Egyptian Christians Show ‘Love of Jesus’ to Displaced Palestinians

Courtesy of Christian Mission to Gaza

Almost six months have passed since Issa Saliba boarded a bus in Gaza with 15 other Christians to seek safety in Egypt. But he still relishes how they sang, clapped, and danced as they escaped devastation.

The air conditioning cooled his nerves, frayed from the harrowing journey to the border. Later that day, the wayside stop provided his first full meal.

As 1.9 million Palestinians—90 percent of Gaza’s population—remain internally displaced, less known is that 100,000 have managed to take refuge in Egypt. Saliba, allowed to depart because he is enrolled at the American University of Madaba in Jordan, left behind his father, two younger brothers, and the hundreds of other Christians remaining in the war-torn Mediterranean strip.

Saliba’s trip in April took him south along the damaged, dusty coastal road through Israeli checkpoints to the Rafah crossing. Then came a six-hour ride to Cairo. Saliba got out just in time: In May, Israel took control of Rafah’s Philadelphi Corridor and closed the border. The 8-mile-long strip of land remains a key sticking point in current negotiations over a ceasefire.

But from the first days of the Israel-Hamas war, the Egyptian government has resisted overtures to resettle displaced Palestinians in the adjacent Sinai Peninsula. Wary of terrorist infiltration but also fearful Israel will permanently refuse refugee reentry to Gaza, Egypt limited entry to people with medical emergencies, the financial means to pay up to thousands of dollars in fees, and international educational connections, like Saliba.

Evangelicals, though, are becoming known for giving food and supplies to refugees, whether Christian or Muslim. The Egyptian church, partnering with like-minded Palestinians, has even sent aid into Gaza for the believers huddled for safety in churches, as well as thousands of others displaced from their homes in makeshift camp communities.

“We show the love of God to everyone,” said Samuel Adel, chairman of the pastoral, outreach, and missions council of the Evangelical Presbyterian Church of Egypt, also called Synod of the Nile. “When people ask why, we tell them it comes from our love of Jesus.”

Soon after the Israel-Hamas war began on October 7, aid to refugees began under the leadership of Hanna Maher, an Egyptian Presbyterian pastor who formerly led Gaza Baptist Church. While most Palestinian Christians traveled onward to Cairo, Muslims settled primarily in the Mediterranean towns in and around Arish, about 30 miles west of Rafah.

The synod is displaying Christian charity by giving weekly food parcels to 50 Muslim families. An additional 20 families received fans with which to endure the oppressive heat. Seven families received essential household supplies like refrigerators, washing machines, and cooking equipment. And the synod gave eight wheelchairs to government hospitals to ease transport of the wounded to specialized medical centers in the humanitarian area designated for Palestinians.

Sinai was once a hotbed for terrorism—100 Christian families fled in 2017.

But some Muslims’ attitudes have changed. Maher’s local Muslim driver, impressed that the church has done so much to help, doesn’t charge Maher for rides. The driver has told several new families: These are Christians, coming to help you.

And sometimes Maher is invited into discussion about whom to blame for the devastation of Gaza—Israel or Hamas. He replies with what Jesus said in the Gospel of John about a man who was born blind. When asked if the sin that caused the blindness came from the man or his parents, Jesus answered, “neither;” the blindness was so “the works of God might be displayed in him” (9:3).

But Maher struggles to know how to further counsel the Gazan displaced.

“We pray for peace, but I don’t know what to say about this terrible war,” he said. “‘God is with us,’ I tell them—but it is difficult; I don’t have an answer beyond this truth.”

The Egyptian government has allowed Christian humanitarian efforts, but the refugee presence is politically sensitive. Egyptian leaders remember how Palestinians who fled from Israel to Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria in the 1948 and 1967 wars never returned home. Officials have categorically rejected the permanent settling of Gazan refugees in Egypt. Israel will not accept the displaced in its territory either.

Israel and Egypt jointly imposed a blockade on Gaza in 2007. Prior to 2011, Egypt’s government unofficially tolerated a network of Gaza-Egypt tunnels but has since destroyed thousands. Despite Egyptian denials, Israel stated that smuggling continues and links its control of Rafah to ongoing ceasefire negotiations.

But beyond the political and security concerns, humanitarian needs of the displaced do not fall under official United Nations refugee jurisdiction. Yet whether through the church, diverse grassroots initiatives, or other UN agencies, assistance is available.

Assistance is more difficult in Gaza. This summer, Egyptian Christians have worked in conjunction with Christian Mission for Gaza (CMG) to provide meals for over 15,000 Muslims in Deir al-Balah, Khan Younis, Jabaliya, and the Remal neighborhood of Gaza City. Residents have lined up with bowls and tins to receive ladlefuls of yellow rice, often heated over makeshift fires in metallic vats. Sometimes they get canned vegetables, and very rarely, chicken.

During last month’s distribution, children beamed while receiving the latter in tinfoil-wrapped portions. Black-robed women in headscarves extended their hands through tent openings to receive the same.

The Gaza-born former pastor of the Baptist church, Hanna Massad, serving prior to Maher, founded CMG in 1999. An Israeli missile flattened his family’s home in the Remal neighborhood, which took ten years for his father to build in the 1960s. Aware that most Gazans believe a “Christian West” is selling bombs to Israel, Massad said he wants his former neighbors “to know there are Christians who care—and are helping them.”

CMG has also distributed bread fifteen times in various areas and clean water five times. At each location, posted signs flap in the wind: From Gaza Baptist and the Presbyterian Church in Egypt. Many Muslims have offered thanks to their “brothers” for caring about their needs, and one even made the sign of the cross. Others have asked how they can learn more about the faith.

“People in Gaza have begun to see the true light, but they need guidance,” he said. “So I pray that the situation here will change after this war and that there will be a space to work freely with these people.”

About 200 of the 1,000 Christians who were living in Gaza before the war have since fled to Egypt, Massad estimated. Many have already received visas to Australia, and more are likely to emigrate as soon as they can.

Saliba, waiting in Cairo, prays for the Gazan Christians who remain.

“I thank God I was able to leave Gaza,” he said. “Jesus was with me every step of the way. Now I just want my family to join me.”

- More from Jayson Casper

News

Expert: Ukraine’s Ban on Russian Orthodox Church Is Compatible with Religious Freedom

Interview by Jayson Casper

Despite GOP concerns over government interference, local evangelicals agree that the historic church must fully separate from its Moscow parent.

Orthodox priest blesses Ukrainian soldier's icon-decorated body armor.

Roman Pilipey / Stringer / Getty

During Tuesday night’s presidential debate, Kamala Harris accused Donald Trump of a fondness for dictators, alleging that he supported a negotiated settlement with Vladimir Putin following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Trump, declining to affirm that a Ukrainian victory would serve US interests, replied that if he were still in the Oval Office, the war would never have happened, and he claimed that he could bring it to an end even as president-elect.

Both candidates failed to address the most salient current issue on Ukraine for evangelicals: religious freedom.

Last month, the Ukrainian parliament overwhelmingly approved a proposal to ban the activities of the Russian Orthodox Church (ROC) and compel the Ukrainian Orthodox Church (UOC) to break all ties with the patriarchate in Moscow. President Volodymyr Zelensky signed the bill into law, hailing his nation’s “spiritual independence.”

Some Republicans, including vice-presidential candidate J.D. Vance, have accused Ukraine of “assault[ing] traditional Christian communities.” Vance linked these alleged violations to the continuation of US military support, stating that military aid should be used as leverage to ensure religious freedom.

The charge is nonsense, said a leading Ukrainian expert in an interview with CT.

The law, said Maksym Vasin, director for international advocacy and research at the Institute for Religious Freedom in Kyiv, is meant to protect Orthodox believers in Ukraine from Russian propaganda. The State Service for Ethnic Policy and Freedom of Conscience (DESS) studied ROC and UOC documents to demonstrate the continuing link between the two churches, despite the UOC’s postwar assertion of independence. Each of the UOC’s 10,000 parishes has now been given nine months to demonstrate that it is not connected to the ROC, subject to court judgment.

However, the GOP is not alone in its concern.

Pope Francis stated last month that no church should be abolished “directly or indirectly” based on how its people pray. The World Council of Churches urged “caution.” And according to various reports, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew I, considered first among equals in the Orthodox world, sent a delegation to Ukraine to inquire about canonical structure and whether individual UOC parishes are being forcibly transferred to the rival Orthodox Church of Ukraine (OCU).

The state said 1,500 parishes have voluntarily aligned with the OCU since 2018.

In 2019, Bartholomew granted autocephaly (canonical independence) to the OCU, a then-schismatic body that had earlier broken off ties with Moscow. The move, supported by the United States, shifted OCU allegiance to the ecumenical patriarch’s church in historic Constantinople.

Orthodoxy first spread among the Slavic people from Kyiv, which was joined to the ROC in 1686. Following passage of last month’s law, the OCU reached out to the UOC for dialogue, emphasizing the need for unity and reconciliation.

CT spoke with Vasin, who contributed a chapter analyzing an earlier draft of the law in last year’s Security, Religion, and the Rule of Law, about the response of Ukrainian evangelicals, the limits of individual criminal prosecution, and whether the law should be considered a “ban.”

Please explain the aim of the new law.

The law aims to terminate Russian influence on Ukrainian society through Russian religious centers and to limit the propaganda of the chauvinistic ideology of Russkiy Mir (Russian World) in Ukraine. Ever since Soviet times, Russia has systematically used religion and religious centers of various denominations, primarily the ROC, as a tool of propaganda to achieve its military and geopolitical goals.

Churches are then manipulated to exert totalitarian control over their citizens or are closed down if they refuse to cooperate. This repressive policy is clearly visible in the eastern and southern regions of Ukraine, annexed following the Russian invasion. There, the Russian authorities are carrying out brutal repression against Ukrainian Christian churches and religious communities of various denominations, including Muslims and Jews who do not support Russian aggression.

Putin and the Kremlin want to maintain a key instrument of influence in Ukraine, namely the ROC and its affiliated local Orthodox eparchies and parishes. For this reason, Russia is most vocal critic of the Ukrainian government’s initiatives aimed at protecting religious freedom from abuse.

Is the new law a “ban” of the UOC?

It is a ban of the ROC in Ukraine, because of its open support for Russia’s war.

It is not an immediate ban on the activities of the UOC, which is not even directly mentioned. The government will issue directives to break administrative and canonical subordination to the ROC or other Russian religious centers. If a religious community refuses to sever these ties, the government will have the right to apply to the court to terminate the activities of this legal entity, given the danger to national and public security. But if the defendant parish complies during these hearings, the court case will be dismissed.

Thus, it is wrong to say that this law bans the UOC. Instead, the law allows this church and any other religious associations in Ukraine to liberate themselves from the influence of Russian intelligence services and stop being mouthpieces for Russian propaganda.

It is up to the UOC priests and parishioners to decide whether they will continue to agree to be used by the Kremlin or whether they will end their dependence on the ROC and Russian authorities.

Your analysis of an earlier version of the law advised the government to concentrate on individual criminal proceedings against clerics who collaborated with Russia. Why is this not a sufficient safeguard against Russian interference?

Religious communities should not be responsible for the activities of their clerics, and a ban must be the last resort if other measures have been ineffective. But in recent years, it has become increasingly clear that the ROC is losing the features of a religious organization and has become an instrument of political influence in the hands of the Kremlin.

Therefore, now, when it comes to the existence of the people of Ukraine in the face of genocide committed by the Russian military, the UOC must make a clear choice to refuse any ties with the ROC. This is a reasonable requirement of the law that meets the expectations of Ukrainian society, which is on the verge of survival.

The UOC can fulfill this simple legal requirement and continue to exist legally in Ukraine. However, when the UOC bishops refuse to obey the law and claim persecution, it becomes evident that its leadership wants to maintain its dependence on Moscow.

Court rulings will consider the assessment of DESS. But its previous director, prior to her removal, reviewed changes in UOC internal canons and stated in 2022 that it was independent of Moscow.

It is not enough for the UOC to declare independence alone. It must be confirmed not by words but by practical actions, such as the condemnation of traitorous bishops and priests who have collaborated with Russia—especially in the ROC-annexed UOC eparchies of Crimea, Berdiansk, and Kherson.

The government has several requirements for the UOC, the fulfillment of which could demonstrate not declarative but actual termination of influence from Moscow.

The UOC has already condemned the war, stopped prayers for the ROC’s Patriarch Kirill, and called on Ukrainian members to defend their country against Russian aggression. Why is canonical separation necessary?

Some UOC bishops and priests continue to pray for Kirill and do not condemn his statements justifying Russian aggression, such as calling it a “holy war.” At present, it does not appear that the entire UOC leadership has severed its ties with Moscow. Each case should be considered separately. And if senior leaders refuse to comply with the government’s legitimate demands, the individual parishes can prove in court that they have done everything to be independent of Russia’s influence.

Slavic nations have fought wars previously without shifting religious orientation. Should religious liberty allow citizens and clerics to adhere freely to the spiritual heritage of either Kyiv or Moscow, independent of current politics?

Freedom of religion is a fundamental human right. But it should not be abused for political purposes, especially in the context of a brutal war to destroy Ukraine. If we look at history, Moscow illegally established its canonical influence over the UOC. Now, the Ecumenical Patriarchate is trying to correct this historical injustice. The Ukrainian government’s intervention in this process is necessary only because the UOC leadership allows Russia to use it to spread the “Russian World” propaganda, collaborate with the Russian military, and weaken Ukraine’s resistance.

How have Ukrainian evangelicals responded to this law?

The Ukrainian Council of Churches and Religious Organizations (UCCRO), except the UOC, supported President Zelensky’s initiative to protect them from Russian influence. The council includes various evangelical churches, including Baptists, Pentecostals, Adventists, and Lutherans. Their statement condemned the ROC, calling it an accomplice to the “bloody crimes of the Russian invaders.” The council furthermore confirmed that religious rights and freedoms are respected in Ukraine, even in the face of a brutal war.

Evangelicals, like the other denominations, see that the main threat to religious freedom in Ukraine is Russian aggression, which has killed dozens of clergymen and destroyed hundreds of churches and houses of worship in Ukraine.

The Orthodox world is divided about the legitimacy of the Ecumenical Patriarch’s recognition of the OCU. And some argue that this law is evidence of government persecution of the UOC, to compel their merger. Should there be one Orthodox church in Ukraine, or does religious freedom demand a plurality if believers so choose?

This law does not force Orthodox churches to unite. Since 1991, every religious community in Ukraine, as a legal entity, has the right to freely and independently choose its canonical subordination. The only restriction is the prohibition of ties with countries that have committed armed aggression against Ukraine, meaning Russia.

Religious pluralism is a sign of flourishing religious freedom, of which Ukraine can be proud and can continue to cherish.

What consequences will Ukraine suffer if the UOC continues to protest this law?

The UOC is advised to break ties with Russia now and not wait for a court judgment. Even if the court bans some local parishes, their members can continue to freely practice their faith and hold worship services without the status of a legal entity. Unlike Russia, Ukrainian legislation allows unregistered religious communities to operate and retains a broad scope of religious freedom for their members regardless of denomination.

But it would be beneficial for Russia if the UOC ignored the law and continued to play the role of a martyr church. The Kremlin will undoubtedly use future court decisions against the UOC to spread propaganda about religious persecution, while concealing their war crimes against Ukrainian churches in the occupied territories.

I hope the government will implement this law without haste and in accord with legal procedure, to protect Ukraine’s religious communities from Russian influence.

Some Republicans argue that the issue of religious freedom is one reason the US should stop contributing to the war effort in lieu of a negotiated settlement. How would you respond?

Despite undisputed US commitment to freedom of speech, the House of Representatives is not averse to debating a bill to ban TikTok over its links to China, due to concerns about national security interests. Similarly, the law adopted in Ukraine seeks to protect Ukrainian society from “Russian World” ideology and the influence of Russian intelligence services through the churches, while remaining unequivocally committed to the value of religious freedom.

The Kremlin uses religion as a tool of war. Russia will use any reason, real or fake, to deprive Ukraine of international military support.

- More from Jayson Casper

News

Ohio Haitians Feel Panic, Local Christians Try to Repair Divides

Emily Belz

As Donald Trump’s unfounded claims circulate, Springfield pastors and immigrant leaders deal with the real-world consequences.

The skyline of Springfield, Ohio.

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

On Thursday, Viles Dorsainvil, a former pastor in Haiti and the leader of Haitian Community Help and Support Center in Springfield, Ohio, was getting phone call after phone call from local immigrants feeling “panic” over their safety.

The 60,000-person city has felt the strain and culture clash of welcoming 15,000 Haitians over the past four years, most of whom have temporary legal status in the US due to violence in their home country. Those tensions escalated this week as false rumors about Haitians— fanned by former president Donald Trump—came into the national spotlight.

Local Ohio church leaders are largely supportive of the Haitian community, which is predominantly Christian, but they are navigating division in their own Christian communities too. Pastors of some of the largest local churches joined meetings, press conferences, and phone calls this week to debunk misconceptions about Haitians and the situation on the ground.

Still, social media and the national news cycle (conservative news outlets ran headlines featuring a resident describing Springfield as a “dystopian nightmare”) have been louder locally than church responses, with a feedback loop that has deepened divisions even within the local Christian community.

Local pastors, in interviews with CT, said the social fabric of the community has been ripped apart, with real-world consequences for locals and immigrant neighbors in their own churches. Some schools and government buildings shuttered on Thursday over unspecified threats, and officials who spoke against the rumors were doxxed online. On Friday, two elementary schools in Springfield were evacuated and another school was closed.

“Words matter,” said Dorsainvil. “What you say can unite people, or it can create great division in a community. This is what we are experiencing now.”

One Haitian who bought a home in Springfield a month ago told Dorsainvil that he was considering leaving. The former pastor counseled him to remain calm, to not make an emotional decision. Dorsainvil admitted that he felt panicked too.

But he added, “We’ve been through a lot from Haiti to here—we are used to situations like this.”

At the presidential debate on Tuesday, Trump repeated internet claims that Haitian immigrants in Springfield were stealing and eating people’s pets. Trump’s running mate and Ohio native JD Vance also asserted that Haitians were killing and eating pets.

“They’re eating the dogs. They’re eating the cats. They’re eating the pets of the people that live there,” Trump said.

Springfield officials have denied that they have reports or evidence of that happening. The rumors originated from social media—one viral post had a photo that was taken in Columbus, Ohio of a Black man carrying a goose.

“It’s like a tornado right now, politically and socially,” said Jeremy Hudson, pastor of one of the largest churches in town, Fellowship Church. “We don’t know what direction it’s going to go, what it’s going to take out, what the devastation is going to be.”

He added, “We do know in about five weeks the election is going to be over … and we’re going to be left trying to sew up the tears.”

On Wednesday night, Fellowship held a worship service, and Hudson found himself despondent about “the brokenness of our community and the brokenness of the ‘big C’ church” and the “slander” he had seen become the norm in conversations.

“Too many people in the ‘big C’ church in Springfield have taken up sides on the left or the right,” he said. “Because talking heads on TV are saying certain things, we’re giving ourselves [permission] to repeat those things, whether they’re true or not.”

Pastor Carl Ruby of Central Christian Church in Springfield has spoken in support of the Haitian community and saw Facebook comments in a local group that he needed to be run out of the area.

Ruby said he hopes it’s “one of those bad things that can give a megaphone to the gospel. … The contrast of the gospel message is so stark. It’s so hopeful.”

The city has been tense for months. Springfield has been working to absorb the arrival of an influx of Haitian immigrants who are filling jobs in a growing manufacturing sector.

Conflict in the community bubbled up a year ago when a Haitian immigrant crashed into a school bus and killed an 11-year-old boy. The Trump campaign began to talk about the crash again this week, with Vance posting that the child was “murdered by a Haitian migrant who had no right to be here.”

This week, the boy’s father, Nathan Clark, said it was an accident, not a murder, and asked Trump and other politicians not to bring up his son in political debates.

Haitian immigrants are largely in the United States legally. Ever since the big earthquake in Haiti in 2010, Haitians have fallen under a “temporary protected status” (TPS) federal immigration program that allows immigrants to have temporary legal status in the United States following a natural disaster or other upheaval. Haitians can register through TPS to receive documents to work and public benefits even if they entered the country illegally.

The Trump administration tried unsuccessfully to end the program for Haitians but was blocked by federal courts. The Biden administration extended Haiti’s TPS status, based on the country’s spiraling gang violence and lack of a functioning government.

“You can critique the program,” said Matthew Soerens, who leads advocacy at World Relief, an evangelical refugee resettlement organization. “But you shouldn’t malign the people … they are lawfully present.”

Some of the biggest churches in the Springfield area have tried to support the Haitian community. Fairhaven Church, a megachurch in Dayton, has partnered with immigrants, and its leadership participated in impromptu calls with other community leaders this week about the fallout.

Fellowship Church’s campus near downtown Springfield has seen a big increase in Haitian residents.

“Parts of having your community grow by 33 percent almost overnight is good. There is a lot of opportunity in that,” said Hudson. “And part of this influx of people without the resources for our infrastructure is really difficult … to say it’s been consuming is to put it lightly.”

Hudson is a chaplain for the police department, so he knows how difficult it has been for officers to navigate the sudden arrival of 15,000 people, though he said the department hasn’t seen a rash of crime attributed to Haitians.

The city is mainly feeling pains from sudden population growth, along with barriers of language and culture. Pastors said health clinics are overwhelmed, schools don’t have enough teachers or translators in classrooms, and first responders are stretched to cover a much bigger population.

“It’s not refugee resettlement, so there’s not a support infrastructure in place,” said World Relief’s Soerens. Refugee resettlement, but not TPS, comes with federal funding for experienced resettlement organizations to help immigrants with transition. “We would never resettle 20,000 refugees in a community in a short period of time.”

But he said it’s common for immigrants to move for jobs, as happened here.

On the positive side, Springfield pastors said Haitians are buying homes in a Rust Belt city that had seen decline, opening Creole restaurants, starting nonprofits, and growing churches.

Other declining Rust Belt cities have seen revitalization with incoming immigrants. In Utica, New York, one in four residents is a refugee—but that process happened over decades.

“The Haitian church is the fastest growing church in Springfield,” said Hudson.

Most of what local churches in Springfield are doing to minister to arriving Haitians is providing language classes. The Nehemiah Foundation, an umbrella organization connecting churches and Christian nonprofit work in Springfield, is working with churches to start a large ESL program, Ruby said.

But previous immigrants are also helping the new immigrants adjust. Pastor Laurent Muvunyi, a Congolese refugee who immigrated to the United States in 2007, works at his church Living Hope and in local nonprofits at the area to help immigrants integrate into the community.

A Haitian family is part of his church, he said, and he’s been checking on them to see how they are doing. He’s been encouraged to see Christian organizations getting involved in the situation.

But Muvunyi said the local and national tensions have made immigrants locally feel ill at ease. Now he hears more people ask in everyday conversation if someone is Haitian, which he finds disconcerting.

“God is bringing neighbors to us here in the United States,” said Muvunyi. “But I feel like Americans need … to see who are these people, what can they do in our lives, how can they be a part of our economy and our Christian lives, and also our community life.”

“Pray for us,” said Dorsainvil, the Haitian nonprofit leader in Springfield. “Understand our reality. Be patient with us. We can pray together, work together, understand each other.”

- More from Emily Belz

Books

Review

A Pastor’s Wife Was Murdered. God Had Prepared Him for It.

Ericka Andersen

In the aftermath of a senseless killing, Davey Blackburn encountered “signs and wonders” hinting at its place in a divine plan.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: Unsplash

When disaster strikes, it’s easy to comfort ourselves with empty phrases like “It was a freak accident” or “That’s so unlikely to happen.” Much easier, certainly, than acknowledging that none of us are immune to tragedy. We soothe ourselves with statistics of survival, but inside we know the path of our lives has already been determined. Data is no weapon against God’s sovereignty.

Those unlikely, catastrophic events do happen—as they did to Davey and Amanda Blackburn. Davey, a pastor, had hardly expected to come home one morning and find his pregnant wife fighting to survive on the kitchen floor. He couldn’t have guessed that a violent crime would take Amanda’s life and tear his family apart.

Nearly nine years after Amanda took her last breath, he’s able to see that with God in control, even such brutality isn’t just random senselessness. But the pathway he took to reaching that conclusion wasn’t so smooth. In his new book, Nothing Is Wasted: A True Story of Hope, Forgiveness, and Finding Purpose in Pain, Davey documents his walk through that season of grief, sharing what he learned about trusting God amid horrific tragedy.

‘Things seem too easy’

When I first heard about Amanda’s savage murder, I was eight months pregnant. Only weeks before, I had moved back to my hometown of Indianapolis. Amanda, already the mother of a 2-year-old boy, had been pregnant herself. She lived in downtown Indianapolis, just a few miles from my sister’s house.

The murder hit me deeply as an expectant mom and fellow Christian. Amanda was the picture of an all-American girl, the last person anyone would expect to be killed in a drug-fueled robbery. The community was shaken—heartbroken and shattered for Davey, their son Weston, and Amanda’s close-knit family.

Given Amanda’s close connection to ministry and evangelism, local Christians were especially rocked. Everyone seemed to have a connection to the family, including me, when I discovered a member of my Bible study was Davey’s cousin.

The Blackburns had moved to Indianapolis after feeling God’s call to start a church there. In the book, Davey writes about launching Resonate Church and planting his family in this new Indianapolis community. The church grew, friendships formed, and Amanda’s budding venture as a furniture restorer began to thrive as well. With a second child on the way, their lives seemed charmed—almost too much so.

In the brief time Amanda spent in the hospital before her death, Davey remembered something she had said months prior: “Davey, things seem too easy right now. There’s no way this can last. I feel like we’re about to walk into a tough season.”

As she lay unconscious in the hospital bed, he was convinced God would heal her, but that belief soon passed when doctors told him Amanda was brain-dead. Suddenly, Davey faced a question he never anticipated: What happens when God doesn’t answer our prayers in the way we wish?

This question anchors the narrative of Nothing Is Wasted, where Davey candidly shares his experience in the aftermath of Amanda’s death, recounting depression, confusion, and even sinful responses (like feeling prejudice against men of color because the killers were Black).

To its credit, the book doesn’t advertise “feel-good” Christianese as a formula for overcoming suffering. Rather, it honestly portrays the stages of grief and their effects on one’s faith. “What do I do with God now that it seems His calling actually led us into this tragedy?” writes Davey. “If He were God, couldn’t He have prevented this? And if He were good why wouldn’t he have?”

Readers also get to know Amanda in her own words through some of her journal entries, where she recalled feeling peaceful about moving to Indianapolis and blessed by Hillsong United lyrics that read, “I will take up my cross and follow Lord where You lead me.” We meet a woman who was fully devoted to the Lord and grateful for his hand in nearly every aspect of her life.

The utter injustice of Amanda’s death was nearly impossible for Davey to comprehend. The world without Amanda felt unsettled, dark, and temporary, as he imagined Amanda entering heaven with the little girl he never got to meet, Everett Grace. He writes, “I could feel my heart longing for an otherworldly place—one that would last forever, one that could not be shaken or torn down, one that could not be stolen from me.”

Like many survivors, he also felt guilt—for going to the gym that morning, leaving the car unlocked, and talking on the phone in the driveway before heading back inside. Davey writes of being comforted by Amanda’s father, who assured him that God was not surprised—that he had “orchestrated things ahead of time to show us that He’s in this!”

Davey began seeing small signs of this orchestration at work. A casket was mistakenly sent to the funeral parlor made of reclaimed barn wood, which was Amanda’s favorite material to work with in her furniture restoration business. He then found that the church hosting her celebration of life service had also used reclaimed barn wood to renovate its stage and walls.

Past conversations with Amanda and her detailed journal entries revealed God’s prophetic provision for a future where Davey would be on his own, something they couldn’t have anticipated then. “I know it may not be like this forever, and you may have things ahead of us that are unbearable,” she wrote in a prayer. “When the valleys do come, please keep our family strong.”

These glimpses of God’s providential care shape the book into a guide for those facing tragedy, encouraging them to recognize the supernatural signs of his presence where they least expect it.

An architecture of hope

As Davey put his life back together, a divine architecture of hope took shape. It helped him view Amanda’s killers, at least in part, as victims of their life circumstances. It gave him the freedom to cultivate forgiveness.

Seemingly insignificant memories would resurface in Davey’s mind, illuminating clear markers of God’s preparation for moments of resentment and disorientation. “Your sin and my sin murdered Jesus,” Davey recalled a pastor telling him at seven years old. Remembering this remark, he was reminded that no matter how violent a crime, all sin is deadly in God’s eyes.

Along the way, God provided words of wisdom, encouragement, and prophecy from meticulously placed pastors, friends, and community members. When Davey began having regular nightmares, consistently jolting awake at exactly 6:37 a.m., random friends began texting him with prayers right at that moment each morning. None of them knew about the nightmares.

“You were built for this. You have been placed in this position for such a time as this.” In a serendipitous meeting one day, Davey heard these words from a local Black pastor who worked with inner-city youth like the ones who killed Amanda.

Such confirmations began to appear at every turn. All the signs and wonders could only point back to God, who was leading Davey to something far bigger than himself or Amanda. Davey recalls hearing God say, “I’m a God who restores out of the ruin,” and that he would “completely” restore this situation too.

In one of the book’s most powerful pages, a friend asks Davey if he thinks Amanda would have chosen to move to Indianapolis if she had known her fate in advance. The question floored him, but in considering it, he remembered something Amanda wrote just one day after moving. It read, “I will take up my cross and follow wherever you lead.”

Soon, a rush of other divine moments came flooding back: a night of small-group prayer, when the Holy Spirit had clearly been moving; the morning before Amanda’s death, when Davey found her face-down on the bedroom floor in the posture of a surrendering prayer. He could finally see that Amanda would have said yes to Indianapolis even if she had known what was to come.

Ministry to the grieving

Nothing Is Wasted covers nearly eight years of Davey’s life, showcasing his process of healing and the restoration of his faith, trust, and mission. Without sugarcoating the details, Davey offers a pathway to a deeper purpose within our pain—even the worst kind.

Ultimately, as the court case proceeded against Amanda’s killers, he was able to look them in the eyes and say, “I do not hold this against you.” He recognized a recurring theme amid his pain and the pain of others he met on the journey. Simply put: Nothing is wasted. Our pain and tragedies will be used for God’s purpose and our good, no matter how bad things get.

This realization resulted not only in the book but also in Davey founding the Nothing Is Wasted ministry, through which he hosts a popular podcast, along with classes and retreats for those walking through hard things.

He remarried and had another child, still cherishing the love he had with Amanda and mourning the loss of his unborn daughter. Over the years, he’s faced hurtful rumors, hateful criticism, and even murder accusations, but he walks forward in his divine calling to minister to the grieving.

In this book, readers will find resonance, hope, and a truth that holds even in the darkest of nights.

Ericka Andersen is a weekly columnist at World magazine. She is the author of Reason to Return: Why Women Need the Church and the Church Needs Women.

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Culture

Taste and See If the Show is Good

Kate Lucky

Staff Editor

Christians like to talk up pop culture’s resonance with our faith. But what matters more is our own conformity to Christ.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: Getty

Of this year’s Emmy-nominated television shows, my husband and I have watched all of The Crown, a fair bit of Abbott Elementary, and a couple episodes of Only Murders in the Building. We used to have a Hulu subscription, so we watched the first season of The Bear and several seasons of What We Do in the Shadows. (We’ve since canceled our subscription, so regrettably, no Reservation Dogs.)

Ask me what I liked or disliked about any of these shows, and I can tell you: the dialogue, the sets, the costumes, the pacing. But you might not agree with my verdicts. I find What We Do in the Shadows, a show about vampires living on Staten Island, extraordinarily funny. Laugh-out-loud funny. But Ted Lasso, a show about a soccer team? Three years ago, it took the Emmys by storm. I have friends who love it. But I watched, and I’m sorry … Ted Lasso just isn’t for me.

Taste. As the saying goes, there’s no accounting for it—but Christians are certainly inclined to try. We’re told to turn our thoughts to “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable” (Phil. 4:8). So which paintings and novels and TV shows qualify?

I think this is the wrong question to ask. As CT’s culture editor, I often encounter writers trying to discuss their favorite pop albums or hit summer movies this way. Don’t worry, they argue, this is actually Christian! Or at least it has Christian themes. The film mentions gardens and water and wine. The song touches on love and hope in ways that resonate with Scripture. It’s okay for Christians to like this show because it’s not just good TV. It’s true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and admirable.

This kind of analysis usually falls flat. It tends to feel like a stretch—silly at best, disingenuous at worst. And yet, I understand the appeal. We don’t want the works of art we love to run counter to the claims of our faith. We want to follow Paul’s injunction to “set our minds on things above,” so we go looking for loftiness in sitcoms and pop songs (Col. 3:2). We fear returning to a reflexive fundamentalism that sees “worldly” music, literature, or cinema as inherently dangerous.

Truth is, the best music, literature, and cinema do reference our faith, in a way. These works tell stories, and Christianity tells the grand story underneath them all. Insofar as works of art tell the truth about human nature and the world in which we live, we’ll be able to find those threads of connection—even if only as simple as “sin is real.”

The gospel of Jesus makes sense of sacrifice and typifies love, and distinguishes life from death. Now, as in the beginning, there is the Word, undergirding comedy and tragedy, absurdity and futility, suffering and joy. In that sense, every artwork is that Athenian altar of Acts 17, inscribed to a too-often unknown God.

But whether a television show gets us thinking about what’s noble and pure often has less to do with the show itself and more to do with us as viewers. For Paul, the altar to the unknown God was the basis for a sermon pointing to the God he knew in Christ Jesus. Yet for thousands of Athenians who’d passed it day in and day out for decades, it made no such connection.

Rephrasing my earlier question, then: Which paintings and novels and TV shows qualify for me?

Which pieces of art can move each of us—with our unique aesthetic sensibilities, our God-given proclivities for particular jokes, our besetting sins—to reflect on what’s admirable and right?

Posing the question this way doesn’t disregard the guidelines in Philippians 4:8. Some films or songs or texts—such as those with wildly gratuitous violence or pornographic sexuality—will never help any of us meditate on things above. Art isn’t like meat sacrificed to idols (1 Cor. 8:4–8); it’s not all neutral for the Christian. Not everything is on the table.

Yet this approach does allow for personality, flexibility, and yes, taste. I reveled in the award-winning show Breaking Bad and its companion, Better Call Saul. Those series are violent, but they didn’t tempt me to wrath. I spent the days after each episode meditating on good intentions and underlying motives and how susceptible we are to faulty explanations of our own behavior.

But Baby Reindeer I couldn’t stomach. Its portrayal of human brokenness aligned with my understanding of sin-corrupted reality. But the show’s depictions of sexual violence made me queasy; they stuck with me too long after I’d turned off the TV. The show felt dark; it made me feel dark. I decided not to finish the series.

The reverse may have been true for a different believer: yes to Baby Reindeer, no to Breaking Bad. In that sense, art is like that idol-sacrificed meat: A stumbling block for one of us won’t be for the other (1 Cor. 8:9–13).

This makes the task of the Christian critic at once more difficult and more interesting. Our job is not to justify our taste in culture but to explain what we see from a vantage point oriented to Christ. Not, This art is actually kinda Christian, but rather, Here’s what I realized as a Christian encountering this art.

We needn’t try to force cultural artifacts into a set of parameters they were never meant to meet, grading on a curve so our favorites get a pass. Instead, we come to those artifacts as changed people, minds renewed, and see what there is to see.

This is not how most of us think about taste today, whether we are Christians or not, but it harkens to an older tradition. Once, philosophers thought of taste not in terms of “what band you like, what books you read, what clothes you wear,” writer Kyle Chayka explained in a recent interview with the critic Ezra Klein. They understood it rather “as a more fundamental human experience, like a moral capacity, a way of judging what’s around you and evaluating what’s good and … almost making it part of yourself.”

Developing taste like that will require confidence, born of sanctification and informed by the Spirit, about what is good and worthy of our attention. It will require humility, too, about our own capacity to see rightly, our self-flattering accounts of what we like and dislike, and the fact that our minds could always change, perhaps from the benefit of another believer’s view.

This is how I hope my own taste will come to operate as a Christian culture critic: as a bellwether for the admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy. As an aid to my faith. As a means of encountering God in a brushstroke, a laugh line, a well-written truth.

Kate Lucky is senior editor of culture and engagement at Christianity Today.

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Ideas

The Church Can Help End the Phone-Based Childhood

Emily Crouch

Christians fought for laws to protect children during the Industrial Revolution. We can do it again in the smartphone age.

Edits by CT / Source Images: Library of Congress / Pexels

As American kids head back to school this fall, many will do so with smartphones in hand. The average age at which American kids receive their first phone is just 11, and most public schools only ban nonacademic classroom phone use—and struggle to enforce even that.

We know this is a problem. Research from academics like Jonathan Haidt and Jean Twenge continues to show American young people are in a mental health crisis, and there’s compelling evidence that the phone-based childhood is the leading cause. And the church is not an outlier here; if you’ve worked in youth ministry recently, you understand the challenges that come with a room full of teens who are chronically online. If you’re young yourself, you understand how tightly tech use is linked to belonging and how difficult it can be to pull your attention away from your own device out of fear that you may be missing out.

Christians have already begun to consider how churches can encourage safer digital media use in ministry and approach tech use as a matter for discipleship. But I want to recommend another response with a long history in the church: political discipleship.

If we believe that the gospel has the power to speak to our whole lives, we must recognize that this includes our digital lives, and not just individually but together: as families and congregations, yes, but also in politics. Political discipleship—how we follow God as people rooted in a certain time and place in a political community—can be part of how we love and serve God and neighbor in our digital age.

I understand why some Christians are wary of getting involved in politics and government, whether for theological or historical reasons or simply because of skepticism about the government’s ability to do anything productive. But if we have the opportunity to advocate for public policies that promote safety and flourishing for us and our neighbors, we must steward that responsibility well, like the servants in the parable of the talents in Matthew 25. From time to time, we may have a duty to step into the role of advocate for those who cannot advocate for themselves.

That particularly means children and teenagers whose families do not have the knowledge, resources, or wherewithal to make limiting screen time a priority. Low-income children are two to three times as likely as their peers to develop mental health conditions, and some research shows that they’re also more likely to spend a lot of time online. Phone-free public schools would provide at least some respite from intentionally addictive digital media.

So how has the church historically engaged in political discipleship for the good of our neighbors? Christians who navigated the rapid technological, economic, and social changes of the Industrial Revolution provide examples we can learn from today.

The shift from agrarian to industrial economies in the US and UK brought with it new convenience and opportunities, but also new dangers for children. Sound familiar? It may be difficult for us to imagine now, but this was an era without mandatory schooling or many safety regulations. Children often worked alongside parents or other adults in fields or factories.

Without the labor laws we now take for granted, children sometimes worked 16-hour days or longer. They had few breaks. Injuries were common, and no special care was taken for children. Even child prostitution was found in many workplaces, as historian Penelope Carson wrote for Christian History, and there “were no safety regulations, and financial penalties and beatings were imposed for the slightest slip or misdemeanor. Accidents and deaths were all too common.” Orphans were particularly vulnerable, with no guardians to intervene on their behalf.

But some Christians did intervene, playing an integral role in the passage of child labor laws on both sides of the Atlantic. Richard Oastler, a devout Methodist and abolitionist of the 19th century, began spreading public awareness once he learned how children were treated in British factories. Then, he sought legal solutions to ensure the protection of children. Oastler’s sometimes radical methods and rhetoric got him in trouble more than once, but his concern for the poor and victims of injustice helped pass the UK’s Factory Acts of 1833 and 1847, which limited work hours for women and children.

Decades later, in the US, an Episcopalian priest named Edgar Gardner Murphy was concerned for the well-being of children working in mills. For years, he advocated for legislation that would shorten the hours children worked, raise the age of children working in factories and mines, and outlaw overnight work. Understanding that reforms were essential to protect children from employers and sometimes their own parents, he established the National Child Labor Committee (NCLC) in 1904 to spread awareness and advance policy solutions.

Just two years after the establishment of the NCLC, conversations about reforming child labor laws were elevated from a state to a federal level, and the committee succeeded in highlighting both the injustice of child labor and the benefits that public schooling would provide. Many parents and employers were content with the status quo, but photographs taken by Lewis W. Hine exposed the plight of children working in factories and mines, prompting legislative action.

Smartphones don’t pose the same physical dangers as early industrial mines or cotton mills, but their risk for American children is real. So is Christians’ responsibility to intervene on vulnerable kids’ behalf by advocating for better public policy around tech in public schools.

Of course, there’s no guarantee that our advocacy will succeed. History and current polls alike suggest that in spite of our best efforts, proposals to protect kids online have a high chance of failure. Many parents—and certainly many kids—would rather maintain the status quo. That possibility shouldn’t discourage us from trying.

In a speech at the International Christian Political Conference in 1977, Sen. Mark Hatfield of Oregon listed many bills he had championed or voted for because of his Christian faith. “As it happens,” he continued, “each of these proposals was defeated. Yet in each case, a witness was borne, I trust, to the goals which would move us in the direction of the kingdom, as I understand it.” Even if we don’t get the policies we want, we can still practice this kind of faithfulness in the public square. We can still bear witness to the hope we have in Christ, trusting that God will accomplish justice.

At a practical level, Christians—and especially pastors and other church leaders—should build relationships with school board members, state and local officials, and even members of Congress who can shape tech policies in our local schools. We can make the case to these leaders, just as Oastler did with British policymakers two centuries ago, that we have both the duty and ability to better protect vulnerable youth and families in our communities—to better love our neighbors.

Emily Crouch is a public policy and communications professional living and working in Alexandria, Virginia. She leads college student programming and the fellowship for early-career congressional leadership development at the Center for Public Justice.

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Books

Review

New & Noteworthy

Matt Reynolds

Chosen by Matt Reynolds, CT senior books editor.

Illustration by Tara Anand

Great to Good

Jae Hoon Lee (IVP)

Highly driven performers and organizational leaders often speak of making the leap from good to great. As his book title suggests, Korean pastor Jae Hoon Lee believes the church (and individual Christians) should invert that mindset, pursuing Christlike character rather than earthly power and glory. “Jesus referred to himself as a good shepherd, not a great one,” writes Lee, whose reflections draw upon his Korean church context. “He attributed his accomplishments to God, not to himself. After all, God was the One who raised him up. So, the church should follow his example of humility, service, and meekness instead of trying to elevate itself unnecessarily.”

Nearing a Far God

Leslie Leyland Fields (NavPress)

The Psalms, as believers have long affirmed, furnish language for pouring out our whole hearts in prayer. Writer Leslie Leyland Fields builds on this foundation in Nearing a Far God, showing how these sacred poems help us compose our own cries of sorrow and joy, praise and lament. “We’re not rewriting Scripture,” Fields cautions about her book, which includes a series of writing and prayer exercises. “The Psalms cannot rewrite us if we are rewriting the Psalms. Instead, we are allowing the Psalms to teach us to pray, to guide our own words and emotions as we seek God’s face, and to lead us to listen more closely to the response of his Word.”

A New and Ancient Evangelism

Judith Paulsen (Baker Academic)

One can understand why nonbelievers might be queasy about the idea of evangelism. But similar attitudes run surprisingly deep in Christian circles, as evangelism professor Judith Paulsen reports in this book. Paulsen, who teaches at Wycliffe College in Toronto, looks to New Testament conversion stories for guidance on repairing the reputation and reviving the practice of sharing the gospel. By “delving deeply” into these stories, she hopes “the church in the West can again learn ancient wisdom about how God draws people to himself and how, empowered by the Holy Spirit, we as the people of God can be his instruments in that great venture.”

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Books

Review

A Subtler Political Idolatry

Matt Reynolds

We don’t always like our presidents. But we’re apt to exalt the presidency.

As a college student, I never missed a State of the Union address. Feeling a sense of patriotic duty, I sat through the whole bloated spectacle: the obsequious handshakes, interminable applause, and extravagant promises to vanquish foes, blot out injustice, and kickstart a golden age of prosperity.

But over time, I came to see all that for what it was. Then came a series of epiphanies about other allegedly sacred observances. Presidential debates? A wasteland of sound bites. The nominating conventions? Pointless pep rallies. Election night coverage? Instead of wasting hours, I can access the results online in seconds.

Why do so many people feel they owe reverence to the Oval Office? Perhaps it’s one sign we’ve succumbed to what political analyst Gene Healy, in his 2008 book of the same name, calls “the cult of the presidency.”

Five election cycles after publication, Healy’s book is worth revisiting for its still-fresh perspective and unfortunately forgotten wisdom. (The purpose of this column, for those just discovering it, is revisiting books that are neither brand new nor really old).

Healy’s work, subtitled America’s Dangerous Devotion to Executive Power, can usefully reframe well-worn evangelical conversations about political idolatry, though it wasn’t written with Christians in mind.

We often bemoan flagrant departures from Christ-centered faith, like Christian nationalism or blind loyalty to Team Red or Team Blue. But the presidential “cult” operates on a lower wavelength, Healy argues. Even if you keep a healthy distance from partisan spectacle, you might have fallen under its sway.

This tendency can be easier to see if we distinguish individual leaders from the office itself. Americans are fond of dismissing particular presidents as fools, knaves, and charlatans. Yet we still expect the White House to work wonders, Healy observes, pining for the president to heal society’s every ill.

That’s not how our government is constitutionally designed. Over 250 years, however, an office envisioned as humble and unglamorous gradually acquired grandiose trappings. The State of the Union, for instance, was originally a practical, written update for lawmakers, and the notion of one man waxing eloquent from Olympian heights would’ve sent shivers down Madisonian spines.

How quaint that seems today! So does the bygone norm against presidents venturing opinions on legislative matters, lest they be seen as stepping on Congress’s toes. From our vantage point, it’s shocking to learn of the informal codes Healy details that once discouraged presidential candidates from appealing directly to the public on behalf of their own ambitions.

In Healy’s telling, the presidency changed irreparably with “transformational” figures, like Woodrow Wilson and both Roosevelts, who saw constitutional limits as anachronistic and ill-suited to modern life. They and most of their successors crafted the office we know today, with staggering power over policy and public opinion.

A Cato Institute researcher, Healy writes as a libertarian who decries elements of crusading moralism in both parties. As such, he appreciates how immodest conceptions of presidential duty precipitate abuses of power, from domestic espionage and suppression of dissent to bloody misadventures overseas. George W. Bush, in office when Healy was writing, earns especially low marks for ignoring constitutional strictures in the name of fighting terror.

Stranger, though no less unsettling, is the spiritual component of this “cult.” Why do we imagine that one person can fulfill our highest hopes? Why, after every natural disaster, does the president don the mantle of national chaplain? Why do we anoint mere mortals as moral tone-setters and purpose-givers for the defiantly pluralistic masses? The error here should be especially obvious to Christians, yet we often fall into these habits as easily as other Americans.

I was surprised to see Healy close on a guardedly optimistic note. Yes, he concedes, presidents of both parties will always be tempted to misuse the power of the office. Yes, our grueling campaign gauntlets favor egotists and demagogues over decent, self-effacing public servants. And yes, even the children of democracy have an incurable craving for kings.

But more than ever, Healy argues, our political culture fosters a healthy distrust of authority and an awareness of corruption in high places. And it permits a style of withering mockery that echoes an earlier, more raucous era of political discourse.

That’s all true, yet I left The Cult of the Presidency wondering whether its critique goes far enough. Healy focuses on what presidents do in office, largely overlooking another important factor: how we memorialize our presidents, inflating their legacies to mythic dimensions. Consider the Capitol rotunda painting Apotheosis of Washington or narratives casting Abraham Lincoln as a Christ figure.

It’s possible too that Healy underrates the media’s role in entrenching presidential monomania. He lands some satisfying blows against prominent pundits who daydream about heroic leaders and causes. But rank-and-file journalists form their own consuming attachments. Why do they crowd into White House press conferences when so many local city councils, regulatory commissions, school boards, and police departments could stand some extra scrutiny? Why do they grumble indignantly when presidents decline to dominate the public conversation with constant speeches and interviews?

Presidents Barack Obama and Donald Trump took office after Healy was writing, but, with hindsight, they seem like tokens of his prescience. In both, we witness a creeping triumph of symbolism over statesmanlike substance, each politician becoming a totemic embodiment of a warring subculture. In Obama, progressives see the urbane intellectualism they cherish in themselves. In Trump, populist conservatives see their own dukes raised against elite condescension.

Ultimately, Healy argues, the heroic president ideal persists because the people desire heroic presidents. But this durability also hints at a vulnerability: At the level of law and practice, it would take years to newly restrain our chief executives. But citizens enjoy an enviable freedom—and Christians a blessed imperative—to fix our affections elsewhere.

After all, the White House isn’t a literal temple, and the president can’t make you literally bend the knee or burn a pinch of incense. Whatever it costs to break away from the cult of the presidency, it won’t land you in the lion’s den.

Matt Reynolds is senior books editor for Christianity Today.

The Beckoning Nightstand

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Books

Review

Sincerely, Your Spiritual Mentor

Uche Anizor

In a collection of letters, theologian Brad East counsels believers whose faith is genuine but untutored.

Illustration by Weston Wei

I have often longed for my own personal trainer, not so much for getting in better physical shape but for better understanding the whats and hows of Christian faith.

To some degree, such training is the aim of those like me, who teach theology in a formal setting. But we can only accomplish so much in a 15-week class period. Parents, too, are (hopefully) striving to train children in the faith without sounding overly preachy.

Whatever my own relative success or failure in either arena, I’m convinced that one of the best ways to pass on the faith is through extended conversation with a wise mentor.

In Letters to a Future Saint: Foundations of Faith for the Spiritually Hungry, theology professor Brad East turns to this model, offering a distinctive blend of theological instruction and spiritual mentorship.

East’s book offers 93 such letters, covering the whole of Christian doctrine, from the nature of the Trinity to the unfolding of the last things, while providing clear teaching on the Incarnation, Christ’s atonement, the church, sacraments, the Christian life, prayer, and more.

East’s intended audience is young Christians whose faith is sincere but relatively “untutored.” He addresses the recipient of his letters as “future saint,” drawing attention to the fact that, while we are saints right now, our full sainthood, or holiness, awaits the return of Christ.

East hopes his instruction will help prod us further down the path of sainthood. In short, his book seeks to catechize readers, not in a typical question-and-answer format but by giving brief, thoughtful explanations of central themes—and thorny issues—within Christian theology.

What, according to East, is Christianity all about? The answer, quite simply, is Christ. In these letters, that is more than a banal statement. In every section of the book, East makes it clear that being a Christian is about looking to Christ. It’s about gazing at the beauty of Christ that makes costly discipleship worth it. It’s about knowing and loving Christ, and being the people of Christ.

East writes in an ecumenical spirit, drawing from historic church tradition and seeking to articulate a brand of “mere Christianity.” He will ruffle some feathers here and there, perhaps, with his positive views on evolution, support for infant baptism, and regular talk of “saints.” His aim, however, is to present what most Christians can get onboard with.

Along the way, there are several theological gems that I will mention only in brief. First, in East’s discussion of the image of God, he supplements standard accounts of this doctrine by suggesting that the imago Dei is expressed as we live out of Christ’s threefold office of prophet, priest, and king. In this sense, the image of God shines brightest in the imitation of Christ, who is the image of God.

Second, East gives clear reasons for Christ’s ascension, that most neglected aspect of the Lord’s redemptive work. Christ ascends in order to (1) send the Spirit, (2) be glorified, and (3) continue his work as priest, among other things.

Third, East faces head-on a question many have asked: What’s the practical value of knowing the doctrine of the Trinity? His response can be summed up like this: The Trinity matters because God matters. If you want to know God, you must know the Trinity. Further, the Trinity matters because the gospel only makes sense (and is good news) if God is triune. No Trinity, no gospel. It doesn’t get more practical than that!

Importantly, East digs beneath these and other matters of theology to consider our broader “family history,” rooted in the relationship between the church and Israel. This is a complex relationship that invites perennial debate. But East is deliberate in linking the church’s identity to Abraham and Israel. “If you want to know God,” East counsels, “start here.” Or, more poignantly, “If you want to know God, you must know Christ. If you want to know Christ, you must know the Jews.”

Even one of East’s summaries of the gospel has Abraham and Israel at the center. If “you had to sum up the gospel with a single word,” he asks, “what would it be? My choice: adoption. Gentiles are adopted as Abraham’s children, and all people, gentiles and Jews both, are adopted as God’s children. To be adopted by one is to be adopted by the other.”

One more comment on the Israel-church relationship: East cautions against viewing Israel’s history as merely a history of failure. He argues, first, that “Israel’s history is like the history of every other people, because it is an altogether human history. It contains glories and triumphs alongside defeats and disasters.” On top of this, there are many examples of mighty faith in Israel’s history. These are the models we are encouraged to remember in Hebrews 11.

By remembering our solidarity with Israel, we can avoid viewing Israel as a botched experiment in holiness and the church as a merciful upgrade. “We must not say,” writes East, “that the Jews were God’s people and now (Christian) gentiles are God’s people. That involves a callous, in fact disastrous, revision of God’s story, his own word, his very heart.”

If Letters to a Future Saint were a typical theology primer, it would be difficult to accommodate some of the practical or existential questions East addresses so admirably. My favorite practical foray is his treatment of doubt.

He first describes our cultural moment: “Doubt is in vogue. It’s often held up as a kind of ideal. … I’ve heard more than a few ministers say that no Christian is a serious follower of Jesus until he or she has seriously doubted the truth of the gospel.”

To this, he responds pungently, “What a bunch of baloney.” He acknowledges what’s good about the pro-doubt impulse: the way it validates questions, creating space for disagreement in nonessential areas, and removes shame from Christians who ask them. East cautions, however, that while doubt is normal for Christians, it is not required for Christian maturity. For some it’s a “way station,” but it’s never a “landing spot.”

We are after faithfulness and maturity, not more questions. “Martyrs,” in East’s fine phrasing, “don’t die for a question mark.” Rather than valorizing doubt as such, East concludes with an invitation to “keep asking questions. Never stop. But ask questions in search of the truth.”

Given the personal and introductory nature of the book, you might not expect to find nuanced discussions of tough theological and philosophical topics. Yet East does not shy away from these, even though the book is avowedly for newer believers.

One example is his treatment of how God creates through the agency of human “creators”—as in the case of human conception. He writes in a simultaneously theological and devotional key:

What we discover, when God works his will through us, is this. Far from a violation of our freedom or a coercion of our wills, we find ourselves more fully alive—happiest, freest, holiest. We are, by a great mystery, our truest and deepest selves. When we cling to our lives and our wills, we lose them. When we lose them in God, we receive them back in unlosable form.

This relates to how East addresses the difficult issue of moral responsibility in a fallen world. He shows that God has every right to hold us responsible for sins resulting largely from a sinful disposition we received from Adam. Just as a person genetically disposed to addiction and drunkenness is responsible for killing someone in a drunk driving accident, we remain responsible for our sins, despite inheriting the legacy of original sin.

As a theologian, I could nitpick about the strange flow of the book. It begins with a focus on discipleship, worship, and prayer, then proceeds to discuss Abraham and Israel before finally turning to particular doctrines. In fact, no formal treatment of the Trinity appears until the 52nd letter!

If this were a standard theology textbook, that might be a point against it. But East’s placement is actually a touch of pastoral wisdom. In earlier parts of the book, he has assumed and, in many ways, waxed eloquent on the Trinitarian nature of Christianity. He pictures his readers having been baptized into the Trinitarian faith. They’ve come to know Jesus and received the Spirit, and they pray to the Father on that basis.

So, rather than beginning with Trinitarian puzzles to solve, he begins with our discipleship and our story (which is Israel’s story). Along the way, he’s developing a picture of God as creator, redeemer, and covenant partner. By the time we get to the Trinity, then, we have a deeply personal and experiential portrayal of God, one that prepares us to receive the picture of God in three persons as something other than a cold, mathematical formula.

This pastoral judgment brings us back to the question of theology’s form. In other words, what is the best way to teach theology and pass on the Christian faith? While East’s book may not answer that question decisively, it does demonstrate that sage letters are an effective and engaging option for training the next generation of saints.

Uche Anizor is associate professor of theology at Biola University’s Talbot School of Theology. He is the author of Overcoming Apathy: Gospel Hope for Those Who Struggle to Care.

This article appeared in the September/October 2024 issue of Christianity Today as "Training Saints".

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Books

Review

Tracing the Bible’s History Through Time and Space

David W. Kling

Bruce Gordon shows how believers in every era have experienced their sacred book through all the human senses.

Illustration by Mark Pernice

In one of his many insightful essays, the late missiologist Andrew Walls asked whether one could detect a coherence or continuity over 2,000 years of Christian history. He proposed that one theme stood out most: the ultimate significance of Jesus. Beyond that, he noted that Christians have affirmed the same sacred writings, instituted some form of baptism and Communion, and displayed an awareness of their historical connection to other Christians.

Walls didn’t prioritize the influence of these other enduring facets of the faith. One wonders, though, whether this framing understates the centrality of the Bible. After all, Scripture is the source of what we know about Jesus, the two basic Christian rituals, and the “communion of the saints.”

In all its variety, Christianity is a religion of God’s address to humanity, communicated through the words of Scripture. Indeed, as Bruce Gordon argues so eloquently in The Bible: A Global History, the sacred text “is the story of a life force,” rooted in our “ongoing effort to hear God.”

Gordon’s substantial book is a welcome first. Much contemporary scholarship on the Bible’s history has focused on questions of how it came into existence and whether we can trust its historical claims.

To be sure, Gordon engages these issues. But they are secondary concerns in a narrative emphasizing how the Bible was produced, copied, adorned, illustrated, memorized, printed, marketed, commodified, distributed, annotated, translated, sung, and interpreted across the ages.

Gordon’s compelling, sensitive, accessible, and balanced work is a Christian people’s history of the Bible through time and space. It’s a story of how Christians have lived in and through the text in countless ways, both “positively and negatively,” through “all the human senses.”

Evangelicals tend to approach the Bible as mainly a devotional book, something to be read and understood for the sake of furthering spiritual growth. Gordon’s history by no means discounts this approach. It demonstrates, though, that throughout most of Christian history, the Bible was heard, performed, or seen, not read.

Reading Gordon’s work, three major themes come to the forefront: We see believers treating the Bible as an object of devotion. We see them translating the Bible into different languages, idioms, and cultural contexts. And we see them engaging with the Bible as a channel of personal communication from God.

First, Gordon considers the Bible as an object of devotion. The process of composing and assembling biblical books into what we know as the canon was gradual, reflecting the worship, devotional, and reading needs of the early Christian community. In total, though, it launched a communication revolution, in that the resulting Bible was meant for all, literate or not.

By the fourth century, the codex had replaced the scroll as the predominant biblical format. As a result, the Bible came into its own, since it was now easier to transport. Scriptoriums arose in monasteries or households, where scribes copied the sacred text in ascetic acts of devotion. As Gordon notes, “By the fifth century, the Bible as book had become an incarnation of the divine, its physical presence in the world.” The medium was inseparable from the saving message.

Throughout the medieval period, the very material form of the Bible evoked a sense of the sacred. To see or touch a Bible, to chant its words or raise it aloft in a holy procession, conjured feelings of awe and reverence. Irish monks, influenced by Byzantine tradition, adorned Bible covers with jewels, illuminated biblical manuscripts in gold, and embellished their Bibles with images of animals and plants and elegant geometric patterns.

In the later medieval period, the stained-glass windows in great cathedrals visually narrated the biblical story from creation to redemption to consummation. The Bible was spoken in the Mass, heard in popular preaching, and performed in processions and stage plays. “Without a doubt,” writes Gordon, a scholar of the Reformation, “one of the greatest mistruths perpetuated by the Protestant Reformation is that the Bible disappeared during the Middle Ages.”

Next, Gordon examines the Bible in translation. As Scripture emerged in book form, so did competing versions.

Jerome’s well-known Vulgate translation appeared late in the fourth century. Even before then, the Bible, in whole or in part, had been translated into Syriac and Persian in the East, Egyptian Coptic in North Africa, and Latin and Gothic in the West. To be sure, Jerome’s translation prevailed in the Catholic church, but a vast multitude of Old Latin versions persisted alongside it for half a millennium.

In the 15th century, approximately 70 vernacular translations existed, belying Martin Luther’s claim that no one had access to the Bible before his 1521 German New Testament translation. “By the end of the Middle Ages,” writes Gordon, “vernacular Bibles had never before been so widely owned and read.”

As the Bible became more accessible in more languages, it also became a lightning rod for disagreement. And as sola Scriptura became the Protestant baseline of authority, it also helped fuel the proliferation of Protestant groups claiming fidelity to their interpretation of the Bible.

Gordon dedicates an entire chapter to the widely cherished King James Version (1611). To this day, the KJV remains the most widely read version around the world, its memorable words and phrases firmly engrained in the cultural heritage of the West.

Unlike its predecessor, the Geneva Bible—with its Reformed emphasis and controversial annotations—the KJV was produced without notes or commentary. Unbeknownst to many who grew up with the KJV, its language was purposely antiquated (thee and thou had already disappeared from common parlance) to give the appearance of solemnity and refinement. The “strangeness” of the KJV “conveyed the holy and transcendent,” writes Gordon, just as Latin had done for Catholics of earlier eras.

By the mid-19th century, however, as the Bible received increasing scrutiny, the KJV became less a book of faith than a literary treasure of England, prompting T. S. Eliot to comment, “Those who talk about the Bible as a ‘monument of English prose’ are merely admiring it over the grave of Christianity.”

Beginning in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, British, American, and European Protestant missionaries undertook ambitious translation projects to make the Bible available in local languages. As is well known, the results were mixed.

On one hand, missionaries could not shed their Western prejudices and identification with colonialism and imperialism. In some cases they used the Bible to oppress and suppress traditional cultures. On the other hand, in translating the Bible into mother tongues, missionaries provided Indigenous peoples with tools for questioning the claims of Western superiority. Converts found themselves in the text of Scripture, claimed the Bible as their own, and interpreted it through the lens of their culture. In Africa, Gordon notes, “the overall success” of translation efforts “can hardly be overstated.”

One of the most confounding and contentious translation issues concerned proper names for God. China serves as one example, with its polytheistic culture lacking any conceptual equivalent of the Christian God or the Trinity. In the 16th century, Jesuits settled upon Tianzhu (“Lord of Heaven”), though no Catholic translations of the Bible appeared in China until two centuries later.

Then, in the 1840s, members of a joint Protestant American and British translating team disagreed passionately over the correct name for God, igniting what became known as the “term question.” So intense was the dispute—the Americans favored Shen (“Spirit”) whereas the British favored Shandi (“Sovereign on High”)—that two separate Bibles were published in classical Chinese. In 1919, a more reader-friendly Bible appeared in Mandarin, again in two versions that reflected the naming impasse.

Translators faced similar difficulties in Africa. How transferrable were the names of African deities into Christ-ian theological contexts? One proposed solution, which today appears in 30 African languages, was the Bantu name Muhungu (later Mungu), connoting a distant creator. Jesus received the name mwana wa Mulungu (or “child of Mulungu”).

Last, Gordon addresses the Bible as a mode of personal communication. Indeed, a major theme in the last two-thirds of the book, which covers the ages of Puritanism, pietism, evangelicalism, and Pentecostalism, is “the Bible’s promise of a personal relationship with God.” As Gordon frequently points out, believers have long found themselves in the Bible’s pages, believing that God, with the Holy Spirit’s aid, was speaking to them directly.

Puritans promoted a culture of personal Bible reading, diary-keeping, and meditation. Pietist and evangelical women spoke of identifying with particular biblical figures. Methodists situated themselves in the biblical narrative through the hymns of the Wesley brothers.

Even as proslavery advocates appealed to Scripture, African American slaves intoned Bible-based spirituals of resistance and freedom. Hong Xiuquan, the apocalyptic leader of the murderous Taiping Rebellion in China, interpreted his visions by reading the Book of Revelation. The Liberian prophet William Wadé Harris saw himself as a successor to Moses, Elijah, and Jesus.

Pentecostals claim to hear God speaking directly through the Bible. In their view, the supernatural occurrences in Scripture—gifts of the Spirit, exorcisms, healings, Spirit baptism—are as real today as they were in New Testament times. “The physicality of the Pentecostal encounter with the Bible,” writes Gordon, “is intimate, a full transformation of the whole person into life in the Spirit.”

The Bible is a remarkable work of original synthesis, weaving many strands of scholarship into a coherent and lively narrative. One could point to minor oversights. For example, Gordon omits the prodigious efforts of Wycliffe Bible Translators, an evangelical organization that has translated the Bible into more than 700 languages. More could be said, too, about the potential implications of our shift toward reading the Bible on electronic platforms.

More substantively, Gordon concludes with a promising, if somewhat underdeveloped, claim that “the Bible’s global history is a reason for hope.” To support his assertion, he notes the increased accessibility of the Bible on the global stage, the numerous translations that enable people to see themselves within its narrative, and the multiple readings of Scripture and niche Bibles that speak to the needs of particular communities of faith.

These developments reinforce Gordon’s thesis that “every claim to the clarity of the Bible, from Augustine and Martin Luther to Billy Graham, has been immediately challenged.” There’s no question that Christians have long disagreed civilly and sometimes violently over beliefs and practices derived from Scripture.

But if the Bible is “the greatest story ever told,” if it offers grounds for hope, surely the ultimate reason is just what Andrew Walls has proposed: the significance of Jesus and the gospel message. Is it possible to separate the (admittedly messy) story of the Bible’s history from the one whose life, death, and resurrection brought it into being? Those are the perennial questions at the heart of Gordon’s splendid book.

David W. Kling is a professor of religious studies at the University of Miami. He is the author of The Bible in History: How the Texts Have Shaped the Times and A History of Christian Conversion.

This article appeared in the September/October 2024 issue of Christianity Today as "The Bible in Time and Space".

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