comparison, and despair.

The story of America’s youth cannot be separated from the story of America’s families. The data reveals a nation where family stability remains elusive for many children. Despite a recent stabilization in single-parent household rates, we still rank near the bottom internationally on this measure. When combined with concerning trends in low-birthweight babies and merely average child mortality rates, we see a portrait of families under significant strain—families that form the foundation of our social fabric yet increasingly struggle to provide the stability children desperately need to thrive.

Growing Mental Health Crisis

The mental health statistics paint a similarly sober spiritual portrait. They reveal a nation that has achieved unprecedented affluence while gradually losing touch with the fundamental relationships and meaningful practices that sustain human well-being.

America ranks near the absolute bottom among high-income nations for depression and anxiety disorders. Our rates of fatal drug overdoses are unmatched among comparable countries. The suicide rate also places us among the worst in the developed world, with only a handful of countries reporting higher numbers. These aren’t merely data points but expressions of profound despair.

What makes this portrait particularly disturbing is the trajectory—each of these measures is steadily worsening over time. With each passing year, more Americans fall into depression, more families lose loved ones to suicide and overdose, and more communities struggle to address the growing mental health crisis. The report’s authors note that “America is doing worse in mental health than any other topic in this report.”

Decline of Trust and Social Capital

This deterioration extends to our relationships. Social isolation has increased since 2007, with growing numbers of Americans reporting they have no friends or family members they can count on in times of need. We now live in an age where a person can have thousands of “followers” on social media and zero close friends or acquaintances in the nonvirtual world. Americans interact with other people more than ever before but are increasingly alone in their struggles.

The bonds of social trust that once held communities together have likewise frayed. Trust in the federal government has declined from between 60 percent and 70 percent in 2000 to less than 50 percent today—one of the sharpest drops of any measure in the report. Similar patterns appear in attitudes toward police, higher education, and other institutions. While local governments maintains relatively high trust levels, institutions more distant from daily life experience greater skepticism. Trust in science has remained relatively stable, even seeing slight increases before COVID-19, but higher education—once among our most trusted institutions—has experienced a precipitous decline.

America ranks near the absolute bottom among high-income nations for depression and anxiety disorders.

Our democratic culture itself shows worrying signs of erosion. While voter participation remains relatively stable, belief in democracy as the best system of government has declined. Most concerning is America’s deepening political polarization. We rank worst among all comparison countries on measures of negative views toward members of opposing political parties. This hyperpartisanship threatens not just political unity but even the very foundation of democratic governance.

Life satisfaction—a broad measure of our subjective well-being—has been declining for nearly two decades. On a scale of 0 to 10, Americans rate their current lives at about 6.7, indicating that while we’re closer to our best lives than our worst, most people feel a significant gap between their lived reality and their highest aspirations. This measure, too, shows a clear downward trend since 2006.

One of the few trends not headed in a negative direction is crime. Contrary to common perception, violent crime has declined substantially since the early 1990s. While America continues to rank among the highest murder rates in the high-income world, the temporary spike during COVID-19 has since returned to prepandemic levels. This reality contradicts many fearful narratives and reminds us of the importance of factual assessment over alarmist rhetoric.

The timing of these declines is revealing. Many measures of subjective well-being and social connection took a marked turn for the worse around 2007—a year that saw both the introduction of the first iPhone and the beginning of the Great Recession. While economic indicators eventually rebounded from that financial crisis, our measures of psychological and social health never fully recovered. Some researchers suggest the smartphone revolution, with its profound reshaping of human interaction, may be as significant a factor as economic disruption in explaining these troubling trends.

God’s Solution to the American Contradiction

In Luke 12, Jesus tells the parable of the rich fool who built bigger barns to store his abundance while remaining “not rich toward God” (v. 21). America has built magnificent barns indeed—our economic achievements are truly worthy of recognition—yet we seem increasingly impoverished in the things that matter most: meaningful connection, emotional well-being, and a sense of purpose beyond consumption.

For the church, this contradiction presents both a profound challenge and a unique opportunity. While we navigate the same cultural waters as our neighbors—the same technological disruptions, economic pressures, and social fragmentations—we have the resources that speak directly to this moment of material plenty and spiritual poverty. We understand that human beings aren’t merely economic beings but relational creatures made for communion with God and one another. We recognize that convenience cannot replace community, that digital connection proves a poor substitute for embodied presence, and that consumption alone cannot satisfy souls created to glorify God.

Christians understand that human beings aren’t merely economic beings but relational creatures made for communion with God and one another.

We know the gospel speaks directly to the spiritual poverty revealed in this report. To the Americans who rate their life satisfaction less than their ideal, we proclaim a Savior who offers life “abundantly” (John 10:10). To those experiencing depression and anxiety in record numbers, we offer not just therapeutic techniques but the comforting presence of the One who “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” (Ps. 147:3). To families struggling to maintain stability, we embody the redemptive love of the Father who runs to embrace prodigals (Luke 15:20).

The Gospel and American Renewal

All Christians, especially pastors and ministry leaders, must resist the temptation to either uncritically embrace America’s economic achievements or fatalistically lament its spiritual decline. Instead, we’re called to a more nuanced engagement that acknowledges both strengths and weaknesses, celebrating the genuine goods of material prosperity while prophetically naming the idolatries that distort our understanding of the good life. We bear the one message that speaks directly to this contradiction—the gospel of Jesus.

Our proclamation, though, must be matched by demonstration. If Americans suffer increasingly from social isolation, our churches must be authentic communities of belonging where people can set aside their carefully crafted public images and form real, meaningful relationships with one another. If trust in institutions continues to erode, our congregations must model transparent leadership and genuine accountability. If polarization divides our nation, our fellowship must exemplify the reconciliation that Christ has accomplished, making “one new man in place of the two” (Eph. 2:15).

The data reveals not just sobering statistics but also eternal souls created in God’s image: neighbors, colleagues, and family members trapped in patterns that fail to satisfy their deepest longings. These figures represent people Christ loved enough to die for, people we’re called to love enough to offer a better story. In a nation that’s increasingly anxious, isolated, and dissatisfied despite its affluence, the gospel—with its power to reconcile, heal, and transform—becomes not just relevant but our only genuine hope.

He teaches the following:

• How Romans 1 argues the universality of human guilt before God
• A contrast between Paul’s view and humanity’s contemporary self-perception
• The absurdity of balancing good deeds and bad deeds for justification
• The heart of all evil is rebellion against God
• How rejecting God leads to self-destructive behaviors
• God’s righteousness is provided through Christ Jesus as the propitiation for our sins
• How God’s justice is demonstrated in both forgiving us and punishing sin

I asked Louis Markos—professor of English at Houston Christian University and author of many books, including On the Shoulders of Hobbits: The Road to Virtue with Tolkien and Lewis—about what’s on his bedside table, his favorite fiction, the books he regularly revisits, and more.

What’s on your nightstand right now?

My nightstand lately has been keeping me up on trends in the evangelical world:

Jordan Peterson’s We Who Wrestle with God. I have been a long-time fan of Jordan Peterson and learned a great deal from his previous two books on rules for living. This book is just what the doctor ordered for an age that has lost its moorings in goodness, truth, and beauty and that desperately needs to return to, and wrestle with, the foundational book of our civilization.

Erin Loechner’s The Opt-Out Family. I love how, in this book, Loechner taught me to fight fire with fire. If we want to reclaim our children from the grip of TikTok and a hundred other apps, then we must first learn the methods that have allowed Big Tech to steal their souls. Then, we simply need to use those same techniques from a position of love and respect in order to win them back. If we do that, we cannot help but succeed, for we know our children in a personal, intimate way that no AI bot can.

What are your favorite fiction books?

No difficulty with that question:

The Chronicles of Narnia. As an English professor, I have spent the last three decades guiding college students through the great books of the Western intellectual tradition. And yet, though I have taught (and loved) the works of Homer, Sophocles, Virgil, Dante, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, and Dickens, I do not hesitate to assert that Aslan is one of the supreme characters in all of literature. Through Aslan, I have experienced all the mighty paradoxes of the incarnate Son: He is powerful yet gentle; he is filled with righteous anger yet rich with compassion; he inspires awe and even terror (for he is not a tame lion), yet he is as beautiful as he is good.

Aslan is one of the supreme characters in all of literature. Through Aslan, I have experienced all the mighty paradoxes of the incarnate Son.

The Lord of the Rings. Though The Lord of the Rings is marked by great darkness, suffering, and sacrifice, it is a richly humanistic work that celebrates the power of the human spirit and that is unashamed to discern faith in the midst of uncertainty, hope in the midst of despair, and love in the midst of hatred. It is also a profoundly Christian work that affirms not only the reality of the good, the true, and the beautiful but the existence of a higher providence that shapes and directs historical events. I would be a different person had I never read it.

What biographies or autobiographies have most influenced you and why?

I’m not a huge reader of biographies, but I do like some autobiographies that give me insight into the development of a mind and a spirit:

Augustine’s Confessions. I love how Augustine bares his soul before God and us. The stories he tells of stealing pears and of the man who became obsessed with watching the gladiatorial games are great cautionary tales for how sin works its way into our soul. I love too the intellectual and spiritual journey that he goes on, and how desire for God drives him.

Tennyson’s In Memoriam. Tennyson’s epic poem is the greatest ever written on the grieving process. Tennyson is nakedly honest as he works his way from great despair and doubt back to a stronger faith. He also shows how an individual griever can embody the grief of a nation and an age. Incidentally, the second greatest book in this genre is C. S. Lewis’s A Grief Observed.

Lewis’s Surprised by Joy. As an apologist, I love reading how Lewis progressed through every “ism” to find his way to Christ. I also love how reason and imagination played equal roles in his conversion. This book is really Augustine’s Confessions redone for the 20th century. It also takes me back again and again to my own early memories of joy.

What are some books you regularly reread and why?

Homer’s Iliad. I love Achilles for he is one of what we all are: sons and daughters of the king who have lost our inheritance. His rage against his mortality makes Achilles great, but it also hastens his doom. Robbed of his immortality (he was supposed to be the son of Zeus), he seeks a surrogate immortality through the amassing of war prizes, or meeds of honor. When Agamemnon steals away his meed, Achilles is thrown into a crisis. If meeds can so easily be taken away, then how can they serve as a firm foundation for glory, honor, and immortality? I come back to these questions often and encourage my students to wrestle with them as well.

If prizes can so easily be taken away, then how can they serve as a firm foundation for glory, honor, and immortality? I come back to these questions often.

Homer’s Odyssey. Well before I was 10, I read Homer’s second great epic, probably in a simplified version, and thrilled (as I still thrill) to the adventures of Odysseus and his crew. I think what first attracted me to Odysseus was that he succeeded more through his wits than through his physical strength. Here was a man who could think on his feet, who could adapt to any situation. He did the kinds of things every boy wants to do: survive terrible dangers but come home unscathed; travel to strange lands and meet exotic people; put the bullies in their place without becoming a bully himself; and, of course, make every female on the planet swoon over him. Now that I’m 61, I still thrill at Odysseus’s adventures but focus more on his need to return to and reclaim his home.

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

When I was in college and a member of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, my evangelism was influenced by Becky Pippert’s Out of the Saltshaker and into the World, John Stott’s Basic Christianity, Paul Little’s How to Give Away Your Faith, and Josh McDowell’s More than a Carpenter. In all four of these books, I learned methods for sharing my faith in Christ in a winsome way that was also backed up by evidence and reason.

When I moved on to graduate school, my vision for the integration of faith and learning was influenced by Mark Noll’s The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind, Lesslie Newbigin’s Foolishness to the Greeks, and Francis Schaeffer’s The God Who Is There. From these three books, I learned that Christianity is more than a system of salvation: It is a complete and coherent worldview that has something to say about every area of life.

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

They all must read Lewis’s Screwtape Letters to understand the subtle ways that the Devil tempts all of us, more often using a series of little sins than one or two “big” sins. Screwtape uncovers what I call the psychology of sin, the subtle and nefarious ways that we can justify any of our actions in the wink of an eye. Pastors needs to understand this in themselves and their parishioners.

What are you learning about life and following Jesus?

I am in my 34th year of teaching at Houston Christian University. My spiritual and professorial growth has taught me that in interacting with my students, they need to know that I am a fellow traveler with them in life and that I share some of their struggles and triumphs. Being open to where Christ is leading, strengthening fellowship, and building bridges are all essential at this time in my life. As Bilbo says, “The Road goes ever on and on.”

The idea of “acts of God” remains important for insurance purposes. But it has nearly disappeared from our national conversations around disasters. People increasingly assume we can control everything, so they blame each other when bad things happen. This illusion of human omnipotence has been especially evident in the last year, and it’s vital to challenge it.

Disaster Blame Game

Consider the reactions to the historically devastating hurricanes in 2024. By any standard, Hurricane Helene was a force beyond human control, plowing through the Carolinas and other states after making landfall in Florida—carving a swath of flooding and death like nothing else in the region’s living memory.

People increasingly assume we can control everything, so they blame each other when bad things happen.

Yet before the waters had receded or the public had comprehended the death toll, social media was buzzing with claims that nefarious actors in the government had manipulated the weather, spinning up the storm to drown or displace rural Americans. These rumors became so widespread that U.S. representative Chuck Edwards of North Carolina issued a statement attempting to quell them and calm his constituents. That didn’t stop a fellow member of Congress, Georgia’s Marjorie Taylor Greene, from stoking similar fears days later about Hurricane Milton, pointing to small-scale cloud-seeding as proof that man-made, continent-sized cyclones are possible.

Left-leaning journalists and scientists, for their part, were quick to blame man-made climate change, reciting a script used nearly every time a natural disaster strikes. Some even tried to pin the storms on specific officials, as in Florida, where reporters implied the governor Ron DeSantis bore fault for the devastation brought by Helene and Milton because he expresses skepticism about the human causes of climate change. Whatever the merits of the global warming explanation for weather-related disasters, the idea that the governor of a state with one of the lowest per-capita carbon emissions is particularly to blame for the state of the climate is strange.

Or consider January’s devastating wildfires in Los Angeles, which were fueled by a “perfect storm” of seasonal winds, historically dry conditions, and the accumulation of dense brush in a naturally fire-prone landscape. Most of these factors were outside local officials’ control and have contributed to countless fires in the past. Such events stretch back millennia before California was urbanized, characterizing the “chaparral” ecosystem that depends on periodic fires and burns under natural conditions.

None of these facts stopped politicians or pundits from blaming the fires on the negligence of specific people. Donald Trump, then president-elect, slammed California officials for the blazes, claiming Gavin Newsom had withheld water from the region to save an endangered fish. In response, a Metropolitan Water District member told CBS that the district already had “a record amount of water” in reservoirs. The real challenge, apparently, was delivering that water to affected areas, which was especially difficult due to high winds that grounded firefighting helicopters—again, a factor beyond anyone’s control. It’s certainly possible that officials could have better prepared for or responded to these fires. But the idea that they were entirely preventable or someone’s “fault” is fantasy.

We’re Not Omnipotent

Efforts to politicize naturally occurring disasters—even naturally occurring disasters that may have been made worse by human incompetence—assume the world is within human control. They treat peace and harmony with nature as our default state. If something bad happens, it must be someone’s fault.

German sociologist and political scientist Hartmut Rosa argues that this need to feel in charge of our surroundings is the “driving cultural force” of modern life. In his book The Uncontrollability of the World, he critiques “the idea, the hope and desire” that we can “make the world engineerable, predictable, available, accessible, disposable . . . in all its aspects.” He writes,

We reflexively seek “responsible parties” even in the event of natural disasters such as earthquakes and floods. Someone must have violated building regulations, disregarded safety precautions, ignored warnings signs. Again and again, all our political and discursive energy seems to coalesce into outrage directed against those who failed to prepare for or subsequently manage the disaster in question.

Such hubris fails to take seriously how small and fragile we humans are, how much this “groaning” creation differs from its Creator’s original intention, and how profoundly all our lives depend on events partially or totally beyond our control.

Historian Will Durant is often credited with saying that “civilization exists by geological consent, subject to change without notice.” If we’re honest, it also exists at the consent of meteorology, microbiology, virology, and even astronomy. The apostle James summed up our situation best when he wrote, “You do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes” (James 4:14).

Blame and conspiracy-theorizing after a natural disaster appeal to us, in part, because they help us cope with the uncertainty and mist-like quality of human life. While sometimes those approaches are proved to be based in elements of truth, the disaster blame game is often a way to dismiss “acts of God.” It portrays the world as fully controllable. But this isn’t only an illusion about the world and our place in it. It’s ultimately a denial of God’s unique authority.

God’s Jurisdiction

Events like hurricanes, fires, and pandemics reinforce our utter dependence on the One who commands the wind and the waves. We may not like it, and we may seek someone to blame. We may want explanations for why God allows calamities. Such explanations are often elusive.

The disaster blame game is often a way to dismiss ‘acts of God.’ It portrays the world as fully controllable.

The disciples asked Jesus, “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” He replied, “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him” (John 9:1–3). Job’s friends proposed similar explanations for his suffering, certain he must have sinned to bring so many calamities on himself. Their theories were wrong, and in the end, even God offered Job no explanation except his own sovereignty—his right to act within creation (Job 42:1–6).

There’s much we can do to predict, avoid, and mitigate natural disasters, particularly in the modern world. That’s a blessing. Yet we must remember that even after all human efforts have been exerted, and even if every decision was made correctly, nature is still characterized by an uncertainty and unpredictability over which God alone has jurisdiction. He alone is sovereign over the weather, the earth, the heavens, and even our bodies. This much is clear in Scripture. And it’s just as clear to careful and honest observers of this world’s present form.

We’d do well to think twice before indulging in the blame game when disaster strikes, opting instead to tremble at our smallness. Only then can we entrust ourselves to the God who is truly in control and who promises to act once more to restore this groaning world.

That’s from Joel Beeke about the new book from my guest today, Kevin DeYoung. (Bonus points to Beeke for using one of my favorite Swedish words.) You know Kevin as a book author. You know him as a systematic theology professor at Reformed Theological Seminary in Charlotte, North Carolina. You know him as a conference speaker and as the pastor of Christ Covenant Church. You might even know him as the host of a little podcast called Life and Books and Everything, where he allows me and our friend Justin Taylor to banter a few times a year. My family knows him as the guy who wrote The Biggest Story—we read the storybook together every evening and watch the amazing animated videos produced by Crossway with Michael Reeves on the narration.

Kevin joined me on Gospelbound to discuss his new book, David Wells’s influence, the mission of Clearly Reformed, the challenge of antinomianism, the role of family devotions in shaping faith, and more.

As a Christian growing up in the latter part of the Cold War, I was intrigued by the idea that one could speak openly about religious faith and even worship publicly without fear of repercussion in the formerly closed society. Many of us had viewed the Soviet Union as intractable in its denial of economic and religious freedom to the millions of citizens living behind the Iron Curtain. Post-Soviet research has shown, however, that in many areas this denial was far from monolithic. In the 20th-century Soviet Union, as in every age and place, human agency and the human spirit survived and asserted themselves in some of the least likely places.

In his recent book Finding God in the Gulag: A History of Christianity in the Soviet Penal System, Jeffrey Hardy, associate professor of history at Brigham Young University, takes a personal approach to history. One of his previous works, The Gulag After Stalin, tells a more official story of the Gulag’s transformation under Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev. But Finding God delves into the personal hopes, dreams, and spiritual experiences of the prisoners who lived in the Gulag throughout most of the 20th century. These stories deserve a historical account of their own.

Personal Experience vs. Official Policy

One challenge Hardy faces is identifying an overarching theme that melds prisoners’ personal stories with the Soviet government’s official penal policies. Soviet policy existed in two spheres: official codes on paper and the implementation of those codes by inconsistent human beings. Such is history because humans are the main actors.

According to surviving documentation from 1918–19, inmate worship protocols were matters of improvisation and local initiative rather than predetermined policy. In the early days especially, Soviet officials allowed some leeway concerning whether inmates could worship, how often and if church property such as icons—especially that which remained in the case of a monastery turned prison camp—would be confiscated or left for prisoner use. Hardy tells us, “Given the lack of clear direction from central penal authorities . . . it is no surprise that religious life flourished in some Soviet prisons and concentration camps” (27).

Religious life? Flourish? In concentration camps? Those concepts seem contradictory. But there was often a contradiction between the personal and political in the Soviet Union. Even in the secret police’s showpiece concentration camp, known as Solovki, a sizable group of Orthodox monks and high-ranking clergymen forged a vibrant spiritual society. Though the camp was located in a monastery complex on the Solovetsky Islands in the White Sea, this religious experience wasn’t limited to former Russian Orthodox Church officials. Hardy points out that “Baptists were remarkably open about practicing and preaching their religious beliefs” there as well (56).

When the atheistic Stalin came to power in 1922, antireligious fervency increased, and the central government tried to crack down on religious practice and expression in the camps. But even as secular “reeducation” efforts increased and guards made a more unified attempt to limit the observance of holy days or secret prayer meetings among inmates, antireligious efforts in the Gulag continued to be surprisingly uneven.

As Hardy writes, “The amount of religious discussion, singing and worship during the height of Stalinist fervor is surprising. Even in the Gulag, arguably the most repressive place in the Soviet totalitarian system, faith in God persisted” (91). In this way, the Gulag represents a microcosm of Soviet society at large with its unrelenting friction between communist ideals and the real-life experience of Soviet citizens.

Lessons Learned from the Gulag

As a historian, I appreciated the book’s account of official Soviet penal policy. As a Christian, I was most inspired by the personal stories of believers Hardy included throughout the book. Three lessons stood out.

The Gulag represents a microcosm of Soviet society at large with its unrelenting friction between communist ideals and the real-life experience of Soviet citizens.

First, the Lord gives amazing grace to persecuted believers to help them withstand severe trials. We see God’s provision of grace in one group of “old True Orthodox women” who were often punished for secretly reading Scripture, praying together, singing hymns, and refusing to work on holy days. Other prisoners were amazed that even after the believers spent time in penalty isolation with less food than usual and being forced to stand for hours barefoot in icy cold water, their spirits never broke. One observed, “When I recall such spiritual giants . . . I am reminded of the words of the gospel, ‘If God is for us, who can be against us?’” (184).

Second, I was encouraged not to take fellowship with other believers for granted. The imprisoned Christians cherished each other in their seemingly desolate context. Are you tempted to stream the Sunday service when you could attend in person? Do you want to skip home group because it’s inconvenient? Let the stories of prisoners who found joy beyond words in discovering just one or two coreligionists in their camp renew your commitment to meet regularly with fellow believers.

Third, we should never rush to judge those going through severe trials, thinking we’d hold firm where they falter. Not all faith stayed strong in the camps. Some of the religious sadly lost their faith amid the cruel sufferings and deprivations.

The imprisoned Christians cherished each other in their seemingly desolate context.

According to one observer Hardy interviewed, two Polish priests ended up in the same Siberian labor camp. One was kind and gained a reputation even among the guards for bringing hope and encouragement. The other quickly abandoned his beliefs and began selling the pages of a Bible he’d smuggled all the way to Siberia to fellow prisoners for rolling cigarettes. The observer cautions that “human beings have to feel the cold and suffer the pain of hunger before they know how they will conduct themselves under such circumstances” (133).

Monuments and burial sites throughout the former Soviet Union serve as tributes to the millions who suffered and died in the Gulag. They keep alive the memory of countless imprisoned Christians the Soviets tried to erase. Finding God in the Gulag reminds us that by learning the stories of these persecuted Christians, we learn about ourselves as well.

As a result, the Lord God “drove out the man, and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim and a flaming sword that turned every way to guard the way to the tree of life” (3:24; emphasis added). Humanity, being separated from God, who is the fountain of living waters, now entered a realm of death. Genesis’s narrative never loses sight of this eastward movement, away from the glory of God. We read, for example, that Cain, after slaying his brother Abel, “settled in the land of Nod, east of Eden” (4:16; emphasis added).

These Eden stories likely informed Israel’s liturgy, especially the ceremony given in Leviticus 16. On Israel’s holiest day of the year, the Day of Atonement, the movement away from God’s presence was reversed through the path of the high priest, who functioned as an Adam figure. How can we grasp the high priest’s entrance into the Holy of Holies, once a year on the Day of Atonement, as a liturgical drama?

Tabernacle and the Garden

We’ll appreciate the beautiful theology of the Day of Atonement more deeply by first understanding how the tabernacle symbolized Eden.

Scholars have long recognized a host of parallels between Eden and Israel’s tabernacle (and later temple), along with the portrayal of Adam as a priest-king. Both the garden and the tabernacle were oriented toward the east (see Ex. 26:18–22; 27:9–18; Ezek. 40:6; 47:1). Moreover, Adam’s service in the garden is described with two verbs (to “work” and “watch over,” Gen. 2:15, CSB) used later in the Pentateuch to describe the service of Levites as they ministered in the tabernacle (Num. 3:7–8; 8:26; 18:5–6).

The rich arboreal decor of the tabernacle recalls Eden’s lushness, including the menorah that, as a stylized tree, represents the tree of life. And the cherubim stationed by the Lord at the garden’s entry show up again in the Pentateuch: this time in the tabernacle, woven onto the veil guarding entry to the holiest place.

The rich arboreal decor of the tabernacle recalls Eden’s lushness.

In the ancient world, fierce, composite creatures guarding an eastward-oriented gateway signaled a temple—Genesis, therefore, portrays Eden as an archetypal temple, a sanctuary. Stated from the other direction, Israel’s tabernacle and later temple were designed to recapture life with God portrayed in Eden. Moreover, even as Adam can be read as an archetypal priest, we can also understand the high priest’s role as functioning as an Adam figure.

Restoration as a Westward Journey to God’s Presence

We can see how the tabernacle, as something of an architectural Eden, offered Israel a restoration of God’s paradisiacal presence. The tabernacle, however, wasn’t only the earthly house of God but the way to God’s presence, through the sacrificial system, including the priesthood and its ordained rituals.

This is certainly the case with the Day of Atonement, when the narrative of humanity’s eastward expulsion from the garden was reversed liturgically. On this high and holy day, Aaron the high priest, as a cultic Adam, journeyed westward into the tent of meeting and through the cherubim-woven veil, into the earthly throne room of God within the Holy of Holies.

But how, we must ask, could humanity’s expulsion be reversed? Only through the blood of a blameless substitute, sacrificed for the sins and defilement of God’s people. The high priest entered the archetypal Eden only with blood of atonement, to sprinkle that blood on the atonement-lid of the ark of the covenant, renewing the relationship between the Lord and his people. Indeed, “at-one-ment” refers to reconciliation, to the union and communion with God reestablished by the divinely ordained sacrificial ritual revealed to Israel through Moses.

Cleansing the Cosmos

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to claim that Adam’s expulsion from the garden is the central tragedy that drives the Bible’s storyline. The tabernacle, as an architectural Eden, wasn’t God’s ultimate plan to restore his people to himself. The cosmos, as God’s original “house,” was intended as the theater for God’s relationship with human beings.

Aaron the high priest, as a cultic Adam, journeyed westward into the tent of meeting and through the cherubim-woven veil, into the earthly throne room of God.

When that cosmic house became defiled by sin and death, the Lord God, who is absolute life, holiness, and purity, could no longer dwell with his people on earth—that’s the whole point of the tabernacle. As a mini-cosmos, the tabernacle enabled God to live among his people. But what happens when that mini-cosmos becomes defiled by sin and death? The remedy was the Day of Atonement ceremony, as the blood of sacrifice cleansed both God’s house and his people.

The question naturally surfaces: If there’s a Day of Atonement ceremony to cleanse the microcosm and copy, can there be such a ceremony to cleanse God’s original house, the cosmos? The author of Hebrews answers yes, but this requires another priesthood and sacrifice, and another Adam—the Lord Jesus Christ, who has entered into the heavenly Holy of Holies, into the true presence of God for us (Heb. 9:24).

Because of the beloved Son’s sacrifice and heavenly exaltation, the Bible story—and your story—can end with a restored Eden in a new heavens and earth, and with living waters flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb (Rev. 22:1–5).

In this episode of The Everyday Pastor, Ligon Duncan and Matt Smethurst offer practical tips for helping your congregation get the most out of corporate worship.

Recommended resources:

• How Can I Make the Most of Sunday Services? by Erin Wheeler
• Listen Up: A Practical Guide to Listening to Sermons by Christopher Ash
• The Practical Works of Richard Baxter, Vol. 1: A Christian Directory by Richard Baxter
• J. I. Packer: An Evangelical Life by Leland Ryken (see Packer’s essay “A Mouthpiece for God”)
• Make the Most of Sunday Mornings: Two Simple Changes by Matt Smethurst 

But, with a well-intended passion to make Jesus famous, I became convinced a life that counted for Christ was one of epic faithfulness. True cross-carrying, following the apostles’ example, meant “turn[ing] the world upside down” (Acts 17:6).

As far as I was concerned, a Christian life that rose no higher than “ordinary” faithfulness in practicing spiritual disciplines, loving and providing for one’s family, and serving regularly in church was for folks who had either lost sight of the mission or had yet to truly understand that God’s glory is worth burning out for. Run-of-the-mill faithfulness hardly seemed like an appropriate offering for the glorious God who called me to put on my armor and offer my life as a living sacrifice.

I wanted to change the world. My nagging fear wasn’t that I’d commit adultery or leave the faith but that I’d live a largely forgettable, quiet, “meh” life for Christ. While eternal life by grace through faith in Jesus felt like winning, a pedestrian contribution to Christ’s kingdom felt like losing. Thankfully, God used the parable of the talents (Matt. 25:14–30) to shatter and reconstruct my understanding of good and faithful service to Christ.

Where Are the Extraordinary Christians?

It’s embarrassing to admit in hindsight, but my distorted convictions led me to think no one God had placed in my life modeled exemplary faithfulness—not my godly parents, teachers, or coaches, or even my local church pastor. I appreciated them as great Christian folks. But as far as I could tell, they hadn’t turned anything upside down for Jesus.

God used the parable of the talents to shatter and reconstruct my understanding of good and faithful service to Christ.

The unwasted life was represented by missionaries, martyrs, public servants, famous pastors, and defenders of the faith; people who made real waves. True faithfulness looked like Calvin, Knox, Judson, Tyndale, Mueller, Spurgeon, Wilberforce, Whitefield, Graham, Piper, and Keller. Many weren’t prosperous by worldly standards, but their contributions in Jesus’s name were epic. That’s all I wanted.

Was my desire to be a franchise player on God’s team shot through with mixed motives? Of course. I genuinely desired to make a difference for Christ and his kingdom. I just hoped that difference would look more like that of my heroes than that of my Sunday school teachers. Only after a life of epic faithfulness could I sit back at age 85 and say with a clear conscience, “My life counted for Christ. I didn’t waste it.”

Parable of the Talents

In Matthew 25, Jesus describes a man who entrusts his servants with his property and then goes on a journey. “To one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away” (v. 15). When the master returns to settle his accounts, Mr. Five-Talent and Mr. Two-Talent are found faithful. They return to their master double what they were given. Mr. One-Talent is found unfaithful, returning only the talent originally entrusted to him.

As I read this parable one afternoon, my paradigm for “success” in the Christian life was vaporized by the master’s evaluation of the two faithful men. Both Mr. Five-Talent and Mr. Two-Talent received the verdict “Well done, good and faithful servant.” My initial response was “Yes! This is what motivates us to avoid living a small and ordinary life!”

But what floored me was the reason the master offered his approving judgment: “You have been faithful over a little” (vv. 21, 23). That’s it. That’s why these men were deemed good and faithful servants. They were faithful over a little. Faithful with a few things.

I would’ve expected “Well done, good and faithful servant” to be followed by something like “You were extraordinary” or “You changed the world!” But the master’s final analysis was “Faithful over a little.” To my ears, that commendation hardly corresponded with the magnitude of John Knox’s “Give me Scotland, or I die.” But there it was in the pages of Scripture. Jesus offers a glowing endorsement of two men’s faithfulness with a few things. On God’s authority, that’s a well-lived life.

Comprehensive Faithfulness

Is Jesus setting a low bar for Christian faithfulness? No. Recall that “little” describes not the intensity of the men’s devotion but rather the resources they were originally entrusted with according to their God-given abilities. “Faithful” describes what they did with those resources.

Mr. Five-Talent receives the same commendation as Mr. Two-Talent even though the former returned twice as much profit, because the verdict isn’t based on the size of the return. Both men leveraged all their abilities to maximize what they were entrusted with. They both doubled what they were given. They were equally faithful.

If you’re Mr. Two-Talent and Mr. Five-Talent is your neighbor, it may be difficult to feel faithful. But it’s a mistake to measure our faithfulness by our believing neighbor’s work; it’s wrong to make Mr. Five-Talent’s output the litmus test for whose life counts for Christ.

Rather than thinking true faithfulness must be world-changing, we should aim to make it comprehensive. We should aim to multiply and steward all the abilities and opportunities we’ve been given, to not neglect any of the few things entrusted to us. Understood this way, faithfulness is primarily a matter of stewardship, not “impact.” It’s not seen in whether we achieve all we want for God but in how we steward the little God has given to us.

Labor for the Master

God’s gifting and call will lead some to have a public influence like the eloquent Apollos (Acts 18:24). But most of us will be more like the little-known Persis (Rom. 16:12), for whom the Bible’s commendation is that “[she] has worked hard in the Lord.” A shoutout like that used to feel like a participation trophy to me—commendable exertion with no impressive achievement to show for it.

That’s why these men were deemed good and faithful servants. They were faithful over a little.

But God hasn’t purposed for most people to be world-shapers. The vast majority of our faithfulness and work for the Lord will be exercised in the small, often boring, and monotonous rhythms of life. We’ll serve our families, churches, workplaces, and communities and do nothing particularly impressive. Among truly faithful Christians, only a fraction will have a biography written about them.

If that’s disappointing to us—if a thoroughly faithful but outwardly run-of-the-mill life for Christ is unsatisfying—we’ve forgotten who we’re laboring for. We’ve become enamored with entering the joy of the wrong master. Remember John Newton’s words:

If two angels were to receive at the same moment a commission from God, one to go down and rule earth’s grandest empire, the other to go and sweep the streets of its meanest village, it would be a matter of entire indifference to each which service fell to his lot . . . for the joy of the angels lies only in obedience to God’s will, and with equal joy they would lift a Lazarus in his rags to Abraham’s bosom, or be a chariot of fire to carry an Elijah home.

Faithfulness Today

I still want to change the world. I still pray, echoing Jim Elliot, “Lord, make me dangerous.” Those impulses are good. But I no longer conceive of true, sold-out faithfulness to Christ in terms of widespread influence. I understand “faithful over a little” to involve service that varies dramatically from person to person based on the abilities and resources God has given them.

Annie Dillard insisted that “how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” If a faithful life is the sum of faithful days, we better make the most of what God places in front of us. Don’t wait around for a giant-slaying moment that will make all the years of training with your sling feel worthwhile. Instead, steward what God has placed before you. Labor for Christ’s approval, not man’s. Be faithful over little. You may not become a hero of the faith, but you’ll be a good and faithful servant of Christ. As Jesus sees it, that’s a job well done.

In Scripture, we read that God’s people fasted for several reasons—to seek God’s wisdom (Acts 13:1–3), to lament (Neh. 1:1–4), to express repentance (Lev. 23:27–28), and to fight temptation (Matt. 4:1–2). Fasting was an embodied way for God’s people to surrender their whole lives to him, which was what I needed—desperately.

Maybe fasting would be good for me, after all.

Initially, I wondered how not eating for a day would have any positive effect on my mothering. Wouldn’t hunger only exacerbate my poor attitude? Nevertheless, my husband and I chose a day to fast from breakfast and lunch, eating only an evening meal—and it was the most peaceful, emotionally restrained day I’d experienced in a long time.

How the Lord works in our lives through fasting is still somewhat of a mystery to me. But I’ve begun to recognize how the Holy Spirit uses it to orient my hunger toward Christ and declare his sufficiency in the everyday work of motherhood.

Fasting Cultivates Humility

In Deuteronomy 8:3, Moses reflects on God’s provision during the Israelites’ 40 years of wilderness wandering: “He humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.”

The Holy Spirit uses fasting to orient my hunger toward Christ and declare his sufficiency in the everyday work of motherhood.

Hunger is uncomfortable. God made our bodies to need food and our souls to enjoy it. When those of us with access to an abundance of food experience hunger pains and don’t immediately satisfy them, it’s an invitation to acknowledge our felt finitude before the Lord. It’s possible to avoid the discomfort of hunger so adeptly that we rarely remember we’re dependent creatures.

As I feed, dress, instruct, and encourage my kids, how quickly I forget that I don’t hold all things together. I’m tempted to believe that my strength (or energy level, time management, or disciplinary strategies) will bring peace and security to my home. While food certainly benefits our mental clarity and emotional regulation, temporarily going without it reminds us of our true source of well-being. Fasting is an opportunity to dwell on God’s sufficiency through meditating on his Word and recognizing his compassionate presence in our weakness.

Fasting Reveals Deeper Longings

Bodily hunger can be demanding, requiring our attention several times each day. By delaying gratification, we embody and focus our attention on the deeper desires within us that cannot be satiated apart from the Lord. What do we want most?

On a standard Tuesday morning, for example, my potent desire on the surface is for my kids to stop whining. Yet even more than that, I long to grow in endurance and faithful love. In some mysterious blend of the Spirit’s strength and my obedience, the physical restraint practiced through fasting trains my heart toward self-control. I more readily respond with gentleness instead of irritability.

Not every time; the flesh makes a valiant effort to challenge the Spirit’s inner workings (Gal. 5:17). But I’m convinced that regular fasting—like rhythms of prayer and Scripture meditation—slowly and repeatedly reorients my deepest hunger toward Christ and compels me to find satisfaction in him. Richard J. Foster explains, “Our human cravings and desires are like a river that tends to overflow its banks; fasting helps keep them in their proper channel.”

Hunger can also guide me to intercede for others as I attend to my children. Each time my stomach groans, whether while running errands or changing a diaper, I can remember people and circumstances in need of God’s consolation and redemption: “Lord, even more than I hunger for food right now, I long for . . .” Fasting becomes a subtle but powerful way to redirect my attention to God’s desires.

Fasting Develops Perseverance

I’ve noticed how the Lord has grown my endurance in motherhood through a regular practice of fasting. He has increased my tolerance for the inconvenient, uncomfortable, and tedious sacrifices necessary for my kids’ well-being. He has quickened my reflex to ask for help and surrender my will, rather than worry and complain. He has provided contentment on days when I can hardly wait until naptime.

The apostle Paul faced significant worldly troubles; he was stoned, shipwrecked, imprisoned, and martyred for his faith in Jesus. Yet in 2 Corinthians 4:17, he describes suffering as a “light momentary affliction” that’s “preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.” My experience of suffering isn’t like his, but fasting is one way I can voluntarily undergo “light momentary affliction” to fix the eyes of my heart on eternity. I can choose to seek God’s peace amid hunger, the toddler’s fussiness, sickness, missed expectations, and dirt tracked on the floor. And when I encounter seasons of more severe suffering in the years to come, I pray my attitude will be like David’s when he declared contentedly, “I lack nothing” (Ps. 23:1, NIV).

Take and Eat

The purpose of any spiritual practice isn’t checking a box or mastering a skill. The goal is deeper, integrated union with Christ. Fasting, then, is an opportunity not to prove our righteousness but to grow in our belief that God is sufficient.

Fasting is an opportunity not to prove our righteousness but to grow in our belief that God is sufficient.

While not every mom can or should fast in every season, it’s worth asking the Lord what role fasting might play in your spiritual growth. If you’re new to fasting, consider skipping one meal and paying attention to the thoughts and emotions that surface in your hunger. You might adopt a weekly fasting rhythm or fast in accordance with specific needs in your community. Rely on the Holy Spirit and the wise counsel of fellow believers for guidance and encouragement. However gracefully or contentiously your body responds to the hunger pains, keep looking to the Lord for sustenance and satisfaction.

Jesus compared his life to a loaf of bread, broken on the cross and shared so all who believe in him can take part in abundant, eternal life (John 6:35–40). Take and eat, moms—feast on his Word, ruminate on his promises, and anticipate the fullness of joy when he returns.

The word translated “addressing” in Ephesians 5:19 refers to speaking, telling, preaching, and even boasting. We’re to sing not only with but to one another with boldness and vigor. When we address one another in song, we’re not performing for one another but preaching to one another, praying over one another, encouraging one another, and even admonishing one another (Col. 3:16). When we don’t make a point of singing to one another, we forget musical worship is a mutual activity, a discipline that calls us to recognize and relate to each other as we worship the Lord.

When we don’t make a point of singing to one another, we forget musical worship is a mutual activity.

Although back-and-forth singing between leaders, choirs, and congregations is more characteristic of highly liturgical churches, we don’t need to completely overhaul our service styles to address one another in song. Instead, here are a few simple suggestions to consider.

1. Include more question-and-answer songs.

Andrew Peterson’s “Is He Worthy?” is a favorite at my church because it involves the congregation as much as the band. Songs like this make musical worship more conversational, as, like a catechism, leaders ask questions that the congregation answers. Through such songs, leaders are also encouraged as their congregations respond to them with truthful, beautiful lyrics.

2. Feature a cappella sections.

If your congregation knows a song well, have instrumentalists drop out for a verse or chorus. With only voices, worshipers must listen to one another more carefully. You may be surprised by the harmonies that spring to life as singers tune to one another. Singing a cappella also provides an opportunity for instrumentalists to be nourished by the church’s singing.

3. Angle the seats.

If you have chairs that can be adjusted, consider angling them so worshipers can see and hear each other instead of looking straight ahead at screens. I love sitting off to the side, in a little annex, at my church. From there, I can see and hear both band and congregation equally. If angling seats isn’t feasible for regular services, it might be worth trying for smaller special events.

4. Have gender-specific verses.

When I was growing up, my family’s church occasionally had the women sing a verse, followed by the men on the next verse. Then men and women sang together for the chorus. Hearing my voice alongside all the girls and women in my church was empowering, and hearing the men sing never failed to move me. If splitting verses by gender will lead to an imbalance (women singing louder than the men, for instance), consider another simple division that can be notated in slides or called out by a leader, such as the left and right sides of the sanctuary.

5. Include more imperatives.

Recently, I played a hymn titled “Rise! To Arms! With Prayer Employ You,” which is laden with imperatives. Every verse calls singers to another action or discipline. Many worship songs focus on what singers are currently doing as individuals, such as praising, worshiping, and thanking. However, imperatives help us to instruct one another in what we should do and how we should live, even after the music fades.

6. Change the point of view.

Our worship songs shouldn’t be exclusively in the first-person singular (I/me/my). While worship is personal, it’s also corporate, and our language should reflect this. When we sing songs with first-person plural pronouns (we/us/our), it enhances a sense of worship as congregational. Similarly, second-person pronouns (you/your/yours) make it clear that our singing isn’t just vertical but horizontal; we glorify God as we acknowledge one another.

7. Use a choir.

Church choirs are useful for more than musical leadership. Occasionally, having a group of singers stand facing the rest of the congregation provides a greater sense of reciprocity than a single leader or band alone. This also is an opportunity to include and recognize vocalists in your congregation who may not be comfortable as soloists.

8. Sing beyond Sundays.

Even if it’s just singing the Doxology after a Bible study or opening a prayer meeting with “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” including singing in non-Sunday gatherings is an excellent way to address one another musically. It may take some getting used to, but incorporating singing into weekly events will make addressing one another in song on Sundays more comfortable.

When leaving a worship service, we often evaluate it based on how we feel as individuals. I hope these ideas help you, whether as a leader or layperson, regain your appreciation for singing as a mutually encouraging activity, a means of meeting and ministering to one another.

When we sincerely wish others well, it comes across. People can tell. Similarly, when what’s in your heart toward someone is contempt and a “rolling of the eyes” attitude, this also will come across. People usually pick up on what’s going on in our hearts as we talk to them. They can feel either our respect or our disdain.

When someone senses we have goodwill and respect for them, it enables them to lower their defenses and hear what we’re saying. Sincere kindness can therefore help us make progress in a disagreement. It unmakes caricatures and promotes understanding of what the other side is saying. Someone once said, about preaching, that unless love is felt, the message is not heard. So it is in our conversations.

Here are five ways to be sincerely kind to someone you disagree with.

1. Prepare your heart ahead of time.

The next time you’re approaching a conversation you anticipate being difficult, take time to pray for the person with whom you disagree. Get your heart into a place where you genuinely wish him well. Pray earnest blessings on him. Humble yourself before him. Try to lean toward him with genuine openness, showing respect for his dignity and complexity as a person made in God’s image.

People usually pick up on what’s going on in our hearts as we talk to them. They can feel either our respect or our disdain.

This is difficult to do because during a disagreement we’ll generally be tempted to place the other party into a category based on the nature of our disagreement—to see him as on the “other side.” We must work actively to remember his humanity and avoid “othering” him. We must seek to avoid despising him no matter what flaws he may have or what our concerns may be.

2. Protect your heart from feeding contempt.

Avoid speaking contemptuously about the other person to others. It’s difficult to switch gears in your heart orientation to someone when you transition from speaking about her to speaking to her. If you speak respectfully about her to others, it’s more natural to do so in her presence.

3. Consider the other person’s unique perspective.

Consider the experiences (and above all the suffering) that may stand behind his disagreement with you. He hasn’t randomly arrived at his views. Particular events have shaped them. There’s often more pain and fear going on in the people around us than we can realize. Bearing this in mind may not change the disagreement, but it can give us more compassion along the way.

4. Pray for the other person.

In ministry, I’ve often been overwhelmed by the amount of pain in people’s lives. Sometimes I think, What can I possibly do to help? In those moments, offering prayer is an amazingly effective resource.

We don’t need to be sufficient in ourselves. We just commend people to God and ask him to intervene. God can touch people in ways we cannot.

The person with whom you disagree may not be open to you praying for her, or it might feel condescending. But you can still pray for her privately. And I’m regularly amazed at how often people are OK with us praying for them, including some who may not even believe in prayer.

I don’t recall a single time when I’ve offered to pray for someone and the offer has been rejected. This is a way to show kindness even when you disagree.

5. Offer encouraging words.

People need encouragement more than we’re likely to notice.

Sometimes we simply forget to encourage people. At other times, we’re with people who appear successful or confident, and we don’t realize they still need encouragement. It helps to have an intentional plan. A simple step, like a planned daily or weekly text message of encouragement, can go a long way.

People need encouragement more than we’re likely to notice.

As I’ve practiced this, I’ve been amazed at how frequently someone writes back by saying something like “This came at exactly the right time” or “I really needed to hear that today.” I’ve concluded that most people, most of the time, need encouragement.

When you disagree with someone, speak encouraging words and see how it might open up doorways.

As you practice these ways of being sincerely kind to someone you disagree with, join me in praying, “Jesus, give us wisdom to know what kindness looks like and strength to show kindness to everyone, no matter what we’re facing!”

She teaches the following:

• The pursuit of security and materialism
• An introduction to Luke 12
• The rich fool’s self-centered decision
• The Lord’s rebuke and true foolishness
• Living for eternity and practical applications

The show’s central conceit opens up big questions and all manner of dramatic possibilities. A fictional corporation—Lumon Industries—has invented a technology that “severs” its employees’ consciousness between their Lumon-employee workplace self (their “innie”) and their outside-of-work self (their “outie”).

The disturbing premise means the show’s leading characters—Mark S. (Adam Scott), Dylan G. (Zach Cherry), Helly R. (Britt Lower), and Irving B. (John Turturro)—live two separate, compartmentalized lives with no awareness of the other. When working at Lumon, they’re unaware of the griefs, loves, and relationships of their nonwork self. And vice versa. Sadly, that’s why people opt in to the program. They want a clean break—uncompromising boundaries—between their job self and their self outside work.

Perhaps for a generation growing accustomed to blurred lines between work and home, the “severance” pitch sounds like heaven. But quickly in the series, and throughout its two seasons, the reality of being severed turns out to be much more like hell.

Religious Allusions in ‘Severance’

The world-building in Severance is infused with religious iconography. Lumon’s founder and longtime CEO, Kier Eagan, is revered as something of a deity (“Praise Kier!” employee-disciples occasionally exclaim). Company handbooks are positioned as sacred texts. Training videos feel catechetical. Lumon’s “nine core principles” are a secular riff on the nine fruit of the spirit (Gal. 5:22–23). Performance reviews invoke theological words like “atonement.” The workplace environment is heavily legalistic and defined by merits and demerits, incentives and penitential punishments—not to mention constant surveillance by creepy supervisors and middle managers.

Motifs of light and dark pervade. Lumon’s name suggests light, and its office interiors are bright white while the outside world is almost always rendered in darker, nocturnal shades. Of course, the reality is the opposite: Lumon is the dark, cruel entity, and its posturing as “light” is a devilish deception. When Mark and his severed coworkers start to unmask this deception and attempt a rebellion to expose the lies (season 1 finale), it feels akin to the biblical value of light exposing darkness (e.g., Eph. 5:11–14). Mark’s role evokes Neo’s in The Matrix—an unlikely hero who wakes up to the realities of an oppressive regime and tries to catalyze an insurrection to destroy it from within.

Is Lumon ‘The Bad Place’?

The biggest theological idea in Severance involves visions of hell and judgment. When the series premiered on February 18, 2022, the title of episode 1 made the motif explicit: “Good News About Hell.” The leading female protagonist has “hell” in her name (Helly R.), and she has flame-red hair. The mysterious work Mark, Helly, and their “severed” coworkers do is called “refining”—a word associated with fire. In season 2, a few characters talk about heaven and hell at length over dinner, pondering whether one’s innie could go to heaven even if one’s outie goes to hell.

The biggest theological idea in Severance involves visions of hell and judgment.

The “underworld” vibe of the series is underscored not only in the Lumon building’s geography (one has to take an elevator down to the “severed floor”) but also in occasional references to mythological figures like Persephone, the Greek goddess of the underworld. There’s a mysterious “goat room” on Lumon’s severed floor (full of actual goats and goat keepers), which—along with other allusions to goats throughout the series—could be a reference to the biblical parable of the sheep and the goats (Matt. 25:31–46), with the latter symbolizing those who “will go away into eternal punishment.”

Lumon founder Kier has a name that evokes Ker, which in Greek mythology is a goddess of death, “especially of violent death in battle.” Perhaps that’s connected to the name of the all-important project that occupies every working hour of Mark’s and his fellow refiners’ time: “Cold Harbor.” This happens to be the name of an 1864 Civil War battle that resulted in the violent deaths of 1,844 Union soldiers.

Life within Lumon is characterized by an ambience that mirrors the “four tempers” that Kier says define every human mind: Woe, Frolic, Dread, and Malice. With the exception of “frolic,” these ominous words evoke hell. Episode 4 of season 2 (“Woe’s Hollow”) is full of wintry woe, dread, and malice. The episode ends with Mr. Milchick (Tramell Tillman) uttering these words of woe to a “terminated” character: “May Kier’s mercy follow you into the eternal dark.” In this moment and others in Severence, I thought of Dante’s Inferno and the famous inscription above the entrance to hell: “I am the way into the city of woe . . . I am the way into eternal pain. . . . Abandon all hope you who enter here.”

Hell: Dividing What God Joined Together

Even more than the frequent aesthetic accoutrements of or subtle allusions to hell, however, the show’s central idea encapsulates hell thematically.

To be “severed” in the manner of the unfortunate characters in the show would be hell on earth. If heaven will be an experience of wholeness, integration, and true humanity like we’ve never fully experienced before, hell will likely be the opposite: division, disintegration, inhumanity, separation from God and others. And that’s what Severance bleakly envisions.

The show captures the woe that would be an existence of only labor. The innies whose existence is exclusively toilsome—no rest, no weekend, no leisure, no Sabbath—are experiencing the opposite of how heaven is described in Scripture: a place of lasting Sabbath in God’s presence (Heb. 4:9–10), where we’ll experience rest from our labors (Rev. 14:13).

But the outies are also experiencing a hell of sorts. A life with no work and only rest would also be bleak. Work and rest find their meaning in their relationship with one another. If we never worked, a weekend wouldn’t be special. If we never grew tired from labor, sleep wouldn’t be sweet. And yet if we never had rest, we couldn’t work. Like so much in God’s brilliantly defined creation, the work-rest pairing is harmonious and complementary: light and darkness (Gen. 1:4), day and night (v. 5), land and seas (vv. 9–10), male and female (v. 27), work and rest (v. 28; 2:2–3).

Work and rest find their meaning in their relationship with one another.

And what God has joined together, let no man put asunder. If we divorced the God-created, rhythmic pairing of work-rest in the way Severance does, the meaning of both would collapse and we’d be miserable. It’d be the “hell” of flatness, sameness, monochrome infinity with no variation or dynamism. Like the misery of a world with only males, or only night, or only seas, or only one’s self.

God’s creation is defined by balance, contrast, and pleasing complementarity, and I believe his new creation will be too. It’ll be a joyous place of diversity in community: God dwelling with us, and us with each other as the people of God. Hell will be an experience of utter isolation and inward-turning claustrophobia: the double horror of being deprived of God’s glorious presence and also getting sick of ourselves—the self we can’t escape, the liberated self-determination that turns out to be utterly lonely and hopeless.

The “self” that emerges in Severance is close to this hellish version, reminiscent of Augustine’s notion of incurvatus in se: curving inward on oneself. Though in this case, the distortion is more of a cutting-in-half of the self. The severed employees are dis-integrated and deeply lonely, each of their halves unknown to the other. Yet sadly, it’s a decision they opted into: a hell of their own choosing.

Cultural Interest in the Afterlife

It’s interesting how often pop culture narratives explore the afterlife. Lost ended its six-season run with a hokey depiction of an interfaith purgatory realm. The Good Place explored heaven and hell through the genre of TV comedy. Movies like What Dreams May Come have pondered it. Dark shows like Squid Game and The Walking Dead seem interested in “hell on earth” scenarios: what humans are capable of doing to one another and what ghoulish beings we can become.

And then there are the many movies in the highly popular “ghost story” genre—movies that assume the existence of supernatural realms. Steven Soderbergh’s just-released Presence is one of the better recent twists on the genre. David Lowery’s A Ghost Story (2017) also stands out. Even a lighthearted kids’ movie like Pixar’s Soul (2020) explores afterlife worlds.

In a supposedly “disenchanted” world, most people can’t stop speculating about afterlife mysteries. A recent Pew survey found that 71 percent of Americans believe in heaven and 61 percent believe in hell. What’s behind this belief? An indwelling gut instinct that we’re eternal beings? A hope that cosmic justice exists? A desire that sheep and goats really will be eternally separated by a perfectly righteous judge?

Whatever’s driving this enduring interest, shows like Severance bear witness to it, providing provocative artistic rumination on vital spiritual questions that aren’t going away.

Let’s consider what the ordo amoris is and why it’s relevant to the present debates about immigration policy.

Order of Love

Historically, Christians have used the concept to help them determine how to love the people in their lives. The ordo amoris is a term perhaps unknown by most Protestants because of a general unfamiliarity with the theology of the early church.The ordo amoris is attributed to the great North African theologian Augustine of Hippo (354–430). Augustine explains, “All people should be loved equally. But you cannot do good to all people equally, so you should take particular thought for those who, as if by lot, happen to be particularly close to you in terms of place, time, or any other circumstances.”

A series of concentric circles surrounds each individual: self, family, community, nation, and world. Augustine observes that while the Bible commands us to love all people, we’re finite creatures with limited resources and time and so must be selective.

A series of concentric circles  surrounds each individual: self, family, community, nation, and world.

Augustine presents a hypothetical situation: Imagine you have enough food for one person, but two people are in need. Both people have the same need, and they’re equally relationally close to you (i.e., they’re your cousins). To whom do you give the food? You choose by lot.

In another situation where you don’t have equal relationships, you shouldn’t choose to help them randomly by lot. Rather, you should favor “the one who happens to be more closely associated with you in temporal affairs.” In this case, you may decide to give the food to your child rather than your cousin.

Paul’s instruction to Timothy comes to mind: “If anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever” (1 Tim. 5:8). Paul also gives this counsel: “As we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith” (Gal. 6:10). Scripture confirms an order of love—a series of concentric circles concerning care for our kin, communities, and countries.

This is why other theologians such as Thomas Aquinas (1225–74) also promoted the concept in his Summa Theologica. And although he does not invoke the specific phrase, John Calvin (1509-64) echoes Augustine when he argues that God commands us to love our neighbor (Matt. 22:37), meaning that we should not restrict our love solely to our families and friends. Nevertheless, he writes in his Institutes: “I do not deny, that the more closely any person is united to us, the greater claim he has to the assistance of our kind office. For the condition of humanity requires, that men should perform more acts of kindness to each other, in proportion to the closeness of the bonds by which they are connected, whether of relationship, or acquaintance, or vicinity” (2.8.55). More recently, some, such as Kevin DeYoung, have employed a similar concept of moral proximity to make similar points. So, while some may associate the ordo amoris as being strictly Roman Catholic, it is a catholic (or universal) teaching common to Roman Catholics and Protestants alike.

Immigration Policy

Is the order of love relevant to the present debates about immigration? In short, yes. A nation doesn’t have unlimited resources, thus it has to decide whom should receive its supplies.

But just because a theological principle is relevant to a present debate doesn’t automatically settle the issue. We can invoke the principle of the order of love, but there’s a distinction between a theological principle and political policy. The Scriptures are crystal clear: We must pay taxes to the governing authorities (Rom. 13:5–7). Paying taxes is the theological principle. In many contemporary nations, however, the exact tax rate is debatable even among Christians.

Likewise, a nation must decide how to order its love. Should a nation under any and all circumstances prioritize its citizens? Or are there any circumstances when a nation should prioritize noncitizens? A host of economic, political, moral, and national issues feed into answering such questions. We have no immediate, pat answers.

Political Dialogue

What does Vance’s invocation of the order of love mean for the present state of political dialogue in the United States? Some might object and see it as a thin theological veneer for bad policy. I, however, see this as potential ray of hope in an otherwise cloudy and overcast political scene.

For the last several decades, politics has become a battle of sound bites; more recently, our nation has undone 400 years of literacy by plying cultural memes as an engine of political and cultural warfare. In an otherwise bleak landscape, Vance’s invocation of Augustine’s order of love means that, whether right or wrong, he has appealed to a substantive idea rather than a sound bite or meme. Christians can take this meaty theological claim and engage it with deep, scriptural thought.

Christians can take this meaty theological claim and engage it with deep, scriptural thought.

Invoking the order of love may indicate how political discourse in our nation could turn toward substantive dialogue. Fresh winds of deep theological thought may yet dispel the stale air of political partisanship and rancor.

I’m delighted to see a significant effort to fix that problem with a two-volume work on black Christianity. In one volume, Swing Low: A History of Black Christianity in the United States, Walter Strickland—assistant professor of systematic and contextual theology at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary—narrates a history often left in the margins. Then, in a companion volume, Swing Low: An Anthology of Black Christianity in the United States, he and a team of editors anthologize lesser-read saints from the past telling their stories.

Strickland’s basic contention is that Christianity’s global history includes those “from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb” (Rev. 7:9). His goal is to give a glimpse of that future assembly as he “highlights the beauty of the African American contribution to the universal Christian story, of which Jesus Christ is at the center” (2). The result is a powerful tribute to God’s faithfulness across generations that can encourage every believer.

Part of a Bigger Story

The Christian story is always about the good news of Jesus, and the black Christian story is no different. Thus, these volumes focus on ways black Christians have “displayed how the gospel of Jesus Christ redeems sinners and restores them to walk faithfully within their cultural and historical context” (2). Black church history isn’t a separate but equal history. It’s an essential chapter of God’s grand plan for his people. Black Christianity isn’t a sidebar of American Protestantism and evangelical movements. It’s an essential cord in the tapestry of Christianity in the United States.

Theology is the glue that holds Christian history together across generations and cultures. It’s therefore no surprise that Strickland uses a theological framework to connect his history of black Christianity to the rest of the church’s story. In this, his approach differs significantly from historical projects that focus on denominational distinctives, African origins, or political protest as thematic distinctives for black Christianity.

Black Christianity isn’t a sidebar of American Protestantism and evangelical movements. It’s an essential cord in the tapestry of Christianity in the United States.

The theological distinctives that arise from black Christianity emphasize some unique experiences of that subset of the universal church. Strickland outlines five “Anchors” that characterize the black Christian tradition: Big God, Jesus, Conversion and Walking in the Spirit, the Good Book, and Deliverance. Significantly, he notes, “theological reflection on the Anchors does not conclude with abstract concepts but with a living witness to biblical teaching.” He argues that “for Blacks, Christianity is a practiced faith, so the Anchors have not achieved their purpose until they guide activity in both public and private life” (8). For black Christians, orthodoxy must emerge with consistent orthopraxy.

Story of Deliverance

The theme of liberation often sidetracks black religious histories because of how the theme has been radicalized in some circles. In the 20th century, some black theologians began theological discourse tracing the liberation narrative with the hope of addressing black social realities and prevalent injustices. The result was black liberation theology.

Such theologies arose because “some notable Black clergy and scholars alike expressed concern that popular Christian theology was incapable of addressing the struggles of being Black in America.” Subsequently, these leaders “intentionally departed from White doctrine” to pursue a theology focused less on doctrinal issues and more on “engagement with the Christian life” (206). Instead, Strickland prefers the language of “deliverance” to communicate God’s liberative work in his plan of redemption.

Especially in academic contexts, analysis of liberation theologies tends to monopolize the story of black Christianity. Strickland counters that tendency by proving that “the roots of African American Christianity are unmistakably evangelical, and orthodox doctrine has flourished outside White evangelical denominations and institutions” (205).

Strickland necessarily concludes the first volume by carefully explaining black theology’s rise and growth. It’s an important part of the story. However, he spends the bulk of the history emphasizing themes that will resonate with any orthodox Christian like God’s providence, the authority of Scripture, and the necessity of conversion. Meanwhile, he introduces readers to efforts by black evangelicals to resist theological drift through rich, doctrinal preaching and teaching.

Hearing Missing Voices

Liberationist retellings have so thoroughly dominated the discourse surrounding black Christianity that it may be difficult for some to accept Strickland’s retelling of that history as a largely orthodox endeavor. That’s why the second volume of Swing Low is incredibly valuable. It anthologizes key contributions of black Christians, most of whom share much more with orthodox Christianity than liberationists and who have been or forgotten or wrongly omitted from mainstream Christian history.

Black Christianity isn’t a sidebar of American Protestantism and evangelical movements.

Some of these voices, like Phillis Wheatley and Frederick Douglass, will be familiar. But others, like William Bentley and George Kelsey, will be new to many readers. Additionally, the volume includes contributions from recent black evangelicalism, an often undocumented tradition. Many voices collected in this book effectively promoted Christianity during tumultuous moments of American life. As a reflection of the place of hymnody within the black church tradition, the editors also include selections that range from spirituals to Christian hip-hop. Most examples sound the same theological notes you’d hear from any orthodox Christian, though they play them to the rhythms of the black experience.

These two volumes offer an invitation to sit on the front porch and hear what God has done. For many readers, they open unfamiliar territory for exploration. Swing Low fills a void in American church history by giving voice to hidden figures as it proves the value of black Christian witness.

I’m convinced that the mode of your apologetics is going to be downstream from your basic theology, and if holiness isn’t at the center of your theology, you’ll go astray.

This is what we find in the classic proof text on apologetics from the apostle Peter’s letter where he encourages his readers,

Even if you should suffer for righteousness’ sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled, but in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect, having a good conscience, so that, when you are slandered, those who revile your good behavior in Christ may be put to shame. For it is better to suffer for doing good, if that should be God’s will, than for doing evil. (1 Pet. 3:14–17)

Apologetics is fundamentally a matter of testifying wisely, “giving a reason” for the Christian hope within you in a particular way. According to Peter, central to this practice is your ability to “honor Christ the Lord as holy” in your hearts, which is why he commands it.

Why is a focus on Christ’s holiness so crucial to our practice of apologetics? In this article, I’ll first offer exegetical judgments on what it means to honor Christ as holy. Second, I’ll reflect on how that heart posture cashes out in our concrete practice of apologetics in our secular age.

What Does It Mean to ‘Honor Christ the Lord as Holy’?

We need to grasp what Peter is doing behind the scenes in the text. As scholars as far back as John Calvin have noted, Peter is alluding to Isaiah 8. In that passage, the southern kingdom of Judah is facing an imminent invasion from hostile nations to the north—Aram, the northern kingdom of Israel, and even Assyria.

Right before this, the Lord assures Judah’s King Ahaz through Isaiah that the counsel of the nations will not stand because God is with his people (vv. 9–10). For that reason, Isaiah and those who hear him shouldn’t look at their enemies and “fear what they fear, nor be in dread.” God says, “The LORD of hosts, him you shall honor as holy. Let him be your fear, and let him be your dread” (vv. 12–13).

The people of Judah are told that instead of fearing earthly powers, other nations, or their kings, they should “fear”—respect, honor, give ultimate weight to—the Lord. This is what it means to honor him as “holy”: it’s to set God apart by recognizing him as the Lord, the King of the hosts of heaven, the One seated on the cherubim, hymned by the seraphim (6:3); the consuming fire of Israel, the divine flame whose glory consumes his enemies (10:17); the powerful One whose holy arm had redeemed his people time and again (52:10).

To honor the Lord as holy is to recognize he alone is God Almighty and he alone is their ultimate hope over and against these paltry earthly powers.

To honor the Lord as holy is to recognize he alone is God Almighty and he alone is their ultimate hope.

Peter has this context in view and urges his suffering readers to take heart in the same way. Despite the earthly powers arrayed against them, they should “have no fear” (1 Pet. 3:14), for their opponents can only kill the body. Instead, they should fear the One who is Lord over body and soul—Jesus Christ (Matt. 10:28). In 1 Peter 3:14, the apostle amends the Septuagint (Greek) translation of Isaiah 8:13 by adding “in Christ” (ton Christon). Karen Jobes notes that in doing so, Peter “freely identifies Jesus Christ with the Lord, Yahweh of the [Old Testament].”

What’s the payoff of all this exegesis? At the core of our ability to witness to the hope we have within us is a basic grasp and posture of the heart, mind, and soul to honor Jesus as God, the Holy One, the power above and beyond all earthly powers.

What Does It Look like to ‘Honor Christ the Lord as Holy’ in Apologetics?

How does keeping the Lord Jesus as our fear help us in the apologetic task? While we could draw out several principles, three come to mind on the basis of Peter’s admonition.

1. Willingness to Suffer

Honoring Christ as holy gives us the willingness to suffer because it cuts the taproot of that which undermines so much of our apologetic practice—simple fear of man. Peter encourages the believers not to fear what they might suffer at the hands of their opponents if they make their hope known. In the case of the Christians in Asia Minor, the temptation to keep their faith private came in the face of the threat of violence, property loss, public slander, and even death.

Most Christians in the contemporary, post-Christian West don’t face losing their lives. But slander and, in some quarters, the loss of a job or the occasional imprisonment may loom. All the same, the loss of face, the loss of relationships, or the loss of respect in the workplace, classroom, or home may be enough of a threat for many of us to keep quiet about the hope within us.

Working with students at a secular university, I can’t tell you how often I hear that fear of being perceived as awkward, pushy, or uneducated is what’s holding people back from sharing their faith or even inviting someone to church. This may be a particular danger for Gen Z’s anxiety around social conflict and interpersonal awkwardness.

For those who do speak up and engage in apologetics, the fear of losing respectability can tempt us to concede intellectual or moral points we don’t hold or massage “peripheral” or “secondary” doctrines (which just so happen to be the cultural hot-buttons right now) in order to “share the gospel.” This may be a particular temptation for those engaged in “cultural” apologetics, who try to be attuned to culture’s winds to convey not only the gospel’s truth but also its beauty and goodness.

The fear of being perceived as awkward, pushy, or uneducated is often what’s holding people back from sharing their faith.

However, these attempts to hedge are merely a form of intellectual cowardice. It’s a fear of the “philosophers of the age” and a lack of conviction that Jesus, the Holy One, is the foolishness of God that’s wiser than human wisdom (1 Cor. 1:25). Fearing Jesus Christ as holy includes remembering that the chief revelation of Jesus’s holiness—his atoning death and resurrection by which he suffered and conquered all we could fear most—truly is the power of God unto salvation.

Fearing man also means we’ve forgotten the blessing for those who suffer for righteousness’ sake, for the sake of sanctifying Jesus’s name, echoing his Lord (Matt. 5:12). If our fear is Jesus, we know we can lose nothing that his power cannot restore a hundredfold in the coming day of vindication (19:29). This includes our jobs, our names, and even the awkwardness in our relationships with our roommates.

2. With Gentleness and Respect

Fearing Christ as holy also plays out in our ability to defend the faith with “gentleness and respect” (1 Pet. 3:15). This might be surprising—it’s intuitive how the fear of man and what they can do hinders our willingness to publicly give an answer. But how does fear play a role in doing so respectfully?

In respecting and honoring Christ, you’ll be attentive to honoring people made in his image, blessing and not cursing—even in response to their curses (James 3:9–10; Matt. 5:11–12). This attentiveness also includes honoring the fact that they’re made with rational capacities that shouldn’t be hijacked with cheap, high-pressure tactics but addressed with appeals that honor both the affections and the intellect (or to borrow modern dichotomies—right- and left-brain approaches).

The more belligerent, disrespectful attempts to defend the faith often stem from a basic lack of trust in Christ’s power to convert or a lack of assurance of the gospel’s truth. Some of the times I’ve been most tempted to bluster, to browbeat, to speak dismissively or engage in ad hominem arguments stem from being worried my argument isn’t working.

The reality is, I don’t like to be wrong (or to be shown I’m wrong) and so sinful human pride gets in the mix of my witness, making my glory instead of Christ’s glory my heart’s aim. Commenting on the 1 Peter passage, Calvin says, “Unless our minds are endued with meekness, contentions will immediately break forth.”

In other cases, my anxious anger reveals I’m struggling to believe Christ really is holy—that his power, not my ability to persuade, saves the sinner. But when I recall that “salvation belongs to the LORD” (Jonah 2:9), this assurance can allow me to do my best to witness to my Lord and entrust the results to him.

At that apologetic moment, my fear needs to be in the God who vindicates himself and sanctifies his own name (Ezek. 39:7). Recall that famous saying, based on words from Charles Spurgeon: “The Word of God is like a lion. You don’t have to defend a lion. All you have to do is let the lion loose, and the lion will defend itself.” Apologetics that honors Christ as holy sees the apologist not as the prime mover in the event but as a servant of the Lord, a tool in the hand of his ever-effective Master.

C. S. Lewis’s humble confession at the end of his lecture on the matter of defending the faith always stops me short:

I have found that nothing is more dangerous to one’s own faith than the work of an apologist. No doctrine of that Faith seems to me so spectral, so unreal as one that I have just successfully defended in public debate. . . . That is why we apologists take our lives into our hands and can be saved only by falling back continually from the web of our own arguments, as from our intellectual encounters, in the Reality—from Christian apologetics into Christ himself.

3. With a Clear Conscience

Honoring Christ as holy and keeping him as our fear allows us to proceed with a clean conscience. This is a corollary of the last two points in a couple of ways.

First, when you proceed with gentleness and respect out of fear of Christ, there’s less chance you can rightly be reproached by your opponents for anything. (I say less chance because even Paul admits that a clean conscience may not indicate actual perfection of conduct; 1 Cor. 4.) This point could be expanded at length, but a key component of answering the hope within is a credible character consistent with that hope that begins to make critics’ accusations become unbelievable slander.

My anxious anger reveals I’m struggling to believe Christ really is holy—that his power, not my ability to persuade, saves the sinner.

Second, wanting to honor Christ as holy in all things keeps our focus on the One before whom we’re actually giving an account. Yes, we’re testifying to our neighbors, but we do so before the face of the Lord Jesus. And while I never want to add unnecessary offense to the gospel, if my chief fear is Christ, not their wounded (and perhaps aggressive) moral sensibilities, I’ll give clear testimony to the truth of his Word as best I can.

Third, attempting to have a clear conscience in your witness to Christ will also motivate you to engage in preparation to do so. It’s right and good to trust that the Holy Spirit will give you the words you need on the day you’re dragged before authorities (Luke 12:11–12). Nevertheless, that doesn’t rule out timely and reasonable preparation for that day by studying the Scriptures, reading apologetic works, growing in your knowledge of theology, and so on, so that you might indeed have an answer at hand.

Finally, honoring Christ as holy constantly involves a reminder that he’s the One who “suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God” (1 Pet. 3:18) and that this is the ultimate source of our clean conscience before the Father. At the end of the day, this keeps us humble before our opponents, over whom we have nothing to boast, and makes us eager to testify to his grace.

‘In Your Hearts’

Peter’s call to honor Christ as holy isn’t a mere abstraction—it’s rooted in his encounter with Jesus’s holiness in Luke 5 and reaffirmation in John 21.

When Peter first witnessed Christ’s divine power in the miraculous catch of fish, he fell to his knees like Isaiah before the throne (Isa. 6) and cried, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord” (Luke 5:8). Peter recognized Jesus not just as a teacher but as the Holy One, exposing his unworthiness even as it called him into a new life as a fisher of men. And after the resurrection, when Jesus met him by the Sea of Tiberias with another miraculous catch, on the other side of Peter’s cowardly unwillingness to suffer, it was a gracious, visible sign of Jesus’s holy power still at work and available to him.

That same reverent awe shaped Peter’s call to witness, fearing Christ above all. Just as Peter moved from fearful failure to faithful witness, we too are called to let Christ’s holiness embolden us, freeing us from the fear of man and empowering us to testify with both courage and humility. When we anchor our apologetics in the transformative vision of Christ’s power, his majesty, his unique glory, we don’t defend mere arguments—we bear witness to the living Lord who alone is worthy of our ultimate trust.

He teaches the following:

• Why understanding the gospel requires grasping the significance of Jesus’s death and resurrection
• The ironies in Matthew 27, a passage that records Jesus’s death
• How Jesus’s followers experienced a transformation of moral categories
• The difference between historical accounts and cultural perceptions
• The importance of internal moral imperatives in Jesus’s life and teachings
• An argument for Jesus’s resurrection as a factual historical event
• Why Jesus’s sacrifice is the only way to be reconciled to God

The same is true for pastoral ministry. I’ve been in ministry for more than 20 years now. I’ve been discouraged, disappointed, and tired. I’ve scrolled through job postings, played out scenarios in my head of a different life, and brushed up my résumé. I’ve been hurt and wondered if it wouldn’t be better to move on. I’ve seen friends leave ministry and I’ve wondered if I was a fool for staying.

If you’re a pastor, you’ve been there. At some point, we all will be. To endure in ministry, we must face the difficulty honestly while also pursuing God’s gifts of joy. We can neither deny the challenges nor be so fixated on them that we lose heart. What does this involve?

1. Remember ministry is supposed to be hard.

Expectations shape our experience. No boxer would quit a match in the first round because getting punched hurts. Boxers expect to be punched. Pastors should have similar expectations. Think of the words Scripture uses for ministry: fighting and racing (2 Tim. 4:7), soldiering (2:4), warring (1 Tim. 1:18), struggling (Col. 2:1), building (1 Cor. 3:9), planting (3:6), laboring (15:58), even dying (2 Cor. 4:11–12). Ministry isn’t described as an easy dream job with a great work-life balance. It’s hard.

All ministry engages joy and sorrow, victory and defeat, partnership and betrayal, transformation and apostasy. As Jesus described in the parable of the sower, when God’s perfect Word is sown, we may only see lasting results with a small percentage of people.

Faithfulness will feel frustrating at times. We’ll work our hardest and there will still be work unfinished. As Os Guinness says, “The best and highest of our human endeavors usually have a single word written over them—incomplete.” To endure, we need the right expectations about the work we’ve been called to. Don’t sugarcoat the hard. Don’t deny the punches. Face it honestly.

2. Believe that every second matters.

You may have no problem acknowledging the difficulty of ministry.  Maybe you’re wondering if it’s worth it. Without results, endurance is hard. It can feel like nothing changes or makes a difference. After all the sermons, meetings, and planning, we’re tempted to ask, “What’s the point?”

To endure, we need the right expectations about the work we’ve been called to. Don’t sugarcoat the hard. Don’t deny the punches. Face it honestly.

God knows we’re tempted this way, so he reminds us, “In the Lord your labor is not in vain” (1 Cor. 15:58). Every Sunday school class taught, every devotional with your kids, every prayer for a friend, and every sermon (even if only preached to 50 people) is eternally valuable. Not a second is wasted.

Jesus has won, and he’ll one day rule in complete victory. If we’re with him, we’re on the winning side, which means all we do matters. That may have been hard for early Christians to believe when they saw massive temples to false gods around them. It may be hard for you to believe. But where are the temples of Rome and Greece now? They’re but museums and ruins while the gospel moves onward across the globe.

So we embrace our calling, steward our gifts, and play our small part with the joy of knowing victory is certain on God’s team.

3. Find the stories.

Even if we believe our ministry matters, it’s still easy to grumble and be discontent. What are the problems in your church right now? What needs to be fixed? Who’s not getting it? We find these questions too easy to answer. Our minds quickly focus and fixate on what’s wrong.

There’s a scene in the WWII series Band of Brothers where after years of witnessing war’s carnage, the soldiers get tired and cynical. Then they come upon a concentration camp and liberate the prisoners. The band sees what the difficulty has been for. The episode is called “Why We Fight.” To endure, we need the joy that comes from being reminded of the why. We need to see where God is freeing captives and bringing transformation.

The apostle John says, “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth” (3 John 4). Know that Jesus is active in your church. The Holy Spirit is changing people. Ask God to increase your joy by showing you where. At my church, we typically open our leadership and members’ meetings by asking folks to share where they’ve seen God at work in and through our church. Hearing testimonies of God’s work fills us with joy and spurs us on.

4. Have fun with your friends.

Pastors need times that aren’t focused on ministry. Paul often writes about friends who refreshed him (e.g., 1 Cor. 16:17–18; Rom. 15:32). Pastors can easily forget that one of the ways God intends to sustain you is through the joys of friendship.

Recently, I spent a couple of hours bowling and playing at the arcade with friends. In that moment, we needed hang-out time more than another conference, podcast, or ministry conversation. Some of my favorite times in ministry have been sitting around the fire laughing till late hours with friends as we poke fun at each other, share funny videos and memes we saw online, and tell stories of where we find humor in the difficulties of ministry. I’ve sat in those same circles as we’ve bared our souls, prayed for healing, and encouraged one another through failures and sin. But if it was only ever somber, we wouldn’t keep coming back.

Sometimes what we most need to endure in ministry is to take a trip to the mountains or, like Jesus, to go out on a boat with our friends. Sometimes what’s most sustaining is just going to a party to feast, laugh, and tell stories.

5. Withdraw to be with God.

Even with the best of friends, the right expectations, and a fruitful ministry, we won’t last if we aren’t connecting with God. But many pastors find it easier to do the Lord’s work than to be in the Lord’s presence. We find it easier to teach about the Lord than to listen to him. We find it easier to live as soldiers than as sons.

Many pastors find it easier to do the Lord’s work than to be in the Lord’s presence.

We won’t endure without the strength that comes from abiding with Jesus. Paul tells us his secret to ministry endurance: “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:13). God strengthens us as we pour our hearts out to him in prayer and as we hear his voice in his Word. Then the joy of the Lord is our strength.

Before going to the cross, Jesus prayed in the garden. His pattern was that in the middle of his busy ministry commitments, he’d “withdraw to desolate places and pray” (Luke 5:16). How much more do we need to do the same?

Pastor, ministry is hard. It’s OK to admit it. But don’t give up; don’t quit; don’t leave. You’ve started, and you can finish. God will strengthen and empower you. Receive the joys he gives and endure (2 Tim. 2:10).

If you work in media, you’ll probably do more nodding along than shaking your head while reading Nicholas Carr’s newest book, Superbloom: How Technologies of Connection Tear Us Apart (Norton). Carr is the author of The Shallows, a Pulitzer Prize finalist, and former executive editor of Harvard Business Review. He’s also a writer for The Atlantic, The New York Times, and The Wall Street Journal.

Superbloom isn’t just a book for people who work in media. Far from it. In fact, we all live in the media world now. The book’s title comes from how the selfie-seekers of Walker Canyon, California, created chaos around poppies blooming. As Carr opens with this story, you can see why he writes, “By turning us all into media personalities, social media has also turned us all into rivals.”

We had a lot to cover, from AI to social media to how fashion influencers became the heirs to Martin Luther. We even discuss where Carr sees hope today.

As I remarked to a pastor recently, Comer describes a problem with our churches that rings true: We lack a deeply felt discipleship to Jesus. We need to know God intimately and so be transformed by that knowledge.

Comer agrees. In his book God Has a Name: What You Believe About God Will Shape Who You Become, he argues that our theology directly shapes our character. Yet the particular view of God that Comer outlines misses the mark in important ways.

I’m deeply interested in the book’s thesis because I’m invested in knowing the God of the Bible to be transformed by him. But Comer’s ambiguous relationship to Protestant confessionalism leads him to an incomplete picture of God.

Comer’s One-Dimensional Theology

Once a pastor, Comer is now teacher in residence at Vintage Church LA, which claims an undefined connection to “the worldwide Anglican Communion.” Yet their website doesn’t mention the use of the Book of Common Prayer, Thirty-nine Articles, or other hallmarks of the Anglican tradition, nor do their online offerings seem to point to the use of any of these.

Comer himself writes and teaches without tying himself to any specific tradition. As he says in Practicing the Way, a Jesuit priest functions as his spiritual life director. Thus, it’s no surprise he regularly cites a potpourri of Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, and Protestant or evangelical sources to explain God. Yet he does so without demonstrating a keen understanding of the doctrine of God each of those traditions presents. The result is a doctrine that feels as eclectic as his citations do.

Comer writes that God is One who “can be moved, influenced, who can change his mind at a moment’s notice.” The changeability of God is so important to Comer that he asserts, “He would be less of a God if he couldn’t change his intentions when he wants to, or be open to new ideas from intelligent, creative beings he’s in relationship with” (61).

All Christians will agree that we enter into a relationship with God. And Comer is right to cite biblical passages that appear to show God changing and interacting with us as humans. They’re in the Bible. But he paints a simplistic portrait of a changing deity without citing other biblical passages that speak of God’s unchanging nature and his certain plans for the future. Comer offers a one-dimensional view of God according to Scripture and the selective quotations of theologians who agree with his position.

Scripture’s Multidimensional Theology

As Comer frequently acknowledges in passing, many Christians have shaped their theology by reading the same Bible he has. Yet most Christians have also concluded that God doesn’t “change his mind at a moment’s notice.” They’ve read those passages where God said to his people through his prophets, “I the LORD do not change” (Mal. 3:6) and “God is not man . . . that he should change his mind” (Num. 23:19). Historically, Protestants and Roman Catholics alike have called God’s unchangeable nature his “immutability.” It’s one of the key attributes that differentiates the Creator from his creation.

We shouldn’t be afraid to admit that Scripture’s depiction of God is multidimensional. As Herman Bavinck notes in his Reformed Dogmatics, “At first blush [God’s] immutability seems to have little support in Scripture.” Yet after exploring the biblical evidence for God’s changing, Bavinck concludes, “If God were not immutable, he would not be God.” And, in fact, the Westminster Confession of Faith ties our ability to persevere in salvation to “the free and unchangeable love of God the Father.”

Human love fluctuates, but God’s love isn’t a changing emotion. It isn’t helpful to say, as Comer asserts, that God is “aching for a relationship with you” (50). That’s a partial truth. God does love us. He wants all to come to a saving knowledge of the truth (1 Tim. 2:4). But rather than “aching” for us, he became human to die for us out of his great love. God did so because he’s unchangingly merciful by nature, not because he needs something from his creation (Ex. 34:6–7).

To be true to all of Scripture, we must hold on to the dual truths that we relate to God savingly and yet God remains unchanged and unchanging.

To be true to all of Scripture, we must hold on to the dual truths that we relate to God savingly and yet God remains unchanged and unchanging (see James 1:17). Comer tries to resolve the tension implied in these dual truths by underplaying or ignoring the passages that point to God’s consistency. The result is a deformed understanding of God.

Comer’s Deficient Theology

It’s worth commending Comer’s desire to reach the younger generations as he fills a deep need for a God-centered spirituality. He realizes we need fresh works that bring us to the knowledge of God. Comer is correct that our thoughts about God shape who we are.

But Comer’s detachment from any confessional tradition and his selective presentation of evidence lead to a distinctly modern and Western version of God because it highlights the individual human’s autonomy and power. His theology sounds so much like open theism, a late 20th-century doctrinal error, that he felt it necessary to deny he’s an open theist (288n51).

Comer’s theology is all over the place. He claims to affirm the traditional “omnis,” like God’s omniscience. Yet he also states they’re “totally Western categories, not Hebrew categories.” He justifies ignoring them in God Has a Name because “this is a book about the relational side of God” (282n16). Yet God’s omniscience is central to the way he relates to his creation.

God’s all-knowingness shapes Christians’ character by giving us confidence in the worst circumstances. When a crisis hits, knowing that God plans the end from the beginning (Isa. 46:10) confirms that our travails aren’t meaningless but work together for our ultimate good (Rom. 8:28). Despite our changing fortunes, God remains in control and his love stays with us forever. Comer’s depiction of a changing deity masks the biblical vision of our God who is our sure and steady anchor.

Despite our changing fortunes, God remains in control and his love stays with us forever.

So I agree with Comer’s thesis that we need to know more of God. As Jesus says, “This is eternal life, that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent” (John 17:3). God does have a name. And we must know it. Yet Christians have a rich biblical tradition of theology that explains how, due to the unchanging love of our unchanging God, he took up human nature so he might show us his infinite love.

That’s why, in my view, there’s more benefit in retrieving other evangelical works on knowing God than reading Comer’s attempt at theology. I think of A. W. Tozer’s The Knowledge of the Holy or of J. I. Packer’s Knowing God, both of which, ironically, Comer affirms. More recently, Thaddeus Williams’s Revering God offers a popular-level invitation to orthodox theology. Though well intentioned, God Has a Name minimizes the results of centuries of theological reflection by Spirit-filled believers, which leads Comer to present a distorted view of God’s character out of line with the whole of Scripture.

I was interviewing for a pastoral role when a church elder asked, “I see you’ve published a lot of articles. How do you plan to keep writing while managing the responsibilities of our church?” I expected the usual questions about theology, ecclesiology, or ministry experience. But this question—about how writing might interfere with shepherding—blindsided me. I felt like I had to defend my right to write. Or choose between writing and pastoring, as if those callings are mutually exclusive.

Fast-forward, and now that I’m an editor who helps pastors write books, I think the elder’s question is fair. Even vital. Not only does writing a book take immense time and energy, but lining up podcast interviews, speaking gigs, and social media posts to successfully market a book is practically a part-time job. When you try to square this with ministry’s weekly demands and emotional toll, it doesn’t look so simple. Rather than jumping at the first opportunity to get published, I encourage pastors to slow down, discern, and ask, Should I write a book?

Here are four questions that can help in that discernment process.

1. Why do you want to write a book?

Publishing presents unique temptations. It’s intoxicating to see your name on a front cover. It’s enticing to earn an advance and royalties. It’s rewarding to be a podcast guest or conference speaker to promote your book—where the relational tensions and frustrations of real-life ministry evaporate into a slew of accolades and honorariums.

In each of us, tucked beneath a veneer of good intentions (This is for God) and missional urgency (This message must go forth), lives a desire for self-serving glory. The line between building the kingdom and building your personal brand can get blurry.

Sift your heart—not by yourself but with people who know and love you enough to shoot straight. Ask yourself, What good is it to publish a book and lose my soul?

2. Is a book the best medium to share your message?

The line between building the kingdom and building your personal brand can get blurry.

I once spent almost a year helping a pastor hone his manuscript. But in the end, we agreed his message wasn’t resonating on paper. To his credit, he pivoted, deciding to share the same message through a series of podcast episodes.

First-time authors tend to underestimate the effort it takes to write and publish a book. It’s like a triathlon: part one is writing the book, which usually takes six to nine months of intense labor (and starts after you’ve clarified your concept, built a book proposal, pitched to publishers, and signed a contract).

Part two is editing, which takes another six to nine months of back-and-forth with your editor.

Part three is marketing and promotion, which consumes as much (or more) time as the writing process. Many authors find it far more draining.

Instead of a book, could your idea better reach people as a sermon series, podcast, Substack, or newsletter? What if you could spend a fraction of the time with the same effect?

It’s worth considering.

3. What season are you in?

Ecclesiastes tells us there’s a season for everything (Eccl. 3:1). It takes discernment to identify your season—both personally and professionally—and maturity to embrace that season, even if it means hitting pause on certain dreams or even laying them to rest.

Your goal in life isn’t to reach your “full potential” professionally. It’s to lead and care for the people God has placed in your care. If writing a book requires you to neglect those God has entrusted to you to love, is it worth it?

I’m thinking of the church planter carrying three roles because there’s not enough budget for more staff, the pastor whose spare moments are consumed with caring for an ailing parent, or the couple wrestling with marital tension and physical exhaustion in the throes of raising little ones.

If writing a book requires you to neglect those God has entrusted to you to love, is it worth it?

If writing a book will put undue strain on your marriage, steal your attentiveness as a parent, or distract you from the people in your congregation, why pay that price?

Many would do well to heed the advice of Tim Keller, would suggested younger pastors should first “earn their credibility through building up some fruitful and effective ministries” before they attempt to write books. “Writing a book in your 50s will go twice as fast and be twice as good as if you try the same book in your 30s,” Keller said.

God gives people varying capacities. However, for each of us, certain seasons require our undivided attention for us to stay healthy emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually. A good thing in the wrong season weighs you down and stretches you thin. Audit your season. Act accordingly.

4. Are your leaders aware of and supportive of your intention to write?

As you process these questions alongside others who can weigh in, you may decide this is an ideal season to write a book. If that’s you, your first move is to seek the input of your leadership team.

The saddest scenario is when pastors are equipped and ready to write, but due to misunderstanding or a lack of communication, their efforts and motives are criticized by the leadership: Are you getting paid to write on church time? Are you just building your own brand? Are you distracted from your responsibilities here?

Pastors, it’s better to play offense than defense. If you want your leadership’s blessing, invite them into the conversation early and often. Initiate a meeting, not as a formality—a mere means of forcing them to sign off on your goals—but as an honest exchange that takes into account their questions and pushbacks.

These are few items you might discuss:

• Explain why you desire to write and why you sense it’s an ideal season to do so.
• Share the specific message God is stirring in you that you hope to write about.
• Suggest on what days, and for how long, you’d write each week, including if you plan to write during normal work hours. (If yes, welcome their input on what percentage of those earnings will go to the church.)
• Cast a vision for how you plan to stay spiritually healthy and pastorally attentive throughout this process.
• Discuss what changes or accommodations you’ll need in your schedule for promotional commitments like speaking and podcast opportunities.

If the leadership is supportive, suggest a recurring check-in so they can provide encouragement and accountability (this can be as infrequent as once a year). Be proactive. Show you’re committed to them first—that their counsel means the world to you.

There’s no “perfect” season to write a book: Responsibilities will forever claw for your attention, creativity will remain a fickle visitor, and sacrifices will inevitably be required (often in the form of early morning or late night writing sessions). And yet, in the right season, with God’s Spirit fueling your words and resolve, writing can be a transforming contribution to the kingdom. If and when that season comes, I’m cheering you on.

In this episode of The Everyday Pastor, Matt Smethurst and Ligon Duncan discuss how pastors can better support the women in their churches, highlighting the vital role women play in the overall health of the congregation.

The routines of faith—prayer, Scripture, and offering praise amid lament—became more poignant for our family in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene, but one practice that helped my children think biblically about the chaos surprised me: reading the works of J. R. R. Tolkien.

Middle-Earth’s Lessons About Disaster

Tolkien’s epic, The Lord of the Rings, contains a storehouse of biblical imagery unparalleled in modern literature. The depth of his Christian imagination can give us eyes to see our world’s chaos in light of a greater hope. And as good novels do, his story also helps us face real-world danger and loss with greater courage. How?

1. Tolkien helps us see life’s threats in a redemptive context.

When we face threats and trauma, the way we see them makes all the difference. If the threat seems completely foreign or insurmountable, our anxiety grows. But if we see it as a hurdle others have overcome, as an expected part of life, or even as a chance to demonstrate valor, we’ll show greater resilience.

Our family had been reading Tolkien’s saga aloud when Hurricane Helene struck, and some of us were also watching The Rings of Power. Though our children are still young (ages 3–13), we were grateful we had continued on from the Narnia series to this darker saga because its imagery provides a framework that helps kids understand natural disasters and other evils.

When we face threats and trauma, the way we see them makes all the difference.

Tolkien’s tale depicts a world, Middle-earth, whose fate lies in the hands of flawed characters and peoples. The dominion of darkness centered in Mordor is starkly contrasted with kingdoms of light such as Rivendell and Númenor. As good and evil battle, we also see evil’s effects on the natural world: Volcanic Mount Doom explodes, spewing out death on those below. Black corruption seeps into the veins of plants and animals as evil advances.

Because these disasters are set within a larger redemptive story, we come to see our own earth in the throes of a cosmic battle. It’s easy to forget that spiritual realities lie behind our modern lives, but Romans 8:20–22 says humanity’s corruption affects even our planet. Evil twists nature’s power against itself. Tolkien gives voice to nature’s groanings through the treelike Ent, Treebeard, who both laments how forests are ravaged and exploited and demonstrates confidence that nature’s goodness will endure. Through Treebeard, Tolkien shows us how to lament the destruction of trees (by humans, fires, or hurricanes) as part of sin’s curse.

2. Tolkien helps us see the weight of human sin and responsibility.

In modern life, we try to fix chaos through money, education, technology, and other social-political remedies. We forget that chaos isn’t the result of merely physical forces. It was unleashed by personal evil. Humans and fallen angels are responsible for creation’s chaos.

Tolkien explores humanity’s unique role in the battle of good and evil by setting humans alongside those of other races. Elves like Galadriel and Legolas are beautiful, stately, and less prone to corruption. In them, we see glimmers of the angelic, those “nobler than Men.” Orcs, by contrast, are ugly and brutish, a demonic race more depraved than humans. Through Hobbits, Dwarves, Wizards, and more, Tolkien explores the roles different agents play in shaping history, but he maintains that Middle-earth’s fate is wrapped up with the actions of men specifically.

By showing us both humanity’s fall and our role in redemption, Tolkien helps us understand what it meant for Jesus to pick up the mantle of human history and lead us to victory as the best and truest human king. Since death came by man, our victory also needed to come by man (1 Cor. 15:21). Like Aragorn leading his troops in Return of the King, our final victory will one day come as King Jesus, seated on a white horse, leads his heavenly armies into the final battle (Rev. 19:14).

3. Tolkien helps us see the goodness of ordinary faithfulness.

Tolkien’s story reveals how much ordinary village life matters, from cultivating families to living from the land. He validates the importance of “home” and shows wandering to be a cause for lament.

Why does this matter today? In modern life, we’re told it’s normal to move from place to place. The concept of a “village” has been missing from most of our lives for years. Then, when disaster comes, it can feel wrong to mourn disconnection and the loss of “mere” property.

But we should mourn. As Genesis 1–3 depicts, exile is an aspect of the curse. We were created for simple but good callings—to create families and culture, to reap the fruit of our labors (1:28)—so when work, property, or village life is disrupted, we’re right to mourn. “Property” represents years of a family’s labor and love, and it’s right to lament a disaster that takes away a child’s collection, a mother’s homemaking, or a father’s project.

Embrace the Challenge and Inspire Your Kids with Hope

Reading Tolkien takes more work than other books. If, like me, you don’t generally enjoy fantasy, the plot can be slow-moving with poems scattered throughout. But like many healthful practices, the benefits are worth the time and effort. My husband reads Tolkien aloud to our children during chores and car trips, and our older kids catch more than the younger ones, but we don’t mind. Reading aloud has become part of our family life, and we trust that over time, our own enthusiasm for these books will bear fruit. If reading is off-putting, you might start with the audiobooks, or by viewing the films. Tolkien’s biblical themes and imagery shine through those versions too.

Tolkien helps us understand what it meant for Jesus to pick up the mantle of human history and lead us to victory as the best and truest human king.

When we choose entertainment that strengthens a biblical imagination, we’ll be blessed with the gift of seeing our kingdom hope. Through Tolkien, my kids have received a glimmer of our coming King, of the future triumph over evil, and of a glorious new Jerusalem that awaits. Our imaginations draw strength from Tolkien’s world so we can live courageously through this world’s many storms.

This doctrine is also behind Paul’s missiology. Reflecting on union with Christ in Ephesians can help us appreciate a key aspect of missiology: partnership.

Every missions organization will speak about the necessity of and opportunities for global partnerships. In particular, church-to-church partnerships are expanding rapidly as changes in technology and travel make collaboration more possible. It is easy to appreciate such partnerships when we hear how funds are used to support training pastors or how a prayer request was answered. But what theological doctrines underpin and shape our understanding of partnerships? What gospel truths keep us pressing in even when language and culture make this challenging?

Unity and Equality

The body is Paul’s primary metaphor in Ephesians for describing our union with Christ. Just as all members of a body are united and work together, so too the church has been knit together (Eph. 1:22–23). We’re united to the body of Christ, and he’s the head of the body.

But Christ’s headship isn’t an image meant to demean us; rather, it’s explained in terms of love and sacrifice. Just as Christ is head of the church and gave up his life for her our of love, so too a husband, who’s the head of his wife, should sacrificially love her.

For global partnerships, Christ’s headship implies no one should domineer or overpower in the relationship. All members of Christ’s body—whatever their function or location—share equal standing that sustains fellowship. Too often, the partner with more money or connections is seen as the more powerful in the relationship. Jesus’s headship corrects this and honors both participants.

Unity and Hostility

In an age of war and unrest, unity is often forged in unhealthy ways, born out of hatred or fear of others. The logic follows that if you share a common enemy, you can unite against them. These bonds are tenuous because they’re built on division and fear.

All Christians have a common Enemy. Ephesians is replete with references to this Enemy: the “devil,” “the evil one,” “prince of the power of the air,” and “the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience” (Eph. 2:2, 6:11, 6:16). This epistle uniquely prepares us for battle and equips us to face this Enemy’s schemes. However, our unity isn’t based on our shared opposition to the Enemy but on our communion with Christ.

Paul argues that church unity is founded on Christ’s work on our behalf. We were once dead in our sin, but God made us alive with Christ (2:1–6). Through Jesus’s death and resurrection, the wall that once stood between us and God has been destroyed—along with the wall of hostility between people (vv. 14–16). God in Christ was making both Jews and Gentiles into a new, united people.

What are the implications for us? First, we should be willing to build partnerships across boundaries that once separated us. Churches from warring nations can partner together and display a prophetic unity that testifies to King Jesus’s power. Second, when global partnerships come under attack from the Devil, we must rely on a foundation for unity that’s stronger than a shared opposition to the Enemy and is forged in Jesus’s sacrificial love. Our union with Christ gives global partnerships hope in the face of hostility.

Unity and Uniformity

Do healthy global partnerships mean that over time there’ll be fewer differences between us?

In Ephesians, Paul constructs an understanding of unity that doesn’t equate to uniformity. He argues that in Christ, we’ve all been given different gifts. Some have the gift of teaching and others have the gift of prophecy. God has given the church the apostles, prophets, evangelists, shepherds, and teachers for the building up of the saints for the work of ministry (4:11–12). This means the diversity of gifts becomes exactly what the church needs to be built up and equipped for the good work God has called us to do.

Maturity comes not despite but through diversity. Global partnerships shouldn’t be dismissed as a luxury for churches with margin in the budget and ample volunteers. Rather, we should appreciate that this sort of trans-local partnership will lead to a maturing of the local church.

Our union with Christ creates unity but not uniformity. Through the diverse gifts, we come to realize our unity with Christ more fully and maturely.

Value of Global Partnerships

The value of partnership isn’t based on what you can receive or accomplish through the relationship but is based on our union with Christ. His work and our identification with him highlight the beauty and necessity of partners.

Our unity bears witness to the gospel’s power to reconcile and save sinners. Building partnerships isn’t transactional or utilitarian. It’s an act of worship and participation with Christ in his mission.

One way to minimize the chance of a crisis of confidence is to continually study the craft. Professional athletes are coached by experts who help them perfect their swing, enhance their ability to anticipate a play, or improve their physical condition. They’re constantly getting feedback from experts. Pastors often get a lot of feedback, but it’s not always from those with deep familiarity with the pastoral vocation. For many pastors, the best way to get expert help is to turn to books.

I’m an elder, and these seven recent books have enriched my spiritual life and helped me grow in my understanding of how to care for the souls of my congregation well.

1. Growth and Change: The Danger and Necessity of a Passion for Church Growth by Andrew Heard (Matthias Media)

When Don Carson is excited about a book, you know it’s good. In his glowing foreword, he notes, “The range of [this book’s] coverage is remarkable.” And it is. Andrew Heard, an Australian pastor and leader in several evangelical networks, looks at the tension between worldly and biblical ideas of growth and change.

For many pastors, the best way to get expert help is to turn to books.

Heard navigates the narrow channel between stodgy traditionalism and modern liquidity as he points readers to the theological principles that should guide our ministry methodology. He recognizes the dangers of focusing on numerical growth but also highlights that if we’re being faithful evangelists, we should expect some numerical growth, even in a hostile culture. The book is both challenging and encouraging no matter where you are in your pastoral career.

2. The Elder-Led Church: How an Eldership Team Shepherds a Healthy Flock by Murray Capill (P&R)

After years of studying the issue and rewriting our constitution, my local church recently moved from a sole-pastor model to a plurality of elders with staff and volunteers sharing the load. As one of those new elders, I’ve been part of working out how exactly we’re going to function as we lead the congregation.

Capill’s book begins with a clear theological focus on the biblical role of elders before moving to more practical leadership techniques. Leading as a team can be hard, but The Elder-Led Church provides clarity for existing elder teams or those considering moving toward a plurality of elders. It was the top book in the ministry category of the 2024 TGC Book Awards for good reason.

3. How to Be a Pastor: Wisdom from the Past for Pastors in the Present by Theodore L. Cuyler (Wipf & Stock)

Two Baptist editors, Ray Van Neste and Justin Wainscott, have done the evangelical world a service by bringing this pastoral manual by a Presbyterian back into print. Cuyler was the longtime pastor of Lafayette Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City. At one point in the late 19th century, it was the largest Presbyterian church in the United States.

In this book, Cuyler provides clear practical advice on the pastoral role. He offers guidelines for in-home visitation, instructions for leading a prayer meeting, and ideas for discipling new believers. Some methods are dated and will require translation, but the principles are enduring. More significantly, Cuyler’s book drips with encouragement about the importance and joy of ministry. This is a book that can revive the weary pastor’s soul.

4. The Unhurried Pastor: Redefining Productivity for a More Sustainable Ministry by Brian Croft and Ronnie Martin (The Good Book Company)

One reason pastoral ministry is hard is that it’s difficult to know what success is. A sermon can take hours to prepare, but once delivered it’s often forgotten. Hospital visits are vital for a congregation’s health, yet they’re invisible to most people. Often the pastoral activities that matter most for eternity are the hardest to measure.

How can a pastor avoid burnout as he balances the desire to have something to show for his work and the need to do the important work that can’t be counted? Croft and Martin argue that pastors need to turn down their emphasis on metrics and focus on caring for souls—including their own. That’s the central theme of The Unhurried Pastor [read TGC’s review]. It’s a book that can protect the well-being of a pastor at any stage of his career. It’s also the sort of book nonpastoral leaders in a congregation should read as they consider their expectations of pastors.

5. Ancient Wisdom for the Care of Souls: Learning the Art of Pastoral Ministry from the Church Fathers by Coleman Ford and Shawn Wilhite (Crossway)

I’ve long believed that the most important qualifications for pastoral ministry are related to a man’s character. This stems from the belief that pastoral ministry is less about pursuing organizational excellence than it is about caring for souls.

In Ancient Wisdom for the Care of Souls [read TGC’s review], Ford and Wilhite retrieve principles from the ministries of early church pastors—men like Augustine, Chrysostom, and Gregory the Great. The result is both practically instructive and intellectually rich, which is why the book won the 2024 TGC Book Awards in the history category.

6. The Kingdom-Minded Pastor: How Pastoral Partnership Advances the Kingdom by Joel Littlefield (Christian Focus)

For many pastors, especially those planting churches or serving in rural areas, the pastoral vocation can be a lonely endeavor. Even men serving as lead pastor at the head of a church staff may find building friendships difficult. It’s hard to confess weariness with ministry matters and a sense of dryness in personal devotions to the ones you’re leading week after week.

Joel Littlefield recommends forming pastoral coalitions, which are relatively small groups of like-minded men with significant, but not total, doctrinal agreement, who gather for mutual encouragement. The Kingdom-Minded Pastor is a concise, practical defense of such gatherings with basic instructions for how to form and conduct them.

7. The Pastor as Leader: Principles and Practices for Connecting Preaching and Leadership by John Currie (Crossway)

Pastoral leadership is hard because it feels out of date. Most leadership we see in our culture is personality driven. C-suite executives publish memos that declare policies designed to raise profits by a few percentage points. There’s little personal contact with leaders and often little explanation of the basis of decisions. But a pastor leads best through preaching. It’s the primary means God gave his people for communicating truth and mobilizing action.

The Pastor as Leader [read TGC’s review] shows what that can look like in a church committed to expositional preaching. More significantly, Currie shows that leadership through preaching is only the tip of the iceberg of pastoral responsibility, the bulk of which is growing in godly character and investing substantial time in prayer and study. This theologically rich, practically robust volume won the award of distinction in the ministry category of the 2024 TGC Book Awards because it offers a balanced approach to the pastoral vocation in a contemporary setting.

They discuss the following:

• Challenges of being a single parent in the church
• Seasons of singleness
• Misconceptions about singleness
• Integration and support in the church
• Healthy ways to talk about singleness
• Practical ways to support singles
• Addressing sexuality and comparison
• Encouragement for singles

Bavinck delivered the lectures that would become The Foremost Problems of Contemporary Dogmatics: On Faith, Knowledge, and the Christian Tradition at the beginning of his time at the Free University of Amsterdam, likely writing much of it in 1903–4. Though the full manuscript is unpublished and unfinished, the historical section of those lectures was more complete. In this new English translation of the historical section, readers will find what they’ve come to love and expect from this Dutch Reformed theologian—a patient description and analysis of various thinkers, an application of Reformed dogmatics that’s sensitive to late modern issues, and a self-awareness of historical location.

For Bavinck fans, these lectures are a treasure. They give evidence of his self-consciously neo-Calvinistic conception of the Reformed faith, even early in his career. They also contain some of his sharpest critiques of what he perceives to be a Roman Catholic and modern philosophical tendency to separate faith and knowledge. We get a small sample of what it might have been like to sit in Bavinck’s classroom more than a century ago.

Neo-Calvinism’s Unifying Power

Neo-Calvinism, a movement spearheaded by Abraham Kuyper and Herman Bavinck, contextualizes Reformed orthodoxy for the sake of contemporary application. Bavinck met the theological challenges of his day head on. “What inspires this theme,” he wrote, “is the conviction that anyone who may soon have to lead their people must be at home in their own era. He must be a child of his own time, understand his own time” (2).

Theological leadership requires faithfulness in the present age. Too often, when confronted with the problems of the present period, theologians are tempted to retreat to the past because “it is much easier to make the past one’s own, for this lies at some distance.” Though we can find “sources” and “guides” from the past, Bavinck argues it’s the “present that surrounds us.” He shows that “talking big is not enough, and neither will sticking our heads in the sand prove to be of any benefit in the long run” (2).

Neo-Calvinism can rise to contemporary challenges because of its commitment to holistic thinking and living. We see this in its insistence that Christianity isn’t merely about acts or beliefs but about working out a whole worldview. According to Bavinck, this way of thinking of Christianity (or at least Protestantism) as a whole was a recent development. He argues, “In earlier times the question was not posed in this way: One investigated the various loci (topics), compared and contrasted each doctrine with the accounts of the other denominations or confessions.”

But such an approach, Bavinck argued, treated these issues “atomistically and aphoristically.” Bavinck was working to explain Christianity by “a single principle,” because that’s what his modern context demanded (33). Neo-Calvinism, he argued, could meet that challenge in ways that Roman Catholicism couldn’t.

Critique of Roman Catholicism

Bavinck’s critique of medieval Catholicism begins from his belief in Christianity’s holistic character. Roman Catholic thought, he argued, produced a “dualism that was expressed in an antithesis of knowing and believing. The Reformers did not accept this” (54). Roman Catholicism’s dualism is evident in its quantitative distinctions between nature and grace, between natural and supernatural theology, and between faith and reason.

Salvation is attained not by supplementing nature with grace but by accepting a gift given us by God

In contrast, Protestants conceive of the main problem facing humanity not as “nature against grace, which is a quantitative opposition” but as an ethical one: of sin against God. Salvation is attained not by supplementing nature with grace but by accepting “a gift given us by God” (50). On the topic of natural theology, general and special revelation cannot be considered quantitatively, as if special revelation merely adds to general revelation, for Bavinck argues that the “Reformed have conceptualized Christianity, not only as a religion but also as a Weltanschauung (“worldview”)” (58).

Yet, in perhaps a controversial evaluation, Bavinck argues that dualism had infiltrated Reformed theology through the adoption of Thomas Aquinas’s philosophy. Bavinck writes,

It was a big mistake among the Reformed that they did not recognize the necessity of a Christian philosophy. When they soon had need of a philosophy, they adopted the framework of Aristotle and Thomas. Thus theologia naturalis was immediately placed next to theologia supernaturalis (“supernatural theology”). (75–76)

He interprets Thomas along the lines of the Pure Nature Thomist stream that’s still alive and well today (e.g., in the work of Lawrence Feingold and Steven A. Long).

In this model, he argues, reason and faith “stand dualistically side by side on the scientific domain.” He complained that among some Reformed theologians, when reason and revelation seemed to conflict, “reason ever gained ground and revelation lost more ground” (76). Bavinck’s lectures are intended to call theologians back from these dualistic accretions from inadequate philosophies.

Critique of Modern Philosophy

Christian theology needs philosophy. However, as Bavinck argues in Reformed Dogmatics, “Christian theology has never taken over any philosophical system without criticism and given it the stamp of approval.” Thus, it’s no surprise Bavinck turned his critical eye toward popular modern philosophies in these early lectures.

For example, Bavinck argues that though “conservative elements still remained in Hegel’s philosophy (immortality, the deity of Christ, the Trinity), . . . his method wrecked everything” (173). Those who followed Hegel laid the groundwork for extreme subjectivism because they “divinized the individual, and they divinized this human being yet further at the cost of nature” (186). Such errors must be resisted, not accommodated, within the Reformed tradition.

Bavinck shows that theologians who sought a mediation between confessional Christianity and modernism “did not succeed” because they failed to recognize that the world “did not reject Christianity on account of the deficient form of orthodoxy but on account of its content (miracles, the deity of Christ, etc.)” (194–95). Therefore, despite the fact that Kant, Schleiermacher, and Hegel attempted to defend some formal elements of Christianity, they were unable to overcome the dichotomy between faith and knowledge in a way that comported with confessional Christian faith.

Thus, in Bavinck’s judgment, the rise of materialism and the total rejection of faith is a mature consequence of the separation between faith and knowledge, which was nurtured by medieval Catholicism and flowered in modern philosophy.

Bavinck in the Raw

This sharp analysis in unpublished lectures makes for fascinating reading because it provides a glimpse of Bavinck as he was in the lecture hall. Perhaps because this is an unpublished and unfinished manuscript, the normally restrained Bavinck critiques his interlocutors with an unusual candor.

In Bavinck’s judgment, the rise of materialism and the total rejection of faith is a mature consequence of the separation between faith and knowledge.

No doubt devotees to the thought of, say, Aquinas, the post-Reformation scholastics, Hegel, or Schleiermacher will be frustrated by some of Bavinck’s comments in these lectures. His critiques here should be balanced by his more measured criticisms in his published works like Reformed Dogmatics and Philosophy of Revelation.

This excellent translation of an academically rigorous text gives us Bavinck’s raw reflections on what it means to be a faithful Reformed theologian in his day. It exposes us to his frank judgments of some theologians that remain influential in our day. Bruce Pass and Gert de Kok have served Bavinck scholars by making these indispensable lectures available to the English-speaking world.

The way Crystal and I met and married resembles the way my great-great grandparents met and married.

Now I’m a pastor at a church full of college students and young adults. From listening to their dating stories, I know the first step toward a relationship often happens digitally. Whether the couples first “meet” each other on Instagram or pursue a relationship through a dating app, our digital world is reshaping how we date and whom we marry.

As I counsel those seeking to wisely navigate online dating, I offer a few principles to guide them.

Strengths of Online Dating

A digital starting point is fine. Lots of our first steps toward meaningful connections start digitally these days, from looking for a new job to finding a church home.

One of the strengths of many online dating services is that they begin with thorough background data for you to consider. As a Christian, you’re able to consider basic issues of conviction and worldview before you dive deeply into a relationship. So long as you and the other person offer honest answers, you more deeply understand his or her beliefs than we did in the “old world” of dating.

But while a digital starting point is all right, this isn’t a final destination. We were created by God as embodied image-bearers. Therefore, deep relationships of commitment require we progress toward embodiment.

Weaknesses of Online Dating

The digital approach to starting a relationship has obvious weaknesses. You learn so much from in-person observation that you can’t capture in a profile picture and personal description. It’s also easy to lie online. Maybe it doesn’t feel like lying, but a perfect profile picture and exaggerated description of your strengths—even if that’s what you’re expected to do—presents another person with a manipulated version of you.

Deep relationships of commitment require we progress toward embodiment.

In addition, online interactions prioritize physical appearance—in fact, some apps shouldn’t be used because that’s the only metric they offer. Dating apps are also almost entirely individualistic. The process is designed to feature you, to cater to you, to match you with someone you think is attractive or smart enough. While this might seem empowering, it’s limiting. In-person connections allow friends and family to enhance your discernment and protect you. They also allow you to get to know—and maybe like—someone whose profile you might have rejected.

Wisdom for Online Dating

That’s why moving from online to in-person dating should be your top priority after meeting someone who sparks your interest. But that process requires careful wisdom. Let me give you three concrete areas to consider.

1. You need wisdom in making those initial meet-ups happen.

Be sure your first meetings are in a public place where trust can be built safely. Coffee shops are great places to meet for a first chat. Walking outside in a well-lit place (preferably one with lots of people) is an easy way to begin to have meaningful conversations.

2. You need wisdom as you invite a person you’ve met online into real-world interactions with your friends and family.

If you’re dating with the purpose of pursuing marriage, you need to intentionally invite the people who know you the best to give their unvarnished insights and encouragements (or discouragements) (Prov. 11:14). Take this step soon enough in the relationship to get their input before you’ve made a deep emotional commitment.

3. You need wisdom to determine the time you’ll invest to grow your relationship before you consider marriage.

I’ve always encouraged the four seasons approach to dating: Observe a person in spring, summer, fall, and winter before you commit to spending the rest of your life with him or her. I know this schedule may not be possible for all couples, but the important principle is to observe your potential spouse in various situations over a substantial period of time.

Intentionally invite the people who know you the best to give their unvarnished insights and encouragements.

No matter where your relationship begins—whether in show choir at North Polk High School or through a direct message on Instagram—it must have extended time in physical, face-to-face proximity to grow in depth before you move toward marriage. Don’t rush into a lifetime commitment.

Where do you get all this wisdom you’re going to need? From fearing the Lord (Prov. 1:7). Reading his Word (Matt. 7:24). Asking him for help (James 1:5).

As a general habit, I love using the Lord’s Prayer to shape my life morning, noon, and night. As we pray “Let your will be done” over a new relationship, we learn to lean into God’s desires over our own. As we pray “Give us today our daily bread,” we’re reminded to trust God’s provision for all our needs. Prayer slows our rush toward a commitment that isn’t flowing from a place of peaceful security in Christ.

May God grant you the wisdom you need to navigate the complexities of online dating.

History loves a three-word marketing slogan. The best ones burrow deep into our cultural psyche and create sentimental bonds between us and the shoe, the soda, or the sweatshirt. In a way, the words themselves become the product. They symbolize the feeling we’re chasing when we reach for the next thing that might, just might, make us happy.

A few years ago, a nonprofit ministry called the Servant Foundation unveiled their own three-word slogan they hoped would change the world: “He gets us.” Through a series of short-form advertisements, billboards, YouTube videos, and other media, the Servant Foundation (now The Signatry, and currently not associated with “He Gets Us”) sought to reintroduce an increasingly secular and divided America to Jesus. It wasn’t to be a preachy or academic or polarizing Jesus. These ads would say simply one thing: Jesus gets us.

Super Bowl Messaging

“He Gets Us” has enjoyed massive exposure thanks to its series of Super Bowl advertisements. In 2024, the campaign’s ad featured a series of (possibly computer-generated) images of people washing others’ feet. The images were intentionally provocative and counterintuitive: a police officer rinsing the feet of a young black man, a well-dressed “popular girl” serving a socially marginal girl at school. The ad also included a picture of a young woman outside an abortion clinic, having her feet washed by an older woman who appears to belong to a group of pro-life protesters.

In this year’s Super Bowl between the Chiefs and Eagles, “He Gets Us” returned with a similar ad, but this time titled “What Is Greatness?” This ad—which The New York Times ranked as the eighth-best of the Super Bowl—featured a series of photographs showing people in various acts of kindness and generosity, as Johnny Cash solemnly sings his cover of Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus.” An organ donor holds the hands of his recipient, while a young woman helps the victim of a car accident escape her vehicle. It also depicts a hug between a man wearing a John 3:16 hat and a member of an LGBT+ Pride parade. The ad concludes with the onscreen words, “Jesus showed us what greatness really is.”

It’s obvious one of the goals of “He Gets Us” is to cut across political and ideological divides. To some extent, they succeed. The writers know where the fault lines in American religious culture are—abortion, LGBT+, race, class, and so on And who could resist being moved by these images of human vulnerability and compassion? Who can push out of his or her mind the many moments in the Gospels where Jesus met such needs and taught his followers to do the same?

Impressionistic Jesus

“He Gets Us” is a Christian-themed campaign fit for an impressionistic, algorithmic generation. The ads aim to capture attention and create an instant audience response of curiosity about and sympathy for Jesus. These aren’t two goals but rather one. The image-based, music-backed ads lack exposition or annotation; such things would only get in the way of the audience’s emotional response.

The image-based, music-backed ads lack exposition or annotation; such things would only get in the way of the audience’s emotional response.

Cultural critics and media theorists have decried for half a century now the way our communication technologies increasingly divide language from meaning. Neil Postman lamented the television’s revolution away from the “typographic mind” toward a “peek-a-boo world” where quick-cut pictures and sound substitute for thinking and conversation.

But this isn’t just a problem for secular academics. The temptation to enchant an audience with an aesthetic is an old one for Christian pastors and communicators too. Consider the way some megachurches, especially in the “seeker-sensitive” era, utilize dim lights, huge video screens, ethereal rock music, and lavish coffee bars to captivate attention. By themselves, these tools aren’t necessarily antithetical to the serious teaching of Scripture. But they do tend toward an impressionistic Jesus who can be consumed quickly and conveniently without uncomfortable silences, or confession, or complicated doctrines.

Gospel Context Collapse

The impressionistic Jesus of “He Gets Us” doesn’t seem to make much sense out of the particular neuroses of American culture. In the ad campaign, Jesus is more a compassionate friend than a Lord. Without more content—Who really is Jesus? Who are we? Exactly how does Jesus “get” us?—the Jesus of the ad campaign is simply a feeling to chase, rather than a person to listen to.

There’s a danger here of context collapse, where an idea that’s true and correct in one particular context loses its truthfulness by being broadcast in a way that disregards that context. For example, “Jesus gets us” is a message best used for people who have already accepted their need for a Savior and desire assurance that nothing they’ve done can cause Jesus to cast them out (John 6:37). In terms of a mass audience whose cultural religion is most likely expressive individualism, however, “he gets us” sounds like a mantra that reinforces the primacy of the self. This mentality keeps my personal psychology at the center, so the question that matters isn’t “What must I do to be saved” but “What must you do to affirm me?”

Further, the campaign’s good intentions to unite a fractious American political culture inadvertently end up pigeonholing Jesus in the red/blue dilemma. The imagery of kindness and service at a Pride parade or an abortion clinic is unhelpfully opaque. Does Jesus wash us clean because abortion is a stain, or because protesting outside the clinic is? Does Jesus extend his hand to those confused about their sexuality or gender because his grace can heal and transform us into what he made us to be, or because his grace allows us to define for ourselves what we can be? The gospel’s radical confrontation of both secular self-determination and also the way we view and treat our enemies is lost with these unclear, simplistic impressions.

Outdated Appeal

“He Gets Us” isn’t without its strengths. These cleverly produced ads work well in the digital era. I have no doubt they’ll succeed in overcoming some viewers’ entrenched biases against Christianity. There’s profound truth in these bite-size ads. And the campaign’s organizers offer resources and volunteers through the website that undoubtedly have led and will lead to true conversions.

The gospel’s radical confrontation of both secular self-determination and the way we view and treat our enemies is lost with these unclear, simplistic impressions.

But despite the tremendous financial effort, “He Gets Us” seems unlikely to make a lasting impression on viewers. Even if its aesthetics work, the messaging is dated. The audience the campaign seems to want—religiously open, politically progressive, and so on—isn’t a flourishing demographic. The “vibe shift” of openness to Christianity seems right now to be facilitated at least in part by a rejection of the kind of binaries the ad campaign traffics in. Many are asking uncomfortable questions of liberalism: whether abortion clinics need scrutiny instead of sympathy and whether Pride parades are misguided instead of misunderstood.

For all its contemporary feel, “He Gets Us” seems like nostalgia for a bygone religious era. The American church may be entering an era in which fewer people ask for Jesus to “get” them, and more people ask him to save them: from the ruins of self, the lies of modernity, and the despair of unbelief. In this cultural moment, Christians can reach for much more than impressionistic images and music. We can reach for truth.

History might love a three-word slogan, but eternity is much more patient.

More recently, the trend has been to demonize the Puritans, as if their Christianity was mere hypocrisy, a cloak designed to hide their lust for Native land or an ideology to justify their brutal exploitation. Many Americans want their history to play like a Marvel movie: with heroes and villains. Activists and politicians often reduce history to a morality tale to suit their agendas.

Such oversimplifications obscure the moral complexities inherent to history and the real human beings whose stories it seeks to tell. Many Puritans were devout, faithful Christians zealous for liberty and justice. Yet even when they sought to act virtuously, in accord with Reformed theology, they did some terrible things. They were both sinners and saints. In that sense, they were just like us.

That’s why we need to learn their story. We need to see how Christians striving to follow Jesus can fall into grave evils, and seek to learn from their mistakes. We need to see that, through God’s grace and wisdom, the love of Christ somehow advances despite such tragedies.

Pequot War

The colonial enterprise began well enough. During the first years of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, the Puritans established diplomatic and trade agreements with numerous Native peoples. The coastal Natives had been nearly wiped out by epidemics, and those who remained willingly sold the colonists large tracts of land. The Puritan government, in turn, insisted all land must be fairly purchased from the Native leaders, known as “sachems.” True, few Indians expressed much interest in Christianity. But the Puritans expected that would come in due time. While there were a few cases of violence, both sides refrained from using such episodes as an excuse for war.

Many Puritans were devout, faithful Christians zealous for liberty and justice. Yet even when they sought to act virtuously, they did some terrible things.

That changed in 1636 when the Massachusetts Bay authorities, on the advice of their ministers, including the theologian John Cotton, decided to punish the Pequots for killing John Stone, a Virginia trader. Stone was hardly an innocent victim. He was accused of crimes in Boston, Plymouth, and New Amsterdam, and the Pequots accused him of having kidnapped two Indians in the Connecticut River. Nevertheless, the Puritan leaders thought his killers needed to learn something about justice. They dispatched the pious Massachusetts captain John Endecott with a small force. Endecott invaded Pequot territory, broke off a brief effort at diplomacy, and proceeded to burn Pequot wigwams and corn.

The Pequots retaliated the following spring by raiding Wethersfield, a new settlement in the Connecticut Valley, where they killed nine colonists. Puritan military commanders decided to launch a devastating counterstrike against a major Pequot fort known as Mystic.

Attack on Mystic

Puritan forces approached the Mystic palisade around first light on May 26, 1637. Several hundred Pequots lay sleeping in wigwams tightly packed within its walls. None had any idea what was coming. Sixty of the soldiers, led by Captain John Mason, came from the Puritan colony of Connecticut. They approached the northeast gate. Another 20 soldiers under Captain John Underhill, dispatched by the Puritan colony of Massachusetts Bay, prepared to assault the south gate. Some 300 Mohegan, Narragansett, and Eastern Niantic warriors were positioned in support of the Puritan forces, forming a perimeter around the Pequot fort.

The soldiers had been assured that God was with them. Connecticut’s eminent Puritan minister and theologian Thomas Hooker had preached to Mason’s soldiers at Hartford before they embarked on their campaign. They were soldiers of Jesus Christ, he told them. God had called them to defend not only their wives and children but also their freedom to enjoy the precious ordinances of Christ, for which they had come to America in the first place. God also called them to “execute vengeance on the heathen,” whom God “hath condemned for blaspheming his sacred majesty and murdering his servants.”

Conflict Becomes a Massacre

As the soldiers crept forward, a dog started barking. The troops opened fire, surged forward, and stormed the palisade. Yet Pequot resistance proved stiffer than they expected. Within minutes, nearly 20 colonial soldiers were dead or wounded. “We should never kill them after that manner,” Mason concluded. “We must burn them.” And so the soldiers set fire to the wigwams. Then they withdrew, joining their Native allies in the perimeter around the fort.

Flames spread rapidly. Soon Fort Mystic was an inferno filled with screaming men, women, and children. As groups of Pequots fled the palisade, soldiers cut them down. “Down fell men, women, and children,” Underhill recalled. “Not above five of them escaped out of our hands.” Those few who were taken prisoner owed their lives to the colonists’ Native allies. Anywhere from 400 to 700 Pequots were killed.

To Mason, following the theologian Hooker’s cue, it was an act of God. “God was above them, who laughed his enemies and the enemies of his people to scorn, making them as a fiery oven,” he wrote afterward. “Thus did the LORD judge among the heathen, filling the place with dead bodies!” Underhill defended the soldiers’ actions by invoking King David’s example from the Old Testament. The Pilgrim father William Bradford, governor of the Plymouth Colony, declared, “The victory seemed a sweet sacrifice,” and the soldiers “gave the praise thereof to God.”

Massacre Fallout

This killing wasn’t why most Puritans had come to America. This wasn’t what John Winthrop had envisioned when he proclaimed, seven years earlier, that the Massachusetts Bay Colony would be like “a city upon a hill” before the eyes of the nations. Nor was it in the mind of the New England Company’s devout founder, John White, when he encouraged Puritans to emigrate to the new world in his passionate tract, The Planters Plea. White thought the Indians would welcome English protection from hostile rivals, and the English in turn would civilize them and attract them to the “love of the truth,” conquering them for Christ not by sword or cannon but by love and good works.

The official seal of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, inspired by Acts 16:9, featured an Indian imploring the colonists, “Come over and help us.” The colony’s 1629 charter declared that its “principal” purpose was to “win and incite the natives of [the] country to the knowledge and obedience of the only true God and Savior of mankind, and the Christian faith.”

Yet there was no Puritan hand-wringing after the massacre. Puritan leaders didn’t only view the Pequots as belligerent for refusing to accept English justice; they also considered them servants of Satan and interpreted their attack on Wethersfield as a direct assault on Christ’s kingdom. In 1638, Connecticut parceled up the remaining Pequot captives and their land and banned the Pequot nations from further existence. They believed that God had executed his judgment and that most Indians would recognize this and submit to English dominion.

To a significant extent, this is what happened. A renegade Pequot named Wequash, who had guided the colonial forces to Fort Mystic, was so impressed by the power of the English God that he converted to Christianity and began to evangelize his fellow Natives. During the 1640s, numerous local sachems began to subject their people to colonial rule in exchange for English protection and recognition of their land holdings. Massachusetts in turn required them to submit to Christian teaching and Christian laws. Thus colonialism and Christianity advanced hand in hand, inseparable in the minds of English and Indians alike.

Puritan Missionary Efforts

It was the young Puritan minister John Eliot who launched serious missionary efforts among the Natives. He began to study Algonquian languages with the help of a Pequot captive. In 1646, Eliot began preaching to Massachusett Indians at Neponset and Nonantum. He used the Ten Commandments to warn them about God’s coming judgment. Then he told them how they could be saved by believing in Christ. The English were no better than Indians, he admitted. They also needed to turn to Christ for salvation.

It was the young Puritan minister John Eliot who truly launched serious missionary efforts among the Natives.

Over the next few years, Eliot and other ministers organized willing Indian communities into what became known as “praying towns.” The inhabitants, known as “praying Indians,” agreed to govern themselves according to Christian laws. Some of these laws were drawn from Scripture; others reflected English cultural values. Eliot concentrated most of his energy on one new town, Natick, which was established to attract Natives from various other towns. There he trained young Native men to serve as teachers, pastors, and rulers. Natick became famous for its English-style meeting house and other structures built by the Indians. Its way of life synthesized Indian and English customs.

Eliot’s dream was to establish a Native church, but he found this far more difficult than he anticipated. After years of training converts, he gathered English pastors to hear their testimony on October 13, 1652. Yet the event proved a deep disappointment. While the Puritan ministers appreciated the Indians’ zeal, there weren’t enough translators, and they found the Indians’ understanding of theology wanting.

Two years later, with more interpreters present, it went better. The ministers examined candidates for membership and were encouraged by what they heard. Eliot received permission to establish the church. But this time, he cohesitated. What if the Indians fell back into their heathen ways and defamed Christ’s name? Not until 1660 was an Indian church finally established under Native leadership at Natick.

Native American Christianity

Meanwhile, Eliot turned much of his energy toward developing a written Algonquian language so he could publish the Bible and other Christian writings in the Indians’ language. A catechism and a primer were printed in 1654. Portions of the Bible began appearing in 1655, and 1,500 copies of the Algonquian New Testament came off the Cambridge press in 1660, to be followed by the Old Testament. There were even Algonquian editions of classic Puritan works like Richard Baxter’s Call to the Unconverted and Lewis Bayly’s Practice of Piety. A growing number of Indians could read these works.

By then, a generation of Indian men were serving as teachers and pastors to their own people. By 1674, no fewer than 14 praying towns had been established in Massachusetts. Their inhabitants numbered some 1,100 souls. A second church had been organized at Hassanamesit. There were another 10 praying towns and 4 Native churches in the Plymouth Colony and on the islands of Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket, with a total population of up to 3,400. Massachusetts’s Indian superintendent, Daniel Gookin, was zealous for missionary work, which he considered a “war of the Lord” against Satan. He began drawing up plans to educate English and Indian children in integrated schools.

Sadly, in 1675, it all came crashing down in the cataclysm of war.

Colonial Domination

Time and again, in the nearly 40 years after the Pequot War, the Puritan colonies were on the verge of war with various Native nations. Yet neither side wanted war. On various occasions, when colonial magistrates urged war in response to perceived Native offenses, the clergy called them back from the brink. God called them to be peacemakers, the ministers insisted, and he would by no means bless an unjust attack. At the same time, magistrates and clergy alike supported heavy-handed measures that forced Native peoples to submit to English conceptions of justice. This had been the cause of the Pequot War, and it triggered an even greater war in 1675.

It began in the Plymouth Colony, where Pilgrims and Wampanoags had maintained peace since Plymouth was first established in 1620. As the decades rolled on, larger numbers of Wampanoags accepted Christianity and shifted their allegiance from the leading Wampanoag sachems toward Plymouth. This, in turn, made Plymouth increasingly assertive toward the Wampanoags. By the 1670s, the leading Wampanoag sachem was Philip, whose father, Ousamequin, had shared the first Thanksgiving with the Pilgrims back in 1621. Eliot sent Indian teachers to evangelize Philip, but Philip knew that when Wampanoags became Christians, they inevitably abandoned his leadership. Like many other Indians, he’d come to see Christianity and English colonial domination as inseparable.

Questionable Justice

In 1675, a praying Indian minister named John Sassamon was found dead under the ice of Assawompset Pond. Another praying Indian accused several Wampanoags associated with Philip of murdering Sassamon. While colonial governments typically allowed sachems to handle crimes only involving Indians, this time Plymouth claimed jurisdiction. It established a jury of English and Indians, but only Christian Indians were allowed to serve. Despite having only one witness, they found Philip’s associates guilty, and the men were executed.

Philip considered the trial a sham and feared that Plymouth would come after him next. He began to muster warriors. Plymouth had no intention of arresting Philip but became convinced that Philip’s mobilization suggested he intended to rebel. When Philip’s warriors robbed several abandoned English homes, colonists retaliated by shooting and killing an Indian. Violence bred violence, Plymouth called out troops, and King Philip’s War began. Unlike the Pequot War, this war drew all the region’s peoples into it. While it shook New England to its foundations, it proved disastrous for the region’s Native people.

King Philip’s War

At first, most Indians remained neutral. But the Puritan colonies feared treachery and imposed tough measures to ensure their allegiance. Such policies repeatedly drove neutral Indians into Philip’s camp. The mighty Narragansetts, whom the English had long mistrusted, maintained their neutrality for half a year. At that point, the Puritan colonies launched a brutal preemptive invasion that cost hundreds of lives and dramatically expanded the war.

Most praying Indians were sufficiently invested in Christianity to align themselves with the English, although some supported Philip’s cause. Yet for a growing number of terrified and embittered colonists, the fact that this group were Indians meant they couldn’t be trusted. The situation deteriorated as colonial vigilantes murdered praying Indians, burned their wigwams, and destroyed their crops. Finally, even as winter approached, the magistrates decided to move the praying Indians to desolate islands in Boston harbor where there was little food and no shelter.

Much suffering and many more defeats occurred before the Puritan authorities realized how foolish they’d been. They needed Indian allies if they were going to win the war. During the spring of 1676, Christian Indians were again recruited for military service, and those who had been suffering on the islands were returned to the mainland. In the following months, a coalition of English and Indians gradually defeated Philip and his allies. Thousands of Indians were killed, hundreds were sold into slavery, and many more were driven from the region. Those who remained were relegated to reservations.

Conflicted Puritan Legacy

Many Puritans interpreted the war as a conflict between Christians and heathens. True, some ministers also described the war as God’s judgment on his people for various sins. Yet they assured the people that if they repented and recommitted themselves to God, God would fight for them and destroy their enemies. They described the conflict as a “war of the Lord” in which God’s people were defending Christ’s kingdom from the attacks of Satan’s servants.

Yet many colonists, including some ministers, continued to judge Christian Indians in racial terms. The fact that praying Indians had been loyal and shared a common faith with them mattered less than the fact that they were Indians. All Indians, whether Christian or not, were suspected of treachery. All Indians were impoverished and marginalized. They were second-class inhabitants of white-controlled New England.

Despite such poor treatment, New England’s Indians continued to convert to Christianity throughout the 18th century. In that sense, the Puritan dream for New England was realized. Yet the process had been far more violent and brutal than anyone expected. As Gookin recognized, praying Indians had experienced sufferings much like those of Christ. Gookin’s attempt to tell their story wasn’t published for many decades. Today, few Christians are aware of it, let alone of how many Puritan colonists contributed to Indian suffering.

Grappling with the mixed legacy of our forebears in the faith is essential if we’re to engage honestly and constructively in conversations about America’s troubled history.

Grappling with the mixed legacy of our forebears in the faith is essential if we’re to engage honestly and constructively in conversations about America’s troubled history. It also pushes us to reflect on how our own cultural or political assumptions might distort the way we live out the gospel.

That God fulfills his gracious purposes despite our moral failures is a cause for thanksgiving. It’s also a much-needed reminder that Christians need continual transformation into Christ’s image.

He teaches the following:

• God’s love for both believers and unbelievers is a central theme in the Bible.
• God’s providential love is nondiscriminating, extending to both the just and the unjust.
• We should understand Scripture’s diverse expressions of God’s love.
• Faith is the means by which we come to experience God’s love and life.
• Repentance and gratitude are the appropriate responses to understanding God’s love and salvation.

Postman was right about Las Vegas. The city is world-renowned for its extravagant, ubiquitous entertainment. But Vegas is more renowned for something else: gambling. And thus it’s also the ideal embodiment of the current phase of American history: dopamine media—online content designed to keep us scrolling by triggering dopamine release in our brains.

How Dopamine Media Works

While most Americans tend to think of substances as addictive—especially those that directly deliver dopamine—new research shows behaviors can be profoundly addictive as well because they release dopamine in the brain.

In 2013, pathological gambling was reclassified as an addictive disorder by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. And the way gambling works on the brain is exactly how dopamine media works. Anna Lembke explains: “Studies indicate that dopamine release as a result of gambling links to the unpredictability of the reward delivery, as much as to the final (often monetary) reward itself. The motivation to gamble is based largely on the inability to predict the reward occurrence, rather than on financial gain.”

A 2010 study found those addicted to gambling experience higher levels of dopamine release not when they win money but when they stand an equal chance of winning or losing money. The best dopamine high came from uncertainty, not victory. When it comes to dopamine, anticipation of a reward can create more pleasure than the reward itself. A slot machine is addictive because it keeps you in an anticipation loop: The big win is always just around the corner, so you pull the lever one more time, releasing anticipation dopamine in your brain.

This insight is key because it’s central to how dopamine media works. Behavioral psychologists in virtually every big tech corporation design their platforms and apps (social media, news media, video media) using intermittent variable rewards, what have been called digital slot machines. Natasha Schüll, author of Addiction by Design—a book researching actual slot machines—explains that “Facebook, Twitter, and other companies use methods similar to the gambling industry to keep users on their sites.”

Every time you post on social media, you pull a digital lever and receive an intermittent variable reward. Sometimes you win two likes, sometimes you win two hundred. If you’re scrolling through reels, some videos are duds but some make you squeal with laughter. The great appeal of short-form video content—pioneered by TikTok and replicated by Meta and YouTube—is that the brevity allows the user to pull the lever constantly. The brain constantly releases dopamine as it anticipates a reward. When you lose and get a lame video, you experience brief frustration or boredom, which only sends you back for more.

Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.

Every time we do it, we’re rewiring our brains the same way gambling addicts do.

How Dopamine Media Differs From Entertainment Media

What sets dopamine media apart from entertainment media isn’t just its slot-machine design, however; it’s dopamine media’s constant accessibility and algorithmic curation.

Every time you post on social media, you pull a digital lever and receive an intermittent variable reward. Sometimes you win two likes, sometimes you win two hundred.

In Postman’s day, humans had limited access to TV. Physically, it was stationary. To watch TV, you had to sit in a room with a large device that needed to be plugged in. Additionally, you could watch only what was being broadcast on certain channels at certain times, on a schedule you didn’t design. While cable networks tried to curate more niche-based spaces—think HGTV, the Food Network, or Comedy Central—television was never actually personalized.

Dopamine media is entirely different. It’s physically unencumbered, traveling on your person and accessible anywhere. It’s also temporally unconstrained. There aren’t schedules. You can access whatever media you want, whenever you want, wherever you want.

But here’s the real secret sauce: artificial intelligence. Everything you see on virtually every app and platform—from ads to videos to posts to search results—is generated by recommender algorithms: advanced AIs that use your data to create a digital model of you so it can feed you bespoke content to keep and monetize your attention. Your social media feed is bespoke. It’s designed to keep you specifically addicted, by AIs whose computational knowledge of you is shockingly vast and actionable. Their main job is to keep you on the platform—to keep you addicted—by tracking your behavior like a dystopian digital Pavlov.

Distracting Us to Death

“Amuse” doesn’t quite describe the effect dopamine media has on us. It’s designed to distract us to death. Or, if we’re more honest, to distract us into an addiction that leads to death. Research shows that the more available and normalized a drug is, the more pervasive addiction to that drug becomes. So it’s no surprise the vast majority of American adults are walking around shooting up digital dope without raising an eyebrow. The best of us are responsible users who can consume media in moderation. But none of us is fully sober.

The addiction trade-off that dopamine media offered us isn’t a possibility; it’s already here. And if the first victims of our addiction are our time and attention span, the second (and far more important) victims are our families and relationships.

If the first victims of our addiction are our time and attention span, the second (and far more important) victims are our families and relationships.

Research shows that the more addicted you become to dopamine-producing behaviors, the less your brain rewards you for being in relationship with others. This is even true of rats: If a free rat finds a caged rat, it will try to free it. But if you allow that rat to self-administer heroin, it will no longer be interested in the caged rat. The heroin gives a better high, after all.

Our addiction to dopamine media is training us to love much what ought to be loved little. It’s making us miserably unhappy, hurting our relationships, and demanding more and more of our time to get the next high. Augustine wrote,

The person who lives a just and holy life is one who is a sound judge of these things. He is also a person who has ordered his love, so that he does not love what it is wrong to love, or fail to love what should be loved, or love too much what should be loved less (or love too little what should be loved more), or love two things equally if one of them should be loved either less or more than the other, or love things either more or less if they should be loved equally.

Dopamine media is the most powerful, pervasive, and engineered form of communication technology in human history, and it’s not shaping us to love Jesus most. It’s not shaping us to love our neighbor. It’s shaping us into pleasure-seeking addicts. Christians must recognize that, at its heart, this technological revolution has resulted in an institutional, relational, and formational crisis for the church.

Douthat observes changes in his readers’ attitudes toward institutional religion compared to 20 years ago. The sociological benefits of institutions such as churches have become more widely acknowledged. And some previous skeptics have begun to see that a post-Christian future might not be the liberal utopia they expected.

Perhaps we see a cultural opening to the gospel, then. Or at least we’ve come to a cultural crossroads, and everyone must make a choice. Douthat writes, “The choice this book is concerned with, the choice to become religious or not, is fundamentally a choice between looking around at the piled-up knapsacks and guidebooks that prior pilgrims have carried and used and written, and deciding to see that they might have to offer—or just wandering onward, willfully blind without a compass or map.”

Douthat is a friend of the show and always interesting to interview. So I’m glad he rejoined me on Gospelbound to talk about why everyone should be religious.

If Jesus Christ is the fullest revelation of God, it makes sense that he’d be the person we look to for guidance on how to read the Bible. Not only should we have the same view of the Bible that Jesus had, but we should read it the way he read it.

So how did Jesus read the Bible? He read it as a means to fulfilling the two greatest commandments and as a narrative that points to him.

Fulfilling the Two Great Commandments

In Matthew 22, an expert in the law affiliated with the Pharisees asks Jesus what the greatest commandment in the law is. Jesus responds,

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. (vv. 37–39)

Instead of giving just one commandment, Jesus gives two—both citations from the Old Testament. The first is Deuteronomy 6:5, which was part of the Shema, the central confession of Jewish piety in the first century. The second is Leviticus 19:18, which calls Israel to govern their interactions with one another with love. But notice what Jesus says next: “On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets” (v. 40).

Jesus broadens the question’s scope from the greatest commandment in the law to include the entirety of the Old Testament. The verb translated “depend” in the ESV has the sense of “hang.” Just as a door hangs on its hinges, allowing it to move back and forth and fulfill its purpose, so too these two commandments are the hinges on which the entire Old Testament moves to accomplish the purpose of enabling God’s people to love God with their whole lives and to love their neighbor as themselves.

Consider what Jesus is saying. Everything in the Bible is given to enable us to love God and our neighbor. It doesn’t matter if you’re reading Leviticus, Lamentations, or Luke. It doesn’t matter if you’re reading Joshua, Judges, Job, Jeremiah, or John. It doesn’t matter if you’re reading Chronicles, Corinthians, or Colossians. Every passage in every book is given by God to grow us in our love for him and for others. That’s how Jesus read the Bible.

Narrative That Points to Him

Everything in the Bible is given by God to enable us to love God and our neighbor.

For Jesus, Scripture wasn’t simply a collection of laws, stories, proverbs, and psalms. He read the Bible as a coherent narrative about who God is, who we are as human beings, and what God’s purposes are for the world. And he made the staggering claim that all of it, in some way, points to himself. Although we see this throughout the Gospels, Luke 24 is arguably the clearest example. How Jesus read Scripture was such an important idea for Luke that he tells two post-resurrection stories to make his point.

The first story is found at the end of Jesus’s appearance to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. Not recognizing Jesus, these disciples explain to him the events of the past week that culminated in Jesus’s crucifixion and what their expectations of him had been. Their hopes that Jesus would be the One to redeem Israel had been crushed (Luke 24:21). Yet they explain that his tomb was now empty (vv. 22–24). Jesus’s response to them must have been jarring: He rebukes them for not recognizing that all of Scripture points to him.

If this was all Luke had to say about the subject, we’d have plenty of material for discussion. But Luke returns to it a second time later in the chapter. This time, Jesus’s audience is the entire gathering of the disciples. He demonstrates to his followers that he’s the risen Christ, and then the narrative continues:

Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you, that everything written about me in the Law of Moses and the Prophets and the Psalms must be fulfilled.” Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures, and said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance for the forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. (vv. 44–48)

The proper way to read Scripture is as a narrative that points to who Jesus is, what he has done for his people, and the announcement of that good news to the ends of the earth. He isn’t saying only certain parts of the Old Testament point to him; he’s saying all of it points to him in some way. In the days of the Roman Empire, it was said that all roads lead to Rome, and in a similar way we can affirm that all of Scripture leads to Christ.

All of Scripture points to Jesus in some way.

Some Old Testament passages are located along superhighways that take you straight to the cross, such as Isaiah 53. Other passages are located further out in the countryside and may require you to travel down a dirt road, to a county road, to a state highway, and then finally to an interstate that gets you to Christ.

If we truly believe, like Jesus did, that “man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matt. 4:4; Deut 8:3), then how we read the Bible matters. We should read the Bible like Jesus did: as a means of fulfilling the two great commandments to love God with our whole being and to love our neighbor as ourselves, and as a narrative that points to Christ.

In this episode of The Everyday Pastor, Matt Smethurst and Ligon Duncan encourage pastors to think carefully about the “weight” Scripture assigns various doctrines and the implications for unity grounded in truth and love.

Recommended resources:

• Westminster Confession of Faith
• The New Hampshire Baptist Confession of Faith 1833
• Finding the Right Hills to Die On: The Case for Theological Triage by Gavin Ortlund

It’s this type of person—someone who takes as a given a materialistic, disenchanted worldview—that The New York Times columnist Ross Douthat seeks to persuade in Believe: Why Everyone Should Be Religious.

His approach is uncommon among Christian apologetic texts, as he sets aside specific arguments about Christianity at the beginning of the work. Instead, he foregrounds the case for belief itself, inviting his readers to “start at a more fundamental level—with mere religion, not just mere Christianity—and work [their] way upward from there to the questions and choices where the great faiths differ and part ways” (18).

Disintegrating Materialism

The first contemporary barrier to religious belief is often that we assume materialism’s truthfulness. Douthat begins by imploring his readers to abandon the path of materialistic unbelief and embrace the journey of belief. He turns the arguments of scientifically minded atheists on their head: far from disproving God’s existence, scientific advances have strengthened the case for a higher power.

For instance, one earlier bedrock belief of materialists was the eternality of time and matter, which supports the impersonal, random origin of the world. However, the widespread acceptance of the Big Bang theory among the scientific community posits that time and matter had a beginning point. Douthat argues this theory fits with the ancient Christian claim of creation ex nihilo. So the scientific consensus opens the door for belief that creation is the work of a God who’s outside of time and space.

Likewise, neuroscience advances have shown that thoughts, feelings, and emotions are likely supernatural. They aren’t merely the product of materialistic causes in the brain but above and beyond them.

Neither the Big Bang theory nor the mind’s immateriality ultimately proves God. However, they together show that the correlation between scientific progress and unbelief is a culturally curated myth. As Douthat notes, “The idea that the cosmos was intended, that mind is more fundamental than matter, that our minds in particular have a special relationship to the physical world and its originating Cause—all of these ideas have had their plausibility strengthened, not weakened, by centuries of scientific success” (61).

The correlation between scientific progress and unbelief is a culturally curated myth.

Douthat’s arguments against materialism are the strongest part of the book. They’ll be extraordinarily helpful for Christians engaging those with hangups about our faith that extend beyond moral and institutional qualms. Instead of ending up in interminable arguments about “science vs. religion,” Believe shows scientific engagement with the material world can open someone up to the spiritual realities undergirding that world.

Alternate Pathways

Even if we open ourselves up to spiritual realities, we have to navigate the diverse religious explanations of this reality. Douthat wants readers who are willing to break with materialism to progress from deism to a thicker form of religion by seriously evaluating the moral and theological claims of the major world religions. While he’s upfront about his desire for this journey to conclude with an embrace of traditional Christianity, he grants readers frequent opportunities to stop along the way.

Douthat assumes those who take these alternative sojourns will benefit from the journey even if they don’t wind up pursuing orthodox Christianity. This approach seems gracious, but, as he acknowledges, it can sound like all religious paths lead to the same God. While the book ends with a compelling case for traditional Christianity (Douthat is himself a Roman Catholic), it’d be easy at many moments along the way for readers to assume Douthat is advocating a kind of religious pluralism, despite his statements to the contrary.

For instance, he argues that any sincere attempt at faith brings a kind of reward to the individual, even if it doesn’t end in faith in Christ: “If you never reach the absolutely truest place, you might still make a kind of progress, orient your life more closely to its cosmic purpose, or do something pleasing to the gods or God” (112).

However, it’s not as if any step toward religiosity is inherently good. A friend who converts from atheism to Islam may not be any closer to embracing the resurrected Christ. The path to Christianity isn’t always a pleasant journey from unbelief to belief. It requires rejecting false gods from the outside and repenting from sin on the inside. Though Paul uses the “unknown god” to point to a general awareness of the divine, he ends his irenic speech at the Areopagus with confrontation. He implores his audience to reject images of gold and repent in the face of impending cosmic judgment (Acts 17:22–34). Douthat’s apologetic can tend to smooth over these edges.

While individuals who move from atheism to deism might be on their way to knowing the one true God, they still don’t have assurance of salvation, which can only come through a confession of faith in Jesus as Lord and God. The language of assurance would help remedy some of the concerns in Believe, as it allows room for Christians to affirm what they see as legitimate progress toward God while still exhorting their friends to continue on a journey that leads to full faith in Christ.

Traditional Apologetics

No apologetics book can bring someone to faith in the resurrected Christ on its own. At best, books establish antecedent probabilities: little bits of persuasive evidence that may contribute to conversion but cannot guarantee it. For many people, their resistance to the Christian faith is broken down by rational arguments, the testimony of friends, and the experience of Christian community. Ultimately, conversion requires the Holy Spirit’s work.

The path to Christianity isn’t always a pleasant journey from unbelief to belief. It requires rejecting false gods from the outside and repenting from sin on the inside.

Additionally, because of the unique dynamics at play in each conversion, individuals will find different books persuasive. Traditional apologetic books that focus on Christianity’s evidential claims, like Lee Strobel’s The Case for Christ, will be helpful to some. For others, the moral arguments for Christianity in books like Mere Christianity and The Reason for God will break down barriers to truth.

Douthat’s Believe may help those hostile to religion of any kind open up to the gospel, though further help outside its pages may be needed to guide them to acknowledge Jesus Christ as the way, the truth, and the life.

John and Sue were close and on track to get married. John was planning his proposal, but one thing nagged at him: He’d never told Sue about his past.

So, one day John asked Sue to dinner to discuss their relationship. He told her he didn’t want to enter marriage with secrets and proceeded to explain his past sins and mistakes. Sue listened quietly. When John finished, he held his breath, waiting for her response.

After a moment, Sue excused herself to go to the bathroom, where she remained for an unusually long time. (The waiter even asked John if she was coming back.) When Sue finally returned, she said she needed time to think about what he’d shared. John described the drive home as “awkwardly silent.”

A few days later, Sue told John she was ready to talk. John drove over nervously. Sue got straight to the point and spoke a few words that have stuck with John for more than 25 years: “John, I’m sorry. But I don’t think I can move forward with marrying you.”

They broke up. John was left reeling. He began to think more about his past sins, experiencing deep shame. He wondered if his past made him unfit to marry anyone.

Don’t worry. There’s a happy ending—John has been joyfully married to someone else for more than two decades now. But John’s experience with Sue is everyone’s worst nightmare. We fear that if we were really known, we’d be tolerated at best, abandoned at worst, and certainly not wanted. Deep down, we fear that if God and others saw our messiest parts—our sins, insecurities, traumas, and impurities—they’d say, “I’m sorry, but I just can’t imagine loving someone like you.”

Sources of Shame

Shame comes in many different forms, from many different causes. Sometimes we feel shame because of external causes—sins done to us that make us feel impure. But while others may have kickstarted our shame, we don’t always need others to keep it going. Over time, we can become experts at shaming ourselves, often without realizing it:

• You slept in until when? Lazy.
• You ate what? No wonder you’re fat.
• You said what? How could you be so stupid?
• You missed her event? Some friend you are.
• You were impatient with your kids? A good parent would never.
• How are you still not married? Not a homeowner? Not a parent? What’s wrong with you? You’re so far behind.
• Why don’t you read the Bible more? Pray more? Serve more? Exercise more? Sleep more? Read more? Study more? Work more? Journal more? Pursue your hobbies more? Spend time with your family more? You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough.

Self-shaming is a defense mechanism rooted in the belief that we’re unlovable to God and others. We voice the harsh words we fear others are thinking—as if beating them to the punch might soften the blow or inspire us to change. Ironically, self-shaming doesn’t protect us; it only perpetuates harmful lies and keeps us in bondage.

Self-shaming is a defense mechanism rooted in the belief that we’re unlovable to God and others.

Shame often grows through small but consistent applications. One author observes that the first thought many of us have upon waking is “I didn’t get enough sleep,” and the last thought before falling asleep at night is “I didn’t get enough done,” and everything in between whispers, “You’re not enough.” Satan is perfectly content playing the long game. He thrives on whispering subtle lies that slowly and quietly bury us beneath a mountain of shame.

Satan wants to use shame to drive you away from Jesus. He knows that in Christ’s presence, shame is released. But if you take one thing from this article, let it be this: Jesus is the remedy to your shame, not the cause. He is who you need most in your brokenness and sin.

Steps Toward Freedom from Shame

Feeling shame doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. The capacity to feel it, to experience remorse, is a sign of empathy and mental health. But while the capacity to feel shame is healthy, living in shame is destructive. Consider these three ways to engage with shame to move toward freedom.

1. Reject vague accusations (press them until they’re specific).

Satan loves keeping accusations foggy and ambiguous:

• “You’re a failure.”
• “You’re worthless.”
• “You’re not good enough.”
• “You’re a bad _______” (spouse, parent, child, sibling, friend, pastor, Christian).

These statements are harsh enough to inflict pain but vague enough to prevent action. You can’t fight what you can’t name, nor can you experience the grace of God and others for something you can’t identify.

When tempted to see yourself as a failure, ask, “What specifically makes me a failure?” Perhaps you sinned—Jesus died to cleanse and forgive you (1 John 1:9). Maybe you let someone down—Jesus can empower you to apologize and seek restoration (Matt. 5:23–24). Perhaps you didn’t meet your expectations—Jesus loves you the same and still has good planned (Ps. 23:6). You may have messed up (we all have). But we serve a God of second (and third and fourth and ten thousandth) chances.

When you force accusations to be specific, you’ll uncover lies that can be discarded and allow any constructive truths that remain to be catalysts for growth and action.

2. Separate fact from feeling (move from ‘I am’ to ‘I feel’ statements).

Instead of “I failed an exam; I’m such a disappointment,” say, “I failed an exam, and now I feel like a disappointment.”

This shift validates our feelings but separates what we did (the action) from who we are (our identity). Your feelings don’t define your identity. Nor do your sins, mistakes, or unmet expectations. God defines your identity, and your worth and dignity are found in who he calls you (Col. 3:12).

Shifting from “I am” to “I feel” allows us to question whether our feelings are rooted in truth or distortion and positions us to respond to their claims in productive and God-honoring ways.

3. Speak—and speak to—your feelings.

Once you’ve separated fact from feeling, speak your feelings. We do this in two ways: prayer and confession.

Speak Your Feelings to God Through Prayer

God doesn’t say, “First get rid of your negative feelings, then come to me.” He says, “Come to me with your negative feelings and let me help you” (see Matt. 11:28–30).

Remember, in God’s presence shame is released. Prayer is less of an obligation and more of an invitation to let God carry our burdens (Phil. 4:6–7; 1 Pet. 5:7). So “pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us” (Ps. 62:8).

Speak Your Feelings to Others Through Confession

Confessing our sins to others is essential for healing (James 5:16). Yet confession isn’t limited to sin. We practice confession every time we allow ourselves to be seen and known by others. Perhaps no practice is more powerful to reveal shame’s lies and break its hold.

One of the primary ways we understand and experience God’s grace and love is when we encounter the grace and love of his people. When someone knows the worst about us but remains committed to us in love, we see a picture of God. Confession can be scary at first, but it’s one of God’s sweetest gifts and most powerful tools for releasing shame.

Speak to Your Feelings Through God’s Word

Finally, we must speak to our feelings with God’s truth. Here are some examples:

• “I feel unlovable, but God says I’m dearly loved” (see Col. 3:12).
• “I feel condemned, but God says he doesn’t condemn me” (see John 8:11; Rom. 8:1; 1 John 3:20).
• “I feel worthless, but Jesus loves me so much that it was worth it to him to give up his life to have me forever” (see Rom. 5:6–8).

God never tells us to ignore our feelings. He tells us to speak to our feelings with God’s Word. When your feelings threaten to take you captive, take them captive with God’s promises (2 Cor. 10:5).

Rest in God’s Promises

One of my favorite verses is 1 John 3:20: “Even if we feel guilty, God is greater than our feelings, and he knows everything” (NLT).

When your feelings threaten to take you captive, take them captive with God’s promises.

The gospel tells us that there’s an unchanging and objective reality greater than our feelings: Regardless of how you feel on a given day, you’re fully and forever loved by the God who knows you completely (see Rom. 5:6–8).

True freedom doesn’t come from hiding our shame but from being fully known and loved by the Savior who took on shame to make us clean. On the cross, Jesus hung naked—bearing all our shame—so we could stand forever in God’s approval without blemish (Eph. 5:25–27).

Bring your shame to Jesus. He loves you, he’s for you, and he waits to replace your shame with freedom and intimacy.

“Because I love the game.”

“Ball is life.”

“I want to make it to the League.”

The answers varied from pithy to profound, and eventually we moved beyond platitudes.

“This is the place I receive encouragement; I want the praise.”

“The only time my dad calls me is to talk ball; it’s all we talk about it, and I can’t lose that.”

“My stepdad told me I’ll never amount to anything; this is my chance to prove him wrong.”

The mood was somber as these men shared their moving confessions. Nearly every time I delve into student athletes’ motivations, I uncover their deep desire to connect with their fathers. For many, sport is a means to that end. Years ago, one colleague told me, “All football players—and men in general—have a father wound; some are just more severe than others. For some, it’s a paper cut; for others, it’s a shotgun blast to the chest.”

No earthly dad—no matter how good—can fulfill the students’ paternal longings. But thankfully, there’s a better Father. Behind their grind and relentless drive, many young athletes seek the unconditional love and affirmation only God the Father can provide.

Our Paternal Longing

Recently I watched an interview with UFC fighter Alexandre Pantoja. At the time of writing, he’s the reigning flyweight champ. After he became UFC champion, he said, “My mom [took] care of me and my two brothers alone. Now, Dad, you proud of me, dad? You proud of me?” Pantoja is a warrior. In the middle of the octagon with a gold title belt around his waist and a mixture of sweat and blood dripping from his cheeks, he publicly voiced his desperate paternal longing. Read the biographies of the greats: Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, and Andre Agassi had various kinds of relationships with their dads, but all achieved GOAT status in pursuit of making their fathers proud.

Like UFC, American football is distinctively violent. In most sports, contact is incidental. In football, contact is central to the game. Players are praised for weaponizing their bodies. Coaches reward players who produce “big hits” or “pancakes” or who “lay someone out.” No one would accuse college football players or UFC fighters of being soft (at least not to their faces). Yet these players are wounded warriors.

Serving as a campus minister for nearly 20 years, I’ve seen again and again how many young men fight, tackle, and strive not for gridiron glory but for fatherly validation. In its absence, they seek validation elsewhere. I’ve seen this in the locker room and in my own life. I’m the son of a good, godly father. But I was also the victim of abuse at a young age. In the aftermath of that trauma, I felt less than a man. Driven by an insatiable appetite to feel manly, I threw myself into hypermasculine activities. To borrow a phrase Jeffrey Marx attributes to Joe Ehrmann, I sought validation on the ball field, in the bedroom, and with my billfold. Looking back now, I recognize I was searching for my heavenly Father’s approval.

Good News of the Father’s Affirmation

The message of how God the Father provides divine validation through his Son’s substitutionary work is one both unbelieving student athletes and believers need to hear.

1. Unbelievers need to hear why Christians call God ‘Father.’

When I share the gospel with unbelieving student athletes, I explain that God relates to his followers as a father to a son rather than as a coach to a player. By the time they’re in college, most athletes have competed for a self-centered, transactional coach. A relationship with that type of coach is marked by the phrase “What have you done for me lately?”

God relates to his followers as a father to a son rather than as a coach to a player.

When the player “balls out” and wins games, the coach shows him love. But the moment the player is injured or blows an assignment that busts a play, the coach’s affection cools and he becomes relationally distant and withdrawn. Such relationships hinge entirely on the player’s performance. To reconnect with this coach, the athlete must play and practice even harder.

Many athletes bring a performance mindset to the God of the Bible. So I explain that God is a selfless Father, not a selfish coach, and that the Son, by his perfect performance and propitiatory death, has already secured our right standing in God’s sight. You don’t have to earn your spot. You will be adopted into his family if you trust in the Son.

I’ve seen it more times than I count. Once a young man recognizes God as a loving Father and trusts in Christ’s work for him, he’s more free to play the game the right way. He begins to compete for God’s glory.

2. Believers need a daily dose of ‘vitamin D.’

Vitamin D improves bone density, muscle function, and immunity— all essential functions for high-level athletes. Even more important is our spiritual vitamin D—or vitamin Dad. A mentor taught me that phrase, and I know it’s cheesy, but you won’t forget it.

I tell the young men in my ministry to take their daily vitamin D, to start their day meditating on the Father’s love as revealed in his Word. Like King David, set aside time to “hear in the morning of [God’s] steadfast love” (Ps. 143:8). After shutting off your alarm clock, reach for your Bible instead of your phone. You start each day setting your heart on a message. YouTube tells you life is about entertainment. Instagram says image is everything. Even email communicates that life is about what you get done. Only God’s Word grounds you in who God says you are rather than what you must do each day. If you’ve trusted in Christ, you’re God’s beloved son. That’s a better motivation for life.

Only God’s Word grounds you in who God says you are rather than what you must do each day.

Many men I minister to in the locker room were raised by single mothers. In a recent team Bible study, I asked a small group, “Who modeled manhood for you?” One player shot up his hand and immediately responded, “My grandmother!” This player wasn’t alone. Several teammates also pointed to mothers and grandmothers as their most significant role models. Their homes were void of masculine presence and validation. Whether they realize it or not, many of them compete to one day hear the Father’s loving “Well done.”

As our conversation continued, these men divulged their pain and unmet longings. I reminded them, “We all have pain. The question is, what are you going to do with your pain?” On game day, when a player experiences a pull, tear, sprain, or break on the field, he immediately limps to the team trainer. In the same way, our spiritual wounds are an invitation from the Father to come to him. He’s the perfect Father who offers us his constant presence, loving affirmation, saving declaration, and divine healing. Let’s go to him.

In this breakout session from TGCW24, Michael Kruger shares insights from his book Surviving Religion 101, exploring how parents can equip their children intellectually and spiritually to go through college and beyond with their faith intact. Kruger shares three key principles for parents—wise exposure, purposeful dialogue, and embracing doubts—along with four ideas for teens, including viewing challenges as growth opportunities and valuing community.

Yet that notion of freedom—the absence of authority—has little to do with a biblical understanding of liberty, as Brad Littlejohn, founder of the Davenant Institute, shows in his book Called to Freedom: Retrieving Christian Liberty in an Age of License. His project attempts to retrieve a theology of Christian freedom, especially from Reformation-era Protestant sources.

Littlejohn’s central claim is that all freedoms are interconnected; they are the fruit of spiritual freedom. He writes, “Spiritual freedom makes possible both moral and political freedom; moral freedom both fosters and is fostered by political freedom; political freedom, in the proper sense, helps nurture a society in which the gospel has room to do its work, a society of truly free men and women” (84).

Littlejohn works out his rehabilitation of Christian freedom in multiple dimensions: political, technological, economic, and religious. His critiques of economic freedom and religious liberty provide key evidence of the value and limits of his argument.

Exposing the Allure of Mammon

Americans (especially American politicians) love to talk about economic freedom, and for good reason. We enjoy the benefits of “the magic of the Industrial Revolution,” in which “goods and services once seen as rare luxuries were converted into staples.” Although Littlejohn has “no desire to go back to the days when indoor plumbing was a rare luxury,” he makes a strong case that these blessings of the free market have come with substantial costs (112).

There’s a temptation, Littlejohn fears, to “baptize free-market capitalism as God’s own economic paradigm and to rummage through the Scriptures in search of proof-texts for the prescriptions of Milton Friedman and Friedrich Hayek” (108). As much as I think these economists’ best insights reflect God’s natural law, it’s true that America is uniquely susceptible to the prosperity gospel, a doctrinal error that is especially harmful to the poor. Read the Bible and you’ll find that wealth and sanctification are only clumsily coordinated.

As much as I think these economists’ best insights reflect God’s natural law, it’s true that America is uniquely susceptible to the prosperity gospel.

But for all the dangers of Mammon, greed, and prodigality that Littlejohn details, he seems to minimize the ways markets enable us to serve one another. Long before Adam Smith cribbed the language of “Divine Providence” to talk about the “invisible hand,” Christians found promise in market transactions. For example, the 14th-century Christian mystic Catherine of Siena argued that God “could easily have created men possessed of all that they should need both for body and soul, but [he wishes] that one should have need of the other, and that they should be [God’s] ministers to administer the graces and the gifts that they have received.” When rightly ordered, markets enable that mutuality through common grace, reflecting the social nature of human beings.

Resisting the Erosion of Liberalism

More controversial still is Littlejohn’s critique of the American concept of religious liberty. Here, more than with any other issue, he demonstrates his deep reliance on the magisterial reformers, who sometimes used their power to punish what they deemed false doctrine. Faithfully representing this tradition, Littlejohn affirms the goodness of “liberty of conscience” but argues that “it does not automatically follow that there should be liberty of worship or proselytizing or religious exercise” (136). Littlejohn makes clear that the state has a right to restrain the public expression of false religions, at least in principle.

It’s true that in many cases, our notion of religious liberty has run amok. Littlejohn notes, “The culture of toleration once promoted by political philosophers like John Milton and John Locke has been replaced with a culture of affirmation” (138). There’s a rising tide of libertinism masquerading as religious freedom, as some abortion advocates have even attempted to claim religious protections in taking the lives of the unborn.

Yet Littlejohn is also careful to note that “replacement of coercion with persuasion was made possible in large part by the immense expansion of education and literacy that followed the Reformation” (136–37). Many of the radical reformers, and contemporary Christians who hold a different view of baptism from the magisterial reformers, might beg to differ about the merits of state power constraining religious practice.

There’s a rising tide of libertinism masquerading as religious freedom.

As much as promoting right worship is a healthy desire, Littlejohn is wrong when he argues that freedom of proselytizing, worship, and religious exercise is merely a contingent good, an American “luxury of superpower status” (141). Before Locke’s written defense of religious toleration was widely available, Americans practiced it in the colonies of Roger Williams and William Penn. And, even earlier, John Chrysostom argued that “Christians above all men are not permitted forcibly to correct the failings of those who sin.” These examples don’t settle the issue, but they do undermine the notion that religious liberty is an exclusively modern ideal.

Encouraging Theological Retrieval

Called to Freedom is a welcome effort at theological retrieval. By his expertise and knowledge of sources, Littlejohn reminds us that studying historical Christian thought can aid us as we seek, in the words of the U.S. Constitution, to “promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity.” Public theological engagement is good, not just for the church but for the world. Littlejohn’s retrieval efforts shed light on modern misunderstandings of freedom to help us see its failings, even when we disagree with his conclusions.

This book’s central theme aims at the heart of the gospel: the acknowledgment that “all true freedom must start by resolving the problem at the heart of human existence: the alienation between God and man due to sin” (21–22). Littlejohn’s focus on pursuing true freedom in Christ makes this a valuable resource for pastors and church members trying to understand Christian liberty in a licentious age.

To clarify the true nature of the sending of the Son and the Holy Spirit into the world, and to refute heretical misunderstandings, theologians formulated the doctrine of the divine missions. Simply expressed, a divine “mission” refers to the sending of a Trinitarian person into the world. The doctrine is intended to explain how this divine person has entered the world without changing.

Students of theology are often puzzled by this doctrine. Because our understanding is finite and earthly, we struggle to understand the sending of the infinite and heavenly Son. How can the finite contain the infinite? This same difficulty of understanding was characteristic of the first witnesses of Jesus, as we discover in one of the most revealing episodes about the mission of the Son.

Speaking to largely the same crowd as had just seen him multiply bread and fish and feed 5,000 men, Jesus proclaims himself as “the bread of life” (John 6:35). He’s met with consternation by “the Jews” (v. 41), who couldn’t understand how he could claim to have come down from heaven while having human parents. Jesus declares, “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him” (v. 44). Even though he was sent by the Father, he couldn’t be understood by ordinary human faculties. How could the true bread of heaven have human parents and a human body?

Here’s where the doctrine of divine missions can help.

Analogy from Magnetism

There’s a deep logic in this language of sending. Jesus’s language of “drawing” (v. 44) implicitly suggests the idea of a magnet (cf. John 12:32; Jer. 31:3; Song 1:4). Some theologians have appealed to this imagery to indicate a divine causality that’s working more through attraction and persuasion than through brute force. Analogies have limits, but we can compare divine missions to a magnet.

To clarify the true nature of the sending of the Son and the Holy Spirit into the world, theologians formulated the doctrine of the divine missions.

First, in a mission, God does much more than move things around, such as splitting the Red Sea or miraculously multiplying bread. In a mission, we confess that “to us a son is given” (Isa. 9:6). A mission is much more than God doing something; it’s God giving us someone. The various effects that God brings about in the world are indivisible between the Father, the Son, and the Spirit (per the doctrine of inseparable operations). But missions are unique and proper to the divine persons.

This means only the Son was sent to be incarnate and only the Holy Spirit was sent at Pentecost. While the whole Trinity creates Jesus’s human nature (this is an inseparable operation), only the Son is clothed with it (a mission). A magnet helps us understand this distinction: A paperclip is moved and attracted by the whole magnet, but it attaches specifically to one of the poles.

This reveals the heart of a mission: The Son allows humanity to share in his sonship. The Son on his mission truly gives himself to the creature without ceasing to be himself. In the incarnation, Christ’s human nature exists as the Son on earth. Remaining human, it shares in the operations of the divine nature.

Consider how a paperclip receives the magnetism of a magnet. Physicists call this an induced magnetism—the original magnet’s polarity is transferred to the paperclip. Without becoming a magnet, the paperclip is elevated above its natural operation (clipping paper) to draw other paperclips to itself. This only happens as long as it remains attached to the magnet. Jesus’s humanity remains unaltered, but now it has become the bread of life: “And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (John 6:51).

The Son on his mission truly gives himself to the creature without ceasing to be himself.

Finally, with this analogy, we can think of Christ’s human nature as the first in a string of paperclips clinging to a magnet. Christ is the last Adam (1 Cor. 15:45, 47–49), to whom we cling and from whom we’re all “magnetized” with eternal life.

Imagine here a whole string of paperclips, glued to one another by the magnetism flowing through them from a single source. The divine life and energy aren’t confined to the incarnate Lord but communicated to all those engrafted into the vine (John 15:5). Rivers of living water (7:38)—in other words, the Spirit—flow not only from Christ but from those attached to Christ. From the head, the whole body grows with a growth from God (Col. 2:19), as eternal life is given to the members. It isn’t by their own power that members are added to the body; they’re drawn into it.

Conduits of Christ and the Spirit

The Jews couldn’t understand how this son of Joseph and Mary could be the manna from heaven, the bread of eternal life. They only saw the flesh but never felt its magnetism, never tasted its heavenly nutrients. They saw the miracles, which displayed God’s mighty power, but they didn’t recognize the Son. Until they were drawn to feed on his flesh and drink his blood, they wouldn’t abide in him (John 6:56) and thus wouldn’t know him.

This is the true supernatural power of the Christian life, that the very life of the Son pulsates through our veins, that in some sense we become little Christs to others (Gal. 2:20), as long as we hold fast to him.

Here’s one immediate practical implication. Because we’re thus united to Christ, our primary desires shouldn’t be for earthly things but for the heavenly. While our natural operations continue—going to work, eating, drinking, perhaps even clipping papers together—we’re empowered to rise above these realities and embrace our heavenly citizenship and spiritual vocation. That means cultivating the gifts of the Spirit, precisely in and through these mundane tasks.

When I was a young college football coach, I remember hearing of a head coach at a major university who was fired for violating the NCAA’s gambling policy by betting on the NCAA basketball tournament. I heard stories of scandals involving athletes and coaches cheating, often involving betting on their team’s games. I remember churches teaching about gambling as a moral stain on our communities and an insidious vice that damaged families and communities alike. Christians were encouraged to avoid it in all its forms.

Those sentiments toward sports gambling seem like a lifetime ago and an era far gone.

Since the U.S. Supreme Court’s 2018 overturning of the Professional and Amateur Sports Protection Act, sports betting has been legalized in 38 states and the District of Columbia. Several other states are contemplating legalizing sports betting in upcoming legislative sessions. What was once considered an illegal, morally taboo practice is now so commonplace that you can’t watch a televised sporting event without seeing multiple ads for prominent sportsbooks like FanDuel or DraftKings. According to research from Seton Hall University, more than one in three Americans now participate in sports betting.

In 2023, the American Gaming Association reported that sports betting revenue reached 10.9 billion dollars. With revenue like this, it’s obvious the house is winning. But who is losing? It’s not just the individual gambler. It’s also families, communities, and society at large.

The house is winning. But who is losing? It’s not just the individual gambler. It’s also families, communities, and society at large.

This week, Sports Spectrum released new research showing that 42 percent of Christians are very or somewhat supportive of sports gambling, 35 percent are neutral, and only 22 percent oppose sports gambling. Unfortunately, many people—including many contemporary Christians—view sports betting as a fun and harmless way for fans to engage in sports. But the gambling industry is a predatory, profits-over-people enterprise that’s fostering a cultural crisis—leading to devastating consequences for individuals, families, and our nation.

Harmful Effects

Among these dangers is the increased rate of alcohol abuse among those who participate in sports betting. In addition, the availability of and ease of access to sports betting feeds the addictive nature of gambling, leading to a bevy of mental health issues, including increased aggression and depression. A study has shown that indebtedness and shame from gambling can exacerbate psychiatric conditions and traits as well as challenging life conditions that lead to suicide. Tragically, research also shows sports gambling leads to increased rates of violence, especially in situations where the participant loses money.

The sports betting industry also perpetuates financial difficulties. A report last year showed states with legalized sports gambling had seen a decrease in average credit scores; a substantial increase in average bankruptcy rates; and increases in debt sent to collections, use of debt-consolidation loans, and auto loan delinquencies.

Sports betting companies profit by dangling the prospect of financial relief in front of millions of people already saddled with debt or otherwise in tight financial conditions. These folks participate in hopes of a big payday—a day that, for most participants, never arrives. The only outcome for most gamblers is growing debt, financial ruin, and relational distress.

The only outcome for most gamblers is growing debt, financial ruin, and relational distress.

Sports betting also damages the fan-athlete relationship. Athletes are no longer seen as human beings but as money-makers—their value is based solely on their ability to perform, win, and cover a particular point spread. This past college football season, the quarterback at my alma mater made headlines when he said he was messaged by fans demanding repayment for their losses. With easy access to athletes through social media messaging, this harassment—and more aggressive forms—will only increase.

For fans, a game’s stakes used to be emotional: happiness if your team won or sadness if they lost. But with the growing influence of sports betting, the stakes of any given game or athlete’s performance can now involve huge sums of money and a gambler’s entire livelihood. Those stakes turn sports from pleasurable mass entertainment into something far darker—both for individuals and societies.

Christians Should Oppose Sports Betting

Some Christians might downplay the seriousness of sports betting, especially if they participate in it “casually” or from a position of relative financial security. But I urge all Christians to seriously consider how sports betting harms individuals, families, and societies.

Sports betting perpetuates the sins of idolatry, greed, and dissatisfaction with God’s provision. It feeds on vices rather than virtues and godliness. It’s highly addictive. With the ease and convenience of a smartphone app and a credit card, sports betting has become yet another dopamine-inducing “scrolling” activity alongside social media platforms, online pornography, and other addictions just a few clicks away. As a vice disproportionately targeting young men, sports betting has the potential to imperil their current and future ability to love and lead families because of devastating debt. Sports betting is another assault on families already besieged by a litany of negative cultural pressures and obstacles.

Sports betting perpetuates the sins of idolatry, greed, and dissatisfaction with God’s provision. It feeds on vices rather than virtues and godliness.

Sports betting isn’t harmless. Those who drive the industry know it. Sports betting commercials even have resources for gambling addiction mentioned in the small print at the bottom of the screen. Don’t be fooled by how destigmatized sports betting has become. Just because you can now do it on your phone from the comfort of your suburban living room, as opposed to in the dimly lit, smoky Vegas casino, doesn’t mean the dangers are less real. The less seedy, more acceptable “brand” of sports betting today is what makes it so concerning.

Pastors need to speak out more often about this. A Lifeway study showed that most Protestant pastors believe sports gambling is morally wrong, but few are doing much, if anything, to actively speak to the issue or disciple congregations on the topic. But people in congregations are no doubt falling prey to this destructive habit, and pastors should warn them about the damage it can do spiritually, relationally, and financially.

It’s time to sound the alarm about sports betting. With record profits again in 2024, the sportsbook house is winning. A few corporate entities are getting rich. The rest of us are losing. And the losses are mounting.

Successful associate pastors practice what might be called “upward leadership”—the art of leading while following. This nuanced approach requires wisdom, discernment, and intentionality in every aspect of ministry. When executed well, this approach creates a framework for leadership that strengthens the entire church while honoring God’s design for authority structures.

Strategic Communication

This framework begins with strategic communication. Associate pastors must develop robust systems for gathering and sharing information, always considering their senior pastors’ preferences and needs. Some leaders appreciate detailed written reports, while others prefer brief verbal updates.

Learning and adapting to these preferences demonstrates emotional intelligence and respect for authority. The goal is to anticipate needs and provide relevant information before it’s requested, creating a smooth flow of communication that enhances leadership effectiveness.

Gracious Disagreement

When differences arise, as they inevitably will, the biblical narrative provides guidance for handling disagreement with grace. Nathan’s confrontation of David regarding his sin with Bathsheba (2 Sam. 12) offers particular insight into speaking truth to authority.

Three principles emerge from his example. First, timing is crucial—Nathan chooses his moment carefully, approaching David privately. Second, method matters—Nathan’s use of a parable demonstrates sensitivity to David’s position while communicating truth. Third, our motive must be pure—Nathan’s confrontation arises from genuine concern for both David and God’s people, not from personal ambition.

The daily execution of our responsibilities requires specific skills, strategies, and wisdom.

Thes principles translate into practical guidelines for managing leadership dynamics. When concerns arise, associate pastors should carefully choose both the timing and method of our communication. This might involve preparing clear data, seeking counsel from others, or finding ways to help the senior pastor experience the issue firsthand. The approach should always flow from our love for the senior pastor and concern for the church’s well-being rather than from personal frustration or ambition.

Public Unity

Next, we must maintain public unity, which forms the capstone of flourishing leadership dynamics. Paul’s emphasis on church unity in Ephesians 4:1–6 has particular application to leadership teams. This unity requires a carefully coordinated approach that begins with resolving conflicts privately before they affect public ministry. Once decisions are made, regardless of initial disagreements, supporting these choices becomes essential for maintaining leadership cohesion.

Associate pastors should model transparency and integrity in their public communication about church leadership. When congregation members raise concerns, associate pastors have a responsibility to respond appropriately based on the nature of the concern. For routine ministry matters or questions of preference, they can help members constructively engage with church leadership while maintaining unity. However, for allegations of misconduct or abuse, associate pastors must ensure members have clear access to both civil authorities and denominational accountability structures. This balanced approach upholds both proper church order and necessary accountability.

This approach to managing leadership dynamics—combining strategic communication, graceful handling of disagreement, and public unity—nurtures trust that strengthens both the leadership team and the broader church community. It allows associate pastors to lead from a supporting role while honoring God’s design for church authority structures.

Practical Excellence in Daily Ministry

While communication, grace, and unity create the external framework for life-giving ministry, the foundation for successful upward leadership lies in excellence in daily responsibilities. Jesus taught that faithfulness in small matters leads to greater responsibility (Luke 16:10). This principle should guide every aspect of associate ministry, from routine administrative tasks to significant leadership initiatives.

1. Understand and align with your leader’s vision.

Start by comprehensively understanding your senior pastor’s vision and priorities. This means more than simply reading mission statements or attending leadership meetings. Observe how your senior pastor communicates vision in different contexts. Notice which ministry initiatives energize him and which aspects of church life he emphasizes repeatedly.

For example, if your senior pastor frequently discusses discipleship pathways, ensure your ministry areas reinforce these priorities by incorporating clear next steps for spiritual growth and leadership development.

2. Create effective systems.

Develop systems that reduce your senior pastor’s stress and enhance his ministry. Consider implementing a weekly ministry dashboard that tracks key metrics he cares about, such as volunteer engagement or pastoral care needs. Create standardized processes for routine decisions—perhaps a clear protocol for handling benevolence requests or scheduling ministry events.

Design these systems to handle the bulk of routine situations, elevating only the exceptional cases that truly require senior leadership attention.

3. Manage information flow.

Establish efficient methods for keeping your senior pastor informed without overwhelming him. This might include a weekly brief highlighting three categories: “Actions Required,” “FYI Only,” and “Potential Concerns.” For instance, an “Actions Required” item might note “Need your input on next month’s baptism service format by Wednesday,” while an “FYI” item could state “Small group attendance up 15 percent this quarter.” Create templates for recurring reports that focus on the specific data points your senior pastor values most.

4. Anticipate and address needs.

Develop the habit of thinking three steps ahead in every area of responsibility. If you oversee facility management, don’t just handle current maintenance issues—create a 12-month maintenance calendar that anticipates seasonal needs. When planning major church events, prepare contingency plans for common challenges before they arise. This might mean having prewritten communication templates for weather-related schedule changes or maintaining an up-to-date list of backup volunteers for key ministry roles.

5. Build reliable teams.

Excellence in supporting leadership requires developing reliable ministry teams. Identify and mentor key volunteers who can manage routine responsibilities with minimal oversight. Create clear handoff points between different ministry areas to ensure smooth collaboration.

For example, establish a clear process for how the children’s ministry and worship team will coordinate for special services, reducing last-minute confusion and the need for senior pastor intervention.

6. Maintain administrative excellence.

Focus on the details that often get overlooked but can significantly affect ministry. Develop a system for tracking and following up on action items from meetings. Create and maintain ministry position descriptions that clearly outline responsibilities and reporting relationships. Establish a regular schedule for reviewing and updating church policies and procedures.

These administrative foundations, while not glamorous, provide the structure that enables your senior pastor to focus on his primary functions.

Crown of Being Second

As we master these practical aspects of associate ministry, we must remember that being second isn’t a waypoint to something bigger—it’s a sacred calling. Some of God’s most faithful servants never held first place in the organizational hierarchy. Joseph served Pharaoh, Daniel served Nebuchadnezzar, and both shaped nations through their supporting roles.

Being second isn’t a waypoint to something bigger—it’s a sacred calling.

Your position provides unique opportunities for kingdom influence. You can strengthen your senior pastor’s influence, enhance the church’s ministry, and demonstrate Christlike servant leadership to your congregation. When you embrace your role with theological conviction and practical wisdom, you participate in the humble service that God consistently uses to advance his kingdom.

As you serve in your role as associate pastor, remember Paul’s words to the Colossians: “Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men” (Col. 3:23). Your ultimate audience isn’t your senior pastor or your congregation; it’s Christ himself. When you view your position through this lens, being second becomes not a limitation but a privilege. It becomes an opportunity to demonstrate the countercultural power of the gospel through sacrificial service and supportive leadership.

Let’s therefore embrace the privilege of being second, knowing that in God’s kingdom, greatness is measured not by position but by faithfulness, not by authority but by service, not by leading from above but by supporting from below.

One could argue that John Mark Comer has accepted this challenge, popularizing a certain approach to Christian living that offers a “practical, moral distinctiveness.” From my vantage point as a Gen Z Christian, it seems Comer is the most influential figure for evangelicals my age. Of course, this comes with much praise (see Brad East) and criticism (see Tim Challies). But whatever we think of Comer, we should try to understand why he’s so popular.

Comer understands that Christians should be differentiated by how they behave—and he’s good at communicating this point to young audiences who feel the absence of this reality. They feel something’s missing in their faith, and Comer fills the gaps in a bite-size, aesthetically pleasing, and quickly digestible manner.

Corporate Spiritual Formation and a Rule of Life

The reprisal of the “Rule of Life,” advocated by pop-theologians like Comer, positions itself against quick-fix strategies for the Christian life. He defines a Rule as a “schedule and set of practices and relational rhythms that create space for us to be with Jesus, become like him, and do as he did, as we live in alignment with our deepest desires.” This approach can be deeply helpful, and—Comer’s theological issues—notwithstanding, I agreed with much of Practicing the Way.

Still, while Comer argues that creating a Rule is an act of cultural resistance, I’m not sure he anchors his readers in anything firm enough to weather the storm, as the exhortation to create your own Rule of Life is still an individualistic way of practicing Christianity. Comer does say “You can’t follow Jesus alone” and “Community is the incubator for our spiritual formation.” But he explicitly develops this on about four of the book’s nearly three hundred pages.

Noticing this theme, Myles Werntz argues, “You don’t need a rule of life”; rather, you need a local church. He explains that everyone from Benedict to Bonhoeffer cast a moral vision within the Christian community: “To reclaim this older vision,” he argues, “we must begin by unlearning deep habits of solo reading, praying, and planning for isolation.” This is a false dichotomy, but Werntz’s encouragement away from isolation toward community is a needed corrective. What we see in many contemporary Rules of Life isn’t only a newer vision; it’s a different vision.

Kyle Strobel offers a learned explanation of the differences:

Leaving aside the historical inaccuracies that abound, there is a deeper problem. In many ways, what folks mean when they say “a rule of life” today, is actually the opposite of the tradition they are supposedly trying to recover. It isn’t only that small details differ, but the entire purpose, goal, and structure are opposed to the historic vision.

Strobel’s longer analysis goes on to reveal that the new Rules are based on individual desires and governed by the self, while older Rules were based on a singular vision of life submitted to under the authority of another: “There is a kind of package deal between a rule of life, authority, and calling, keeping in mind that the broadest notion of calling is about life in the body of Christ. So to talk about a rule of life we need to talk about ecclesiology.”

If we’re going to reimagine a Rule of Life in modern Christianity, it needs to be ecclesiocentric, with the authority of the church and Scripture above us, not merely beside us.

If we’re going to reimagine a Rule of Life in modern Christianity, it needs to be ecclesiocentric, with the authority of the church and Scripture above us, not merely beside us.

Comer does prefer a community-oriented approach to the Rule of Life, and laments “the grid of Western-style individualism, with individual people writing their Rule of Life,” yet his definition hardly avoids the pitfall: “It’s self-generated from your internal desires, it has a ton of flexibility, it’s relationship based (not morality based), and it’s designed to index you toward your vision of the good life.”

What’s perplexing is how this point undermines other principles Comer lays out.

While he’s obviously inspired by The Rule of Saint Benedict, he doesn’t seem to heed some of that book’s first words, which condemn the ancient “sarabaites”—a contrary monastic order. Benedict describes them by saying,

Two or three gather together, or even alone, without a shepherd, they pen themselves up in their own sheepfolds, not the Lord’s. Their law is what they like to do, whatever strikes their fancy. Anything they believe in and choose, they call holy; anything they dislike, they consider forbidden.

This is the result of a Rule self-generated from your internal desires, designed to index you toward your vision of the good life.

Comer appears to want a churchesque community without robust ecclesiology; he claims to be a Protestant while ignoring (and sometimes lamenting) much of traditional Protestantism. He often draws from mystical Christians among the Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholics, and Quakers. And many evangelicals will find it more than a little suspicious that the book’s opening quote (“May you be covered in the dust of your Rabbi”) is the title of a Rob Bell sermon later cited in the opening chapter. Whatever it means to “practice the Way,” it doesn’t seem to mean prioritizing Word and sacrament, confession and creed. To be sure, Comer doesn’t deny the value of these things. They just aren’t important enough to include.

Perhaps Comer is hedging his bets, trying to appeal to as many people as possible, pitching a flexible, individual Rule to get you started. Fair enough. But the most interesting part of the book comes in a throwaway line: “If at all possible, do this in community—with a few friends, with your small group or table community, or, in a dream world, with your entire church.” The following footnote presents a version of Comer that doesn’t appear elsewhere in the book:

To my fellow pastors: My dream is that the churches of the future (like the churches of the past) will organize around a Rule of Life—a way of being together, contextualized for their time, their place, and their people. It can happen. Would you consider this?

It’s more anachronistic fantasy than historical reality to say “churches of the past” were organized around a Rule of Life. But the churches of the future could do this. Imagine if the whole book expounded this footnote.

There’s nothing wrong with thinking about how to use your time strategically. But first, we need to acknowledge this isn’t merely retrieval work, as it’s a different vision from our monastic forefathers. Second, we must recognize that the way forward is to have interlocking, mutually reinforcing spheres of ecclesial, familial, and individual habits. Call me a dreamer, but this underdeveloped idea gestured toward in Comer’s work could do some real good.

Reckoning with the Church’s Moral Life

The only way for a church to truly practice the Way is under the shepherding of faithful pastors who are able to guide them through the spiritual disciplines. Listening to podcasts or reading books (or articles like this one) simply will not do. We need elders, not gurus. We need the ordinary means of grace. We must return to the communal life of the church. But as Trueman has pointed out, we also need our pastors to take up a new (or perhaps retrieve an old) pedagogical strategy for shaping our moral life.

We should start by acknowledging that we’ve lost a slew of moral battles inside our churches, eroding our ethical credibility due to a gangrenous failure to practice church discipline. To only use the example of sex and marriage, evangelicals have helped pave the way for the wide-scale celebration of sin today. As Matthew Lee Anderson has argued, “On matters of sex and marriage, evangelical churches have long accepted contraception, made their peace with remarriage after divorce, silently acquiesced to the whole gamut of artificial reproductive technologies, and have raised a generation who shrug at cohabitation and premarital sex.”

We might add that the lack of moral guidance about technology and entertainment is perhaps even worse.

We must own up to what we’ve done. There’s no use in blaming evangelical intellectuals and pastors of the last century. They’re our people. We did it. The question is “What will we do now?” We must resolve what it means to practice Christianity today—according to Scripture, faithful to tradition, as the Holy Spirit guides the corporate body of Christ in these new days.

The only way for a church to truly practice the Way is under the shepherding of faithful pastors. We need elders, not gurus.

Most evangelicals would be shocked to read the way premodern pastors spoke about Christian living. New converts to Christianity who sat under pastoral instruction in the ancient church were called “catechumens,” and the old word for Christian teaching is “catechesis,” which included teaching at least the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Ten Commandments.

There’s a startling difference between these catechumens—who left behind their vocations, forms of entertainment, luxury, and, not least of all, sexual practices—and what we see today in most churches. They learned the liturgy and prebaptismal catechism, renouncing sin and the Devil, before entering the covenant community, and only afterward did they begin to practice the Way.

In Stephen O. Presley’s recent book Cultural Sanctification, he recovers the early church’s moral vision (see my review). In a chapter on the church’s public life, he explains that in their occupations, Christians refused to work in environments that involved idol distribution, sexual immorality (e.g., prostitution and theater), or murder (e.g., gladiatorial games). Craftsmen could only continue their work so long as they promoted beauty instead of idolatry, and there was a similar approach to teachers and public officials. In a Roman culture dominated by leisure and entertainment—yet filled with vices and countless temptations—Christians abstained from their festivals, circuses, and games. In all things, they were concerned with preserving virtue over financial, professional, or social gains.

There were moral boundaries in all aspects of life. Instructions about marriage and family were a regular aspect of Christian catechesis. These included duties for each spouse, expectations of affection, exhortations toward contentment, and prohibitions against fornication. Overall, the purpose of marriage, as with all other social matters, was the cultivation of virtue. This was necessary to distinguish Christians from pagans, but it was equally important for the church to encourage human flourishing in all aspects of public life.

The early church’s decisions aren’t prescriptive for our times, but they’re still instructive. We need to return to a focus on virtue formation and moral catechesis, which begins with teaching and practicing the Ten Commandments, alongside the spiritual disciplines, not merely to reveal sin but to present the way to human flourishing.

What’s encouraging about the popularity of Comer—or even someone like Jordan Peterson—is that there seems to be a growing hunger for virtue formation, self-discipline, and “rules” for better living. Sometimes this hunger gets channeled in negative directions (e.g., Andrew Tate), but the hunger itself is an opportunity for the church.

Ask Pastor So-and-So

The creation and distribution of the New City Catechism is a great example of a way to reinstitute Christian doctrine and morality into the church’s lifeblood. Or consider John Piper’s Ask Pastor John podcast, which was recently turned into a book of 750 pastoral answers.

I’m not implying all pastors can or should write massive tomes about various moral dilemmas, but the laborious work of moral guidance must be shouldered one way or another, whether during one-on-one discipleship, regular in-home family visits, or church-wide Q and A sessions. If it isn’t, this responsibility will simply be outsourced to friends, therapists, social media influencers, or podcasters.

Younger generations are hungry for spiritual disciplines and moral guidance. The local church, under qualified shepherds, is the only place where this can happen in a balanced, healthy, biblical, and sustainable way.

Younger generations are hungry for spiritual disciplines and moral guidance.

Congregants, we do well to remember that preaching, Scripture reading, praying, singing, and all those things we do in a worship service are corporate practices. The accessibility of Bible and prayer apps, podcast sermons, and streamed worship music can easily turn important Christian practices into exclusively personal, privatized means of grace. That doesn’t make them bad, but it does make them incomplete.

Ask your pastors hard questions, trust them, and submit to the moral boundaries and patterns of the church. Christianity is, indeed, a narrow way, but it isn’t an empty way. We get to walk with our brothers and sisters in faith, hope, and love, and we have shepherds to lead us into Christ’s presence.

Pastors, consider implementing corporate spiritual disciplines into your local church, along with creating regular avenues for congregants to seek you for moral guidance. I’ll give a couple examples. Instead of fasting as a way to challenge yourself and control your appetites (as needed as that may be), consider denying your appetites corporately as a church, praying and fasting as we wait for the Messiah’s return, perhaps even along with the church calendar or like the early church: every Wednesday (the day of Jesus’s betrayal) and Friday (the day of his crucifixion).

Or practice the Sabbath together, but not merely with the goal of personal regulation, self-care, or “digital detox”; instead, participate in the eschatological rest of God with the saints, feasting at the Lord’s Table, singing in festal gathering, and delighting in the goodness of the created order together.

The massive success and appeal of Comer’s Practicing the Way shouldn’t be a cause for alarm. Rather, it showcases a hunger in our cultural moment, as well as an exciting opportunity for local churches to prioritize an old ecclesial emphasis—spiritual theology—in a new way.

He teaches the following:

• The desire to challenge God and usurp his authority leads to social evils and strife.
• Rebellion against God results in death, but God’s mercy leads to a new humanity through Abraham.
• God showed the need for sacrifice under the old covenant, promising a Redeemer from the Davidic line.
• Jesus’s revelation is grounded in his identity as God’s own self-expression.
• The new birth is grounded in Jesus’s death, which provides the means for eternal life.

I asked Ian Harber—author of Walking Through Deconstruction: How to Be a Companion in a Crisis of Faith—about what’s on his bedside table, his favorite fiction, the books he regularly revisits, and more.

What’s on your nightstand right now?

I try to have at least three books going at once: one nonfiction I’m reading straight through, one nonfiction I’m popping in and out of, and one fiction. Unfortunately, I didn’t start reading fiction until recently.

The nonfiction book I’m reading straight through right now is The Intellectual Life by A. G. Sertillanges. In a job, there’s a time to think about not just your work but how you work on your work; I think the same is true about different aspects of our lives, like our intellectual life. Reading Sertillanges is a key step in my effort to not just read more but read better. I want to read more foundational texts in theology but also read more widely so I have a better understanding of different aspects of God’s world. I want to make sure I’m approaching my reading and intellectual life as a whole person, thinking and living well in the way Sertillanges defines the intellectual life, and not just haphazardly.

I also recently finished reading Jared C. Wilson’s book on writing, The Storied Life, and it’s phenomenal for folks wanting to take their writing more seriously.

The book I’m popping in and out of is Christian Parenting by Andrew Murray. I haven’t finished it so it’s hard to speak for all of it, but so far, I wish I could convince every Christian parent to read this book. I have two small boys and, coming from a broken family, I feel the weight of fatherhood every single day. I want to be as faithful a father as I can be for them. Jon Tyson’s The Intentional Father really helped set the course for what that could look like right after my first son was born. Christian Parenting is challenging me in all the right (and specific) ways.

What are your favorite fiction books?

I wish I could convince every Christian parent to read this book.

As I mentioned, I’ve only recently started reading fiction. I basically took a fiction hiatus between Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and two years ago. I’m not proud of it; it’s just what happened. It took me entirely too long, but I eventually realized that not reading fiction was a serious flaw, so I set out to fix that.

I initiated myself back into fiction by reading The Lord of the Rings, and I’m so glad I did. It’s cliché, but that has to be my favorite fiction series so far. That said, I read Brave New World after Neil Postman said it was a more accurate depiction of our world than 1984, and Aldous Huxley’s insight into our day has become hugely influential on me. I also recently read a new novel called Theo of Golden. That’s a beautiful book.

On the other end of the spectrum, I’m finishing up the Red Rising trilogy right now. Not exactly highbrow or insightful, but it’s a whole lot of fun. I’ve got C. S. Lewis’s Till We Have Faces on deck for as soon as I finish Morning Star. I don’t have a plan per se, but I don’t want to be stuck to just one genre. I’d love to read everything from classics, to sci-fi and fantasy, to modern literary fiction, and more.

What biographies or autobiographies have most influenced you and why?

This, unfortunately, is another gap in my reading I’m trying to fix. That said—and this almost feels like cheating—Augustine’s Confessions wrecked me. There is before I read Confessions and after I read Confessions. There’s just nothing else like that book.

Having spent more than 10 years of my life deconstructing and reconstructing my faith only to read about Augustine going through nearly the exact same experience over 1,500 years before me was humbling, inspiring, and emotional, to say the least.

Other than that, while it’s not a biography, I also read Mary Beard’s SPQR last year to get a good overview of the history of Rome. It was excellent. She does such a great job of getting you into the Roman world. It inspired me to shore up my history knowledge and read a survey of Western history. That’s something I’ll work through this year, and I imagine some biographies will be a part of that project.

What are some books you regularly reread and why?

I’ve become almost obsessed with old books that are simply about the Christian life. They’re usually short but pack more punch than some of the longest books I’ve read. I’m constantly revisiting The Life of God in the Soul of Man by Henry Scougal, On the Christian Life by John Calvin, The Imitation of Christ by Thomas À Kempis, The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence, and The Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius. And, while this isn’t a Christian book (and certainly has its flaws), I find a lot of value in Meditations by Marcus Aurelius.

The Christian life is lived in our day-to-day moments, not just in our theological formulations. What I love about these books is that they speak to how to live in those moments with God but freed from the assumptions of our time. They put our contemporary challenges and anxieties in perspective by either assuming them as normal or by never even mentioning them. I love theology, but theology isn’t meant to live in your head; it’s meant to get into your bones. That’s what I love about these books. They show how to live in light of what is true without the pitfalls that modern authors fall into. Maybe they fall into different ones, but they don’t fall into ours.

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

It’s nearly impossible to overstate the influence that Sacred Fire by Ronald Rolheiser had on my life and how I minister to others. Rolheiser is Catholic and there are a few things in the book that I don’t agree with and wouldn’t endorse, but the majority of that book has been incredibly influential on me.

I love theology, but theology isn’t meant to live in your head; it’s meant to get into your bones.

It helped me understand how we experience our life with God as the seasons of our lives change. Rolheiser gave me categories to think through both personally and with others to navigate the changing complexities of life while remaining faithful to God.

I have to add Dallas Willard’s Renovation of the Heart and The Great Omission too. Willard’s vision of humanity, of God’s work in forming us into Christ’s image, and of discipleship have completely altered how I view the Christian life and talk about it with others. The entire category of spiritual formation permeates everything I do and say. Whether I’m in conversation, leading a Bible study, or writing, I’m thinking about it through the lens of spiritual formation thanks to Willard.

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

The Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius. This is one of the books that was the most influential on C. S. Lewis and is standard in the Western canon but has recently become more obscure. It’s time to bring it back. We need to retrieve Boethius for our day.

The first reason is for pastors themselves. Unfortunately, so many of the pastoral scandals and burnout that we see are due to pastors chasing the false gods of power, pleasure, wealth, and status. Churches built on Fortune instead of Wisdom will never stand. I think this is a book that will help pastors be healthier, more faithful, and more resilient.

The second reason is to help them better shepherd people in a therapeutic age. My main takeaway from this book is the simple fact that wisdom is therapeutic. This is something that is helpfully expanded on in Christian Philosophy as a Way of Life and also After Stoicism. Both of those are incredible reads in their own right, though there’s nothing like reading Boethius himself.

We find consolation in aligning our lives with God’s wisdom. This is true regardless of circumstance. Boethius wrote The Consolation after being condemned by a king he thought was a friend, taken from his family in the night, unjustly imprisoned, and awaiting brutal execution. We need the message Boethius has for us in our moment. Please, drop everything and read this book.

What are you learning about life and following Jesus?

The thing I’m thinking about and learning most right now is that when Jesus gave us the greatest commandment (“Listen, Israel! The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. The second is, Love your neighbor as yourself.” Mark 12:29–31, CSB), he was giving us his theory of everything.

The greatest commandment gives us everything: the nature of God; the Creator/creature distinction; the covenant God has with his people; a fully-fledged vision of humanity with a will, rationality, personality, body, and relationships; and our purpose and meaning in life: love.

As basic as it sounds, I’m learning what it means to live in that vision of life. There’s nothing easy about it, and the more I become aware of it, the more I become aware of all the ways I don’t fulfill those commands. I see more and more obstacles in my way that I need to repent of and allow God to change in me. But I’ve come to see something that was once an almost trite clichè as an endlessly deep well around which to orient our entire lives. In Christ are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge (Col. 2:3). The further into the Christian life I go, the more true I find that to be.

To anyone who believes in God’s sovereignty, the last part of that sentence rings false. Even if a person does decide on suicide or assisted suicide, it’s the Lord who numbers our days (Job 14:5; Ps. 139:16). It’s he who gives life, and we’re warned against ending it prematurely (Ex. 20:13; Eccl. 7:17; 1 Cor. 3:16–20).

But the first part of that advertisement may not be true either.

“A lot of euphemisms are being used,” said Elizabeth, a woman from California who recently walked with her ex-husband through the process of medical assistance in dying. She asked to use a pseudonym to protect her family’s privacy. “The problem with euphemisms is that—in the case of assisted suicide—they are exceedingly misleading. Our experience with the process was neither peaceful nor dignified. Instead, it was confusing and disturbing.”

Elizabeth came to Christ in her early 30s, after she was married and had a young daughter with a man who turned out to be addicted to prescription drugs. They later divorced.

When he was diagnosed with terminal cancer last summer, he asked their 24-year-old daughter to help him with assisted suicide. Horrified by the idea of her daughter walking through the process on her own, Elizabeth took the problem to her current husband and her church elders.

Our experience with the process was neither peaceful nor dignified. Instead, it was confusing and disturbing.

“I wanted them to weigh in,” she said. “I told them that I am not married to this man, and I disagree with the decision he is making. But because of my faith, I can’t let my daughter go through this alone.”

Everyone told her to go ahead. “It was a particularly unique situation,” she said. “They understood why I needed to go through it, and they were sorry that I had to do it. Their understanding and encouragement meant so much to me. It gave me the strength to walk through a very difficult experience.”

The Gospel Coalition asked Elizabeth why her ex-husband decided to end his own life, what the process was like, if she was able to see God at work, and if she had any advice for others whose loved ones are contemplating assisted suicide.

Why do you think your ex-husband chose to end his own life? If he’d waited just a few more months, his body would have passed away on its own.

Primarily, he wanted to be in control. I recently read James Eglinton’s “England’s Assisted Suicide Bill and the Disordered Western Soul,” and that rang true. This issue comes down to the concept of individualism and self-centered control. My daughter’s father didn’t believe in a sovereign God, so he wanted to be his own god.

Second, he was afraid. In addition to his lack of faith, he lacked resources. He lived his life in such a way that he had very few people who would walk through his terminal illness with him. He was alone. If you know you’re going to deteriorate rapidly and have a diminishing capacity to look after yourself, that’s scary. He also didn’t have enough money to live on his own without working, and he was afraid of what was going to happen to him.

Under those circumstances, when someone tells you that you can die a calm and peaceful death, a dignified death, when and where you want, that sounds good.

Who told him that? How did he find out he could access assistance in dying?

Before a terminal patient is discharged from the hospital, a social worker meets with them to ensure the patient is connected with hospice care. The social worker provides information about the End of Life Option Act (EOLOA). Conversations regarding EOLOA continue when the patient returns home. The patient’s physician and the hospice care team work together to facilitate the process. In our case, my daughter’s father already knew about EOLOA and asked to start the process before he was discharged.

What was very surprising to me is that, despite the fact that the patient’s physician has to authorize the EOLOA prescription, the patient (alone or with their family) can take the prescription without a medical professional present.

Wait. You can conduct a medically assisted death without any medical personnel there?

Yes. My daughter, her father, and I could have done this alone.

But I wasn’t willing to do it without a knowledgeable medical personnel there. What if something went wrong? His physician told me death is like birth—you never know if there are going to be any complications. We wouldn’t know what to do if he took the prescription and something went wrong. I’m not a medical professional.

You might think, Well, he is going to die from the prescription anyway, so why do you need a medical professional? But we had been advised that, if the directions were not adhered to, it was possible the prescription would not result in death. Also, he could die anywhere from 30 minutes to four hours after ingesting the drugs. Can you imagine waiting for a loved one to die from an overdose? Anything could have happened, and my daughter and I would have been alone with no one to help.

I asked if his physician would come to the home, but Medi-Cal wouldn’t pay for that. In fact, once his physician signed off on EOLOA, he was no longer involved. We could have hired an end-of-life doula, but we had a hospice nurse who was willing to be there instead. I wouldn’t have done it without her.

The latest data shows that from when California legalized assisted suicide in June 2016 through to December 2023, about 6,500 people requested the drugs, and just over 65 percent have taken them. Their loved ones tell stories about them surrounded by plants on the patio, holding their loved one’s hand, passing out immediately, and quickly dying. Was that what it was like?

No.

An hour beforehand, he had to take a strong anti-nausea medication to keep him from vomiting the drugs back up.

Then, when it was time, the hospice nurse mixed the drugs with a clear juice, like apple juice. Because the drugs have an immediate effect and he wouldn’t be able to move after he ingested them, he sat on the edge of his bed to drink the mixture.

The law requires that the terminal patient be conscious and able to self-administer (drink) the prescription, but—remember—no medical professional is required to be there when the prescription is mixed or ingested. It’s very odd.

Because the prescription is very bitter, they suggest giving something to drink or some non-dairy sorbet directly afterward to help with the taste. My ex-husband asked for Pepsi.

He drank the prescription, looked at us and said, “Oh, that burns! That’s so awful. Why can’t they make it nicer than that?”

It wasn’t long after he drank the prescription that he started to shake. The hospice nurse, my daughter, and I worked together to keep him in an upright position for 10 minutes. This was so he didn’t vomit the drugs back up. After the required 10 minutes, we laid him back on the bed, lifting his legs into place. I stood at the foot of the bed, holding his shaking feet and his legs while my daughter held his hands and quietly talked to him. We weren’t sure if he was still aware of us at that point, but he hadn’t slipped into a coma yet, so we did our best to comfort him.

Shortly after, he started moaning and then, suddenly, he rose up from the bed and a deep guttural sound erupted from him. I don’t know if it was a death rattle or an overdose sound, but that was the moment my daughter began shaking and crying.

The prescription is a drug overdose, right?

Right. It was a mix of digoxin (which slows the heart), amitriptyline (which speeds up the heart), valium (which slows respiration and blood pressure), and morphine (which helps with pain). There may have been other drugs in there too. It’s a prescription overdose.

[Note: Barbiturates—or sedatives—were the original drugs of choice in euthanasia, but they’ve since become “scarce and expensive” in the United States, leading physicians to instead prescribe alternate drug combinations.]

EOLOA refers to the prescription as an “aid-in-dying drug,” but I ended up calling it the death prescription because that’s what it is.

How long do you think he was shaking and moaning?

I think it was about 30 minutes from the time he took the prescription overdose until he was quiet enough that we felt comfortable stepping outside. My daughter wanted to stay by his side until he passed into a coma.

Then what happened?

My daughter and I waited outside while the hospice nurse stayed with him until he died. I think it was 90 minutes, but I can’t remember exactly. Because we knew when he was going to die, we were able to prearrange for the mortuary to pick up his body.

Over the following few days, my daughter’s tears really came. She told me how terrible the experience was and how she hadn’t been prepared. She felt misled by the euphemisms and had really expected his passing to be peaceful and calm. At one point, I could see her processing. Then she said, “What an awful way to die,” and started sobbing.

I always knew it was going to be “awful,” which is why I was convinced from the start that I needed to be there for her every step of the way. 

This whole experience sounds horrible for all of you. Is there any way you can see God working here?

This situation gave me many opportunities to stand firm in my convictions.

I was able to respect the counsel of my husband and elders by engaging them in my decision, by speaking to them about my concerns, and by advocating for my need to walk through this on my daughter’s behalf.

I was able to act in a Christian manner under difficult circumstances. Rooted in my faith, I chose not to leave my daughter’s father to face his final days alone and without support. I cared for him with kindness, compassion, and patience as he experienced the challenges of terminal pancreatic cancer. My daughter witnessed this and recognized it as a testimony of my faith.

This situation gave me many opportunities to stand firm in my convictions.

Throughout the process, I told every medical professional and EOLOA clinical consultant that, due to my Christian faith, I was not in support of the End of Life Option Act. After his death, the hospice nurse asked me why, and I was able to have a conversation with her about the sovereignty of God and about how I believe that life is in his hands, not ours.

And finally, as my daughter and I continue to process this, it has led to good discussions about life, death, and faith. My daughter and I have been given the opportunity to talk through things that we never could have, had we not gone through this.

As assisted suicide becomes legal in more states and countries around the world, more Christians are likely to be in your position. What advice do you have for them?

This question is difficult to answer. Honestly, I’m not sure I feel worthy to give advice on such an important matter—a matter that is sure to be deeply personal to everyone who finds themselves having to face it. I certainly can’t give firm advice on whether or not to walk through assisted suicide with someone. That decision must always come down to personal reflection and prayer.

Where I can give advice is to encourage anyone faced with this to speak to your elders, to engage your Christian brothers and sisters to pray for you, to ask for support when you need it, and to profess your Christian perspective and faith at every opportunity. Let others feel the love of Christ through your words and actions. I could never have convinced my ex-husband to change his mind, but I promise you he saw the love of our Savior in the way I cared for him and our daughter, and he was humbled by it.

As am I.

Nearly 25 years ago, when I was considering where to go to seminary, an older brother in Christ encouraged me to find someone to study under and to learn all I could from that person. I’d read Jim’s book on preaching, and I dreamed about studying under him. My wife says that when I met Jim and he invited me to work for him, I was drooling when I said yes. By the following fall, Jim hadn’t just invited me to work in his office; he’d invited me to be part of his life.

What’s remarkable is how many others have a similar story. The list of men and women whose lives and ministries have been shaped by Jim is long and spreads around the world. It feels impossible to offer a tribute to Jim in a few short words, but here’s my attempt in the form of “Ten Takeaways.” And yes, the alliteration is in his honor.

1. Kingdom leadership begins on your knees.

Anyone who had a class with Jim knows that on the first day, he’d invite every student who was physically able to fall on his or her knees to pray for God’s help to understand and proclaim his Word.

The list of men and women whose lives and ministries have been shaped by Jim Shaddix is long and spreads around the world.

This posture wasn’t just for the classroom. I remember walking into his private office at a moment he wasn’t expecting me, and I found him on his face pleading with tears for God’s grace over his children. When he was my pastor at Edgewater, every Wednesday night he’d invite our entire congregation to fall on our knees at the front of the room and pray. Face down in worship is where kingdom leadership begins, and in glory where Jim is now, that’s also where it ends.

2. We don’t learn God’s Word because we love to preach; we learn to preach because we love God’s Word.

Jim certainly loved to preach, but he did so because he loved Scripture. He was constantly memorizing it and meditating on it. I remember running laps around the seminary campus with him as he quoted entire books of the Bible to me. When I was with Jim beside his hospice bed two weeks before he died, he couldn’t think or speak clearly about much. But when I’d read Scripture over him, he’d finish verses before I could complete them. A mind and heart filled with God’s Word is the fountain from which preaching flows.

3. Preaching is laying open a text in such a way that the Holy Spirit’s intended meaning and accompanying power are brought to bear on the lives of contemporary listeners.

This is Jim’s definition of preaching. At a recent chapel service, Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary established the Jim Shaddix chair of expository preaching. I shared then that I know no other person in the world who has preached more faithfully than Jim. To listen to Jim preach was to hear God speak through Spirit-empowered, Christ-centered, passion-driven, life-transforming exposition of Scripture.

4. As we open the Scriptures and point to Jesus, God will enflame hearts with love for Jesus.

Jim believed that because Jesus is at the center of all Scripture, Jesus must be at the center of every sermon. This belief was evident in his preaching. One of my sons came to faith after hearing Jim preach a sermon from, of all places in the Bible, Leviticus. Anyone who heard Jim preach can identify with the disciples on the road to Emmaus, who asked, “Did not our hearts burn within us . . . while he opened to us the Scriptures?” (Luke 24:32).

5. Faithful preaching of God’s Word overflows from fervent intimacy with God’s Spirit.

Jim once asked me to copreach a sermon with him, which meant copreparing that sermon. Our study together began—well, you guessed it—on our knees. As we knelt before God and Jim read aloud the passage we’d be preaching, he began weeping in prayer over the text: praising God, confessing sin, and pleading for God’s mercy over the people who’d listen to us preach.

Jim believed that because Jesus is at the center of all Scripture, Jesus must be at the center of every sermon.

Jim’s power in preaching came not only from his love for God’s Word but also from his sensitivity to God’s Spirit. A year ago, when Jim was facing one of his first brain surgeries, I sat with him at the hospital, and he prayed in specific ways for circumstances in my life beyond what he could’ve known apart from the Spirit. I walked away from his hospital room worshiping God because I’d been with a brother whose brain was extremely weak but in whom the mind of God’s Spirit was stronger than ever.

6. We won’t be faithful stewards of the gospel if our only gospel proclamation comes when many people are watching.

I’ve heard Jim preach many sermons, but I’ve also heard him share the gospel with many individuals—those he knew and others he met on the street or in a taxi in the city or on the other side of the world. Jim did “the work of an evangelist” (2 Tim. 4:5) in both his public preaching and his personal life, and at this moment, he’s worshiping beside people who are the fruit of that work.

7. Ministry is fundamentally about making disciples.

I could spend a lot of time talking about the churches across the United States where Jim has served as pastor or interim pastor. I could describe the invaluable books he’s published on preaching and pastoral leadership. I could share stories from trips we’ve taken together as he preached in Scotland, we served in city dumps in Central America, and we trained with underground house church leaders in Asia. I could recount unforgettable sermons I’ve heard from texts like Nehemiah 8, Matthew 11, Revelation 5, and especially from Hebrews, his favorite biblical book.

But far and above the positions he held, books he wrote, trips he took, or sermons he preached, Jim was marked most by the disciples he made. Early in his ministry, Jim consciously decided to make disciples by mentoring future pastors and church leaders. It’s no overstatement to say that decision changed the lives and ministries of multitudes, just as Jesus said it would.

8. Disciple-making involves speaking God’s Word to others as you share your life with them.

Far and above the positions he held, books he wrote, trips he took, or sermons he preached, Jim was marked most by the disciples he made.

“Come in here real close.” Anyone who heard Jim preach is familiar with this phrase. He’d say it when he wanted to highlight a particularly poignant or personal truth in the text. But this phrase also captures how Jim spent his life. He intentionally invited people to “come in real close” to his life. To listen to Jim preach was to hear God’s Word declared, but to watch Jim’s life was to see God’s character displayed in a man who by example could humbly say with Paul, “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ” (1 Cor. 11:1, NIV).

9. Marriage and family are for ministry.

This tribute would be woefully incomplete if I didn’t attribute double honor to his wife of 42 years, Debra. As Debra served by her husband’s hospice bed these last weeks, the Scripture on the wall above her said, “So Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed to him but a few days because of the love he had for her” (Gen. 29:20). I praise God for Debra Shaddix’s selfless love for Jesus, “Jimmy,” her children and grandchildren, and countless individuals and couples including Heather and me. Thank you, Debra, Clint, Shane, and Dallys for carrying out your ministry by caring for us like family.

10. Faithfulness to God’s Word will yield fruitfulness far beyond your time in this world.

Two days before Jim went to be with the Lord, I stood by his bed for an hour as he slept. Right before I left, he woke up. He couldn’t speak but he could hear, and I looked straight into his straining eyes and read 2 Timothy 4 over him. I stopped along the way and thanked him for fulfilling his ministry so faithfully, for pouring out his life as an offering for countless people like me, and for finishing his race all the way to the end. I encouraged him with the award that was waiting for him from the Lord himself. I also encouraged him with how the work to which he’d given his life would continue in his wife, children, and grandchildren, and in his sons and daughters in ministry.

This somber moment by a hospice bed was strangely beautiful, for just as death could not stop Jim’s Lord and Savior, death will not stop the fruit of Jim’s life and ministry.

When my dad died unexpectedly from a heart attack, my wife immediately called Jim. He was the first person to walk through the doors of my house that night. He held me, hugged me, and cried with me. Then he drove Heather and me through the night from New Orleans to Atlanta so I could sleep before being with my family. I’m really looking forward to the day when I hug Jim again. On that day, I’ll join with many others praising God for eternity because we had the privilege of being one of Jim Shaddix’s children in ministry.

The modern era’s political philosophy is liberalism. Not “liberal” as in left vs. right; “liberal” as in liberty. Freedom, independence, and individual rights are some of its central tenets. Kant, Locke, and Rousseau are some of its seminal thinkers. Madison, Jefferson, and Hamilton put its ideas to work in the American founding.

But the question now is whether liberalism is dying. Patrick Deneen sounded its death knell in his 2018 book Why Liberalism Failed [read TGC’s review]. He argued that by maximizing individual freedom, liberalism has dissolved social bonds and destroyed cultural solidarity. Many others have made similar claims. Post-liberal critics assert that whatever comes next, it’s certainly not a return to the good old liberalism of America’s Founding Fathers. The ship known as political liberalism is taking on water. It’s only a matter of time until it sinks under the sea of history.

Jonathan Rauch, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution, contests this claim. He thinks the boat can be repaired. He wants to renew, rebuild, and revitalize classical liberalism. In his book Cross Purposes: Christianity’s Broken Bargain with Democracy, he highlights the good that liberalism has brought to the world: the emphasis on individual rights, the end of religious wars and persecution, the flourishing of economic prosperity and scientific inquiry. He tackles the post-liberal critique head-on, arguing liberalism is not at fault for its own demise. In fact, Christianity is to blame!

Rauch argues that Christianity has “broken its bargain” with liberal democracy. And if Christians would recommit to the deal—liberalism providing the governing principles, Christianity providing the moral and spiritual backbone—American democracy could flourish once again. “It is important for Christianity and democracy to be reasonably well aligned. Neither can thrive if they are at cross purposes” (21).

Assuming his readers agree that “Christianity and democracy [must be] reasonably well aligned,” Rauch’s solution is for Christianity to come into proper alignment. Liberalism sets the terms; Christianity responds. And this is the fatal flaw not only in Rauch’s argument but in liberalism itself. Under the guise of neutrality, liberalism smuggles in its own set of moral imperatives. And that—not Christianity’s “broken bargain”—is what’s fracturing the American republic.

Liberalism’s Hidden Values

Classical liberals often claim liberalism is neutral; it doesn’t impose a definitive vision of the good. Rather, it provides a system of procedural norms that allows citizens to sort through their differences and arrive together at a common good. As Rauch puts it, “When differences arise, [liberal regimes] deploy public debate and open-ended, decentralized, rules-based processes” (12).

This is what we all love about American democracy. It’s the First Amendment, the Bill of Rights, the separation of powers. The American founders aimed to “secure the blessings of liberty for ourselves and our posterity,” and that liberty includes the freedom to worship as we wish, speak as we wish, and live as we wish, so long as we don’t trample on others’ rights. Procedural liberalism is a great system. “In a modern country of 350 million very different people, political and moral disagreement is intrinsic, and some version of liberalism—in our case, James Madison’s—is the only system which has proved capable of managing it” (48).

Perhaps so. But the only way liberalism can manage political and moral disagreement is by imposing its own moral vision. As Rauch observes,

Liberalism claims to be neutral only with respect to state procedures such as laws and elections. There is nothing “neutral” about its values, such as its core precept that all people are born free and equal. If that precept is the “image” in which liberalism “surreptitiously remakes the world,” I’ll gladly take it. (48)

Liberalism, it turns out, does have values. It does have a substantive vision of the good. And it does seek to remake the world in light of those values.

Liberalism, it turns out, does have values. And it does seek to remake the world in light of those values.

Here, then, is the dilemma that confronts liberalism’s defenders: When we speak of liberalism, are we talking about a set of neutral democratic procedures that allow disparate groups to live together in harmony? Or are we talking about a morally freighted worldview that seeks to impose its own vision of the good?

On one page, Rauch commends liberalism because “everyone follows the same rules and enjoys the same rights” (12). A few pages later, he lauds liberalism’s “advance of enlightened secular values” (15). Defenders of liberalism must choose between these two options. If liberalism is a neutral system, it must remain agnostic with respect to values; if it espouses certain moral values, it’s no longer neutral.

By discerning this doublespeak about liberalism, we begin to understand why it inevitably conflicts with creedal Christianity.

Christianity is absolutely compatible with a neutral, procedural liberalism—in fact, Christendom birthed that political system. But Christianity isn’t entirely compatible with a secular, value-laden version of liberalism. Christianity hasn’t “broken its bargain” with democracy; Christianity never made any such bargain. Rather, late-stage liberalism arrogated to itself the right to dictate to Christians (and other people of faith) the terms on which we could bring our values into the public square. And what’s broken in American democracy is that a whole bunch of people are finally rejecting liberalism’s right to dictate those terms.

Resisting Liberalism’s Hegemony

Over the past eight years, the rejection of liberalism’s values has sometimes included support for Donald Trump. This, to Rauch, is beyond the pale. The entire second chapter of his book is dedicated to a takedown of “Sharp Christianity,” by which he means “white evangelical Christianity in its embrace of MAGA values” (73). Rauch envisions Trump as the grievance candidate of white evangelical Christians who have abandoned their convictions in pursuit of political favor and culture-war retribution. But on the heels of the 2024 election, this analysis falls flat.

It certainly wasn’t “white evangelicals” who put Trump in office a second time; it was a multicultural, multigenerational coalition of voters disillusioned with key aspects of late-stage liberal society. “Modern liberal societies rely on three linked social systems,” Rauch writes: “liberal democracy to make political choices; market capitalism to make economic choices; and science . . . to make epistemic choices” (12).

In recent years, all three of these social systems have revealed their captivity to secular and progressive values. During the COVID-19 pandemic, political leaders prevented citizens from gathering for worship but allowed protest demonstrations in the streets. The largest tech companies in America colluded with government agencies to silence “disinformation” in the name of “protecting democracy.” And the authority of science was invoked to force lockdowns on a skeptical and recalcitrant population.

“A hallmark of liberal social systems is that the same rules apply to all, regardless of identity or tribe,” Rauch writes (12). It seems an increasing number of Americans are concluding that the same rules don’t apply to all. Citizens who espouse progressive orthodoxies are favored; those who dissent are ostracized. Liberalism, it turns out, is just a different kind of religion. Many American citizens are rejecting that religion.

Rauch’s blindness to liberalism’s dogmatic orientation makes Cross Purposes difficult to read. His critiques of Christianity aren’t illegitimate, and his insights often have merit. But as he lectures Christians on how to better practice their religion, he seems totally unaware of his own. The familiar bogeymen are there: “white evangelical America,” Christian nationalists, culture warriors, Trump voters. What’s lacking is meaningful engagement with historic Christian political theology or good-faith curiosity about why some American Christians would embrace Trump.

Vision for Latter-Day Liberalism

In his final chapter, Rauch turns to the Mormon (LDS) church to make his case for what American Christianity could be. The Mormons, he argues, have made peace with homosexuality and gay marriage—not in their doctrine but in their social policy. He speculates,

So why might [someone compromise] . . . on LGBT rights, despite believing that homosexual behavior violates God’s law? Why might the [LDS] church support the Utah compromise and the Respect for Marriage Act? Because those measures protect the church’s ability to teach and practice its doctrines about marriage and sexuality within its own institutions, while also protecting, in the larger society, people’s ability to make their own choices about marriage and sexuality. (116–17)

This, it turns out, is the only “bargain” liberalism offers: Religious values will be tolerated within religious institutions, so long as liberalism’s values (“people’s ability to make their own choices”) reign unchallenged in the larger society. It’s unsurprising that religious Americans seem less and less inclined to accept this bargain. If Christianity and liberalism are at cross purposes with one another, it’s not because Christianity has become illiberal. It’s because liberalism has shown itself to be a religion, and its core doctrines are finally being challenged.

As Rauch lectures Christians on how to better practice their religion, he seems totally unaware of his own.

Rauch’s book comes so close. So close to correctly diagnosing the problem with our ailing late-modern democracy. So close to understanding American evangelicalism’s fracturing. So close to making a cogent defense of classical liberalism. Instead, he reveals once again why classical liberalism can’t (and won’t) be revived. Cross Purposes may win him a slate of podcast interviews and a favorable review in The New York Times. But beyond that, it’s unlikely to win many converts.

First, you hear God’s Word call to you—perhaps in what we describe literally as the “call to worship” but then also in the reading of Scripture, in words of blessing or assurance, and certainly in the sermon’s words of instruction. After you hear God’s Word, you respond by lifting your voice in song, greeting others, giving money, taking communion, or even shouting, “Amen!”

We repeat this pattern every week in gathered worship, but are we equally intentional about the rhythms and shape of our personal worship and devotions? Recently, I wrote to Nebraska pastor, The Keller Center fellow, and TGC Council member Bob Thune to ask about a resource his church produces and uses to cultivate intentional personal piety. Here’s what Thune told me about the Daily Liturgy podcast.

How did the Daily Liturgy podcast come about?

I grew up in a stream of evangelical Christianity that was big on personal devotions and a “daily quiet time.” Then, in young adulthood, I discovered the riches of the Protestant liturgical tradition. My experience was that the quiet-time evangelicals weren’t always historically grounded and Protestant traditions that followed a liturgy weren’t as pietistic and devotional. So when I planted Coram Deo Church 20 years ago, I wanted to bring these emphases together.

One year, we put together a daily liturgy book for Advent that families or roommates could use around their dinner tables to meditate on Scripture and pray together. Our church loved it! I did too. I began to look for a daily liturgy resource in an audio format that I could use for my own daily devotion and worship.

I searched for a daily devotional podcast that included both Scripture readings and other elements from the church’s liturgical tradition—a resource along the lines of the prayers in the morning office of the Book of Common Prayer. I was sure such a podcast must exist, but I couldn’t find it! So, I gathered a team from our church to create one. In the Advent season of 2016, we read that Advent book aloud into a microphone, and the Daily Liturgy podcast was born.

Tell me about the liturgical order the podcast follows. Why did you choose that order? Where is it derived from?

Before planting a church, I took a deep dive into historic Christian worship liturgies. What I discovered is that Christian worship across the ages has had a fairly standard shape. That was new information for me because I’d grown up in a free-church tradition that rarely referenced historic patterns of worship. I was amazed to learn that gathered Christian worship has always followed a predictable pattern.

Not only that. You also find in church history a basic pattern for daily private prayer. The best Protestant example is the “daily office” in the Book of Common Prayer. In the podcast, we sought to blend elements from the public order of Christian worship with elements from the private daily office of prayer. We settled on the exact order in the podcast based on what seemed most fitting and appropriate for our goals.

We view the historic Christian liturgy like open-source software: There’s a standard base of code everyone is working with, but the possibilities for creative appropriation are almost endless. So, it was fun to see our team start with a baseline of historic prayers and confessions then see them piece new liturgies together in creative ways. These are some of the key resources we’ve drawn from, many of them republications of much older texts:

• The Worship Sourcebook, 2nd edition, edited by Emily Brink and John D. Witvliet (Baker, 2013)
• The Book of Common Prayer (Anglican Liturgy Press, 2019)
• The Valley of Vision: A Book of Puritan Prayers and Devotions (Banner of Truth, 1988)
• Creeds, Confessions, and Catechisms: A Reader’s Edition, edited by Chad Van Dixhoorn (Crossway, 2022)
• Reformation Worship: Liturgies from the Past for the Present, edited by Jonathan Gibson and Mark Earngey (New Growth, 2018)
• Grace from Heaven: Prayers of the Reformation, edited by Robert Elmer (Lexham, 2024)

Our team acts as curators. We pull together the set of Scripture readings, prayers, and confessions. Our goal is to create an experience of meditation that leads to worship, and my barometer for whether that’s happening is whether it’s happening in me. I usually listen to Daily Liturgy first thing in the morning while I walk my dog. And nearly every morning, I find it helps me ground my soul in the gospel and set my affections on Christ.

Why a podcast? Why not a devotional book or open chapel hours where you invite church members to pray through the liturgy in person?

The podcast format arose from my personal longings. Like most people, I spend time each day commuting, exercising, and doing household chores. I wanted to redeem those hours by using them worshipfully, and a podcast seemed like a wise way to do that. For me, hearing the Scriptures hits on a different register than only reading them.

We do have a prayer gathering every weekday morning at Coram Deo, and there’s a hard-copy Book of Daily Liturgy as well. But the podcast format allows listeners to capture 12 minutes of each day for focused meditation and prayer. That was the goal—to create a resource that would help to work prayer and meditation into our congregation members’ daily fabric.

What fruit from the podcast have you seen in your congregation?

That was the goal—to create a resource that would help to work prayer and meditation into our congregation members’ daily fabric.

The earliest fruit was in the lives of the curators and readers. The work of gathering, compiling, and editing some of the richest prayers in the church’s history is powerfully formative. I remember many recording sessions when either the reader or the producer was moved to tears as God’s Word was gently and thoughtfully read out.

In our church, the primary fruit has been in helping members establish spiritual disciplines. We have many young Christians new to the Scriptures at Coram Deo. Daily Liturgy has helped them build a daily Scripture intake habit. I love hearing stories of moms listening with their kids in the car on the way to school or of medical residents tuning in at 5 a.m. as they get ready for another long day at the hospital.

God’s Word is living and active, sharper than a two-edged sword (Heb. 4:12). What’s great about Daily Liturgy is that it centers listeners on God’s Word and on prayer. The only unique things we add are the reading voices and curation of the content. It’s beautifully simple. We’re doing what Christians have always done—meditating on God’s Word and speaking to him in prayer—but we’re doing it in a new medium, and it seems to resonate with people.

It’s been a great joy to hear from listeners all over the world. Pastors in South Africa, stock traders in Manhattan, and political luminaries in Washington, DC, have all expressed gratitude for the podcast and have told us how it’s deepened their personal devotion.

In our busy culture and era of small groups, midweek church gatherings are less frequent. Do you think a podcast like Daily Liturgy fills a discipleship gap?

As as helpful as it may be, a podcast is still disembodied. A digital medium should never replace the rhythm of meeting together personally with God’s people (Heb. 10:25). But I do think a podcast like this one can fill some discipleship gaps. Christians gather to hear God’s Word (1 Tim. 4:13). The lectionary—the three-year cycle of Scripture readings for public worship—was an attempt to give believers a steady diet of readings from all the genres of Scripture and all the epochs of redemptive history. Daily Liturgy is an audio lectionary. It aims to saturate listeners in the Scriptures and to give them language for prayer and communion with God. To that extent, it aids purposeful discipleship.

I believe we’re recovering something important by emphasizing the hearing of the Word

I also believe we’re recovering something important by emphasizing the hearing of the Word. Since Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press, we’ve put great emphasis on the written word. But the Scriptures were originally intended to be heard. Everyone who listens to Daily Liturgy tends to have a favorite narrator—there are five voices on the podcast, rotating weekly. That means listeners are paying attention to how the words of Scripture are inflected by each reader, to how the Bible sounds when it’s read. The human voice adds depth and emphasis that helps the written word come alive in a fresh and formative way.

In this episode of The Everyday Pastor, Matt Smethurst and Ligon Duncan are joined by Michael Lawrence to discuss the underrated importance of ministry philosophy in our churches.

Recommended resource: The Christian Ministry by Charles Bridges

Not the kind with fluorescent lights and group therapy but a self-prescribed rehab from my constant companion: my phone. My phone addiction took away my ability to sit in silence, focus for any length of time, or engage deeply with anything meaningful. As Oxford Press might put it, I was a victim of “brain rot.”

So I quit. For an entire year, I turned off notifications, deleted social media, and kept my phone out of reach. Unsurprisingly, while ghosting my old friend, I found that boredom was my new enemy. I faced a pressing question: What should I do with my new surplus of free time?

At first, I thought I’d get ahead on my schoolwork, but COVID-19 quickly threw a wrench into those plans. With school on pause and the world locked down, I was stuck at home with nowhere to go and nothing to do. That’s when I stumbled on something I hadn’t given much thought to before—books.

Reading in a Scrolling World

At first, reading was just a way to fight off boredom. My first choice was Walter Isaacson’s biography of Steve Jobs. Ironically, it gave me a glimpse into the life of the man who had designed the device I was trying to escape. I loved it. Somewhere between Jobs’s story and the rhythm of reading, I found something transformative. Books didn’t just fill empty hours. They opened up new worlds, challenged how I saw things, and made me think in ways my phone never could.

What surprised me most was how different reading was from scrolling. My phone had trained me to skim, to consume quickly, and to expect instant gratification. Books demanded something deeper: focus, patience, and the willingness to sit with ideas that don’t immediately resolve. This wasn’t easy at first. But in return for my patience, reading began offering the ability to wrestle with complexity.

Books didn’t just fill empty hours. They made me think in ways my phone never could.

Unfortunately, this experience is becoming less common for our generation. Rose Horowitch from The Atlantic recently published an article with a telling name: “How Gen Z Came to See Books as a Waste of Time.” Horowitch mentions how college professors are noticing their students read less, unable to allocate sufficient chunks of time to read longer works.

These aren’t isolated anecdotes; they’re symptoms of a larger problem. Jean Twenge’s research backs this up. In 1976, nearly 40 percent of high school seniors read six or more books a year for pleasure. By 2021, that had plummeted to just 13 percent. Even more alarming, the percentage of high school seniors who didn’t read a single book for fun jumped from 11.5 percent to 41 percent over the same period.

Before you label me a boomer in a Gen Z body, hear me out. This isn’t about nostalgia for a simpler time. It’s not about longing for the days before smartphones or bringing paper back to schools. And this isn’t just a crisis for classrooms; it’s a challenge to our generation.

Observers Scroll. Builders Read.

In 2024, Oxford’s Word of the Year was “brain rot”—a term that perfectly captures the endless scrolling and shallow consumption that have dulled our ability to think critically. And while it might be tempting to accept the common “kids these days” generational snobbery and resign ourselves to a future as helpless, anxious, doomscrolling victims, I want to encourage us to see this as an opportunity. If ours is a “brain rot” culture, then we, as Gen Z Christians, have a unique chance to stand out. In a culture of brain rot, we can be builders.

Builders aren’t just creators; they’re people who take what’s broken, neglected, or shallow and work to make it whole, meaningful, and lasting. In a culture that often values noise over substance, builders cultivate depth. In a world shaped by quick takes, they wrestle with complexity. And at the heart of it all, in a world of rot, builders read.

Western civilization itself was built by readers.

Aristotle studied under Plato. Jefferson devoured Locke. Nietzsche sparred with Dostoevsky. Ben Franklin loved Cicero. Patrick Henry knew the Bible.

For Christians, it’s deeper than that. As people of the Word, we’re called to read, think, and engage with the world in a way that reflects God’s truth. And Christian builders have always done this—wrestling with the ideas of their time and using what they learned to shape culture. Paul knew Greek philosophy (Acts 17). C. S. Lewis loved George MacDonald. Martin Luther King Jr. studied Gandhi. Blaise Pascal learned from Augustine. Isaac Newton studied Galileo. Florence Nightingale read John Stuart Mill.

If the story of the past shows us anything, it’s that readers are those who can turn the page of history. That’s because reading teaches us how to think critically, understand context, and navigate complexities—all vital skills for understanding our culture and building a better one.

Readers are those who can turn the page of history.

High Conflict reveals how societies become trapped in cycles of division, while Anna Karenina makes you question if division is tearing apart your family.

The Brothers Karamazov lays bare the darkness of the human condition, while The Weight of Glory reminds us that if we truly understood the eternal significance of every human soul, we’d be “tempted to worship” one another.

The Righteous Mind unpacks why good people differ profoundly, while Letter from Birmingham Jail challenges us to act on justice even amid disagreement.

Harry Potter celebrates courage and love, while 1984 warns of control and fear. Together, these books ask how power shapes our world.

Books help us navigate the tensions between competing truths, wrestle with life’s hardest questions, and cultivate empathy for others. In a world consumed by quick takes, hashtags, and hollow slogans, we desperately need the nuance and depth that reading brings.

Where “vibes” are the ultimate authority, we Gen Z Christians have the chance to reclaim vision. Our generation is hungry for a worldview that can’t fit on a yard sign—one that offers clarity without oversimplifying and compassion without compromise. But pursuing that kind of depth means breaking free from distractions and resisting the pull of instant gratification. Phones may offer slogans that sell, but books give us wisdom that builds.

God’s people have always affirmed both the truth and value of history. Biblical writers regularly recorded not only the facts of what happened but the significance for our faith. We see this pattern of a historical report with its interpretation in Exodus: the account of crossing the Red Sea in chapter 14 is followed by Moses’s song in chapter 15, which says: “God redeemed his son, Israel, out of Egypt with a strong and outstretched arm and brought him to the promised land, God’s abode and sanctuary” (v. 15, author’s paraphrase). Similarly, Paul not only rehearses the events of Jesus’s life, but he also gives the significance of Jesus’s life: “Christ died for our sins” (1 Cor. 15:3); Christ was “raised for our justification” (Rom 4:25).

History has always stood at the heart of the Christian faith. Whether the history is recorded in the Bible or in the subsequent history of the church, Christians trace the pathways of divine providence to discern how God has worked in the past so we may praise and honor him in the present. This brings us to the announcement on December 11, 2024, of the discovery of a silver amulet outside Frankfurt, Germany. What’s the Frankfurt amulet, and why is it significant?

Amazing Discovery

Christians trace the pathways of divine providence to discern how he’s worked in the past so we may praise and honor him in the present.

In a Roman graveyard, underneath the chin bone of a skull dated between AD 230–70, archaeologists discovered a small, silver amulet containing a silver foil less than 3.5 centimeters in size. The foil had Latin writing on it. This grave is significant because it’s dated to an early era of church history from which we have precious little material evidence. The amulet is now the earliest material artifact of Christian origins discovered north of the Alps.

Researchers couldn’t simply unroll the foil to read the text since it had been pressed over time. So they unrolled the tiny scroll with CT-scanning technology, creating a three-dimensional image of the text for researchers to read. The technique is similar to that used to unroll the Hebrew En-Gedi scroll that was burned in a Torah ark at the synagogue in En-Gedi. When the Frankfurt amulet’s foil was digitally unrolled, 18 lines of Latin text could be read (question marks signify areas of uncertainty):

(In the name?) of Saint Titus. Holy, holy, holy! In the name of Jesus Christ, Son of God! The Lord of the world resists with [strengths?] all attacks(?)/setbacks(?). The God(?) grants entry to well-being. May this means of salvation(?) protect the man who surrenders himself to the will of the Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, since before Jesus Christ every knee bows: those in heaven, those on earth and those under the earth, and every tongue confesses (Jesus Christ).

Other amulets name angels like Michael and Gabriel as guardians or even mix Christian teaching with Judaism and paganism. The Frankfurt amulet stands out for only mentioning the Lord Jesus Christ and affirming monotheism. This amulet is now the earliest source to mention the Trishagion (“Holy, holy, holy”)—a feature of Christian worship hitherto not observed until the fourth century. Another interesting feature of the amulet is that it preserves nearly word for word the Latin of Philippians 2:10–11, a text that’s also probably part of an early Christ hymn. Although the text of the amulet is orthodox, the practice of carrying an amulet for protection or salvation may show that the wearer still mixed some paganism with his Christian faith.

Amulet’s Significance

The amulet shows that Christianity had spread further north into Germania more quickly than we previously realized. We know there was a robust presence of Christianity north of the Alps in places like Lyons, Gaul (modern-day Lyon, France), where Irenaeus ministered as a priest from AD 161–80 and as bishop until he died in perhaps AD 202. Irenaeus was from Asia Minor. Christians from his church had already planted a church in Lyons, and he went there to serve in it.

This amulet shows that Christianity had spread further north into Germania more quickly than we previously realized.

Under Irenaeus’s ministry, missionaries were most likely sent out to the areas surrounding Lyons to spread Christianity, though little is known about these endeavors. But the Frankfurt amulet shows that Roman Christians were trekking over the Alps into Germany by the beginning of the third century, quite literally carrying the name of Jesus Christ, Son of God, on them. Whether they were missionaries or settlers or both we can’t know from this amulet alone. But the amulet does show that Christianity was vibrant even before it was officially and legally recognized by the Roman Empire in AD 313 and before the Council of Nicaea in AD 325.

Even if shrouded, the story of second- and third-century Christianity is fascinating, and the Frankfurt silver amulet gives researchers more evidence that will help them tell the story of how Christ’s church was established in northern Europe and how it stretched from Jerusalem all the way to Germany within its first 200 years of existence. Moreover, the story of the silver amulet should encourage our faith. As we trust Christ and obey him by taking his gospel to the ends of the earth, we should remember we’re not the first believers to do so. Early Christians and many since have faithfully obeyed the Lord’s commission. Though Christ’s mission has often been hard and full of troubles, history’s testimony, and the confession of those who have gone before us, should encourage us to faithfully follow Christ’s call as well.

Stockton was a domestic slave for the wife of Ashbel Green, the president of the College of New Jersey. Stockton was granted permission to take classes at the college. During one semester, she professed faith in Jesus and was baptized at Princeton’s First Presbyterian Church. From domestic slave to college educator, and from teacher to missionary, Stockton lived an extraordinary life of service and care to others. And her story should be more well-known today.

Life and Influence

Stockton was born around 1798. Like many of the formerly enslaved people profiled in my recent book, records or writings about her are hard to come by, though Stockton did leave behind a journal.

Stockton lived an extraordinary life of service and care to others.

At a young age, Stockton entered Green’s home, possibly as property inherited by his wife. Remarkably, she was able to study and read in his library. In 1815, a revival touched every part of the College of New Jersey, including Stockton. Although this was the beginning of Stockton’s faith journey, it wouldn’t be until 1816 that she would convert to Christianity through the ministry of seminary student Eliphat Wheeler Gilbert.

Prior to her conversion, likely during her teen years, Stockton was emancipated but stayed in the Green household as a paid domestic servant. She taught black children in the Princeton community and attended a class taught by a seminary student. Stockton knew early on in her faith that she wanted to be a missionary—to Africa. But the Lord had other plans.

While living with the Greens, Stockton began a friendship with Charles Samuel Stewart, a student of Green’s. Stewart would go on to graduate from Princeton Theological Seminary, but the friendship he had forged with Stockton was deep and enduring. He encouraged her to join him on a missionary journey to the Pacific in association with the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM).

In The Journal of Presbyterian History, John Andrew reflects on the ABCFM’s motive:

Seeking to promote Christian principles, directors of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions sent a black to labor with whites among the Sandwich Island natives. They did so because she fulfilled the qualifications of a Christian Missionary not because she was black. But her appointment reflected visions of a Christian Society far beyond those held by most Americans. Instead of being too conservative for their times, they were, indeed, almost too radical.

Perhaps Stockton’s faith and the ABCFM’s actions were too radical for society in general, but they weren’t too radical for the mission. On November 19, 1822, Stockton was among 14 men and women to take off for the Sandwich Islands.

Mission

Stockon kept a journal of the missionaries’ often treacherous journey across the Pacific. Even through the tempestuous seas, she endured in faith and praised the Lord.

On November 23, 1822, she wrote,

Saturday morning at daybreak shipped a sea. The water rushed into the cabin. I saw it with very little fear; and felt inclined to say, The Lord reigneth, let us all rejoice. I was so weak that I was almost unable to help myself. At 10 o’clock I went on deck: the scene that presented itself was, to me, the most sublime I ever witnessed. How, thought I, can “those who go down to the sea in ships” deny the existence of God. The day was spent in self-examination. This, if ever, is the time to try my motives in leaving my native land. I found myself at times unwilling to perish so near my friends; but soon became composed, and resigned to whatever should be the will of my Heavenly Father. I believed that my motives were pure: and a calm and heavenly peace soon took possession of my breast. Oh that it were always with me as it is this day!

Throughout her journal, Stockton wrote fondly of Sabbath days of rest, Bible reading, and gathering for church with the other passengers. As she noted above of her “self-examination,” there were several times when she lamented the state of her sin and thanked the Lord for his grace. She had a sense of her need for God’s mercy even as she was on a journey to serve him. From all accounts, Stockton was a humble servant of the Lord.

On December 30, she wrote,

Sabbath. Had prayer meeting in the morning, and preaching in the afternoon at 4 o’clock. Mr. Stewart preached from 1 Cor. i. 23. I enjoyed the Sabbath very much, and thought I felt something of the love of God in my heart. But still I felt as if I was declining in the spiritual life. I attended a little to the study of the Bible, and find it pleasant. Yet I find a void within my breast that is painful. The scenes which constantly present themselves to my view are new and interesting; and I find they have a tendency to draw my mind from Him who is, or ought to be, my only joy. With the poor publican I will say, “God be merciful to me a sinner.” At six in the evening, we caught two sharks, and saw a number of dolphins. The flesh of the shark is very good when young.

When the missionary team arrived, they were shocked and possibly frightened at the sight of the natives. The men were naked, which surprised the team. But Stockton had compassion and saw their humanity: “Are these, thought I, the beings with whom I must spend the remainder of my life! They are men and have souls—was the reply which conscience made.”

Stockton had a sense of her need for God’s mercy even as she was on a journey to serve him. From all accounts, she was a humble servant of the Lord.

Stockton got to work serving in Maui in a town called Lahaina, where she taught children English. She eventually helped open the first school for the poor in the community. Most people who attended school were upper class. Stockton, an ex-slave, was providing an opportunity to the less fortunate just as people had helped make a way for her. As the missionaries educated the people, the door was opened for them to teach Christian doctrine.

Stockton’s life story was remarkable, but her work as a missionary wasn’t always ideal. ABCFM didn’t acknowledge her as a missionary, seemingly keeping her existence a secret. What seemed like a radical move by the organization, which it was, wasn’t done in a completely honorable way. Also, Stockton was often lonely and became homesick. She was overworked as she cared for Stewart’s family. It was good work, but it was hard. After Charles’s wife, Harriet, became sick, Stockton and the Stewart family began their long voyage home, and by 1826, they were in Cooperstown, New York.

Lifelong Servant

Stockton continued serving others throughout the rest of her life. She eventually moved back to Princeton, where she predominantly served black community members, started a school, and was committed to a local Presbyterian church.

The church was established in 1840 and called the First Presbyterian Church of Color of Princeton. The church has since changed its name to the Witherspoon Street Presbyterian Church, and it continues to honor Stockton’s legacy. As Gregory Nobles observed, “Betsey Stockton helped make the church a haven for both religious instruction and general education, leading a Sunday school where children learned both scripture and literacy.”

Stockton remained in Princeton until her death in October 1865. The more her story is told, the longer her legacy will live on here on earth. But that’s not the goal of a missionary, and I imagine it wasn’t Stockton’s goal. Her work had eternal significance, and her legacy is one that many are enjoying together with her in heaven.

In this breakout session from TGCW24, Sharon James explores the profound ways Christians have influenced the world for the better in areas such as justice, philanthropy, health care, education, and the dignity of women.

She discusses the following:

• The story of Sarah Martin
• The influence of Christianity on human rights and freedom
• Justice and the rule of law
• Protection of life and the sanctity of human dignity
• Relief of human need and philanthropy
• Education and women’s empowerment
• The dignity of women and Christian ethics
• The role of Christianity in modern society

In his latest book, Superbloom: How Technologies of Connection Tear Us Apart, Carr, an American journalist, traces the history of how our communication technologies got to where they are today, and more importantly, the effect of what we might call the industrialization of communication.

Carr shows that contemporary communication technologies transform “how we talk, how we see other people, how we experience the world” (78). Of grave concern for Carr is that the technologies promising to fuel more personal connections are making it harder to form healthy relationships. They’re like the ultraprocessed foods of human relations. Yet his proposed solution is encouraging as he calls for a return to an embodied experience of the world.

Ultraprocessed Communication

I love Watermelon Sour Patch Kids. These fruit-shaped gobs of goodness are the definition of an ultraprocessed food, a food-like substance alchemized from the liquefied version of a real food (like high-fructose corn syrup) and industrial chemicals (like titanium dioxide). I don’t like Sour Patch Kids because they’re good for me but because they taste good to me. And that’s exactly the point. Ultraprocessed foods are engineered to be hyperconsumable and hyperpalatable; no nutrients, all pleasure.

Like food, communication has undergone its own industrialization process.

Like food, communication has undergone its own industrialization process.

For much of history, communication moved only as fast as humans and their modes of transport—on foot or horseback, by boat or train. The invention of the telegraph was revolutionary, enabling messages to travel over electrical wires at speeds far beyond human capability. To achieve such efficiency, messages were reduced to simple codes, laying the groundwork for their eventual reduction into binary—1s and 0s, the building blocks of digital information.

Once messages are translated to the language of the machine, they lose all their human “nutrients.” The tone, the pace, and the quirky facial expression are all liquefied down into a metaphorical corn syrup of digital bits. The congratulatory message from grandma, the video of a terrorist attack, and the latest cat meme are flattened into the category of “content.” Stripped of their humanness, messages can more easily be subjected to the industrial imperatives of optimization and efficiency.

Feeding Our Addiction

After the telegraph reduced messages and replaced humans as message carriers, the next human inefficiency targeted for optimization was the editorial function. Enter the algorithmic news feed, whose sole purpose is maximizing engagement. These algorithms deliver “whatever patterns of 0s and 1s [are] calculated to have the highest probability of grabbing and holding people’s attention” (64).

When machines become editors, messages are prioritized for engagement metrics over meaning. Much like Sour Patch Kids are engineered to evoke exaggerated pleasure, industrialized communication is designed to manipulate human responses. Carr warns, “Whether we realize it or not, social media churns out information that’s been highly processed to stimulate not just engagement but dependency” (77).

In the industrialization process, the machine became the carrier and the curator. The last and final step to reduce inefficiencies is for the machine to become the creator as well. Carr writes, “Once we’ve compressed language as far as it can go, the only way to gain greater conversational efficiency is to automate speech, letting prediction algorithms and chatbots choose our words” (191). The internet giant Meta has already rolled out AI profiles to a chorus of mockery. However, if engagement—positive or negative—with the bots increases, their survival is guaranteed.

We like ultraprocessed communication even though it isn’t good for us, because it tastes good. Some of us may criticize what has become of human communication, but at the end of the day, we kind of like it.

Corruption at Light Speed

We contribute to our corruption. As Carr notes,

It’s important to be honest about our own complicity. We’re not being manipulated to act in opposition to our desires. We’re not hostages with Stockholm syndrome. We’re being given what we want, in quantities so generous we can’t resist gorging ourselves. The manipulation is secondary to and dependent on the pleasure. (216)

Thus social media—perhaps the most ultraprocessed communication form—doesn’t create the worst desires in us like anger, division, lust, pride, gossip, slander, and approval-seeking. It simply feeds the sin nature that’s within us already and publishes it on our feeds for all to see (see Rom. 7:13–25).

It’s not that good desires are never revealed online but that the lesser desires are revealed quicker and typically go further, faster. Videos of disaster relief efforts can’t compete with road-rage highlights. The worst elements of our nature are encouraged before we can think about the consequences.

Efficient, industrialized communication allows desire to be conceived and sin to be birthed at the speed of a retweet. It’s tough to resist the corrupting effects of this ultraprocessed communication because it comes at us so fast. As Carr notes, “The computer is so quick to sense and fulfill our desires that it never allows us the opportunity to examine our desires, to ask ourselves whether what we choose, or what is chosen for us, is worthy of the choosing” (231–32). We need to figure out a way to overcome this high-speed challenge.

Return to Embodiment

Most of Carr’s book focuses on the problem, but in the final pages, we find the rough outline of a path forward. For Carr, the only way to escape the “[prison of] the hyperreal” is by embracing the one quality that distinguishes humans from machines: worldliness, by which he means physical embodiment. He writes, “Despite our love of or at least infatuation with the easy stimulations of the virtual, we can never make a true home there, at least not without sacrificing the qualities of sense and sensibility that make us most ourselves” (231). We need to spend more time in the real, physical world than online.

Though Carr makes no claim to be a Christian, his argument should come as no surprise to us. Our understanding of reality is tied to Christ’s incarnation. As words become more inhuman, the way out is to follow the path of the Word who became human. The incarnate Word made us more fully human, so we must make our speech more human through incarnate words. This is why tweets to 10,000 followers around the globe don’t satiate like a sermon given to the 100 congregants you pastor. It’s why a check-in text rings hollow compared to a bedside hospital visit.

As words become more inhuman, the way out is to follow the path of the Word who became human.

If we’re going to avoid the effects of ultraprocessed communication, we’re going to have to choose to be embodied with others. We needn’t abandon the virtual world entirely, but, as Carr argues, we must find a place “beyond the reach of its liquefying force” (232). That may put us on the world’s margins in some ways, but there’s little benefit for us to gain the digital world at the expense of our souls (Matt. 16:26). At times alarming, Superbloom is a profound reminder of what’s at stake if we consume only ultraprocessed communication at the expense of real, embodied community.

Those of us who serve as associate pastors occupy a unique and strategically vital position in church leadership—one that requires strength and humility, wisdom and submission. The art of being “second” isn’t merely about accepting a subordinate role; it’s about embracing a divine calling that, when executed well, multiplies the effectiveness of our churches’ leadership teams.

Biblical Examples

The role of associate pastor may be the strategic key to unlocking a church’s true potential.

We see this throughout Scripture, with God establishing partnerships where supporting leaders played crucial roles. For example, the relationship between Moses and Aaron provides a compelling partnership model.

When Moses felt inadequate about his speaking abilities, God provided Aaron as his mouthpiece (Ex. 4:14–16). This arrangement demonstrates a fundamental principle: Supporting roles often fill critical gaps that enable the overall mission to succeed. Moses and Aaron’s partnership set a pattern that would be repeated throughout biblical history.

This pattern found its New Testament expression in Paul and Timothy’s relationship. Paul referred to Timothy as his “true child in the faith” (1 Tim. 1:2), demonstrating how supporting roles can evolve into deep, mutually enriching relationships that advance both the mission and the development of future leaders. Timothy’s willingness to learn and serve under Paul’s leadership not only advanced the gospel but also prepared Timothy for his future ministry. Their relationship reveals that being second isn’t about being secondary but about being strategic.

Theology of Second Place

Before exploring the practical aspects of associate ministry, let’s establish a theological foundation for understanding the role of being second.

The concept ultimately finds its deepest meaning in Christ himself, who “did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant” (Phil. 2:6–7). This profound truth establishes the fundamental paradigm for Christian leadership. Jesus demonstrated that true greatness lies not in position but in purposeful service.

The incarnation exemplifies this divine pattern. The eternal Son of God, through whom all things were made (John 1:3), voluntarily subjected himself to earthly authorities—submitting to his earthly parents, paying taxes to Caesar, and ultimately surrendering to the Father’s will in Gethsemane with his declaration “Not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42). This pattern of submission reached its apex at the cross, where Christ became “obedient to death, even death on a cross” (Phil. 2:8).

Jesus reinforced this understanding through his teaching ministry. When his disciples argued about greatness or sought prominent positions, he consistently redirected their ambition toward service. He taught, “Whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all” (Mark 10:43–44). This radical redefinition of greatness transforms our understanding of associate ministry roles.

Being second isn’t about being secondary but about being strategic.

Our role thus transcends mere administrative structure—it reflects Jesus’s pattern of sacrificial service. When we grasp that the Son of God himself chose the path of submission and service, it elevates our perspective on supporting positions. We’re not just filling a role in an organizational chart; we’re participating in a divine pattern that God consistently uses to carry out his mission. When we view our position through this theological lens, contentment replaces ambition, and intentional service replaces passive waiting.

Cultivate a Heart for Support

With this theological foundation in place, we can turn to the essential internal work required for effective supporting leadership. It begins with internal transformation. The apostle Paul instructs us to “do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than [ourselves]” (Phil. 2:3).

Yet cultivating such a heart requires deliberate spiritual discipline and consistent practice. Here are five suggestions.

1. Examine yourself honestly.

We must confront our natural inclinations toward competition, recognition, and personal advancement. King Saul’s relationship with David provides a sobering example of how unchecked ambition and insecurity can poison leadership relationships (1 Sam. 18:6–9). In contrast, the support of David by Saul’s son Jonathan—even at the cost of his own claim to the throne—demonstrates the transformative power of choosing kingdom priorities over personal advancement (23:17).

2. Pray daily.

Regular, specific intercession for your senior pastor accomplishes multiple purposes simultaneously. When you intercede for his ministry, you invest spiritually in his effectiveness. This practice aligns your heart with God’s purposes and helps overcome any temptation toward rivalry or resentment.

Consider establishing a daily prayer routine that includes specific petitions for your senior pastor’s wisdom, protection, family, and ministry influence. As you consistently lift him before God, your heart will be shaped toward genuine support.

3. Know and use your complementary ministerial abilities.

God never intended for one person to possess all the gifts and abilities necessary for church leadership. That’s why the body of Christ functions most effectively when each member contributes his or her unique strengths and abilities (1 Cor. 12:12–27). As Aaron’s spokesperson role complemented Moses’s struggle with public speaking (Ex. 4:10–16), your distinct professional capabilities can fill crucial gaps in the leadership team. This requires both careful assessment of your senior pastor’s areas of need and honest evaluation of your skills. Take time to observe your senior pastor’s ministry patterns, noting areas where additional support would enhance the church’s effectiveness – whether that’s administration, teaching, counseling, or other ministry functions.

4. Cultivate spiritual maturity and integrity.

While professional competence is essential, your moral character and spiritual development are foundational to effective ministry partnership. Barnabas exemplified this through his deep spiritual qualities. He was known as the “son of encouragement” (Acts 4:36) because his character naturally lifted others up. His integrity and standing in the Jerusalem church enabled him to advocate for Paul when others were suspicious (9:27). Later, his spiritual discernment led him to seek out Paul in Tarsus and bring him to Antioch (11:25–26). This shows how true leadership support flows from a foundation of personal integrity, wisdom, and genuine concern for God’s kingdom rather than just technical capability.

5. Look to the right reward.

Developing a truly supportive spirit involves cultivating resilience in the face of misunderstanding or lack of recognition. There will be times when your contributions remain behind the scenes or credit goes to others. Remember that your ultimate audience is Christ, who sees in secret and rewards faithfully (Matt. 6:4). Let your satisfaction come from knowing your support enables more effective ministry and advances God’s kingdom purposes.

When we cultivate a genuine heart for support and align our service with biblical principles, we create the foundation necessary for faithful leadership from a supporting role. Yet understanding these principles is only the beginning. The challenge lies in translating them into practical, day-to-day leadership that strengthens both our senior pastors and our churches.

From pardoning pro-life activists to reinforcing religious freedom protections to authorizing raids within churches, these actions represent a significant shift in federal policy.

Positive Actions

Here are four of the more positive actions you should know about that Trump took during his first week in office.

1. Pardoning of Pro-Life Activists

Trump granted pardons to 10 pro-life activists convicted for their involvement in a 2020 clinic blockade in Washington, DC. The activists were charged with violating the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act, a 1994 law designed to prevent obstruction of and threats against abortion clinics. The pardoned individuals had been sentenced to significant prison terms for their peaceful protest, which involved blocking the doors of an abortion clinic. In signing these pardons, Trump declared it “a great honor” and stated that these pro-life advocates “should not have been prosecuted.”

These actions represent a significant shift in federal policy.

These pardons recognize the role of nonviolent civil disobedience in effecting social change. While respecting the rule of law, the pardons also show compassion for those who acted out of moral conviction. As believers, we can rejoice in this decision that not only frees these dedicated pro-life advocates but also reinforces the importance of standing firm in our faith and values. It encourages all Christians to continue advocating for the protection of the unborn and to support those who make personal sacrifices in defense of life.

2. Limiting Gender Ideology Extremism

This order directs federal agencies to adopt policies that recognize biological sex as immutable and determined at birth. It prohibits federal funding for programs or initiatives that promote gender ideology, particularly those that allow biological males to compete in women’s sports or access women-only spaces. The order also mandates that federal documents, such as passports and birth certificates, reflect biological sex rather than self-identified gender.

The order firmly rejects the ideological framework that denies biological reality. This protects women and girls from the harms of gender ideology, particularly in sports and safe spaces. However, it doesn’t address private-sector policies or state-level legislation, leaving room for continued debate and activism.

This order is a significant step toward upholding the biblical understanding of gender as a God-given reality (Gen. 1:27). It affirms the dignity of women by safeguarding their opportunities and protecting their privacy. Additionally, it challenges the cultural narrative that denies the goodness of God’s design, offering a countercultural witness to the truth.

3. Protecting Children from Chemical and Surgical Mutilation

Trump issued an executive order that prohibits the use of federal funds for any medical interventions that seek to alter the sex of minors, including puberty blockers, cross-sex hormones, and surgical procedures. The order also directs the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) to investigate and penalize healthcare providers who perform such procedures on minors and mandates that federal agencies promote public awareness of the long-term physical and psychological harms associated with these interventions.

The move is a strong stand against the medicalization of gender dysphoria in children, ensuring taxpayer dollars aren’t used to fund irreversible and harmful treatments on children and teens. However, it doesn’t ban these procedures at the state level or in the private sector, which means we must continue to advocate for legislation that will fully protect our children.

4. Enforcing the Hyde Amendment

An executive order was issued to reinforce the Hyde Amendment, which prohibits federal funding for abortions except in cases of rape, incest, or danger to the mother’s life. It directs all federal agencies to ensure compliance with the Hyde Amendment and imposes strict oversight to prevent taxpayer dollars from funding elective abortions.

The order strengthens enforcement of existing pro-life protections, ensuring federal funds aren’t used to subsidize the abortion industry. However, it doesn’t expand the Hyde Amendment’s scope or address state-level abortion funding. It also maintains vague exceptions that many pro-life advocates find morally problematic.

By preventing taxpayer dollars from funding abortions, this order aligns federal policy with the reality that life begins at conception. While the exceptions remain a concern, this order is a step toward a culture that values every human life as made in God’s image (Ps. 139:13–16).

Controversial Actions That Raise Concerns

Mixed with these positive developments were some actions that are concerning for many evangelicals.

For instance, Trump issued an order to suspend the United States Refugee Admissions Program (USRAP) “until such time as the further entry into the United States of refugees aligns with the interests of the United States.” The reversal (Trump once supported the program) is already affecting the work of several Christian aid organizations.

For example, World Relief received a notice from the State Department instructing them to “stop all work” under the grant agreement that provides initial resettlement support to newly arrived refugees for the first several months of their lives in the United States. Last year, about 30,000 Christian refugees from the 50 countries where religious persecution watchdog Open Doors US says that Christians face the most severe persecution in the world were resettled in the United States. A 2024 Lifeway Research study found that 71 percent of evangelical Christians believe the United States has a moral responsibility to receive refugees.

Trump also issued an order that would overturn birthright citizenship. This order is likely to be overturned by the courts since it’s a clear violation of the 14th Amendment, which states, “All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside.”

A directive by the Department of Homeland Security also now allows authorities to enter churches, schools, and healthcare facilities to enforce immigration laws. This has led some Christian leaders to fear how it’ll be enforced.

“No church that I’m aware of harbors criminal actors, whether they’re here legally or illegally, and no church leader wants that,” said Brent Leatherwood, president of the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission of the Southern Baptist Convention. “President Trump is right to fix our broken immigration system—something we’ve long called for—but it must be done without turning churches into wards of the state or expecting pastors to ask for papers of people coming through their doors.

Call to Thoughtful Engagement

Trump’s first-week actions represent significant changes to federal policy that have drawn both strong support and serious concerns from Christians. While some celebrate the measures protecting religious freedom and promoting pro-life policies, others worry about the danger of stricter immigration enforcement in churches and the suspension of refugee programs that have long been supported by faith-based organizations.

As Jesus’s followers engage with these policies, we should strive to consider the full scope of their effects on different communities. We should evaluate policies through the lenses of both our theological convictions and their practical effects, rather than mere partisan principles. And in all cases, we should continue advocating for solutions that uphold human dignity.

While these executive actions mark a significant moment in American policy, their lasting influence will ultimately depend on thoughtful dialogue, careful implementation, and continued engagement from people of faith working toward justice and compassion in our country.

Yet God doesn’t just see us—he delights in us. Scripture includes staggering verses about God’s aesthetic delight in his people. C. S. Lewis captures the wonder: “To please God . . . to be a real ingredient in the divine happiness . . . to be loved by God, not merely pitied, but delighted in as an artist delights in his work or a son—it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which our thoughts can hardly sustain. But so it is.”

When people respond aesthetically to something they see, either in delight or revulsion, it changes them. But God doesn’t change in response to what he sees. Another way to say this is that God is immutable and impassable. Yet creation and people bring real delight to God. God delights in the good, the true, and the beautiful; he hates the evil and the false. Let’s contemplate how Christians bring true pleasure to an infinitely happy God based on their union with Christ.

God’s Delight in Creation

God’s aesthetic delight in creation is introduced on Scripture’s first page. In Genesis 1, God creates and shapes the cosmos by his Word and Spirit. Six times, at the end of each day, we’re told of God’s pleasure in the goodness and beauty of his work.

God delights in the presence of light (v. 4), the ocean and the dry land (v. 10), and the stars and the universe (v. 18). The variety of birds, fish, and animals please him (vv. 21, 25). God relishes the glory of the trees and the fruit they produce (v. 12). At the end of the climactic sixth day, we’re told of God’s delight a seventh time: “And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good” (v. 31).

God’s Revulsion at Sin

God’s pleasure in seeing creation’s beauty is starkly contrasted with his disgust at sin’s pollution and destruction. In the world after the fall, evil runs rampant. When we scroll our news feeds, it doesn’t take long to see something horrific. Murder, adultery, abuse, and countless other evils are reported daily.

God’s pleasure in seeing the beauty of creation is starkly contrasted with his disgust at sin’s pollution and destruction.

The proper response is sorrow and disgust. When we respond like this, in our limited way we reflect God’s infinite hatred of evil. God looks at sin with displeasure: “The LORD saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth . . . and it grieved him to his heart” (6:5–6). God, in his infinite holiness, looks on sin and evil in all its forms with perfect disgust.

Unfortunately, evil is not simply something out there. It is painfully personal as it marks our fallen identity and daily reality. Without exception, every person is full of sin’s evil corruption (Romans 3:9–19). This is hard to grasp, but only because we do not consider our sin from God’s perspective. Apart from Christ, we are truly repulsive to God.

God’s Pleasure in New Creation

But God takes what is repulsive to him and creates something beautiful. As Luther once said, “God’s love does not find, but creates, that which is pleasing to him.” In redemption and glorification, God re-creates the cosmos and fallen people so creation’s original beauty is restored and surpassed. In the incarnation, God affirms his delight in his Son: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matt. 3:17). G. K. Beale shows how the Father is alluding to something he said before: “Behold my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights” (Isa. 42:1). The Father has pleasure in Jesus, the new Israel of Isaiah’s servant songs. Jesus leads his people in a new exodus and identifies with them through his substitutionary sacrifice (Isa. 53). Jesus succeeded where Israel failed and represents a new people before God (49:6).

God’s pleasure in Jesus extends to believers united to him. It’s only when we are joined to the loveliness of Christ that we become lovely. Because of our union with Christ, God sees Christians as we live our everyday lives and responds, “This is my child, in whom I am well pleased.” An earthly picture is a father and mother’s delight in their children. Children who play a sport or musical instrument experience joy when their parents are pleased by their efforts. In the same way, believers live in the freedom of bringing God joy.

We may not always feel God’s delight, but it’s there. Sometimes, we do sense his delight in us. Eric Liddell, a gold medalist in the 1924 Paris Olympics, felt this. “When I run, I feel his pleasure,” is the way the screenwriters for Chariots of Fire put it. What Liddell’s character said about running, we can say of all of life: “I feel his pleasure.”

Pleasing in His Sight

God’s aesthetic delight becomes an orienting principle for the Christian’s life. We’re pleasing to him through Christ, so we seek to become who we are by following his commands: “We make it our aim to please him” (2 Cor. 5:9). We have the privilege to be a real ingredient in God’s happiness through sacrificial and daily obedience.

Believers live in the freedom of bringing God joy.

In one sense, God already sees us basking in the dawn of new creation light in the new heavens and earth. There, it will one day be repeated, “And God saw everything that he had remade, and behold, it was very good.” Until then, we live every day with all its joyful monotony—fixing breakfast for the kids and walking the dogs—in his sight and in his good pleasure.

He teaches the following:

• God’s declared promises of forgiveness, transformation, and an eternal Davidic King
• The linguistic significance of Jesus’s name and its connection to the theme of salvation
• The historical interpretation of John 1:1–18 and its relation to the creation account
• John the Baptist’s role as a witness to the true Light
• How the Old Testament law prepared the way for Jesus’s arrival
• Why Jesus’s sacrifice is the most profound display of God’s glory

I’m not alone in this. Many Christians in the United States have a growing sense of being on society’s margins. They no longer recognize the world around them. They feel a tension they’re desperate to relieve but struggle to do it in ways that reflect their faith in Christ.

In Joyful Outsiders: Six Ways to Live like Jesus in a Disorienting Culture, Patrick Miller and Keith Simon, both pastors at The Crossing in Missouri, encourage readers to embrace the tension of living as people God has called to simultaneously resist and cultivate the world around them. Their book offers a roadmap for faithfulness as we joyfully strive for both those goals.

Exiles Without Compromise

Books that talk about Christians as outsiders often reflect a persecution complex. They assume our sense of alienation from this world is because it has become hostile to our faith, as if there was a time when the culture genuinely welcomed it. But Christianity has always been at odds with the world, to the degree that even the Bible describes us as “exiles” (1 Pet. 1:1), “sojourners” (2:11), and “strangers . . . on the earth” (Heb. 11:13).

But why? It’s not as though we (typically) speak a wholly different language, wear radically different clothing, or behave in conspicuously unusual ways (even if some of what we say and do seems peculiar). Our otherness has to do with our loyalties.

We belong to Jesus. We’re citizens of another kingdom (Phil. 3:20) and representatives of another king (2 Cor. 5:20). So, as Miller and Simon argue, we’re outsiders because of our “fundamental identity as followers of Jesus” (18). We’re exiles living in a metaphorical Babylon, placed here to seek the good of a world to which we don’t entirely belong (Jer. 29:5–7).

We’re exiles living in a metaphorical Babylon, placed here to seek the good of a world to which we don’t entirely belong.

We can’t properly address the tension we feel without knowing its source. This knowledge helps us guard against the temptation to compromise our witness, something the world spends time and energy encouraging us to do. Our social media timelines, politicians, pundits, podcasters, and the latest news stories—all scream the same messages daily: Be anxious. Be angry. Be afraid.

The unrelenting assault on our souls leads so many to do exactly that, which only perpetuates the problem. The more we live in fear and anxiety, the more frustrated—and the more prone to compromise—we become. We become like salt that has lost its taste, lights hidden under baskets (Matt. 5:13–16)—useless and ineffectual, incapable of fulfilling our calling in the world.

Cultivate the Common Good

Many Christians have celebrated those who’ve resisted corrosive cultural tides in seemingly minor ways (e.g., not using preferred pronouns), potentially dangerous ways (e.g., objecting to biological men competing in women’s sports), and profoundly radical ways (e.g., questioning cross-sex hormone treatment for minors). And that resistance is good. Many risked of their reputation, relationships, and livelihood. Yet sometimes there’s a tendency to equate faithfulness to resistance alone.

But faithfulness requires more. Miller and Simon call us to cultivate our distinctiveness, channeling it into seeking the good of those around us. As Christians, we’re to be people who strive to lead “seamless lives of devotion in all things” (206). We’re meant to live with conspicuous integrity—not a showy false front but a genuine reflection of Christ through how we think, speak, and act.

There’s more than one way to cultivate the culture for the common good. Miller and Simon identify six categorical roles that individual Christians can fill. Some of us are trainers who channel our joy in spiritual disciplines to help Christians delight in the ordinary means of grace. Others, having earned positions of influence in society, are advisors who use that influence to resist evil and cultivate good. Others still are builders, artists, ambassadors, and protestors. Whichever way we’re gifted, no role is greater than another (see 1 Cor. 12:12–26). Each role is worth celebrating as we resist and cultivate within a hostile world. But we’ve got to both resist and cultivate, especially as the cultural winds shift.

There’s no sphere of life where a faithful Christian can’t be an influence for good.

Public sentiment is shifting on some of the most obvious cultural challenges; extreme policies are being walked back. Most Christians (I hope) agree such changes are good. Yet we must avoid naive assumptions about the causes of these social changes: They aren’t all driven by consistent Christian convictions. Meanwhile, as we resist new temptations to compromise, we need to cultivate godly compassion toward those who consider themselves our ideological enemies (Matt. 5:44). That’s what it looks like to live as joyful outsiders.

Build as Outsiders

No matter which way the cultural winds blow, we should still feel like outsiders. We still are. Christians always have been. It’s the life Jesus promised us when he said, “In the world you will have tribulation.” But he didn’t say this to discourage us. He gave us hope. “Take heart,” Jesus said, “I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

In light of that hope, Joyful Outsiders casts a positive vision. Miller and Simon remind us, “In Jesus, there is a common life to be lived for the common good . . . until he returns” (207). They encourage us to “receive and experience the joy of God in exile.” In doing so, we “can set aside fear and muster the courage to take the next right step” (206). And that will always be hard.

Miller and Simon offer an invitation to build in a world that specializes in tearing down. They remind us there’s more than one way to be faithful as a Christian in this world. That’s why Joyful Outsiders is a valuable roadmap for living with seamless devotion to Christ in an ever-changing culture.

A popular trend on TikTok involves 20‑somethings celebrating in creative ways when a friend cancels plans, often because they’re too tired or anxious to leave the house. . . . If anybody should feel lonely and desperate for physical-world contact, you’d think it would be 20-somethings, who are still recovering from years of pandemic cabin fever. But many nights, it seems, members of America’s most isolated generation aren’t trying to leave the house at all. They’re turning on their cameras to advertise to the world the joy of not hanging out.

Between 2003 and 2023, in-person socializing among those aged 15 to 24 dropped by more than 35 percent, Thompson reported. Younger millennials and Gen Z are less likely than previous generations were to go out without their parents, go on dates, get their driver’s licenses, try alcohol, and work for pay.

“Day to day, hour to hour, we are choosing this way of life—its comforts, its ready entertainments,” he wrote. “But convenience can be a curse. Our habits are creating what [economist Enghin Atalay] has called a ‘century of solitude.’”

As Christians, we know that quiet and solitude are good things (Ps. 131:2). But we also know that God created us to be together (Gen. 2:18). All manner of living things—from herds of elephants to flocks of birds to networks of tree roots—reflect the Trinity’s joy in community. Human beings are meant to do that too.

All manner of living things reflect the Trinity’s joy in community. Human beings are meant to do that too.

As I’ve talked with youth leaders and campus pastors, some tell me that Gen Z struggles so much with social interactions that older generations almost need to reverse engineer their friendships, figure out what makes them work, and teach that to young people.

So I asked those leaders for their best tips for young people trying to build their own friendships. I asked specifically about making friends in college, because that’s a time when young people are handling their own schedules and living with thousands of potential friends. But this advice could be adjusted to apply to all of us.

Start with Your Faith

1. “Pray and ask the Lord to provide you with good, godly, fun friends.” – Shelby Abbott, campus minister with Cru

2. “If you’re at a Christian college, attend chapel. It connects you to the pulse of campus—to the campus conversation of the week.” – Robert Taylor, vice president for student success at Dordt University

3. “On any campus, join a small group Bible study. All are welcome, and when you join a small group, you are instantly accepted and have a group of peers who want to get to know you.” – Robert Taylor

Consider the Way God Made You

1. “What do you already enjoy doing? Now go do those things with others—intramurals, workout classes, fashion, or music. You will (at the bare minimum) already have at least one thing in common with them. ‘You like that too? I thought I was the only one.’ That’s how friendships start.” – Joanna Gramer, Salt Company associate director serving students at Syracuse University

2. “Join a club or group. Find one that matches your interests. For example, if you’re studying engineering, join an engineering club. If you’re a nurse, join the nursing club. Look for groups where you can meet people with similar interests.” – Tony Dentman, Campus Outreach expansion director at the University of Illinois Chicago

3. “I would also suggest joining a club on campus that doesn’t necessarily align with a career path—things like intramural sports or a sewing club—something hobby-based that doesn’t tap into anxiety around your future.” – Morgan Kendrick, Reformed University Fellowship campus staff at Vanderbilt University

Expand Your Range

1. “At Dordt, we have a campus-wide email called The Weekly, which is sent to all students once per week. The email is a list of the campus activities for the week—it’s a one-stop shop for all that is happening on campus. If you are bored—consult The Weekly (or whatever the equivalent is at your campus). Then go to the campus events.” – Robert Taylor

2. “Say yes to things—even if you don’t know anyone going, even if it doesn’t sound super fun. If your RA invites you to a game night, if your school is putting on a weekend trip for honors students, if your dorm is hosting a karaoke night, if there’s a volunteering opportunity at the local elementary school—show up and see if a friend is there. You may not meet one at every function you go to, but eventually that small investment of saying yes and showing up will pay off. You might even meet your best friend there!” – Joanna Gramer

3. “Use the people you already know to connect you with people you don’t know—do your friends from high school have siblings or cousins that are at the college you’re going to? Do your classmates or teammates know anyone in the city you’re moving to?” – Morgan Kendrick

4. “Get out of your dorm room and meet people. Go to places like the library, gym, cafeteria, or group study spaces. Being around others makes it easier to make friends.” – Tony Dentman

Be Friendly

1. “Be a friend to others. Don’t wait for people to come to you. Go out of your way to help and connect with others. When you care about others, you’ll make friends naturally.” – Tony Dentman

2. “Don’t let the fear of rejection keep you from asking the question. People are far lonelier than they give off, and they want friends just as much as you do. Is there someone in your life you feel drawn to? Want to get to know? Maybe someone in your class, at the dining hall, or whom you’ve seen walking around campus? Be bold and ask them, ‘Would you wanna hang out sometime?’ You could even just send them a DM! One small act of courage can lead to great friendships.” – Joanna Gramer

3. “Take a posture of curiosity in other people’s lives. Ask good questions and listen well.” – Shelby Abbott

4. “Walk around campus with your head up, screens in your pocket, and no earbuds. This alone will make you more approachable and seem more friendly. It’s a bonus to offer smiles and greetings to everyone.” – Robert Taylor

“Realize that building friendships is hard and takes time,” Kendrick said. She’s right—according to one study, it may take 50 hours of hanging out to move from acquaintance to friend, and 90 hours to move from friend to good friend. You’ll need 200 hours with someone to make him or her a best friend.

That’s time well spent—studies show having friends reduces your risk of heart disease, type 2 diabetes, and depression. Even better, it raises happiness levels, aligns with the way God designed you, and is a way to witness to God’s goodness in this anti-social century.

I need no other argument,
I need no other plea,
It is enough that Jesus died,
And that he died for me.

It’s a statement that’s glorious and beautiful—and false if misunderstood. Do we have no other argument? Is there nothing else Jesus did that provides our faith with a resting place?

Don’t get me wrong. Rightly understood, the chorus is perfectly biblical. From the cross, we hear Jesus say, “It is finished” (John 19:30). And Romans 5:9 tells us we’re “justified by his blood” (cf. 1 Cor. 2:2). So I don’t want to quibble with Hewitt’s chorus for not saying everything at once, just as I don’t want to quibble with Romans 5:9 for not saying everything at once.

Instead, I want to use the question raised by the chorus to press in on a deeper theological question: Is it really enough that Jesus died? If we’re justified by his blood, then what role (if any) does his resurrection play? I ask because shortly before telling us we’re justified by Jesus’s blood (Rom. 5:9), Paul claims that Christ was also “raised for our justification” (4:25).

What does that mean? What role does Christ’s resurrection play in our justification, and how might it provide us with another “argument”? Here are three ways that Christ’s resurrection relates to our justification.

1. His resurrection proves his death worked.

Imagine it’s still Holy Saturday, and Christ is still in the tomb. He’s been delivered up for our trespasses—praise God! But how do we know it worked? How do we know our debt has been discharged—what with Christ Jesus still laying “in death’s strong bands”?

Answer: Just give God a few more hours. Did Good Friday work? Easter’s answer is yes! Not only was he delivered up for our offenses, but he was also raised for our justification. Paul uses the same Greek preposition (διὰ, “for” or “on account of”) in both halves of the verse. Basically everyone agrees the first half means he was delivered up on account of our trespasses. But if διὰ carries the same meaning in the second half (which seems plausible), this would mean Christ was also “raised on account of our justification.” He was raised because our justification had been successfully secured by Christ’s blood (Rom. 5:9).

Something really was finished when Jesus died on the cross. But it needed to be demonstrated. So if you want to see how your debt was paid, look at the cross. But if you want to be sure that your debt was paid, look at the empty tomb. If the cross is where Jesus cried, “It is finished,” the tomb is where the Father said, “Amen!” In the words of Puritan Thomas Goodwin, “To hear that Christ is risen, and so is come out of [debtor’s] prison, is an evidence that God is satisfied, and that Christ is discharged by God himself.”

2. His resurrection is part of what we embrace in justifying faith.

It may seem obvious, but saving faith—yea, justifying faith—receives Jesus not just as crucified but as risen. We don’t even need to leave Romans to see this.

Something really was finished when Jesus died on the cross. But it needed to be demonstrated.

Earlier in Romans 4, Paul looks at Abraham’s justifying faith (in Gen. 15:6) and describes it like this: Abraham believed in the God “who gives life to the dead” (Rom. 4:17). In his case, this referred to God bringing life from Sarah’s dead womb and from Abraham’s own dead loins (v. 19). Paul then applies these statements about Abraham to us, saying, “But the words ‘it was counted to him’ were not written for his sake alone, but for ours also. It will be counted to us who believe in him who raised from the dead Jesus our Lord” (vv. 23–24).

We see the same truth in Romans 10:9, in which Paul promises that “if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” That’s saving faith. If you want to be free from condemnation and justified in God’s sight, you must not only believe that Jesus died for your sins; you must also believe that God raised him from the dead.

3. His resurrection allows him to continue saving us.

When Christ said, “It is finished,” that didn’t mean his role in our salvation was done and the Holy Spirit took over in a kind of Trinitarian tag team. No. Even in the ongoing application of our redemption, Jesus is still active. The bumper sticker is right to say “Jesus saves” (present tense), not simply “Jesus saved.”

Even in the ongoing application of our redemption, Jesus is still active.

We see this clearly in Hebrews 7:25: “[Christ] is able to save [us] to the uttermost . . . since he always lives to make intercession for [us].” Notice his living, heavenly intercession is saving.

But once again, we don’t even have to leave Romans to see this. In chapter 8, we find Paul triumphantly proclaiming that “it is God who justifies,” then defiantly asking, “Who is to condemn?” (vv. 33–34). His answer begins much like Hewitt’s chorus: “Christ Jesus is the one who died.” But it doesn’t end there. There’s “more than that.” Paul continues, “Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us” (v. 34, emphasis added).

Our justification depends not only on Christ’s death for its foundation but also on his life for its continuation (5:10). The reason you can’t be condemned is that you not only have a bleeding atonement, but you also have a living Advocate (1 John 2:1–2). Jesus may have saved us by dying, but it’s not as a dead man that he saves us.

We Have Another Argument

I’m confident Hewitt believed all this and that his chorus wasn’t meant to deny Romans 4:25 (or 8:34). And I say this for one simple reason. The very same song begins like this:

My faith has found a resting place,
Not in device nor creed.
I trust the ever-living One;
His wounds for me shall plead.

These words echo Hebrews 7:25 and Romans 8:34. Hewitt knew that if Christ weren’t risen, our faith would have no resting place (1 Cor. 15:17). And he knew that the crucified object of our faith is now “the ever-living One.”

Yes, “Jesus died” for me. But there’s “more than that.” So I trust our brother Hewitt would take no offense if we sang,

I have another argument,
I have another plea,
The Bible says that Jesus rose
And that he rose for me.

In this episode of The Everyday Pastor, Matt Smethurst and Ligon Duncan share practical ideas on how to shepherd your congregation to have a discipleship mindset.

Recommended resources:

• “I Was Discipled by . . . the Church” by Brian Bowman
• The Compelling Community: Where God’s Power Makes a Church Attractive by Mark Dever and Jamie Dunlop
• Spiritual Depression: Its Causes and Cures by Martyn Lloyd-Jones
• Praying with Paul: A Call to Spiritual Reformation by Don Carson

While those mental and emotional struggles can take different forms, I’ve noticed a common undercurrent in the college students I work with: shame.

Students may or may not use the word “shame” to describe what they’re feeling. They often speak in terms of inadequacies, an intense fear of failure, and a vague dread that they’re not good enough.

They’ll point to a disappointing academic record, an end to a romantic relationship, or a lack of job prospects to corroborate their negative judgment of themselves. Some students don’t verbalize their shame; they simply disappear, staying in bed for days or missing church for months. Their withdrawal can be gradual or sudden.

For a long time, when I noticed students withdrawing or heard them voice a sense of shame, my first impulse was to reassure them there was nothing wrong with them. I’d direct them to their accomplishments in an attempt to counteract shame with honor. But pointing students to their work and successes doesn’t un-shame them. Instead, we can minister to students who struggle with shame by helping them see the full, true gospel of God’s love for sinners in the work of Christ.

Shame Distorts the Truth

After many conversations with students, I’ve realized shame is hard to erase because it distorts the truth in its accusations. At its core, shame says, “There’s something unfixably wrong with you.”

Pointing students to their work and sucesses doesn’t un-shame them.

It’s easy for students to accept this internal voice of judgment. Their limitations, disappointments, and failures mix with their sin to create a deep soul unease. They feel their complicity in a broken and sinful world, their shame attesting to their “unfixable wrongness”—their depravity.

But therein lies shame’s truth distortion. We can agree with students struggling with shame that apart from Christ, we are depraved, helplessly trapped in our sin. Our inability to “fix” the wrong within ourselves causes us to cry out along with the apostle Paul, “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” (Rom. 7:24).

But praise God, we who are in Christ have been decisively rescued from the hopelessness of sin and death into a life united with him who loves us and gave himself for us (Eph. 5:2). Students need to hear that while shame may point to the truth of our depravity, its loud pronouncement of our brokenness isn’t the whole story for believers. Those united to Christ can no longer be condemned for their sins and shortcomings (Rom. 8:1–2).

Shame Tries to Take God’s Place

Shame can be subtle, so we need to listen carefully as we talk with college students. It might sound like a young man who told me, “There’s nothing special about me. There’s nothing I can do that someone else can’t do better.”

This young person grew up thinking that people are only as valuable as the contributions they offer their families, schools, workplaces, or friends. He thought he had to be outstanding to have worth or for his efforts to be worthwhile. When he was less than outstanding, he wondered whether there was any point to his work or even his life. Shame was a tireless judge inside his head that crushed him with impossible standards.

Another student shared, “I still don’t really know what I’m doing, and I don’t want to waste my parents’ money, but I’m scared that I’ll be less than they want me to be. Or less than I want to be.”

This student felt indebted to her parents, who sacrificed their comfort to fund her education. It was a prominent part of their family narrative—their immigration story and why it was important for children to work hard and make it count. For this student, shame concluded she couldn’t rest while she owed a debt or possessed what she didn’t earn.

For both students, shame tried to take God’s place, decreeing what’s good and what’s bad, what has purpose and what’s meaningless, what’s lovable and what’s unlovable. Shame would chain students to the worldly standards it subjects them to and offer no help or relief. For our students who are in Christ, the question isn’t “What must I do to become worthy of Jesus saving me?” but “How can I live in light of the fact that I’m deeply loved by God, saved by Jesus, and part of his victorious kingdom?”

Shame Is Overcome in Christ

For our college students, the fight against shame is ultimately a fight to believe truth over lies. It’s a fight to feel what’s true.

Shame tries to take God’s place, decreeing what’s good and what’s bad, what has purpose and what’s meaningless, what’s lovable and what’s unlovable.

We help our students by reminding them we’ve all fallen short of God’s standard. It’s a standard higher than any held by a parent, professor, or prospective spouse. But because Jesus met God’s standard in our place, we stand on his record. Students need not prove their value or worth through any means—academic accomplishments or otherwise.

By coming alongside students relationally, we can show those who struggle with shame that they don’t need to hide when they feel unworthy. Instead, we can point them to the wonderful paradox of the Christian life: being utterly unworthy and undeserving, yet loved and valued, securely accepted by God in Jesus. The mystery of the gospel is the answer for shame. We don’t need to hide because we’re hidden with Christ.

At some point during your pastoral ministry, you’ll experience fatigue. Neither faithfulness in small things nor the godly ambition to do great things will protect you from weariness. No amount of training nor academic preparation will insulate you from getting tired. Our need for regular recharging is a foundational reality of our walk with the Lord. David demonstrates this truth and God’s care for us in Psalm 23:3 when he writes, “He restores my soul.”

Limitations of Sheep

When David says, “The LORD is my shepherd,” (v. 1), he assumes the position of a sheep. Sheep have considerable limitations. They can drown from drinking water because their noses are so close to their mouths. Sheep also have a skittish and easily worried temperament, poor eyesight, and no natural defenses against the host of vicious natural predators that are rarely far away.

We too have an easily worried disposition. Even faithful ministers can feel overwhelmed by the challenges in our lives. We can lack proper spiritual eyesight—our perspective is easily clouded by our desires and ambitions or colored by our culture’s popular sentiments. When our limitations are laid alongside the challenges that await around us, it’s clear we’re unable to guarantee our own physical, emotional, and spiritual safety. Even shepherds are like sheep and need the Shepherd’s care.

Faithfulness of the Shepherd

One of the most compelling components of Psalm 23 is what David communicates about what the Shepherd knows. The Good Shepherd knows sheep need green grass and still water. He understands his sheep’s needs. The sheep never have to tell the Shepherd they’re thirsty, hungry, or tired. He knows.

Even shepherds are like sheep and need the Shepherd’s care.

This makes our relationship with God meaningfully different from any other relationship. The algorithms must learn or be taught how to best respond to our searches and requests, but God already knows what we need. Our friends, family, and even fellow pastors must learn how best to respond to our emotional and relational needs, but God already understands us. Our Shepherd doesn’t only know our needs; he abundantly supplies them.

Scripture never says our walk with God will be without trouble, without the experience of realizing our feebleness. But God is able to renew us, and he sovereignly allows us to experience circumstances that empty us of our strength and our reliance on it. When our souls need to be restored, we’re reminded of our need for One greater than ourselves. We’re reminded we need what only God can provide. When we’ve exhausted our stores of endurance, God is willing to restore us and remind us of his constant presence and faithfulness.

How We Should Respond

Pastor, when you grow weary, you must see that a minister’s weariness isn’t a failure of faithfulness. Weariness results from the reality of our limits. We must acknowledge those limits.

If we’re dishonest about our imperfections and insufficiencies, we’ll never be able to appreciate or enjoy God’s perfect sufficiency. So when we feel the need to recharge, we should interpret our low battery as a call to come to the Shepherd.

The Shepherd can be found. We find him in meditation, when we take time to reflect on how he has supplied our needs and answered our pressing questions in the past. He reminds us of what we’ve overcome and that in him we have sufficient resources for the days ahead. We can find him in prayer, where we confess our needs, acknowledge the temptation to lean on our own understanding, and cast our troubles and daily anxieties on him because he cares for us.

Between Now and Forever

The image of the shepherd carefully and wisely caring for his sheep’s needs not only teaches us about God’s attention to our temporal needs but also gives us a picture of how God supplies our spiritual needs.

We should interpret our low battery as a call to come to the Shepherd.

In an increasingly digital culture, it’s never been easier for us to feel a sense of distance or disconnection from others, from our purpose, and even from God. We wrestle to find meaning and purpose in life and ministry. Yet Psalm 23 reminds us that God is ever present with us. His presence in our lives affirms his ultimate purpose for us.

The psalm teaches us about God’s sufficiency, which extends into eternity: “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever” (v. 6). When we rest in God’s Word, we’re forever established in life with God beyond green grass and still waters. We’re his. We’ll experience his love and peace and enjoy fellowship while being nourished by his presence forever.

While we live between now and forever, we pastors grow weary. But God is still with us. Thanks be to God, he restores our souls.

When it comes to freedom, we tend to inhabit two parallel worlds of discourse. In sermons, in Bible studies, and in our devotional lives, we learn about how true freedom is found in Christ. Sin is the worst form of slavery, and Jesus sets us free from sin. Freedom is found internally and belongs to the soul—and, significantly, it involves committing to only one Way.

And yet the rest of the week, when we’re watching the news, doing our shopping, or arguing on social media, “freedom” is found anywhere but in Christ. Freedom is a political, economic, or therapeutic slogan; a promise for liberation from the burdensome demands of other people; a promise fulfilled in fewer rules, more stuff, and more space to call our own. In this modern model, freedom is a feature of our outer lives that avoids commitment and demands the maximization of choices.

For many of us, these two ideas of freedom travel merrily along their parallel tracks without touching—at least consciously. Subconsciously, we can’t help but allow our modern ideals of freedom as self-indulgence to shape our reading of Scripture.

Even as we live in a world with fewer rules, rituals, and community expectations than any previous era, preachers and therapists warn Christians about the threat of legalism. Meanwhile, antinomianism grows unchecked. We’re surrounded by the idea that to be set free in Christ is to be liberated from laws and moral expectations, so we shouldn’t feel any pressure to change. In reality, we need the body of Christ to help us align our outer lives with our internal freedom in Christ.

Two Liberations: Spiritual and Moral

Thankfully, the apostle Paul anticipated this error. He wrote, “You were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another” (Gal. 5:13). Freedom turns out to be service.

We must always serve somebody or something. The only question is whom and how. Lest we allow the sanitized modern meaning of the word “serve” to obscure Paul’s meaning, we must remember it’s the verb form of “slave.” For Paul, to be free was to be a slave—a bondservant of Christ (Rom. 6:18; 1 Cor. 7:22; Eph. 6:6). Some forms of service turn out to be liberating, while some forms of purported freedom turn out to be dehumanizing slavery.

Sin is the worst form of slavery, and Jesus sets us free from sin.

The Christian’s liberation, as the reformers taught, comes in two stages: justification and sanctification. These stages correspond to two forms of bondage: spiritual and moral.

When we’re in spiritual bondage, we lie under the power of sin and guilt as an all-embracing spiritual reality. The resulting condemnation cuts us off from being able to truly reckon with our past, act meaningfully in the present, or face the future without fear. We’re set free from this bondage by the gospel. Christ has accomplished our spiritual liberation in his death and resurrection.

Although this spiritual freedom is the greatest gift imaginable, we remain enslaved to sin’s entangling habits. We remain alienated from others by our selfishness and alienated from ourselves by our weakness of will. Though reconciled to God through Christ, we still struggle to encounter him fully because of the “sin which clings so closely” (Heb. 12:1).

Sanctification unfolds a fuller form of freedom. It’s the moral freedom of believers to do what we truly desire, rather than what our flesh’s warring desires tell us from moment to moment. Growth in sanctification is an arduous, lifelong task of keeping “in step with the Spirit” (Gal. 5:25) as he unites our hearts to fear God’s name (Ps. 86:11) and enables us to take every thought and desire captive to obey Christ (2 Cor. 10:5).

This newfound freedom isn’t a freedom to “find yourself” or “be yourself” but a freedom that comes from living for and discovering your true fulfillment in serving others: “For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself’” (Gal. 5:14).

Become Free Together

The historic Christian understanding of freedom for service to our neighbor is often masked by the old error of antinomianism blended with the new error of consumerism. Many Christians assume freedom consists in keeping their options open and not being tied down by others’ expectations. This perspective undermines commitment to the local church.

But of course, liberation from commitments and constraints doesn’t make us happier. It cuts us off from meaningful bonds with one another, and “it is not good for man to be alone” (Gen. 2:18). Many of our deepest and richest experiences are found only when we’re free to act together as a body: joining our voices in congregational praise songs, receiving the Lord’s Supper together, building ministries to serve our communities.

The structure of a church liturgy reminds us that true freedom is found in submitting ourselves for the good of others. For example, if the worship leader exhorted us to each belt out whatever song the Spirit moved us to sing, this wouldn’t be freedom to sing but bedlam. God-given authority, far from trampling on our freedom, makes real freedom possible. It’s a powerful antidote to the modern ideal of freedom.

God-given authority, far from trampling on our freedom, makes real freedom possible.

Freedom in Christ subverts modern ideals of total liberation because it requires submission to something outside ourselves. That seems like a form of death in our individualistic society. But this is exactly what we should expect, because it was Jesus who stated that “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24).

Pursuing true freedom in Christ requires identifying counterfeit forms of freedom. But it also requires resisting the world’s siren song, which promises us freedom in self-creation and self-esteem. The world’s discourse promises freedom but delivers a yoke of slavery. Christ, however, promises a yoke of service that delivers true liberty (Matt. 11:29–30).

They discuss the following:

• Personal experience and why it’s essential to study the Scriptures
• The misuse and misapplication of Scripture
• The importance of a Jesus-centered hermeneutic
• Why we need historical and cultural perspectives
• Encouragement for women who have a negative view of the Bible

Recommended resources:

• Is the Bible Good for Women? by Wendy Alsup
• Confronting Christianity by Rebecca McLaughlin
• Jesus Through the Eyes of Women by Rebecca McLaughlin
• Cultural Counterfeits by Jen Oshman
• It’s Good to Be a Girl by Jen Oshman

In Against Worldview: Reimagining Christian Formation as Growth in Wisdom, Simon P. Kennedy performs a thorough and overdue laundering for a term ubiquitous in evangelical circles over the past 50 years. “Worldview” has framed curricula for Christian schools and shaped people’s visions of apologetics. It has been routinely deployed in cultural commentary and functioned as a buzzword in marketing for countless ministries.

Kennedy invites his readers to take a closer look at the concept of worldview, its origins, its uses, and the rarely considered assumptions and biases built into it. By rethinking the use of the term, especially in Christian education, we can think more clearly about the nature of formation and become more effective in helping students obtain godly wisdom.

Worldview’s Confusing History

The concept of worldview, or Weltanschauung, traces back to German idealism. Kennedy observes its development through Kant, Schelling, and Hegel. It was appropriated by the Scottish evangelical theologian James Orr in the 1890s, who deployed it to refer to “the widest view which the mind can take of things and the effort to grasp them together as a whole” (29).

In that era, the Christian faith increasingly seemed under assault at the most principial level from an array of opposing comprehensive systems. Therefore, the concept of worldview offered an attractive framing for responding to Christianity’s cultural conflicts. As Kennedy observes, “This early understanding of Christian worldview set up the apologetic use of Weltanschauung as combative from the very beginning” (31).

‘Worldview’ has always been used in vague, inconsistent, and contrasting ways.

“Worldview” has always been used in vague, inconsistent, and contrasting ways. Unfortunately, that ambigiuty has produced more incoherence than contestation among its users.

Kennedy particularly highlights the contrast between “deductive” and “inductive” uses. For thinkers such as Abraham Kuyper, worldview primarily functioned as a deductive concept, denoting a systematic account of a Christian understanding of our life and world, flowing from a set of fundamental and unified principial commitments.

By contrast, Herman Bavinck illustrates a more inductive approach. Rather than starting with an established big picture into which we fit all the pieces of our knowledge, he primarily builds up from our multifaceted engagement with concrete reality. Like the construction of a mosaic, for Bavinck this all fits into the overarching unified, meaningful, and ordered reality established by God’s wisdom in creation—yet our understanding of this big picture will always be more partial and piecemeal.

Worldview Education’s Hubris

Against Worldview is written primarily with Christian educators in mind, as the concept has arguably had its greatest influence in this sphere.

Christian education is often framed as a task of worldview training. Therefore, the concept has functioned as a normative one, pressing all aspects of education into its ideological mold. Much as critical theories have colonized the whole curriculum in some progressive educational institutions, forcing social justice ideas into every class in unnatural and polarizing ways, so, when it’s not well done, “Christian worldview” can ideologize education. This ideologization, among other effects, keeps students from understanding the many ways Christians and non-Christians are seeking to comprehend the world in similar ways.

To heighten our sense of the distinctiveness of the Christian worldview and its oppositional relation with all others, we can also vastly overplay the degree to which our relation to reality is mediated by higher-level ideas. Common uses of the worldview concept can invite us to think of our relation to the world chiefly occurring through an all-encompassing theoretical gaze, a sort of ideological map of reality in its totality. Instead, Kennedy reminds us that our vantage point is limited, located in the hurly-burly of life and, as such, will always be a possible Christian worldview among others.

We aren’t chiefly students of such ideological maps in learning the lay of the land of reality. We’re explorers following partial itineraries and filling in gaps in our knowledge of a realm, or trackers with heightened senses attentive to our environment’s clues. Or, perhaps we’re hikers registering landmarks, finding their bearings, and navigating through varied terrain.

In the task of coming to grips with the often-hidden paths of creation, while we can genuinely find a greater grasp on the whole through the Christian faith, we’ll routinely find common cause with unbelievers. Kennedy’s welcome approach, which is also influenced by Charlotte Mason’s educational philosophy, brings Christian education back down to earth.

Worldview Flows from Wisdom

As Kennedy argues throughout the book, practical and spiritual wisdom “ought to be the substantial content of Christian education” (88). Worldview isn’t the means of education but the end: as students gain wisdom through the study of the manifold and complex relations of the creation, a broader understanding of the creation and its relation to its Creator emerges, which we might appropriately call “worldview.” However, the concept so developed will function differently from the ways it typically has.

Worldview is not the means of education, but the end.

Kennedy’s argument isn’t for secular or value-neutral education. Indeed, freed from the ideological forms typically offered by “worldview education,” education can be better positioned to form students deeply in Christian thought. While we ground students in Scripture and the Christian tradition, Kennedy also encourages us to engage appreciatively with the best the world has to offer, since all truth is God’s.

When one overarching ideological system no longer permeates the whole curriculum, Christian education may be more likely to adopt a more focused approach to teaching the faith. In deficient forms of worldview education, when a veneer of Scripture verses is placed over the entire curriculum, it’s easier to excuse deficiencies in the dedicated teaching of Scripture and theology. Taking Kennedy’s approach that focuses on wisdom will allow Christian worldview to rise up from an expansive and open quest for wisdom under wise guides, rather than through indoctrination into a more closed system of thought. For example, studying biology as a means to understand the intricate wonder of creation will likely result in a perspective that explains the world more completely than framing the study of biology around apologetic topics.

Given how load-bearing the concept of worldview is for so much Christian education, Kennedy’s close examination is a much-needed intervention. Against Worldview is short, accessible, and affordable. It makes its case clearly, leaving its readers with a much sharper understanding of a key point and straightforward, actionable proposals. While it’s most suited for Christian educators, it’ll be valuable for laypeople, apologists, pastors, and scholars.

But that distant deity is the God of Deism, not the God who reveals himself in Scripture. The Bible gives us a better song to sing. For while Scripture certainly proclaims God’s matchless majesty and transcendent glory (e.g., Deut. 4:39; Jer. 10:10; Isa. 40:28; Acts 17:24; 1 Tim. 1:17), it above all tells the story of God coming to dwell with his people.

God Present in the Garden

The coming of God is a major biblical-theological theme. The Bible’s opening chapters show us that God’s plan, from the beginning, has always been to live with his people. At creation, “the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters” (Gen. 1:2), and in the garden of Eden, God was wonderfully present, breathing life into Adam’s nostrils (2:7) and “walking in the garden in the cool of day” (3:8).

Although this language of God hovering, breathing, and walking is analogical (for God doesn’t have wings, lungs, or legs), it powerfully communicates the Lord’s personal “presence” (v. 8). The God who created the universe, and who fills all things, was specially present there and then in the garden.

God Came at Sinai and Promises to Come Again

When our first parents fell into sin, God sent them out of the garden and “away from the presence of the LORD” (3:23; 4:16). But he never gave up on his plan to live with his people in his good world. The Lord “appeared” to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (17:1; 26:2; 35:9). He came down to Moses at the burning bush (Ex. 3:8). He came down to the people on Mount Sinai (19:11, 18, 20), when the signs of fire, cloud, and storm showed the place “where God was” and where he had “come to . . . bless” his people (20:21, 24).

This was no mere temporary visit, for the Lord came down to instruct Moses to build the tabernacle “that [God] may dwell in their midst” (25:8). And so, first in the wilderness and then in the land, “the glory of the LORD filled” the tabernacle and the temple (40:34; see 1 Kings 8:10). John Calvin observes that while this doesn’t mean God’s “infinite and incomprehensible essence” was “shut up or confined” within the temple (see 1 Kings 8:27; Acts 17:24), it does reveal that God was specially “present there by his power and grace.”

When Israel fell into sin, God sent them out of the promised land and “cast them out of his sight” (2 Kings 17:18, 20). But he never gave up on his plan to live with his people in his good world. The writings and the prophets, therefore, promise a day when the Lord will come again.

The writings and the prophets promise a day when the Lord will come again.

The psalms declare the joyful good news that the Lord who “reigns” will “come” to judge the earth (Pss. 96:2, 10–13; 98:7–9). Isaiah announces the “good news” that the God who “reigns” will also “come” with “might” and “return” to his people (Isa. 40:9–10; 52:7–8). Ezekiel sees “the glory of the LORD” coming and entering and filling the end-time temple to “dwell in the midst” of his people forever (Ezek. 43:2–7). Zechariah proclaims that, at the end, “the LORD my God will come” and reign as “king over all the earth” (Zech. 14:5, 9).

Once again, this language of God coming, dwelling, entering, and filling is analogical, for God, who fills all things, doesn’t leave one place to arrive at another. Still, it communicates God’s promise to be palpably present again with his people.

God Comes in Jesus and by His Spirit

In Jesus’s life and ministry, God began in a new way to fulfill his promise to come and live with his people. For Jesus is God himself, the eternal “Word” and “only Son from the Father,” who “became flesh and dwelt among us,” revealing God’s “glory,” “grace,” and “truth” (John 1:1–2, 14, 18). He is “Immanuel,” which means “God with us” (Matt. 1:23).

This first coming of God in Jesus was hidden and humble. He “came” to “serve” and to suffer and to “give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45; see Isa. 53:10–12). Still, it was God who came in Christ. It was God who was with us there and then in the cradle at Bethlehem, on the dusty streets of Galilee, in the garden of Gethsemane, and on the cross at Golgotha—God, in the person of his Son, specially present in power and grace, working to set us free from sin and death.

In pouring out his Spirit on the Day of Pentecost, God further fulfilled his promise to be present. The believers on that day “were all filled with the Holy Spirit,” and Peter announced God’s promise that anyone who repents and is baptized in the name of Jesus Christ “will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit” (Acts 2:4, 33, 38). Even now, “God’s Spirit dwells in” the church (1 Cor. 3:16–17) and “within” individual believers (6:19). This, too, is God with us.

Jesus promises anyone who loves him and keeps his Word that God the Father and Jesus the Son “will come to him and make [their] home with him” (John 14:23). Just as God was specially present there and then in Christ, so he’s specially present here and now, within us and among us in his church.

God’s Final Coming

The God who comes hasn’t yet finished coming to his people. Jesus promises that on the great final day, he’ll come from heaven in “power” and “glory” (Mark 13:26; Matt. 24:30; Luke 21:27). Jesus’s return will not only be the second coming of the human Messiah but the final coming of God himself (e.g., Mark 8:38; 1 Thess. 3:13 with Zech. 14:5; or Acts 17:31 with Pss. 96:13; 98:9).

Although his first coming was hidden and humble, God’s final coming will be open and manifest, powerful and glorious, as he comes to finally establish his kingdom over all creation (Matt. 24:27, 30; Acts 1:11; 1 Thess. 4:16–17; Rev. 1:7). This is why the writer to the Hebrews speaks of Jesus simply as “the coming one” (Heb. 10:37) and why God declares himself, in Revelation, as the one “who is and who was and who is to come” (Rev. 4:8, emphasis added; see 1:8). The good news isn’t merely that God “was and is and evermore shall be” but that God—our God—will come to his people.

Although God’s first coming was hidden and humble, his final coming will be open and manifest, powerful and glorious, as he comes to finally establish his kingdom over all creation.

God isn’t watching us from a distance. He isn’t standing aloof, waiting for us to work our way up to him. God has come to us already in Jesus. He dwells with us even now by his Spirit. And in the end, the one true and living God will come to dwell with his people fully, and finally, and forever (21:3).

When the world is in chaos or we face difficulty or tragedy, this is the promise we need. The whole story of the Bible leads us to the promise we find on the last page—“Surely I am coming soon”—and so calls us to respond with the Bible’s final prayer—“Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!” (22:20).

They discuss the following:

• Honoring Paul Tripp
• The role of gospel culture in understanding doctrine
• Rebuilding for the future
• The importance of integrity and neediness
• Challenges of modern culture and social media
• Encouragement and final thoughts

Recommended resources:

• New Morning Mercies by Paul David Tripp (book)
• The Decline and Renewal of the American Church by Tim Keller (PDF)