Are Brazil’s Catholic Street Festivals Idolatry or Harmless Fun? Evangelicals Weigh In

Compiled by Mariana Albuquerque

Second only to Carnival, festivals for St. Anthony, St. John, and St. Peter pack the June calendar. Pastors debate if the Festas Juninas are folk celebrations or idol worship.

Quadrilha dancers in Brazil.

Marcelo Casal Jr / Agência Brasil

When it comes to festivals, the world knows Brazil best for Carnival, its raucous celebration of Mardi Gras, full of elaborate costumes, dancing on the street, and revelry.

But ask many Brazilians, and they’ll tell you they enjoy their June festivals even more. Originating from European pagans to celebrate the arrival of summer and call for a bountiful harvest (hence the fact that they fall during the Northern Hemisphere’s summer), these fests were later co-opted by the Catholic church under Festa Junina, or a set of holidays celebrating saints Anthony, John the Baptist, and Peter. Later, Portugal exported the holiday to colonial Brazil, which has since transformed the festivities into a multiweek celebration marked by eating canjica (a dessert made from corn that has the consistency of a thicker porridge) and pamonha (creamed corn cooked inside corn husks), decorating streets with colorful flags, and streaming forró and baião songs from speakers.

Traditionally, those street parties were part of broader Catholic celebrations that included Masses and processions accompanied by images of the saints. Devotees followed, and many used this time to pay off promises made to the saints, which included walking on their knees as a penance or making donations to the parish.

Despite its Christian heritage, like Carnival, many evangelicals have similarly scorned Festa Junina, deeming Roman Catholic devotion to saints as idolatry. While some say that the word Junina comes simply from the name of the month, Junho (June), others say it stems from Joanina and is a nod to Saint John the Baptist, consequently making it a form of hagiolatry (worship of saints). In fact, the most celebrated festival is named after him, on June 24.

Christians who do celebrate these festivals say the customs changed long ago and today reflect an appreciation of the sertanejo music, food, dancing, and way of life.

Although they are celebrated throughout the country, these festivals are most grandiose in the Northeast. A region prone to severe droughts, the festivities occur at the beginning of the rainy season and serve as a promise of prosperous days ahead.

CT invited five Brazilian evangelical pastors and leaders in Northeastern Brazil to weigh in on whether evangelicals should feel comfortable participating in the June festivities. Responses were edited for length and clarity and arranged from yes to no.

Marcos Fróes, pastor of Casa da Bênção, a Pentecostal church of Maranguape, Paulista, Pernambuco

These religious festivals in celebration of Catholic saints coincide with the harvest season. Thanking God for the harvest is not something new. The Jewish people already celebrated the Feast of Weeks or the harvest, Shavuot, between May and June. During this period, all of Israel would go to Jerusalem to celebrate and bring offerings. They would eat and remember God's promise of a land rich in milk and honey.

Celebrating the harvest as an act of God's kindness and mercy is not a sin when done with a grateful heart to the Lord. Just as we rejoice in December at Christmas for the coming of Jesus our Savior, in June we celebrate the provided sustenance, recalling our rural origins, regardless of whether the occasion also honors the June saints or the June festivities.

Ricardo Leite, youth pastor at the Primeira Igreja Batista of Juazeiro do Norte, Ceará

In past decades, the presence of evangelicals at Festa Junina was practically nonexistent. Those who did take part were generally viewed negatively by their fellow community members. However, in more recent years, their participation has become more common. Some churches are incorporating elements of these festivals into their own events (traditional foods and bonfires, for example), and many converts see no reason to stop participating in parties they used to go to.

When Paul wrote [his first letter] to the Corinthians, he dealt with a similar situation about engaging in a non-Christian culture. In chapter 10, he offered three important principles. First, he told the early church that the question of whether or not one should take part in the festivities wasn’t a question of lawfulness but of appropriateness (1 Cor 10:23). What message are we signaling? Second, Paul wanted to know whether participation would be edifying. Would God's people come out stronger and more like Christ? Third, would their participation glorify God (10:31)? That is, would the presence of Christians doing a given action exalt God above all else?

I would advise Christians that if their answer to any of the three questions is negative, their conscience is already strongly declaring that they shouldn’t take part in it.

Pedro Pamplona, pastor of Igreja Batista Filadélfia, Fortaleza, Ceará

My answer depends on what you mean by Festa Junina. There is a diversity of cultural manifestations of this festival today, and many of them no longer have any connection with religious elements. Where I live in the Northeast, our food, decorations, and music associated with this time of year have no clear religious connection.

Therefore, if the specific festival includes Catholic content (like Masses and processions), practices, or worldly and immoral aspects, I don't see the participation of evangelicals as advisable. We have important disagreements that need to be taken into account. But if the festivities are limited to food, flags, and clothing, I see no impediment for evangelicals. Some families, companies, and schools hold gatherings, and I don't consider them sinful.

Thiago Italo Rocha, assistant pastor at Igreja da Família, a reformed church in Santo Antônio de Jesus, Bahia

This long-awaited festival is, in short, a tribute to the Catholic saints. In this sense, it is undeniable that the entire festival originates from the Catholic tradition, but over time, it gained a certain air of syncretism. Given strong anti-Catholic sentiment in Pentecostal, neo-Pentecostal, and (independent) community churches, the answer seems to be a resounding no. But perhaps, in the light of the Bible, this answer is not so simple.

The apostle Paul, when dealing with various controversies in the church of the Corinthians, seems to appeal to conscience and love. Most of the time, Paul seems interested in preserving the conscience of Christian brothers and sisters and avoiding scandal in the church (1 Cor. 10.32). The apostle also seems to want to warn those who are strong in the faith not to make their freedom a stumbling block. In this context, Paul argues, it would be better to abstain in love so that your brother or sister in Christ, seeing your freedom, doesn't want to take it as a model and commit sin against his or her conscience.

I understand that the São João festival has become largely a commercial event, and in many places we don’t even see remnants of original Festas Juninas. Within this reality, where the music and atmosphere are extremely sexualized, my advice to Christians would be to avoid such places. However, when it comes to craft fairs and traditional food venues, those who are mature in their faith would have no problem participating. The only thing they should watch out for is that they do not exercise this freedom in such a way that “the weak” don’t sin.

Looking at such situations in the light of the gospel, the truth is that we have one God and everything needs to be done for his glory. “Whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God” (1 Cor. 10:31). As Christians, we need to avoid extremes—first, from imposing legalism and, second, from toxic freedom, pride, and inability to empathize with others’ hardships.

Sávio Vinícius, pastor at Primeira Igreja Batista of Valença, Bahia

If you consider the Festas Juninas something related to Saint John, the biblical command not to drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons is undeniable (1 Cor. 10:14–22).

As a leader, based on the principles found in 1 Corinthians 6:12–13 (you have the right to do anything, but not everything is beneficial) and 1 Corinthians 8:13 (you should avoid any behavior that may lead a brother or sister into sin), I don’t think it’s appropriate to get involved, even if it isn’t a Saint John celebration, as participating can confuse people.

However, I see no problem in celebrating traditional foods, clothes, and forró that glorify God at other times of the year or in other places. The main goal is to live for his glory in all things (Col. 3:23–24).

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Inflamed Passions, Itching Ears, and Other Pitfalls to Avoid While Watching Presidential Debates

Daniel Bennett

How Christians can navigate the Trump-Biden showdown with discernment and love for neighbor.

Jim Bourg-Pool / Getty Images

As the 2024 election approaches, so too does our inexorable march toward presidential debates. And while the year’s first debate today takes place far earlier in the calendar than normal, this is far from a normal election.

Joe Biden, already the oldest president in American history, is facing criticism and questions about his readiness to lead and mental acuity. Donald Trump, also advanced in age, continues to spread unfounded accusations of electoral malfeasance in 2020 and, depending on the outcome, in 2024.

God’s people are called to love their neighbors and “seek the welfare of the city” (Jer. 29:7). One way we do this is to be informed and engaged in the contemporary political process. This means researching candidates for office, considering the ways our voting affects not just ourselves and our families but also our neighbors and fellow citizens, and, yes, at times tuning in to debates between candidates.

At their best, political debates highlight differences between candidates and give voters a clear choice when they cast their votes. Debates provide platforms for candidates to share not just specific policy proposals but also a broader vision for their community, state, and nation. This is consistent with the political science idea of “responsible party government,” in which political parties articulate an agenda that voters can reasonably expect from them should they win an election. Debates, in theory, afford candidates the same opportunities.

Unfortunately, debates usually fail to reach these goals. Instead of providing people with rich and substantive information to aid their inevitable voting, debates tend to devolve into scripted soundbites, attempts at “gotcha” moments, and unhelpful back-and-forth exchanges aimed at tearing down opponents. Rather than offering a positive vision of governance, debates too often yield the worst of our political impulses and a limited, weakened understanding of what politics ought to be.

These dynamics, combined with a historically polarized electorate and the dynamics of yet another Biden-Trump showdown, could mean this year’s debates will be even less fruitful than normal. People who are most excited about debates tend to be the most politically attentive, meaning they have probably made up their minds going into a given debate. Not much could happen that could convince them to alter their evaluations of the candidates, particularly in an election like this one where the candidates have been in the public eye for decades. Political junkies see debates, warts and all, as vehicles for reinforcing the positives of their preferred candidate and the negatives of the opposition.

Others who are exhausted by the political day-to-day may be unlikely to tune in at all. Why would somebody turned off by the normal ebb and flow of politics and partisanship willingly spend a couple of hours experiencing the extremes of today’s political environment? Just as folks who relish every moment of these debates are unlikely to change their minds because of what is said, those who don’t watch for a second will not either.

So do debates matter? Perhaps. Research shows that a very small group of people—around 1 in 10, it seems—goes into an election season sincerely questioning how they will vote, including for president.

Given that big elections are often decided by small margins in key states, a swing of a few percent here or there could be the difference. Seen in this light, the moments we will remember from this year’s debates might affect how things shake out in November after all.

So what are we to do as we approach yet another season of political debates? Should we tune out entirely, rejecting the essence of these debates as sowing conflict and division in our relationships and communities? Should we begrudgingly pay attention, staying informed while maintaining a disengaged posture toward the process? Should we enthusiastically tune in, consuming all we can about the debates and lending our comments and evaluations to social media and our neighbors?

One can be a faithful Christian and tune out from what amounts to spectacle and political theater. At the same time, enjoying these spectacles is not indicative of a weak or immature faith. What matters is the posture and perspective we bring with us in this arena. Just as Paul clarified that eating meat offered to idols was a potential stumbling block for some yet not inherently sinful, so too could a political debate be a source of difficulty for some Christians but not others.

With this in mind, here are three suggestions for approaching the debates with a renewed mind (Rom. 12:2):

Know your tendencies and plan accordingly.

For those who tend to approach politics in a combative way, seeking to win above all else, practice watching these debates with an emphasis on humility and a willingness to learn from perceived opponents. For those who tend to approach politics cynically, considering the political world to be hopelessly corrupted, it might help to watch these debates with an eye toward how our fallen politics can be an avenue for loving our neighbors.

Prioritize positivity.

Some of us may have a preferred candidate going into these debates and believe that the other candidate is hopelessly lost in terms of his goals for government. But this does not require negativity or hostility toward the opposition. In watching these debates, try to identify something positive from the candidate you oppose—or, if you’re a “pox on both their houses” person, look for positive takeaways from both candidates. Neither Biden nor Trump is the personification of evil; each is a fallen person who is made in God’s image. We should treat them as such.

Practice discernment and seek truth.

Most citizens shouldn’t have to carry the burden of fact-checking the hundreds of claims coming out of these debates. But you can practice healthy skepticism in the spirit of biblical discernment when reading others’ treatments of the debates. Did Joe Biden really seem to be wearing an earpiece feeding him answers? Did Donald Trump really seem to be on stimulants or other drugs to boost his energy?

Activists will often spread falsehoods to build or fit narratives. Christians should take claims such as these—particularly those seemingly designed to inflame partisan passions and appeal to “itching ears” (2 Tim. 4:3)—with a grain of salt.

Ultimately, as we set out on what will likely be an arduous season of political contests and debates, we should prepare ourselves in the same way we ought to live in our fallen world: with the mind of Christ, embodying a spirit of discernment, graciousness, and love that can only come from him.

Daniel Bennett is an associate professor of political science at John Brown University and assistant director at the Center for Faith and Flourishing. He is the author of Uneasy Citizenship: Embracing the Tension in Faith and Politics.

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Church Life

Rites of Passage Can Help Boys Become Men

Mark Perkins

Jesus’ initiation in Jerusalem can guide American churches in raising Christian men.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Unsplash / Pexels

Twin crises afflict contemporary America: The Great Dechurching and The End of Men, as the titles of recent books label them. Put briefly: Many churches fail to lead young people into Christian maturity, while contemporary culture fails to bring boys into mature manhood.

We cannot solve either crisis without solving both, together. And we have resources for addressing these crises together—time-honored, transcultural resources attested in Scripture, manifested in the church, and affirmed by contemporary research into adolescent formation.

While “the great dechurching” is a crisis for girls as much as for boys, the overall challenges they face differ. As Richard Reeves shows, girls are outpacing boys in schools and, increasingly, in the workplace and in general health. American girls face challenges no less severe, but they are different.

In asking how all of us, especially our boys, can grow into Christian maturity, we should start by considering how our Lord left his boyhood behind in order to be about his Father’s business.

When Jesus was 12 years old, Luke’s gospel tells us, his family went to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Passover, as they did every year. “After the festival was over, while his parents were returning home, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem” (Luke 2:41–43).

This is the sixth time Luke describes Jesus as either “the baby” or “the child”—he never calls him just plain “Jesus” up to this point. But then, at the end of the story, we read, “And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man” (2:52, emphasis added).

Over the course of three days, Jesus leaves his boyhood behind. As Jason Craig points out in Leaving Boyhood Behind, Jesus does so through a rite of passage.

As Arnold van Gennep shows in his time-tested classic, rites of passage involve three stages. First, a boy is temporarily removed from the domestic family. Second, he is initiated into manhood through challenge, often with a funereal quality—the boy must die for the man to emerge. Finally, the emerging young man is assimilated into a group of peers and an adult vocation.

Jesus’s youthful temple visit bears the unmistakable marks of each stage.

After Jesus slips away from his parents, they travel a full day’s journey before they realize he is missing (evidently Mary and Joseph were not helicopter parents). They seek him “among their relatives and friends” before turning back to Jerusalem to look for him (vv. 44–45).

After three days, they finally find Jesus sitting in the temple courts “among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions” (v. 46). Luke doesn’t tell us what Jesus has been eating or where he’s been sleeping, but there he is.

“Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers,” Luke writes. His parents were also “astonished”—and exasperated! His mother addresses him with a classic mixture of parental relief and frustration: “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you” (vv. 47–48).

Jesus, for his part, seems surprised. “Why were you searching for me?” he asks. “Did you not know that I must be about My Father’s business?” (v. 49, NKJV). Although Jesus not so subtly reminds them of his divine paternity, this is not passive-aggressive preteen rebellion with a divine spin. He returns to Nazareth with them and “was obedient to them” (v. 51). He perfectly obeys, and he also slips away to be about his Father’s business in the temple.

And it is in being about his heavenly Father’s business that Jesus ceases to be a boy.

More specifically, he is initiated into his Father’s business through a rite of passage: He is removed from his domestic sphere, initiated into manhood through challenge and a kind of death, and then assimilated into an adult vocation and community.

The removal is obvious—this is the first time Jesus is separated from his parents in Luke’s gospel. The second stage, initiation into manhood through challenge, shows up in at least three ways.

First, Jesus spends three days in the big city fending for himself as a 12-year-old boy. Second, Mary and Joseph find Jesus participating in rabbinic discourse in the temple, essentially a form of intellectual combat. Imagine a 12-year-old wandering into a heated dispute in a seminary’s faculty lounge and jumping into the fray.

Most significantly, Luke frames the story as a foreshadowing of Christ’s death and resurrection. Throughout his gospel, Luke associates being lost with death and being found with life—Christ came “to seek and to save the lost” (19:10); the prodigal son “was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (15:32). It is no coincidence that Jesus goes missing for three days in Jerusalem before being found alive. The boy has died. The young man is emerging.

Finally, Jesus is assimilated into a set of peers and an adult vocation. This brief story already points toward the major themes of his ministry. He is found amid the teachers of Scripture—he will be the authoritative teacher of Scripture. He is in the temple—he will eventually return both to cleanse it and to predict its destruction because his flesh is the true temple, the dwelling place of God with man.

“I must be about My Father’s business.” The word translated as must here—“it is necessary”—is one of Luke’s favorites, usually communicating messianic necessity: “Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” (24:26, ESV). Being about his Father’s business leads Jesus slowly, surely, inevitably back to Jerusalem, where he will once again go missing in Jerusalem for three days before being found alive.

Removal. Initiation. Assimilation.

Practically every culture has ushered adolescent boys into emerging manhood through rites of passage. Not only Christ, but a host of Old Testament figures. Consider the stories of Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Samuel, and David—all feature removal, initiation through challenge, and assimilation. In fact, coming-of-age stories, both ancient and modern, often feature the same threefold pattern.

That’s because adolescence itself is a time of passage. Puberty removes a boy from his childhood, and he only exits adolescence when he has achieved some degree of settled adulthood. Rites of passage reflect these underlying realities, and they powerfully answer to the needs of adolescent formation.

The Roman Catholic theologian and educator Luigi Giussani says that, until adolescence, parents are handing on a tradition to their children—“an explanatory hypothesis of reality,” the meaning of life, and the shape of human flourishing. If mom and dad tell their five-year-old child one thing and the whole world says something else, mom and dad tend to win out.

This is not the case with a 15-year-old, as most parents know. That’s because, as Giussani puts it, adolescents are testing this tradition. Parenting adolescents is stressful because adolescents are quite literally “stress testing” the parental hypothesis. They’re asking, “Is it true? Does it work?” Parental answers no longer suffice, because it is precisely those answers that are being tested.

During adolescence, parental words matter less than parental examples. Do parents live up to their words? And parental words begin to matter less than those of peers and nonparental adult mentors, who, along with the broader culture, constitute the testing ground that will either confirm or deny the parental hypothesis. The upshot is that parents (and churches and schools) have a deepening responsibility to curate their adolescents’ context—by deciding on churches, youth groups, schools, extracurriculars, and so forth.

But there is a Catch-22. Just when it is more important than ever to curate context, it is likewise critical to give adolescents more independence, responsibility, and freedom than ever before, and for the same reason—an adolescent is moving out of the home and into the world. Parents must let their children test the hypothesis in order to leave childhood behind.

Giussani says failing to test the hypothesis in adolescence results in one of two outcomes: either an uncritical fundamentalism or an uncritical cynicism. Having failed to test the tradition’s worth, one either clings to it blindly, immaturely, fearfully—or one blindly, immaturely, and angrily rejects the tradition, refusing to consider its claims at all.

Successfully testing the tradition requires maximal curation of context and maximal independence—at one and the same time. American society gives teenagers neither. We are perhaps the first culture in world history in which a 17-year-old boy’s daily routine and responsibilities are more like that of his 11-year-old little brother than his 20-year-old brother who is off at college or working and living independently. The exception—the one way in which we practice “free-range parenting”—is in giving our youth free reign to digitally explore our incoherent if not malignant culture.

To riff on a common line in educational circles, our culture is perfectly designed to achieve the results we are getting. Our challenge, collectively, is to restore the conditions necessary for healthy adolescent formation.

The answer for boys rests in part on recovering traditional rites of passage. When we consciously remove a boy from the domestic sphere, purposefully separating him from his childhood; when we initiate him into manhood through challenge; when we assimilate him into an adult vocation and community—we are honoring the givenness of his adolescent development.

This is possible but not easy. Honoring rites of passage means giving emerging young men adult responsibilities and adult consequences. Responsibility requires risk.

It also requires a mature adult community. Like any liturgy, rites of passage are effective only insofar as they reflect reality and are authorized by a community. This is perhaps the greatest challenge, because no family can do it alone. Boys and girls alike need real Christian community and real Christian culture.

Every family, every church, and every school must consider how to incorporate these principles. At the boarding school I am helping to launch, we invite high school boys to live alongside faculty families under a temporary rule of digital poverty. Our curriculum pairs an education in the classics with small-scale agriculture and skilled trades—an embodied formation with real work and the responsibility that comes from growing your own food and building your own buildings.

We chose our rural 176-acre campus to give boys freedom to explore God’s good creation and as a fitting setting for the challenges of strength and endurance that come from hiking the Blue Ridge Mountains, playing rugby, and splitting the wood that will warm them through the winter. We plan to build a beautiful chapel at the heart of campus to order our lives—literally and symbolically—around the life of the church.

Ultimately, rites of passage foreshadow, anticipate, and echo the true rite of passage: baptism. The baptismal liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer specifies that, just before baptizing, “the Minister shall take the Child into his arms.” The child is thus removed from the literal arms of the domestic family before being initiated into God’s family by being “buried with Christ” in baptism and raised to walk in “newness of life.” After baptism, the minister declares, “We receive this Child into the congregation of Christ’s flock.”

The gathered community, standing and facing the baptismal font, is exhorted to pray “that this Child may lead the rest of his life according to this beginning,” which means living out in daily life the reality of initiation into the family of God—taking up one’s cross daily, crucifying the flesh and its affections, and living in holiness through ever-deepening conversions into Christ.

We can only invite our children into such a life if we ourselves exhibit the life of Christ individually and communally. We must be about our Father’s business. We must increase in wisdom and in favor with God and man. As we grow into full maturity as Christian men and women—“unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ” (Eph. 4:13, KJV)—we must do so together in community.

Mark Perkins is chaplain and assistant headmaster of St. Dunstan’s Academy in Roseland, Virginia.

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News

CRC Tells LGBTQ-Affirming Congregations to Retract and Repent

Kate Shellnutt

Congregations that don’t comply with its traditional stance have a year to enter a process of discipline and restoration.

Synod president Derek Buikema and vice president Stephen Terpstra during the annual meeting of the Christian Reformed Church in North America

Steven Herppich for The Banner / CRC

Two years ago, the Christian Reformed Church in North America (CRC) clarified its stance against homosexuality. Last week, the denomination clarified its expectations for churches whose LGBTQ-affirming teachings contradict that stance.

At its 2024 Synod, the CRC instructed affirming congregations to repent, retract any divergent public statements, and comply with the denomination’s beliefs on sexuality going forward. Pastors, elders, and deacons at affected churches have been placed on a limited suspension.

The move was recommended by an advisory committee and approved by synod delegates in a 134–50 vote last Thursday.

Many saw the discipline as an opportunity to restore affirming churches back into compliance with CRC teachings and confessions, which hold that all same-sex sexual activity is sinful.

Yet at least 28 churches—including some of the denomination’s most historic—may opt to leave instead. They have a year to submit to discipline or disaffiliate.

“There was no desire for anybody to be removed from office or disaffiliated from the denomination,” said Stephen Terpstra, senior pastor of Borculo CRC in Zeeland, Michigan, and vice president for this year’s synod. “The desire, always, is discipleship, that we would be reunified, that we would see repentance.”

The Christian Reformed Church includes 230,000 members at more than 1,000 churches in the US and Canada. The denomination has roots in Dutch Calvinism, and its synod takes place at affiliated Calvin University in Grand Rapids, Michigan, which welcomes LGBTQ students but officially upholds CRC teachings on sexuality in its policies.

After experiencing tensions within their own body and watching divides strike fellow denominations, leaders deliberately tried to avoid acrimonious debate.

Synod president Derek Buikema, lead pastor at Orland Park CRC in Illinois, concluded the six-day gathering with a “humble plea that we might be gentle with each other” in a sermon on the strength of gentleness.

The theme also came up in the remarks of leaders who find themselves out of line with the CRC on this issue. Buikema’s voice cracked when he introduced Trish Borgdorff, a member of Eastern Avenue CRC in Grand Rapids, to “speak for those who feel like they must go.”

“I don’t come to you with a spirit of ‘us versus them’ but more to highlight the reality that here we are together, serving the same God, loving God’s people, in our desire to further his kingdom,” said Borgdorff, whose congregation became LGBTQ affirming in 2022 and plans to leave the denomination. “And somehow we see it all very differently.”

Borgdorff, like many leaders on both sides of this issue, has deep roots in the CRC: Her church dates back nearly 150 years, and her father, a Netherlands-born Calvin grad and CRC pastor, was once executive director of the denomination. Yet faced with the decision of the synod, Borgdorff said her church could not “repent from a call of God,” which “puts us in a very difficult situation.”

The CRC does have a process for those who believe something in its confessions contradicts Scripture. CRC leaders sign three Reformed confessions—the Belgic Confession, the Heidelberg Catechism, and the Canons of Dort—and in 2022, the denomination clarified in a footnote that the Heidelberg Catechism’s teaching that “God condemns all unchastity” includes homosexual sex, as well as adultery, premarital sex, extramarital sex, polyamory, and pornography.

At least 18 churches publicized their disagreement by declaring themselves “in protest” of that teaching. They argued the CRC should allow differences in biblical interpretation of unchastity.

Last week, however, the synod decided that churches who adopted the “in protest” status would also fall under the discipline process and be required to comply with the confessions.

“It’s okay to send a protest. The issue is when you say our whole church, our whole council, is going to take exception to the confessions,” said Cedric Parsels, reporting from the synod for the Abide Project, a group that upholds the CRC’s historic view on sexuality. “‘We are going to put an asterisk next to our name of CRC. We can only be CRC basically on our terms .’ That’s a significantly different approach.”

Parsels worries that allowing churches to remain in protest would damage the CRC’s unity around the confessions. But he still sees quite a bit of theological and confessional agreement within the CRC.

“We’ve had three synods in a row where a supermajority has charted a particular course. We are a confessionally Reformed denomination, and we want to embrace that, we want to pursue that,” he said.

Paul VanderKlay, a CRC pastor in California with a sizable YouTube following, similarly recognized the difficulty over the issue as well as the denomination’s direction forward.

“As is true for many Protestants denominations,” he told thousands of viewers, “questions about same-sex marriage and these kinds of things have hit the Christian Reformed Church hard. Unlike many denominations, at this point the Christian Reformed Church seems to be maintaining a traditional track.”

The discipline process is directed at “churches who have made public statements, by their actions or in any form of media, which directly contradict the synod’s decision on unchastity.” While openly affirming churches are a small part of the denomination overall, their disaffiliation could mean the loss of $1 million in giving to the CRC, according to one estimate.

Churches that have violated the CRC’s LGBTQ stance but want to go through the process to stay must “publicly declare repentance to the classis and retract all public statements and instructional materials that contradict CRC teachings on chastity” and “commit to abstain from ordaining individuals in same-sex marriages or relationships inconsistent with traditional Christian sexual ethics.”

Their leaders are prohibited from advocating against the CRC’s teachings regarding same-sex relations, even in a personal capacity.

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Theology

Scarcity’s Strange Gifts

Myles Werntz

Church attendance is down. Giving is iffy. Ministers are tired. But God is with us in lean times too.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty / Unsplash

There are many reasons to expect that the Western church, at least, is heading into a long season of scarcity. Much of the European church is already there, and here in the States, we aren’t so far behind: Attendance is down, though there is reason to suspect this trend line may have plateaued. Giving to church ministries was up in recent years, but the group giving the most is aging quickly, and it’s not yet clear that younger cohorts will fill the gap. Ministers, reporting more anxiety and less support, find themselves with fewer relationships and resources to support their work.

This abundance of scarcity will have a long-term impact on the character, health, and ministry of many congregations. Its effects are already familiar to smaller and more rural churches, but this is increasingly a reality shared by large and urban congregations too.

That may seem like a grim vision, but scarcity of time, energy, and resources can be a mixed blessing. For, while long periods of abundance are to be appreciated, they can be deceiving: We anticipate that the good times will not end, and when they inevitably do, it shakes our very foundations. Churchgoing rates in America, for example, have been discussed for years now as a sign of crisis. But these numbers are arguably nothing special in global and historical contexts. The downturn feels like a catastrophe only in light of 80 years of historically high membership.

So, what if we organized our church lives around an expectation of scarcity instead of an assumption of plenty? Behavioral science researchers Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir have examined how scarcity affects the way we make decisions. Summarized in their 2013 book Scarcity: Why Having Too Little Means So Much, their research provides helpful insights for congregations.

Mullainathan and Shafir discovered that study participants who were asked to deal with scarcity (like a shortage of time) could better prioritize their most important tasks. Scarcity produced not only negative results (like increased anxiety) but also positive ones (like increased focus and attention).

We’ve all experienced something like this. If you’re working on a tight deadline, you can tune out phone calls, socializing, and even meals to give increased attention to the problem at hand. You might reach what researchers call a “flow state,” in which your mind and work simply click along, with hours feeling like minutes. For most of us, this isn’t a normal working condition. It’s the result of scarcity.

Mullainathan and Shafir also found that people who’d gone through particular kinds of scarcity in the past were more likely to be attentive to those going through similar situations in the present. Those who had lost loved ones could read it in the faces of others in grief; those who had experienced economic downturns were more attuned to others in economic crisis. Traveling the valley of the shadow of death left participants more likely to know not only what others were going through but also how to help them navigate that valley themselves.

No one wants to suffer scarcity, but this research suggests that scarcity brings benefits that can’t be acquired any other way. You don’t need scarcity to be efficient and empathetic, of course. But the prioritization scarcity forces and the practical attention and specific care it teaches are unique.

For readers of Scripture, such a finding shouldn’t be surprising. It’s reminiscent of how Moses, having spent years in the wilderness, could help lead the children of Abraham through the desert. It explains God’s chastisement of Jonah who, after being rescued from death, was unhappy that Nineveh was spared God’s judgment. It gives depth to Paul’s letter to Philemon, in which the apostle sympathizes with the plight of Onesimus after having lost his own freedom.

Or consider the Beatitudes. Those who are poor—suffering material scarcity—are given the gifts that only God can give, able to welcome a new way of life in the midst of precarity (Luke 6:20). Those who have had their hearts purified are able to see God (Matt. 5:8), and those who suffer loss and persecution can receive God’s kingdom (Matt. 5:10–12). But herein lies the difficulty: To cultivate that kind of attentiveness, that kind of wisdom, you have to go through that kind of scarcity first.

This invites us to look at our situation again—at the scarcity vexing churches in the United States.

A few congregations may be able to avoid this scarcity altogether, to raise funds and endowments to the point that no financial downturn will affect them. For most churches (and Christian nonprofits and faith-based universities), however, this won’t be an option. Yet given the blessings of scarcity, perhaps that’s for the best. Perhaps the right response is not to build bigger barns but to learn to be reliant on and rich toward God (Luke 12:16–34).

Other churches may simply ignore the connection between unearned suffering, God’s provision, and virtue, emphasizing instead that God’s presence can mean an abundance of resources. This is the bread and butter of the prosperity gospel, and it places the fault of having few resources squarely on the shoulders of those without. But Jesus did not draw such a tight connection between faithfulness and abundance; on the contrary, he taught that God “causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous” (Matt. 5:45).

Still other churches may respond to scarcity by closing down. In some cases, this path is the only option; for others, chronically having too little exhausts goodwill. Calls to resilience become a burden of shame, and when the doors finally close, it feels like relief.

Scripture does not shame those who grow tired (Matt. 11:28–30), nor are Christians called to seek out scarcity and other suffering or endure abuse. But before we choose one of these responses—and especially before the prospect of disbanding a congregation begins to appeal—let us remember that though scarcity will come for us in one form or another, it may not only bring hardship. It can also bring unexpected gifts—gifts that can come to us in few other ways.

The full barns will not last. In many cases, they are already emptying. And in all of this, God will be present. This is a story that Scripture tells repeatedly. It is the story of manna appearing in the desert (Ex. 16), water pouring from rocks (Ex. 17), provisions being supplied by ravens and widows’ jars (1 Kings 17:2–16), poor Christians providing for each other’s needs (Acts 2:44–46). Consider that lean times can offer something greater for congregations than sheer survival.

To the first possibility—of simply outlasting lean times—Scripture counsels us to embrace risky generosity, to give to those who ask, and to remember that God is the one through whom provision comes (Luke 12:32–34). Generosity amid scarcity teaches us be grateful, to give despite difficulty, and to trust in God’s provision in all circumstances. To pull back from generosity is to miss an opportunity to grow in gratitude and learn that abundance is not our right.

To the second possibility—of ignoring scarcity entirely—Scripture counsels us against assuming that lean times signal God’s absence and calls us instead to be faithful with what has been given (Matt. 25:14–30). Learning to mourn what we have lost without despairing for the future is critical to being a people of hope (Jer. 29:11). Likewise, learning to make do with what we have received fosters in us virtues of creativity, thrift, and prudence, knowing what we can do without.

To the third possibility—of simply stopping—Scripture gives a word of comfort: We are not alone in times of scarce resources (Ps. 40:16–17), and the way forward may be to join hands and institutions with believers around us. As Paul instructs the Corinthian church (2 Cor. 9:1–5), the task for a church in scarce circumstances is to remember that we are bound together by Christ. That may mean merging congregations or, following the church in Acts 2, selling our buildings to better share our resources, efforts, and space for the sake of the gospel.

Scarcity of resources is a relatively new situation to the American church, which for decades has enjoyed high attendance, abundant giving, and the luxury of ample volunteer hours. Yet scarcity too has its gifts to offer—strange, hard invitations to an unforeseen future, but ones that could be abundant in virtue and love.

Myles Werntz is the author of From Isolation to Community: A Renewed Vision of Christian Life Together. He writes at Christian Ethics in the Wild and teaches at Abilene Christian University.

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Church Life

Mexican Female Leaders Are Breaking Through Politically. Are Evangelical Women Too?

Compiled by Franco Iacomini

Four leaders weigh in on whether a woman president will change gender dynamics in the church.

Claudia Sheinbaum supporters during a presidential campaign event

Bloomberg / Getty

Earlier this month, Mexico elected its first female president when Claudia Sheinbaum won 59.7 percent of the vote. The former mayor of Mexico City, Sheinbaum also previously served as an engineer and a university professor.

In recent years, Mexico has been hailed internationally as a model for female political leadership. In the 1990s, the government introduced policies promoting female participation as political candidates. Currently, 13 of Mexico’s 32 states are governed by women; Ana Lilia Rivera serves as president of the senate, and Guadalupe Taddei Zavala leads the National Electoral Institute, which organizes the country’s elections.

As women have advanced politically in Mexico, have women gained similar ground within the church? CT asked four Mexican evangelical women to weigh in (responses have been edited for length and clarity):

Alejandra Ortiz, co-coordinator of the Logos and Cosmos Initiative in Latin America in the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students (IFES):

The Mexican church is highly diverse in its political stances. Pastors and religious leaders often campaign for evangelical candidates who promote pro-family values, while others encourage voting from a neoconservative perspective. In this election, no evangelical leaders or institutions formally supported any candidate.

In political campaigns, candidates often view women as objects or puppets, something easy to manipulate. In a sense, this perception extends to the church as well. Women serve God actively but rarely occupy leadership positions in churches, as the new neoconservative wave seeks to further limit the spaces of influence for women. Those who are aligned with this vision use biblical passages like Genesis 3 and passages of Paul’s letters to Timothy and the Corinthians to make arguments that confine a woman’s influence to their families and women’s ministry.

The social changes that led to a broader female leadership in society are not equally valued in church in the same intensity. There is no intention or plan to open more leadership spaces for women, or even reflection on practices that could extend women’s influence in leadership roles.

Sally Isáis, director of mission agency Misión Latinoamericana de México (Milamex):

Traditionally, the influence of women in Mexican society has been strong, but it often takes place behind the scenes. In recent years, women have increasingly served in public roles, especially as the government has passed stricter laws against sexual harassment and established quotas requiring a certain percentage of women in particular government positions.

Within the church, historically, Pentecostal denominations have had women leaders. For example, Graciela Esparza was national director of the Iglesia Mexicana del Evangelio de Cristo and Febe Flores led the Movimiento Iglesia Evangélica Pentecostés Independiente, although they have since passed, and both denominations are currently led by men.

In general, evangelicals remain divided on the issue of women’s ordination. Methodists, Lutherans, and Episcopalians ordain women as pastors, and neo-Pentecostals and charismatics have many strong female pastors. Many lead congregations, sometimes alongside their spouses and sometimes independently.

In contrast, some conservative churches hold theological positions that prevent women from preaching and holding official positions. Although they recognize women’s gifts and abilities in certain areas (leading other women and children, for example), they do not allow them to access higher positions.

At the same time, in most churches, the majority of congregants are women, many of whom lead numerous ministries and teach the Bible. This is independent of the denomination’s theological stance.

Some assert that a woman’s leadership role does not depend on the presence or absence of a man. Others say that willing, committed, and integral men are conspicuously absent. Therefore, women have had to step up. I believe that women’s formal leadership roles within the church can grow. In fact, it is a reality that without the leadership and work of women, the churches would be in trouble, since much of the work is on their shoulders.

Sandra Márquez Olvera, founder of the Con-Ciencia y Teología blog:

Claudia Sheinbaum’s victory in the Mexico presidential elections shows more dialogue is necessary around gender and women’s leadership. Both topics continue to be the center of discussion in many churches.

In the majority of denominations or confessions, women are not allowed to become pastors, but in some cases they are not even allowed to teach or participate in the discipleship of the community. In the last two or three decades, we have had important changes in Methodists, Lutherans, Baptists and some Pentecostal communities, which have allowed more space for women to exercise their gifts. But there is still no consensus about how women can continue to make their way in the church in the face of a society that challenges this passivity with its first elected female president.

There are numerous biblical stories of women that God used with their leadership, strength, courage and transcendence. Stories that we continue to study though seldom casting our eyes on the role of women. We need to talk more about this and discern what women are called to in this church and in this country.

I do not know how Sheinbaum will turn out in the face of forces that do not want change inside and outside the church, but we know that this is an important step. And I know that God will accompany the nation with all that lies ahead.

Yani de Gutiérrez, copastor at Iglesia Bautista Horeb in Mexico City:

I am witnessing the first woman in Mexico elected as president of the nation and that a majority of the population expressed that they accept the leadership of a woman. Faced with this watershed moment, as a Mexican Christian, I am reflecting and wondering if that same approval of female leadership is present within the church.

Undoubtedly, the inherent design of each sex includes exclusive roles within God’s plan, such as pregnancy and childbirth, which are clearly the domain of women. However, in God’s vision, women were created for much more.

In God’s plan, the responsibility to rule and subdue creation is not determined by sex or roles but is a task assigned to both. Over a century ago, many societies began to shift in favor of women’s rights. Today, women undertake responsibilities that were once unthinkable, such as the presidency of a nation.

We acknowledge that, like all human endeavors, new distortions of God’s design have emerged with feminist movements, such as positions of hatred toward men, debauchery, and disdain for motherhood and marriage, often at high costs. Extreme feminism has fallen into traps equally contrary to God’s plan.

Nonetheless, we cannot deny that it is right for women to have the opportunity to exercise the abilities God has granted them. As a Christian and pastor of a local church, I believe that the election of a woman as president is part of God’s plan.

This awakening is also evident in Christian churches. Yet, instead of embodying God’s plan—recognizing that some women are specifically designed, endowed, and chosen by God to lead within the church—the church often exhibits resistance and dogmatism, misinterpreting God’s original design and limiting women’s ministry. While the world rapidly embraces extreme feminist changes, the church lags in recognizing God’s original plan.

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Culture

‘Inside Out 2’ Puts Anxiety in Its Place

J. Michael Jordan

The summer’s hit sequel offers wisdom for young Christians worrying about the future.

©Disney

I don’t, you know, feel God’s presence like I used to. What’s wrong with me?”

“I’m not sure if I really even believe in Jesus. Can I?”

“My Christian high school never taught me about racism in America. What do I do with what I’m learning? How can I ever go back to that kind of Christianity again? Should I?”

I am privileged to sit with Christian young people as they ask questions like these—questions about identity and development, change and growth. Who am I becoming? they want to know. And how is that related to who I’ve been until now?

That interrogation is at the heart of Inside Out 2, the smash-hit sequel of the summer. Pixar fans first met 11-year-old Riley in Inside Out (2015), when Joy, Fear, Sadness, Anger, and Disgust worked together to help her navigate a new middle school.

Now, Riley is about to start high school, trying to find her way onto the hockey team and through the complexities of puberty. Her adolescence introduces the five original emotions to new and disruptive company: Embarrassment, Envy, Ennui, and—most notably—Anxiety.

Anxiety plays a complicated role in our lives—paralyzing on the one hand and prudential on the other. Oriented toward the future, it helps us identify negative outcomes and work to make them less likely. Anxiety keeps us off ledges; anxiety prevents us from taking selfies with bears.

With Anxiety at the helm, we see Riley somewhat successfully navigate through the perils of adolescent life. She makes new, older friends by guessing at the kinds of things high school girls talk about, even risking a conversation with the hockey captain, Val, to make up for a rocky start with some other teammates.

But Inside Out 2 also makes it clear that anxiety—even “successful” anxiety—comes at a cost. Riley ruminates frantically about what others might think of her, how things could go wrong athletically and socially. She develops an “intolerance of uncertainty”; she sees danger where it doesn’t exist, tormented because she can’t fully know what her teammates and coaches think of her. In one particularly anxious sequence, she imagines she’ll be so bad that she’s laughed off the team; a minute later, she worries she’ll actually be too good and her teammates will be jealous. Desperate for some objective knowledge of where she stands, she betrays her values by sneaking a peek at the coach’s private notebook.

As Anxiety works ever more frantically to navigate Riley through stressful situations, the other emotions realize something crucial: Anxiety, too, is just trying her best. They stop their winner-take-all battle and instead help Anxiety find her place in Riley’s complex emotional life. Anxiety’s positive contributions can belong without allowing compulsive desperation to take over.

Many anxious young evangelicals, including some of the students I work with, struggle to integrate their anxiety this successfully. Most of them understand that it isn’t a sin to experience anxiety; they know therapy, biblical counseling, and medication can all be beneficial when their worries get out of hand. But what exactly is the connection between our anxiety and our Christian faith? If we are encouraged to “not be anxious about anything” (Phil. 4:6), how can our anxiety be anything but problematic?

That “do not be anxious” verse is familiar. Less familiar is Paul’s use of the same Greek word (merimna) in 2 Corinthians 11:28, writing about his “daily pressure because of my anxiety for all the churches” (NRSV). Paul lumps this anxiety in with many other difficulties—imprisonment, shipwreck, hunger, thirst, danger—that he faced in his apostolic role, all braved out of a compassion for the churches he planted and a yearning to see them flourish.

Merimna is also sometimes translated as care. Paul uses it in 1 Corinthians 12:25 to talk about the sort of “care” or “concern” that church members ought to have for one another within the body of Christ. When we care about others’ well-being, we remember just how fragile and precious they are; sometimes, naturally, we feel anxious for them.

I don’t want the Christian young adults I work with to be calm to the point of complacency. I want them to care about serving Jesus: I want them to ask hard questions about what they are becoming and what they believe. I want them to appreciate the gravity of the responsibility that comes with being created in the image of God and charged with stewarding the world. I want them to know that their actions can make their neighbors’ lives better, or worse.

But I also want them to experience this “anxiety” about vocation and mission and living for the Lord in the context of the gospel’s certainty. I want them to rest in God’s love for all people and for each of them. I want them to be anxious about nothing in Paul’s positive sense, knowing they ultimately can entrust their striving to the one who cares the most of all, casting their concerns upon him through a life of humble prayer (1 Pet. 5:6–7).

In Inside Out 2, we see not just the symptoms of Riley’s anxiety—the sleepless nights, the racing heart—but the healthy longings that her anxiety conceals and distorts. Riley wants to be grown up. She wants to be loved and respected. She wants to contribute, to be part of a team, and to be good and recognized as good.

Just so with my students, whose anxiety often reveals so much about the people they are. Anxiety about grades reveals a desire to learn and grow. Anxiety about parents’ acceptance reveals an appreciation for how their families have blessed them. Anxiety about our online culture is a recognition of the power and potential of social media. Underneath our anxious fear that everything will fall apart is a yearning for all things new.

In Curtis Chang’s The Anxiety Opportunity, he observes that Jesus regularly encountered anxious people in the Gospels: He listened to widows and touched lepers, meeting people where they were instead of encouraging them to sidestep their feelings or calm down. Jesus loved these anxious selves, understanding that their agitation, appropriate or otherwise, was normal to feel in the very situations that drove people to find him.

When we see our anxious selves with the grace with which Jesus sees us, anxiety takes its rightful, subservient place in our Christian lives. Then we can begin to work for the world Jesus loves so much.

J. Michael Jordan is Associate Professor of Theology at Houghton University, where he served as Dean of the Chapel from 2013-2024. He is the author of Worship in an Age of Anxiety: How Churches Can Create Space for Healing.

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Theology

Why Israel’s Most Pious Jews Refuse Military Service

Jayson Casper

Messianic Jewish leader explains how Christians can best engage the ultra-Orthodox Haredim, who tremble at God’s word as they avoid the war in Gaza.

Orthodox Jews clash with police officers during a demonstration in Jerusalem against drafting to the IDF.

Amir Levy / Stringer / Getty / Edits by CT

Amid the war in Gaza, Israel’s most religious Jews threatened to emigrate.

The statement issued by the chief rabbi of the Sephardic community in March had nothing to do with fear of Hamas rockets or the continuing fight against them. Neither was it related to protests over the remaining hostages or calls for ceasefire.

The concern instead was the forced conscription of Haredi Jews, popularly known as the ultra-Orthodox, into the military.

On Tuesday, the Supreme Court of Israel ruled unanimously against them. Though a plan must still be formulated, about 66,000 ultra-Orthodox of draft age are now eligible for enlistment.

Israel requires three years of service for most men and two years for most women. But in 1947, then-prime minister David Ben Gurion exempted 400 yeshiva students who wished to dedicate themselves to prayer and Torah study.

Marked by traditional black-and-white garb with a hat, long beard, and side curls, they call themselves Haredim—derived from Isaiah 66:2, which says God favors those who “tremble” at his Word. The success of Israel, they believe, is tied to Leviticus 26:3, where national flourishing is dependent on their “careful” observance of the law, interpreted as strenuous engagement with the Scriptures.

Today, however, the Haredi community is the fastest-growing in Israeli society and constitutes 13 percent of the population, estimated to increase to one quarter by 2050. Yet while 540 military-eligible Haredi men voluntarily enrolled to fight since October 7, tens of thousands have continued to avoid the draft under Ben Gurion’s exemption.

In 1998, the Israeli Supreme Court ruled a law was necessary to codify this policy, and it was passed in 2002. Israel also established a yeshiva that included military service as well as a special battalion for Haredim males. While thousands have joined, the vast majority rejects the secularizing influence of the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) as a threat to the uniqueness of their separate religious community.

Most Haredi do not celebrate Independence Day, observed from sundown to sundown May 13–14 this year. While they are not anti-Zionist, they believe that only the coming messiah can reconstitute the nation of Israel in the land. In the meantime, they support the current human endeavor through their prayers.

But in 2017, the Supreme Court ruled the 2002 law was discriminatory and ordered the government to address it. Given strong Haredi influence on politics, the issue was left unresolved until March 28, when judges barred the state from continuing payment of stipends to yeshiva students eligible for the draft. Authorities have stated they will not engage in a mass conscription, but an estimated 55,000 Haredi in over 1,200 yeshivas will lose their funding.

The controversy has sparked protests and counterprotests pitting religious and secular Jews against each other. CT asked Samuel Smadja, the leader of a Messianic Jewish synagogue in Jerusalem, to provide a biblical perspective.

His father, who came to faith among the small Jewish minority in Tunisia, was one of the first messianic believers in Israel, immigrating in 1956. Today Smadja is the regional director for Trinity Broadcasting Network. He founded Sar-El Tours to connect Christians with their Holy Land heritage. He also has Haredi relatives within his family.

Smadja discussed how yeshivas fit within current Israeli politics, whether Haredi prayers are effective, and the best methods to speak about Jesus with an isolated community that equates proselytizing with the agenda of Adolf Hitler.

How do Messianic Jews view the IDF?

The children of Messianic Jews are fully enlisted and striving to be the best soldiers they can be. This is not only to demonstrate our social legitimacy, but to be a light for the gospel and to put forth our testimony.

We want our children to be promoted to the highest posts, as an example.

How do Messianic Jews view the Haredim?

It is better to discuss Orthodox Judaism, as the Haredim are a subset and there is diversity within both. Some join the army, some don’t, and it is hard to generalize since so much depends on which rabbi they follow.

But in general, like Paul said, they fear God but not from knowledge. The Orthodox Jews try to keep the commandments and do their best to climb the ladder of righteousness to get closer to God. And they are willing to pay the price for their convictions, especially during these times of war.

I believe we should respect them.

Yet we disagree with them, even though we have much in common on moral issues such as abortion and the traditional understanding of Judeo-Christian ethics. With many secular Jews, you have to prove God’s existence. But the Orthodox accept the truth of the Bible, and if they are willing to talk, it demands of us a deep knowledge of Scripture.

They know the Old Testament very well, especially the first five books of Moses.

Are they willing to talk?

Much more than they used to be. I grew up in Israel, and 25 years ago the name Yeshua (Jesus) was a terrible word. Messianic Jews were not recognizable because we were so few. Now people know we exist, and that we believe Yeshua is the Messiah.

It makes for an interesting discussion. The debate centers on how to prove the concept of a suffering messiah, and not just from Isaiah 53, for which they have a different interpretation. And then we address God’s complex unity—the Trinity—and the language of John that “in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God” (1:1). This concept is mentioned frequently in rabbinic literature, and we discuss if John aligns with it.

Was God’s messiah meant to be divine, or an elevated rabbi? What the average Christian takes for granted we must prove to the Orthodox—just as Jesus did on the road to Emmaus when he opened the Law and the Prophets.

Why is Isaiah 53 insufficient?

Jews say this chapter speaks about Israel, and that Jews are the referenced people who suffer. There are four pictures of the “servant of the Lord” in Isaiah’s prophecies. One refers to a prophet, one to the people of Israel, one to a messiah, and one to Cyrus, the ruler of Babylon. Jews ask us why we then center these in Yeshua, when the text says “he will see his offspring and prolong his days” (v. 10).

But while the average Jew does not know this, rabbinic literature speaks of two messiahs—the son of David and the son of Joseph. And Joseph, sent by his brothers to slavery in Egypt, is a picture of suffering.

Genesis has this beautiful scene where Joseph presents himself to his brothers and they do not recognize him until he reveals himself. We have to show them that both these messiahs are the same person. But maybe, after 2,000 years of Christian tradition, the Jesus we speak of looks too much like an “Egyptian.”

And how does John align with rabbinic literature?

Remember when Jacob had his encounter with God and the vision of a ladder ascending into heaven? Leaving his homeland, Isaac’s son was troubled in spirit, so he anointed a pillar and said, “If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey … then the Lord will be my God”(Gen. 28:20–21).

In the Aramaic translations of Torah—Targum Onkelos and Targum Jonathan—which the Orthodox prize for their commentary, this phrase is rendered as “the word of God will be my God.” There are over 500 examples of this language, for when the name “Jehovah” is written twice for emphasis, the “word of God” is often used as a synonym.

John tells us the word of God is Yeshua.

Orthodox Jews pray and believe God answers prayer. They know God is love, and that they fall into sin. They believe in heaven and hell.

But before talking about the Messiah, I believe the best starting point is the assurance of forgiveness. During the times of the Tabernacle and the Second Temple, a sacrifice would forgive sins for one year. But today there is no temple, no altar, and no high priest.

The Talmud describes one of the great rabbis, Yohanan Ben Zakkai, whose disciple asked him if he knew he was going to heaven. His answer: “I’m not sure I did enough.” We must be very careful concerning Orthodox Jews; they love God no less than we do. But we can ask them: Can you reach God by climbing the ladder of righteousness?

Is it true that the Orthodox are the most antagonistic to Messianic Jews?

This comes from a small and radical group who view us as trying to convert them to Christianity. Yet they are not looking to hurt us, but to save us. I’m trying to bring Jews to Yeshua, but they see this as an effort to succeed where Hitler failed.

We have to be honest: To win sympathy, some Messianic Jews demonize the Orthodox, and this is not right. It is true they do not love us. But we emphasize that we are not looking to convert Jews to Christianity, but to bring them to their God as we hope and pray that they recognize their Messiah. Paul said he was willing to be erased from the Book of Life for the sake of his brethren. This needs to be our approach for every person—Jew, Chinese, or anyone.

The Cross is already an obstacle. Let us not put others in their path.

How do you understand their self-reference to Isaiah 66?

It is a good description of who they believe themselves to be. They view their community like the tribe of Levi, which did not fight when the people of Israel entered the land under Joshua. Instead, like the Levites, they are dedicated to the religious rituals that support the army engaged on the front lines.

As believers in the Bible, we can appreciate this as a godly principle. The Haredim say if they leave the yeshiva, without their prayers Israel cannot have success. They see themselves as watchmen on the wall, praying 24/7 for Israel. Christians who engage in round-the-clock prayer movements today should realize the Haredim were doing this long before them.

And what about Leviticus 26?

This verse accords with the charge given to Israel in Deuteronomy 11, pictured by the mount of blessing and the mount of curse. According to the Mosaic covenant, if you want God’s blessing you must keep the commandments. But read these passages also in light of Psalm 1:3—the person who prospers is the one “who meditates on his law day and night.” Go to any yeshiva and you will see Haredim studying Torah long into the evening. They believe this is saving Israel and gaining the favor of God.

Concerning the Haredim’s application of these verses to their enlistment in the army, I can understand their point. But I believe that the favor of God comes only through the Messiah. Since Jews do not recognize the New Covenant of Jeremiah 31, their striving for flourishing depends on Psalm 1.

They take the Bible very seriously. I wish the Christian world was this dedicated.

But are they correct in their interpretation?

Secular Jews certainly disagree. Most Israelis are traditional, but this does not mean they read their Bible every day. In their opinion, with 24 hours in a day, the Haredim can find a way to study scripture when serving in the army. It is not fair, they say, that I am sending my son or daughter to the front lines while they sit in the yeshiva—especially in this time of war.

Yet you believe in the power of prayer.

Yes, but differently. The return of the Jewish people to Israel is neither a coincidence nor a result of our efforts. In Ezekiel, God said he is bringing the Jews back to the land even though they have profaned his name among the nations. It is not that our people reached a certain spiritual level and God was impressed. God did this to show the world that he is faithful to his word.

The return of Jews to Israel is the best proof the Bible is true.

And if God brought us back to the land, I don’t believe he will then send us into the sea. This is my prayer, but Israel’s safety does not depend on what is said in the yeshiva, but in the promises of God.

When an Orthodox woman goes to the wall and prays for her children, does God answer her? Yes, according to his mercy. But when we, as believers in Yeshua, come before God’s throne, he answers us according to his grace. There is a huge difference, because we come under the promises of the New Covenant.

When Prince William enters the royal palace of King Charles, he is not given food because the servants had mercy on him. This is what happens to the beggar. But William is served because of his position. Like him, we are sons and daughters of the King.

I respect the prayers of the Haredim. But Israel’s redemption is not from this.

But if these prayers can activate God’s mercy, is Israel right to exempt the Haredim from army service to allow their full dedication to God?

This is not a spiritual matter; it is political. As a Messianic Jew, I believe that God can answer their prayers as they fight in the army, as my children do.

But Haredim object also because the army tends to secularize society and remove community distinctions. The structure of the army is not yet suitable for them. The IDF must make major changes to accommodate them with the correct food, with rabbis as chaplains, and with the separation of sexes. We have to be fair, and if the army really wants them, they have to change—and not insist on changing the Haredim. It will be a process, to win their trust.

While the army has begun this effort, there is much more to do.

Did Ben Gurion make a mistake in granting the exemption?

He was a secular, socialist Zionist, but he understood the Haredim are part of the nation. Their number was small, so he let them pray. But today they are a huge percentage of the population. To be honest, the controversy is not about getting their several thousand children into the army. It is about their power.

Our system of coalition politics currently ensures that they control the parliament; no government can form without them. And with this leverage they ask for whatever they want. It is not just enlistment. Why should the Haredim be paid to study at yeshiva, many say, when I must pay for my child to go to university? The Haredim are milking the cow too much.

They are making a huge mistake. They could offer instead to volunteer in national service in hospitals, schools, or with Magen David Adom, the equivalent of the Israeli Red Cross. Instead, people are saying, “If there is a God, I don’t want to be like that.”

In Israel, when anyone searches for God, they go to the synagogue. Perhaps this will be an opportunity for the messianic movement, that people might find in us an additional option.

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Arab Israeli Christians Stay and Serve as Gaza War Riles Galilee

Jayson Casper

With tens of thousands displaced from the northern border with Lebanon, believers balance their Palestinian and Israeli identities in pursuit of peace with all.

A man looks as smoke rises over the Golan Heights after a Hezbollah rocket attack on Northern Israel.

Amir Levy / Stringer / Getty

One Friday evening, a young woman sat her toddler on her lap at Christ the King Evangelical Episcopal Church in Ma’alot-Tarshiha, a mixed Arab-Jewish town in northern Israel five miles from the border with Lebanon. Like mothers everywhere, she clapped her hands and beckoned a response.

What does the cow say? “Moo,” the child replied.

What does the dog say? “Woof,” came the answer.

What does the bomb say? “Boom,” and they both laughed.

Only a few hours earlier, with Hezbollah rockets flying overhead, intercepted sometimes by Israel’s Iron Dome defense system, church elders had debated meeting at all. When the siren sounded during the service, members wondered if they should enter the concrete basement shelter.

The playful mimicry belies the seriousness of the less reported conflict in the Galilee region, but it also reveals its everyday normalcy.

“By now the bombs have faded into the background,” said Talita Jiryis, the 28-year-old volunteer youth leader at Christ the King. “Dark humor is our mechanism to cope with fear and the uncertainty of tomorrow.”

That is, for the northern citizens who remain near the border. But a different uncertainty pains the tens of thousands evacuated from their homes. Arab Israeli Christians offered different assessments to CT, but all pray for peace in the land of their citizenship. The war in Gaza affects them too.

On October 8, one day after Hamas crossed the border into southern Israel and killed 1,200 Israelis, Hezbollah—the Shiite Muslim militia similarly aligned with Iran—launched its “support front” from Lebanon.

Daily exchange of rocket strikes and retaliatory fire has continued since.

But compared to Gaza, the casualties have been far fewer. In Lebanon, more than 450 people have been killed, mostly Hezbollah and other militant fighters but including over 80 civilians. In Israel, at least 16 soldiers and 11 civilians have been killed.

Within weeks, Israel ordered 42 northern communities neighboring Lebanon to evacuate, displacing between 60,000 and 80,000 residents with financial compensation provided. An additional 90,000 Lebanese have also fled the fighting, generally restricted to a stretch of land a few miles on either side of the border.

The violence has steadily escalated and expanded, though both Israel and Hezbollah have appeared reticent to engage in an all-out war. Ma’alot-Tarshiha was not ordered to evacuate; neither was nearby Rameh, where Jiryis was born and raised.

Mentioned in Joshua 19:29 as a border town of the tribe of Asher, Rameh lies a mere eight miles from the border. Yet the historically Christian village, populated also by Muslims and Islam’s heterodox Druze community, sits on a hill facing away from Lebanon. During the last outright conflict between Israel and Hezbollah in 2006, rockets struck only the peak or the valley below.

But it is not the relative safety that keeps Arab residents from evacuating. Jiryis said that many in Rameh are originally from nearby Iqrit, where in the 1948 Israeli war of independence, villagers were forced by Jewish soldiers to vacate. A promise they could return within two weeks was not honored; neither was the 1951 Israeli Supreme Court ruling on their behalf. The following Christmas, the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) demolished each home.

Seventy-three years and one day later, a Hezbollah rocket struck Iqrit’s Greek Catholic church compound, the only building left standing. The rocket injured the 80-year-old caretaker, and nine IDF soldiers were wounded in subsequent fire as they sought to evacuate him.

Aware of the widespread grievance, Israeli authorities have issued only recommendations—not orders—for Arab communities to evacuate, Jiryis said. In the Christian village of Fassuta, women and children left while the men stayed behind, fearful that history might repeat itself.

Christ the King church, however, represents modern cooperation: Its land was donated three years ago by the Israeli government, and its bomb shelter is open to the public. Services are on the Israeli weekend in advance of the Sabbath, as many from the village work in the Jewish sector. Samaritan’s Purse, she added, helped the poor with a $130 food coupon, a first-aid kit, and battery-charged lamps.

“Jesus is the light of the world,” leaders stated during the distribution.

The church’s average attendance is about 80 people, including a dozen youth, mostly teens. Jiryis’s father is the pastor, and she extended his regional Maranatha family conference ministry with an interdenominational youth gathering planned for April. About 70 signed up from northern Brethren and Nazarene congregations, only for all to be thrown into disarray by Iran’s unprecedented missile barrage against Israel a few days prior to the event.

They held the conference anyway.

“We had to fully activate our faith,” she said. “Christians quote, ‘I will fear no evil.’ But this time, we couldn’t afford to pretend.”

Yet many are mentally exhausted, Jiryis said, and bury their fears rather than turn to God. During the week, she lives in the port city of Haifa, 25 miles southwest of her village, where she works as a psychologist in a government hospital. She has applied her skills through arts and crafts for the village children and insisted the adults continue to meet for mutual fellowship. Breathing exercises and emotional awareness are essential, Jiryis tells them.

Yet as she looks at the war, she is angry at injustice from both sides.

Jiryis knows the history at the heart of Jewish fear. Her mother is German; her great-grandfather was forced to fight in World War II. There are no winners in war, only losers was the mantra instilled in his son. This grandfather passed away when she was seven years old, but the sentiment has filtered into her identity today.

Her paternal grandfather was Palestinian, but like many young people of her generation, Jiryis said she struggles with how to define herself. Although she calls herself a Christian Arab citizen, she doesn’t feel fully Israeli because she is not Jewish, nor does she serve in the IDF. With many Arab and Jewish friends, as a rule she avoids politics and says instead, “Call me Switzerland”—a neutral nation where her father did biblical studies. Yet as an evangelical, she is a minority of a minority of a minority.

Her internal conflict is tangible, but she finds a solution.

“I focus on my heavenly identity,” Jiryis said. “But it is difficult here because you have to belong to something.”

She sees the surrender to community narratives even in the body of Christ. Some Messianic Jews admit they will not pray for the “future terrorists”—Palestinian children—who are dying in Gaza. Some Palestinian evangelicals say they cannot pray for a government committing “genocide.” While tension was always under the surface, relationships everywhere are getting worse.

But some, even apart from Jesus, are still praying together.

A Land of Life

Jiryis’s church is an example of believers praying together, having held joint meetings with Messianic Jews. But the identity issues she described are not uncommon in her community. A 2015 survey of local evangelical leaders conducted by Nazareth Evangelical College (NEC) found that 75 percent called themselves “Arab Israelis,” deemphasizing any Palestinian linkage. A wider poll by the University of Haifa lowered the tally to 47 percent of Christians who identified as “Israeli/non-Palestinian.” Only 29 percent identified with both.

But the war in Gaza has increased Arab solidarity with their nation of citizenship. Last November, the Israel Democracy Institute found that 70 percent feel that they are part of Israel, an increase from 48 percent before the war and the highest total in 20 years of polling. Yet only 27 percent were optimistic about the future of Israel, compared to 72 percent of Jews.

Azar Ajaj, president of NEC, had some of his fears confounded.

The Iran attack forced a northern Israel interfaith gathering onto Zoom, where he was the only evangelical alongside a handful of Christians and several dozen Jewish leaders. He began his remarks by condemning Hamas and grieving with the families of the hostages. Yet he decried the violence and the death of innocent Palestinians—with some inner trembling, since such statements are often interpreted as being anti-Israel.

A ceasefire, he insisted, was necessary.

“The reaction was above my expectations; no one justified what has happened to the people of Gaza,” said Ajaj, who calls himself a Palestinian citizen of Israel. “It gave me hope that they want to live together in respect and dignity.”

Several reached out to him afterward to invite his participation in a joint Prayer for Peace, offered through the interfaith Spirit of the Galilee forum that includes rabbis from all Jewish traditions:

God, Allah, Hashem,
Strengthen the hands of those who strive for peace in our region.
May they know and feel that they are not alone;
Behind them we all stand,
People of all faiths, ages, gender, who pray for peace and quiet in our land.
May all the hostages return to their homes.
We pray for the end of this vicious bloody cycle.
May this be a land of life to all its inhabitants from here and on,
And let us say: Amen.

Slightly more than half of Israel’s 2 million Arabs live in the Galilee area.

It is essential for peacemakers to speak face to face, Ajaj said, to cultivate and sustain good relations. And though the academic gathering was forced online, the Spirit of the Galilee forum has been able to meet a few times in person since the war began.

Ministry continues, as does outreach. Despite the war, NEC was able to publish a small booklet for churches to address Muslim concerns about how Jesus could be both fully God and fully man. Ajaj’s colleague has continued to quietly but publicly conduct discussion groups with about 20 open-minded inquirers in Jerusalem.

And NEC has even grown because of the war. Since 10 of its 35 students live near the border, the college decided to move to hybrid education. Another 20 students then enrolled online. Those in dangerous crossfire areas appreciate the chance to stay near their families. And others can save on the cost of commuting, as the collapse of tourism has pinched many budgets.

Ajaj, speaking in a personal capacity, expects things to only get worse.

“Gaza is messy but not complicated—it can be solved,” he said. “But bad leaders on both sides are more concerned for their political interests.”

The ceasefire he longs for—attempted to be brokered by US president Joe Biden and demanded by the UN Security Council—has yet to be accepted by either Israel’s prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu or Hamas’s Yahya Sinwar. Even if implemented, the final plan might not spare his northern region.

Hezbollah has stated that it would respect a truce in Gaza, as it did during the first pause in late November. The Israeli defense minister, however, stated that the fight to push the militia off the northern border would continue if peaceful negotiations do not succeed.

They might. In 2022, Israel and Lebanon demarcated their maritime border.

Yet land issues are thornier, with 13 points of disputed territory for the two nations, including areas of the Golan Heights. For instance, the UN’s 2000 Blue Line armistice divided the village of Ghajar in half and increased tensions over nearby Shebaa Farms, which is occupied by Israel.

UN Resolution 1701 ended a month-long conflict in 2006 and called for the disarmament of all militias and a buffer zone of 12–18 miles south of Lebanon’s Litani River, with no unofficial armed presence permitted. Today Hezbollah continues its deployment, while Israeli planes regularly violate Lebanese airspace. Fearful that Hezbollah could launch its own version of October 7—which it publicly signaled in military exercises five months before the Hamas attack—Israel is insisting on implementation of the resolution.

Threatening rhetoric has steadily increased over the past week, as Netanyahu announced troops would be transferred to the north. The Israeli prime minister previously warned that in an all-out war, Israel would turn Beirut into Gaza.

Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah stated he turned down offers for Iran-backed regional factions to come to Lebanon and join the fight—which would be waged “without rules.” He boasted enlistment of over 100,000 fighters, and it is estimated that the US-designated terrorist group possesses 150,000 missiles, many with precision guidance.

“The situation is very complicated and scary,” said Ajaj. “I hope for a political solution, but I don’t know how.”

How Forefathers Felt

Neither does Yasmeen Mazzawi. But she is ready to help.

The 25-year-old Catholic from Nazareth is a volunteer paramedic with the Red Cross–affiliated Magen David Adom (MDA), which translates in Hebrew as “the Red Shield of David.” Her full-time job as an analytics business consultant has her in Tel Aviv, 65 miles south; however, she is now working from home in case the northern front explodes.

“There is never a good outcome from war,” Mazzawi said. “But our heavenly Father will not leave us, and there are good people around to protect us.”

Her safety net is three-fold. Her family and community provide the main support that she needs. The second source is MDA, with her strong sense of belonging to the 30,000 volunteers dedicated to national service. The third is the IDF, where she has several friends.

She identifies as an Arab Israeli Christian, with each part equally important.

For Mazzawi, family values learned from her parents have encouraged the integration of her Christian faith and Jewish environment. But it is not so for many others, she said. Many Arabs grow up without an understanding of Israeli national holidays. And when she missed classes to take a trip with MDA to Auschwitz in high school, several schoolmates shamed her. Through conversation, some came around and even joined her in paramedic service.

She is not out to change anyone’s mind but desires less separation between the communities. She feels that the shared values of all faiths are needed to build a future without conflict, rooted in love and compassion.

“October 7 showed us that history can repeat itself,” Mazzawi said, drawing from her experience in Germany. “Arabs and Jews see each other but do not know each other, and we have to bridge this gap.”

Another Christian making an effort is Neveen Elias, an Aramean from Jish, three miles from the border with Lebanon. Last year, at age 39, she enlisted in the army. And along the way, she adopted a further term for her personal identity.

“I am a Zionist,” Elias stated. “We hope that … all the Christians [will] serve in the IDF.”

Israel requires two years of national service for all females who are not religiously practicing, with eight additional months for men, at age 18. Except for Druze, Arabs are exempted, along with ultra-Orthodox Jews. The IDF does not differentiate between Christians and Muslims, for whom enlistment is voluntary. But sources said that consistent with the Arab community overall, few evangelicals participate.

But Elias said the IDF wants her to be an example. In 2014, her community became eligible to change their ID cards from “Arab” to “Aramean,” but anecdotal evidence suggests that by 2022, some 4,500 were in process—less than 2 percent of Christians in Israel. The government initiative sparked tension as a tactic to separate Arabs by faith and increase Christian enrollment in the IDF. Only a few hundred Muslims volunteer to serve in the military, although the number has recently grown.

Elias’s son is one such Arab who joined the troops in combat.

Her desire for more people to enlist is buttressed by an Israeli pre-military academy in the Galilee region, where Jews and Christians share barracks for six months. Founded by a fellow Aramean from Jish, the academy has graduated 315 men and women since its founding in 2017.

Among Jews, the IDF is considered a great equalizer, uniting Israel’s diverse Hebrew communities under the national umbrella. The hope at the academy is much like Mazzawi’s: Arab students learn the Zionist story while Jews become familiar with Christian holidays and beliefs—which Elias said are not taught in public schools.

Her decision to join the IDF is highly controversial, but Elias has not neglected her roots. She cited her ancestral hamlet of Biram as a reason Jish remains populated; like Iqrit, Biram was a Christian village where people were not allowed to return.

Many question how she could join the Israeli army that displaced them. But as she keeps watch over evacuated kibbutzim, her Jewish friends, still evacuated seven months later, lament their newfound understanding: “Now we know how your forefathers felt when told to leave and unable to return.”

She is pessimistic about their chances.

“The IDF is waiting to finish in Gaza before it gets busy in the north,” Elias said. “We feel like it will be soon.”

In the Same House

At least on the southern border, one Arab evangelical is hoping so.

“You need to protect your people, so you need to clean this virus,” stated Saleem Shalash, pastor of Jesus the King Church in Nazareth. “Israel … need[s] to continue finishing Hamas so the people of Gaza can live in peace.”

Outspoken in his support for Israel, he wants his ministry to answer Nathanael’s question in John 1:46: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” And seeking to build bridges between communities, he aims to “get Isaac and Ishmael into the same house.”

October 7, Shalash said, threatened the reconciliation work of many years. His church has supplied aid to 900 families displaced from both north and south, but it still took months to regain the trust of Jewish partners.

“The Arabs did this,” they told him.

The ice was finally broken at a gathering with the mayor, when a fellow Arab pastor prayed for the victims. Afterward, many wept and embraced him.

Shalash, who once disliked Jews, centered his call in the story of the Prodigal Son. His interpretation was always that the Jews were those who lost their way, but he came to see the church—though grafted into the people of God—as the older brother angry that welcome is still extended to them. The parable is unusual in that it remains open-ended.

“The Lord told me, ‘It is your choice,’” Shalash stated. “But what I am saying is not very popular among Israeli Arabs.”

Survey data has shown that most of this community prefers life in Israel to that in any future Palestinian state. But grievances run deep.

Comprising about 20 percent of Israel’s population today, Arab citizens are descended from the original 150,000 who remained after the 1948 war. More than 700,000 refugees fled or were driven from Israel around the time of the war and were not allowed to return.

Throughout Israel today, Arabs are less well-off than their Jewish neighbors. Prior to COVID-19, about 45 percent of Arab families lived below the poverty line, compared to 13 percent for Jews. Education levels are also lower, with 15 percent holding an academic degree, compared to 33 percent for Jews.

Christians are 8 percent of the Arab community and 2 percent of the Israeli population overall. Given the tensions in the region, many—but not all—prefer to keep silent.

“Some want only to pray, others to make statements,” said Toumeh Odeh, a lawyer from Kafr Yasif, a Christian-majority village 10 miles from the border. “We generally prefer to be on the safe side. But as believers, we must have a say against injustice.”

He has done so in his profession, helping Israeli Arabs married to West Bank Palestinians obtain their legal residency in Israel, as a 2003 law ceased the automatic granting of citizenship. And he gives credit where credit is due: Living also in Ma’alot-Tarshiha, he praised the police for containing an anti-Arab incident sparked by anger from October 7—which he thoroughly condemns.

But there is nonetheless a disparity.

“Israel is strong and has the power over Palestinians,” said Odeh. “We must speak about the wrong done by the state, while not neglecting the wrong done against Jews.”

His statement reflects his four-fold identity: Arab, Palestinian, Christian, and Israeli citizen. He laments the bygone days when the government sidelined Jewish extremist groups from parliament; today they occupy key posts in the cabinet.

The situation is only growing worse, Odeh said, but his faith provides the answer: the Good Samaritan. Jesus crafted the parable in response to a lawyer, rebuking all who neglect mercy. In contrast, Odeh praised the Council of Evangelical Churches in Israel (CECI) for raising $13,000 to provide shelter to the displaced and assist those affected by the economic downturn—both Arabs and Jews.

Representing the 35 congregations among local Assemblies of God, Baptist, Brethren, Nazarene, and Christian Missionary Alliance churches, CECI had previously sent money for pandemic relief in the West Bank; for victims of the 2020 port explosion in Beirut; and for damage suffered in last year’s earthquake in Turkey and Syria.

“We try to help everyone in need,” said Odeh. “Hatred only brings more hatred, and only light can drive out darkness.”

Such is his vision for Israel and the region. Peace must first come through governments, he said, citing Egypt and Jordan as partial examples. If rights are honored and prosperity follows, within a generation it will take hold among the people.

True peace with the Palestinians will take away any animosity for Hamas or Hezbollah to exploit, he believes. And separating the conflict from religion will help, as Odeh expressed frustration with the actions of Israeli settlers and Islamist ideologues alike.

Polling

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Church Life

Two Cheers for the Wedding Industrial Complex

Brad East

For all their faults, our marriage rituals present family and promise-keeping as beautiful, desirable, and worth the effort.

Elisabeth Arnold / Unsplash / Edits by CT

It’s summer, and for a professor at a Christian college—an evangelical school in the South, no less—that means it’s wedding season. On my campus, jokes about “ring by spring” still abound.

Talk about a counterculture. Few things are less in tune with the zeitgeist. Americans are marrying and having children later than ever. And even in evangelical contexts, many young people’s parents, pastors, and professors are advising delayed marriage: Focus first on a degree, on establishing a career, on saving some money. Worry about a mate closer to 30 than to 20—and certainly don’t get pregnant! These things will take care of themselves.

This advice is well-intended, perhaps autobiographical. Many Christians in older generations remember and reject the old stigma of singleness into one’s 30s. They may have married young themselves, then come to regret it—or they may worry that young people, especially young women, will follow the script of early marriage and childbearing to their own regrets.

There’s also some real wisdom here: Don’t get married just because it seems like the next step on a checklist. Moreover, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Take marriage seriously, even if that means waiting for a few years.

The risk, though, is that a spouse may not be waiting for you. Marriage and children aren’t just arriving later; increasingly, they aren’t arriving at all. From my vantage point, the problem is not that too many of my students want to get married too young. It’s the opposite. They’ve gotten the memo from their families, churches, and secular culture alike. They know about the likelihood and pain of divorce. They know babies are demanding and expensive. They know pop culture rolls its eyes at lifelong monogamy. No one needs to remind them of these things.

But what a few of us might consider doing—I certainly do—is telling them how great marriage is. How wonderful children are. How beginning to forge a family in your 20s is a perfectly reasonable thing to do. How money is always a stressor; so why not share the load? How praying and stepping out in trust isn’t crazy, though it’s certainly risky.

As it happens, there is one part of the wider culture that doesn’t work at cross purposes with this message. And yet this phenomenon is also, in my experience, a whipping boy for Christian punditry and hand-wringing. I’m talking about the wedding industrial complex.

I doubt I need to enlighten you on this topic. The billions spent annually. The ballooning budgets. The influence of Pinterest and Instagram. The fairy-tale wedding that caps the romantic comedy plot line, from meet-cute to happily ever after.

There is much to criticize here, I don’t deny. Gone are the days of a simple ceremony with your congregation, with cake and punch and decorations arranged by the same church ladies who changed your diapers so many years ago. Now the expectation is that the ceremony be picturesque, professionally photographed and recorded—the party of the year. (Guests have expectations, you know.) Parents go into debt. An already stressful time collapses under its own weight. And the point of it all threatens to be forgotten: Namely, that two people are being joined in holy matrimony.

Yet even if we can’t give three cheers for the wedding industrial complex, I can still muster one or two. So far as I can tell, it’s one of the few remaining cultural institutions that exert any kind of positive pressure on young people to get married.

For all its faults, our ritual of elaborate weddings presents marriage, family, promises, and love itself as beautiful. Desirable, even. The industry provides permission to want to be married, and to kick it off in grand style.

The wedding industrial complex also holds a connection to faith that most of our public life has lost. Even nonreligious people want to be married by a minister; churches remain popular wedding venues; God often gets more than nominal mention; Scripture or Communion or both are features of the ceremony. Tradition reigns. Like funerals, weddings are one of very few remaining occasions to follow wise scripts written long before we were born. We find ourselves, sometimes to our surprise, disposed to follow where they lead.

One place they continue to lead is the making of promises. Three decades ago, the theologian Robert Jenson remarked that in an age when our culture has lost faith in promise-keeping, the church could be an outpost of promises made and kept. Jenson was onto something. Year after year, we lose reasons to trust publicly made promises, including marital ones.

Yet there also endures an ineradicable hunger both to witness them and to be bound by such pledges. I continue to marvel at the earnest stubbornness of supposedly secular wedding ceremonies, in which grooms and brides simply refuse to stop making vows to each other. They do it in front of people who won’t let them forget it, and they persist in invoking the name of the Lord.

I am not so foolish as to think this ceremonial persistence reflects abiding faith or that it mitigates the scandal of divorces, Christian and otherwise. But neither am I so cynical as to see in it nothing but empty formulas and rote traditions. And I think we should celebrate that, against all odds, people continue to see weddings as holy feasts worth the money, the time, and the headache.

This summer, I officiated my first wedding, and I have another one next month. My wife gave me a rule of thumb: If people I love or students I’ve taught honor me with the invitation, then I had better have a good reason to decline. She’s right. I want more weddings, not fewer. I’m the kook on campus telling these crazy kids to go for it, aren’t I?

If that means calling a truce with Brides magazine and The Knot and even Instagram, so be it. The world may mean it for ill, but God means it for good. Maybe “ring by spring” isn’t such a joke after all.

Brad East is an associate professor of theology at Abilene Christian University. He is the author of four books, including The Church: A Guide to the People of God and Letters to a Future Saint: Foundations of Faith for the Spiritually Hungry.

- More from Brad East

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Sávio Vinícius, pastor at Primeira Igreja Batista of Valença, Bahia

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Know your tendencies and plan accordingly.

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Practice discernment and seek truth.

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Alejandra Ortiz, co-coordinator of the Logos and Cosmos Initiative in Latin America in the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students (IFES):

Sally Isáis, director of mission agency Misión Latinoamericana de México (Milamex):

Sandra Márquez Olvera, founder of the Con-Ciencia y Teología blog:

Yani de Gutiérrez, copastor at Iglesia Bautista Horeb in Mexico City:

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A Land of Life

How Forefathers Felt

In the Same House

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