The Evangelicalism of Jimmy Carter

Contributor

The former president, who turns 100 on Tuesday, was elected while serving as a Southern Baptist deacon. But he was never fully welcomed by white evangelicals as one of our own.

Former President Jimmy Carter teaches Sunday School class at Maranatha Baptist Church in Georgia.

David Goldman / AP Images

When Jimmy Carter spoke about his faith in Christ while campaigning for president in 1976, many evangelicals were ecstatic.

No previous presidential candidate had claimed to be “born again” or spoken so openly about his relationship with Jesus. Nor had any welcomed journalists to his adult Sunday school class, which Carter continued to teach even while running for the White House. But then again, no other presidential candidate was a deacon in a Southern Baptist church.

The United States needed a “born-again man in the White House,” Oklahoma pastor Bailey Smith told the crowd gathered at the SBC’s annual meeting in June 1976. Then he added, in case anyone missed the hint, “And his initials are the same as our Lord’s!”

But only a few weeks later, Third Century Publishers, an evangelical publishing firm cofounded by Campus Crusade for Christ founder Bill Bright, released a book that sharply criticized Carter’s evangelical bona fides. The book, What about Jimmy Carter?, was written by a young evangelist named Ron Boehme.

When he first heard about Carter’s candidacy, Boehme said, he was “thrilled” that a born-again Christian was running for president. Yet as he learned more about Carter’s beliefs, his opinion of the Democratic candidate quickly soured. Carter, he discovered, had embraced neo-orthodox views of the Bible, and he supported liberal abortion policies as well as gay rights.

Perhaps Carter wasn’t really an evangelical at all, Boehme decided, or not even a believer. “When a man promotes or goes along with immorality and ungodliness in his political campaigning and lawmaking, he is not a true follower of Jesus,” he wrote. Appropriating one of Jesus’ statements in the Sermon on the Mount, Boehme doubled down: “A good tree cannot produce bad fruit.”

Boehme was hardly alone in this conclusion. Although Carter won approximately half the white evangelical vote in 1976, many evangelicals echoed Boehme in their questions about his faith during the weeks leading up to the election. Carter’s interview with Playboy magazine disturbed many conservative Christians, and so did a few of his policy positions.

By 1980, some evangelicals who had once supported Carter (such as the Christian broadcaster Pat Robertson) were at the forefront of the movement to defeat him at the polls. Carter, they decided, had promoted “secular humanism” through his promotion of a feminist agenda and his refusal to oppose gay rights. Indeed, it was largely a reaction against Carter’s presidential policies that prompted the political mobilization of the Religious Right and the strong evangelical support for Ronald Reagan in 1980.

After Carter left office, the rift between him and the increasingly conservative leadership of the Southern Baptist Convention continued to grow. Carter eventually left the Southern Baptist Convention to join the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship, a denomination that ordained women and rejected some of the SBC’s conservative political stances.

But Carter continued to call himself an evangelical Christian. He continued to speak of reading the Bible daily, praying constantly, and teaching weekly Sunday school classes at his Baptist church. His volunteer work through Habitat for Humanity became legendary. And he frequently shared his faith with others, including with non-Christian international leaders while he was president.

He also wrote several books about his faith. “I am convinced that Jesus is the Son of God,” he said in his final book on the subject, published in 2018. Jesus is his “personal savior,” he declared, as well as “an exemplary personal guide for a way for me and others to live. … The basis elements of Christianity apply personally to me, shape my attitude and my actions, and give me a joyful and positive life, with purpose.”

After consulting the description of evangelicalism provided in a Wikipedia article and supplementing it with information from one of his Bible commentaries, Carter concluded in the book that not only was he a Christian, he was an “evangelical Christian.” He had been born again; he shared his faith with others; and he loved Jesus as his Savior. What could be more evangelical than that?

But clearly there was a difference between Carter’s understanding of the faith and the views of his evangelical critics. His born-again experience of conversion may have resembled theirs, and his devotion to prayer and Bible reading may have been just as strong, but on two issues Carter parted ways with conservative evangelicals of the late 20th century and beyond: biblical inerrancy and politics.

Those were the very issues at the heart of the conservative takeover of the Southern Baptist Convention that began while Carter was in office. For many conservative evangelicals of the 1970s—Harold Lindsell, Francis Schaeffer, and the leaders of the conservative faction within the Southern Baptist Convention—biblical inerrancy was central to the evangelical identity. Without an inerrant Bible, Protestant Christians would have no fixed, transcendent source of authority, they argued. The Reformation principle of sola scriptura, combined with an understanding of God’s perfection and sovereignty, demanded an inerrant scripture.

Many of these evangelicals also argued that the American government needed a fixed, transcendent moral standard based on Christian principles. Legal abortion and a new public celebration of sexual immorality were the result of politicians and judges who had forgotten God’s law, they said.

Their vision of Christianity as an influence in the public sphere primarily meant championing Christian moral principles in the face of growing secularization. They thought that the sexual revolution, along with second-wave feminism, was perhaps the greatest threat that the American family had ever experienced. And they were determined to stop that threat by electing godly people to office, people who would be guided by God’s law, not contemporary cultural trends.

But Carter did not share any of these views. His political and religious ideas were shaped not by a reaction against the sexual revolution but by experience of the civil rights movement. Like other white southerners of his generation, Carter grew up amid racial segregation and inequality, and he concluded that the white evangelical churches of his region were mostly on the wrong side of Black Americans’ struggle for justice.

Carter’s own Baptist church in Plains, Georgia, was officially segregated until 1976. The congregation voted in the 1960s against accepting Black people as members, and Carter opposed that decision but did not immediately leave the church. Yet, as he recalled years later in his book Faith: A Journey for All, he was inspired by the examples of other Christians who took the countercultural stance of reaching across the color line in the segregated South. Only a few miles from his home in Plains, for example, Millard and Linda Fuller started an interracial Christian communal farm named Koinonia—then later founded Habitat for Humanity.

Encounters with people like the Fullers convinced Carter that what the country needed was not a public campaign to take America back for God. It was a practical emulation of the ethics of Jesus. This, after all, was how African American Christian advocates for civil rights had gained the support of previously oppositional white Christians, who were moved by the activists’ example of Christlike love.

Carter was so impressed by that example that he framed his entire Christian faith around this principle rather than around any specific doctrinal statements. But the more that he read Scripture, the more impressed he was by the ethics of Christ and the more he wanted to have Jesus as his “constant companion” by grace through faith.

For Carter, then, biblical inerrancy was a non-issue. Perhaps the Bible did contain some internal contradictions that could not be harmonized, he decided, and perhaps parts of the Bible did need to be reinterpreted in the light of modern science. But that really didn’t matter as long as the general narrative of Jesus’ life was historically correct.

And the Christian Right’s political priorities were misguided, Carter likewise determined, because they were centered not around the ethics of Jesus but around an erroneous notion that family values could be imposed through law. As an Arminian Baptist, Carter opposed creeds, believed in the priesthood of all believers, and strongly insisted that faith must be freely chosen to be true. It could not be dictated by legislation, he argued in multiple books, including Our Endangered Values: America’s Moral Crisis and Faith: A Journey for All.

Following Jesus in public office, then, could not mean imposing Christian standards through law. For Carter, it had to mean acting with integrity and with concern for all people. And if the nation turned to God, the fruit of this conversion would not necessarily be laws against same-sex marriage or abortion. It would be a dedication “to the resolution of disputes by peaceful means” and a commitment to “freedom and human rights” for others, including especially the rights of women, which he believed too many conservative evangelicals ignored.

Functionally, Carter’s faith had more in common with mainline Protestantism than with late 20th- or early 21st-century American evangelicalism—and evangelicals weren’t incorrect when they observed that difference. But Carter was also a lifelong Baptist who believed in born-again conversion, a personal relationship with Jesus, and the need to share one’s faith with others. He always spoke of faith with an evangelical accent, and despite his differences with more conservative Christians, he cherished a love for the same Savior.

With the perspective of history—thanks to the longest post-presidency in American history—those commonalities are perhaps easier to see now than they were in 1980. Carter’s determination to extend the love of Jesus was a better reflection of the Sermon on the Mount than his evangelical critics realized.

Daniel K. Williams teaches American history at Ashland University and is the author of The Politics of the Cross: A Christian Alternative to Partisanship.

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News

Widespread Helene Misery Stretches Christian Relief Groups

Emily Belz

Organizations respond to destruction in Florida, Georgia, and rural Appalachia, but they must pull resources from as far away as Canada.

Men inspect damage in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene in Asheville, North Carolina.

Sean Rayford / Getty Images

Devastating hundreds of miles from the Florida Gulf Coast to Georgia to the mountains of North Carolina, Hurricane Helene has created a complicated equation for Christian organizations that are on the frontline of disaster response.

“In my more than 20 years of disaster experience, I can’t think of a time when such a large area was at risk,” Jeff Jellets, the disaster coordinator for The Salvation Army’s work in the South, said in a statement.

Samaritan’s Purse chief operating officer Edward Graham told CT that the organization had to call in equipment and volunteers from its Canadian arm for its hurricane response and even had to adjust some of its overseas work. Just for this disaster, Samaritan’s Purse is operating in Florida, Georgia, and North Carolina.

“We’re running at max capacity for our domestic response,” Graham said. But he added, “Logistically, God has given us the resources and the talent to navigate.”

Still, Christian relief organizations—partnered with local churches—were working on bringing help to the most difficult-to-reach places. In western North Carolina, where record-setting flooding destroyed roads and other infrastructure, mountain communities, including the city of Asheville, were difficult to access.

On Monday, Samaritan’s Purse was setting up an emergency field hospital in North Carolina’s Avery County, a rural area in the Appalachians where search and rescue teams were conducting operations in mountain towns and remote valleys.

The field hospital will function as an emergency room alongside the local hospital in anticipation of an influx of patients from rescue operations. More than 100 have died in the storm.

Graham also said a Samaritan’s Purse helicopter dropped food and water to stranded students at Lees McRae College in the mountains of North Carolina. He said he alerted the North Carolina National Guard that the school would need Chinook helicopter evacuations, and the military airlifted students out on Sunday.

The disaster had engulfed Samaritan’s Purse’s own headquarters in Boone, North Carolina, and its staff were reeling from losing homes in the storm.

The disaster also hit personally for the Graham family in Montreat, North Carolina, where evangelist Billy Graham raised his children. Edward Graham, Billy Graham’s grandson, serves on the board of Montreat College, a Christian college in the same area which also suffered significant damage. Graham said he didn’t know the state of the family home, but he couldn’t give that his attention: “My grandfather lives in heaven.”

“It’s not that there is a lack of supplies and desire to help,” said Amanda Held Opelt, an author and songwriter who worked for Samaritan’s Purse for a decade. She lives in a rural area near Boone called Meat Camp and has family in the surrounding Appalachian hollers.

The only road into Meat Camp is gone, and Opelt knows a pregnant woman who is due soon and stranded. “What we need is a thousand engineers with bridge-building capabilities to get here,” she said.

Graham noted that flooding in a flat plain is one thing, but they were seeing “the power of water in a valley.”

Opelt noted the resilience of people in Appalachia and the small local churches there, cut off from the world but checking on each other and bringing water for the sick and elderly. She was able to navigate into the small Appalachian community of Bakersville, North Carolina, to check on her two aunts.

“They were sitting there eating saltines and vegetables from their garden and washing their bloomers in the creek,” she said. “I started crying when I saw them.”

The most extensive death and destruction is in North Carolina, but communities in Tennessee, Georgia, and Florida are also dealing with destroyed homes and infrastructure.

After the storm, some churches in heavily hit areas met outside to worship on Sunday, locals reported. But some church members and leaders couldn’t communicate with each other at all because of compromised cell service. And others focused on distributing water and food from their properties, which became natural community gathering points.

The Salvation Army quickly deployed 14 mobile units to provide thousands of meals in Florida and Georgia.

Send Relief, the disaster response arm of the Southern Baptist Convention, has 23 response sites set up in six states to respond to Helene, providing food and organizing debris removal and hot showers.

Convoy of Hope, a faith-based disaster response organization that partners with local churches, arrived with supplies in Perry, Florida, on Sunday. Three hurricanes have hit Perry in the last year. The organization was sending supplies on Monday to Morganton, North Carolina; Tampa Bay, Florida; and Augusta, Georgia.

Local organizations and churches have gotten to work as well. Baptist churches in western North Carolina were distributing water, the biggest need in the area.

Evangelical climate scientists warn that local churches and relief organizations will have to adjust to a new normal of these types of super-charged weather events in unexpected places.

Jessica Moerman is a climate scientist and the CEO of the Evangelical Environmental Network. She’s also from Knoxville, Tennessee, near the areas devastated. Her family members lost a home in the 2016 wildfire in nearby Gatlinburg.

“What we’ve seen over the last few years is that we’re just in a new normal,” she said. “We’re seeing it across the Southeast and across Appalachia—small towns saying, ‘This is like nothing we’ve seen before.’”

Moerman explained how seawater warming due to climate change made these storms worse. With Helene, warmer gulf waters meant the storm held more water in the atmosphere and had the strength to go further inland and dump historic rain on western North Carolina—a place so far inland that few would expect it to be vulnerable to hurricanes.

The warm seawater is “rocket fuel that makes these storms stronger and more intense,” she said. “The hurricane has so much more energy, it can travel farther … It’s really, really heartbreaking.”

Christian disaster relief organizations will have to prepare for a situation “where we are expecting worse storms than we’ve ever experienced in the past and expecting to experience them again.”

Organizations responding now are focused on people are still missing from the storm, and staff noted that first responders in these areas are still having issues with communication and are battling their own fatigue.

Graham said Samaritan’s Purse would stay in the disaster areas for the duration.

“This is going to be a very long recovery,” he said. “We do not leave the community till it’s done.”

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Ideas

25 Precepts for This (and Every) Election

Bonnie Kristian

CT Staff; Columnist

On disagreement, faithfulness, forbearance, and votes.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty

The high season of American politics is here. Stomachs are knotted. Electoral trend lines undulate. Betting markets tremble.

And what of the American church? Many of us are trembling too: with fear, with rage, with anticipation of whatever may be in store for us in Washington—and in our own kitchens and sanctuaries.

A few weeks ago, a colleague of mine here at CT wrote an article pertaining to politics, and the online backlash was furious. The social media responses crossed every prudential line in Proverbs; they would have made Martin Luther blush.

And it didn’t come from social media bots, machines programmed to automate inhumanity. The names of many respondents were familiar. They weren’t computers; they were Christians. It was us.

When I say “us,” I don’t mean that you are personally sniping on social media; I know I’m not. Rather, I mean that the precepts I offer below are not—cannot be, if they’re of any use—reflections and guidance loftily directed at those people, the Christians who embarrass and frustrate and confound us.

The way we get through this next month and the months to come with any semblance of Christian love and unity is to copy Paul in 1 Timothy: “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst” (1:15). And not just to say it, but to mean it.

To that end, here are 25 precepts for an election year:

A Christian’s opposition to Candidate X does not entail her support for Candidate Y. It does not entail it by implication or in practice. To insist otherwise against the protests of your sibling in Christ is to embrace dissension and slander.
You can critique a fellow Christian’s politics without questioning his faith, and both of you should be able to hear the difference.
Your critique of a fellow Christian’s politics may well include reminding her of the commitments and obligations of her faith.
Your critique of a fellow Christian’s politics may never persuade him. At a political impasse with a sibling in Christ, mutual forbearance and grace is usually a better way forward than ongoing argument. What better things could you each be doing with your time?
There is a line across which a Christian’s politics might justifiably cast doubt on her profession of faith. The line may not be where we assume it to be.
That line may even be different for different Christians in different times, places, and stages of sanctification, for God does not address our every sin, error, and weakness at once.
Some of us may need more courage of our convictions, especially if we find ourselves a religious, political, or cultural minority in our churches and wider communities.
But most of us, in this brash and hasty culture, are more likely to need forbearance and grace for those we believe to be less spiritual, moral, intelligent, or knowledgeable than ourselves.
Forbearance isn’t tolerance. Grace is not condescension.
Nor are forbearance and grace indecision and cowardice.
Remember 1 John 4:20: “Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar.”
Lasting political disagreement among Christians is not by itself evidence of sin, unbelief, or any other dysfunction. Reasonable, faithful Christians may in good faith reach different conclusions. They may all have solid biblical support for their views; they may all seek the common good; they may all seek to love their neighbors; they may always disagree.
Your voting choices are constrained by the realities of our electoral system. You can vote third party or write in a name, but don’t pretend these are politically viable candidates when they are not.
Reasonable, faithful Christians may decide to only seriously consider viable candidates.
Reasonable, faithful Christians may decide that viability is less important than ethical and policy alignment.
Reasonable, faithful Christians may decide not to vote: “Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help” (Psalm 146:3, KJV).
Hope is a Christian virtue; wishful thinking is not.
Wisdom is a Christian calling; cynicism is not wise.
No candidate is owed your vote. Not even if you believe you have a duty to vote. Not even if you’re registered to one party or another. Not even if you live in a swing state.
With some exceptions, down-ballot votes—especially for state and local officials, judges, and ballot initiatives—will have more frequent and more tangible effects on your life and those of your neighbors than votes for president.
This is probably not the most important election of your lifetime. If it is the most important election of your lifetime, you can’t know that in real time. You may be able to make that assessment 5 or 10 or 20 years hence, but you cannot know now.
Your vote is not passed along to the candidates with an explanatory note. The candidates do not know you felt conflicted or were strategically voting to change the direction of the opposing party. They only know they have won with the support of however many thousands or millions of Americans, and they will act in those voters’ name—that is, in your name.
What you do in the privacy of the voting booth is your own business and may be kept secret. But if you find yourself hesitant or ashamed to share how you voted, ask yourself why.
All told, your individual vote is of negligible import in determining the electoral outcome or the future of the country. It may be of substantial spiritual import for you.
“Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom. 8:38–39).

Bonnie Kristian is the editorial director of ideas and books at Christianity Today.

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News

Can a Lebanese Seminary Move Beyond the Liberal-Conservative Impasse?

Interview by Jayson Casper

Martin Accad, the new president at Near East School of Theology, speaks at its campus in Beirut.

Courtesy of Near East School of Theology

The oldest Protestant seminary in the Middle East has a new vision.

Officially founded in 1932 but with origins dating back to the 19th-century missionary movement, the Near East School of Theology (NEST) is operated by the Presbyterian, Anglican, Lutheran, and Armenian Evangelical denominations.

Installed this week, its 11th president is a nondenominational Lebanese evangelical.

Martin Accad, formerly academic dean at Arab Baptist Theological Seminary (ABTS), was installed on Sunday at the historic institution’s Beirut campus. He graduated from NEST in 1996 with a bachelor of theology degree, eventually earning his PhD from the University of Oxford. Awarded scholarships by the World Council of Churches and the evangelical Langham Partnership, Accad is a locally controversial theologian who, like NEST, straddles the liberal-conservative dichotomy.

Author of Sacred Misinterpretation: Reaching Across the Christian-Muslim Divide, Accad has urged believers to approach Islam in a manner that avoids the twin pitfalls of syncretism and polemics. But before joining NEST he resigned his prior academic position at ABTS to apply his biblical convictions within Lebanon’s contested political scene. Creating a research center, his last four years have been spent in pursuit of reconciliation between Lebanon’s often-divided sectarian communities.

Accad will now bring his vision to a new generation of Middle East seminarians.

Although doing public theology is novel for the institution, NEST has long sought, with some struggle, to balance the two streams of its early predecessors’ commitments to evangelistic outreach and service-oriented witness. Its founding in 1932 resulted from a merger of two programs, each with its own distinctives.

One stream of NEST’s roots dates to 1856, when American missionaries began what Accad describes as a discipleship training program in the mountains of Lebanon. Along with providing pastoral development, it functioned as a mission station for sharing the gospel in local villages with non-Protestant Christians and diverse Muslim communities. Its remote location was also designed to isolate these early “seminarians” from the corruption of city life in Beirut.

American outreach to Armenians and Arabs in the Ottoman Empire (modern-day Turkey) led to the creation of similar schools beginning in 1839. After the Armenian genocide in World War I, these efforts relocated to Athens where they coalesced into a seminary that adopted an ecumenical, Enlightenment-informed model, emphasizing the importance of social service. This was especially true in its approach to Islam—sympathetic and comparative with an eye toward reconciliation.

The merger of these two programs created NEST, which eventually settled in the cosmopolitan Hamra neighborhood of Lebanon’s capital. Although it is situated near three historic Protestant liberal arts colleges—now known as the American University of Beirut (AUB), the Lebanese American University (LAU), and the Armenian-led Haigazian University—early cooperation was shattered by the Lebanese civil war in 1975 and has not been re-established.

Accad wants to restore this collaboration and embody an integration of scholarship and discipleship. CT spoke with him about Protestant distinctives, “electric shock” pedagogy, and how to understand the mainline-evangelical divide in the Middle East.

Why does serving as president of NEST appeal to you?

We need to rethink what it means to be a seminary student today. This question is a key issue globally, but especially in the Middle East. Ideally, the seminary leads the church to be relevant in society. This requires beginning with society and determining its needs. And then the seminary addresses the church—what does the pastor need? Finally, it works backward and designs a program to fit this profile.

Historically, NEST has been an ordination track. This is the traditional model, and it is still necessary if the church believes that it is. But I want to explore with the churches their vision for seminary training, for congregational service, and for regional witness—and how NEST can help prepare leaders to implement this vision.

How do you plan to prepare leaders to serve the church?

Nontraditional, focused tracks are becoming the way people want to learn. Accrediting bodies speak of micro-credentials that may contribute toward academic goals but have value in and of themselves and fit into the bigger puzzle of what students want to do with their lives.

But this system of training should not be only for evangelicals. I want NEST to attract Catholic and Orthodox students also, to think together about how to impact the reality around us. And as we design our programs, I will engage civil society and political activists, where the conversation might be challenging. Many of these people have been turned off by religion due to the sectarian religious landscape of Lebanon, so my interactions with them will be an act of witness.

I can testify on behalf of NEST that God, the church, and theological education are not just internal affairs within the boundaries of our community. No, the church is in society and serves society, and if it is not leading the process of societal change, then it is not following its calling.

How do nonevangelicals fit into a Protestant seminary?

NEST will always be a place of theology and religious studies. I don’t see NEST starting a program in business. But I would like us to reflect on theologies of poverty, just economics, and corruption. These are real problems in Lebanon and the surrounding region, and more Lebanese should be equipped to address them at the spiritual level.

Courtesy of Near East School of Theology

Abeih Seminary in Mount Lebanon

We have students in our churches getting degrees in liberal arts at local universities who do not know how this education fits within a larger calling. They have grown up in the church or experienced a heart conversion as an adult, and while they want to serve God, they don’t see themselves as pastors.

Catholic and Orthodox students are similar, devoted to God in their contemplative practices but not knowing how to integrate this strength into secular life. These students should have the opportunity to take classes at NEST to think more deeply about their degrees in business, engineering, or history.

How will this integration develop?

I will have dialogues with AUB, LAU, and Haigazian about cross-registration and joint institutional credits. Though we have a shared history, many professors at these universities do not know that NEST exists.

At some point, Protestants divided university education into separate tracks for liberal arts and seminary study, as in the American Ivy League. Some of this was due to tensions between evangelism and the social gospel, which contributed to a dichotomy between mainline and evangelical churches.

But in light of God’s overarching sovereignty, it is biblical to combine them into a coherent whole so that public theology can become the life of the church. And as evangelicals seek to repair this breach—as in the Lausanne Covenant—our modern world no longer has a need for these separate paradigms.

What nags at me locally, however, is that while higher education institutions in Lebanon and the Middle East have done a wonderful job forming global citizens and experts in specific fields, they take pride when graduates become dual citizens and succeed abroad. I feel that this is a loss. I want graduates to stay here and explore their calling in their home country.

This is vocation—to make your career count in God’s perspective.

Will NEST remain a Protestant institution?

The vision I spelled out is very Protestant. It is about social transformation. There have been many different and opposing voices in our tradition about how much of our toe to dip into society, politics, and current affairs. But for me, it is theology that sets the framework for this engagement.

NEST is the only evangelical body in the Levant that belongs to the Association of Theological Institutes in the Middle East (ATIME). I hope to hire qualified Catholic and Orthodox professors. But while we will offer a broadly Christian education, other denominations will still consider us Protestant, which in our essence we will remain.

I am nonsectarian, so this is a difficult question for me. Lebanese Protestants take pride in how they have contributed to Lebanon by building hospitals and schools and in how they demonstrate an ethic of love and honest work. We aim to care for the whole person.

But these contributions no longer distinguish us from the rest of society. Nor do we want to pine for our past glories. Protestantism, for me, is about reformation, a countercurrent that improves upon what has become ineffective. It then impacts society and contributes to human well-being and the common good.

Ideally, our denominational heritage also leads to personal transformation as a disciple of Jesus. This is the church’s responsibility, and Christian involvement in society is one of the strongest testimonies to the power of Christ.

Among local evangelicals, NEST has a reputation as a liberal institution.

This is true, even within its four denominations. Some students have entered NEST excited to study and left with serious skepticism about matters of faith. My experience is that NEST has been a mixed bag of theology. It receives faculty sent by mainline partners in the West, and sometimes the vetting could have been more thorough. While many professors have been conservative, others have been quite liberal.

How are “liberal” and “conservative” defined in the Lebanese context?

Academic theologians read all the same books and think very much alike on core issues. The difference is in pedagogy—how they communicate knowledge, not the knowledge that they have.

Many professors teach as if they must communicate everything to first-year students on day one. They act as if the purpose of theological education is to give budding seminarians an electric shock, provoking an existential crisis that will hopefully lead to greater maturity. I have heard faculty members talking in the coffee room about how students are having doubts in their faith, as if this is something to be proud of.

Pedagogy should be about helping people grow and mature, to make them better citizens and Christian leaders. It is a process of walking alongside someone.

But neither is conservative indoctrination the point.

Over the years, evangelicals have started other seminaries in response to NEST, which were then critiqued similarly. On the whole, it is impossible to do serious theology for very long without the risk of being viewed as too liberal by local churches, unless an institution works very hard to stay connected to them.

Pedagogy is important, but so is content.

No one theological position has categorized NEST, which is not problematic in itself. But when one is hiring professors who do not all come from a single confessional background, an agreed-upon framework is necessary to ensure consistency in the formation of students.

I want to recruit faculty members who fit within our classical Reformed heritage. We believe in the Nicene doctrines of Jesus’ divinity, virgin birth, physical resurrection, and second coming. Concerning the authority of Scripture, Lebanese Protestants are quite conservative but sometimes too literalist.

NEST has an open evangelical position in terms of how to interpret literary genres, keeping some questions unanswered—for example, understanding the violence of God in the Bible. Women’s ordination is a matter where the mainline denominations here have made more progress than the more conservative streams of evangelicalism.

I’m excited about this side of NEST, which it pioneered in the Middle East.

On other issues, such as gender and sexual orientation, we all still have quite conservative views that reflect our conservative social boundaries. We must honor our church community with great sensitivity and with a faithful biblical hermeneutic. But we also need to better familiarize ourselves with all sides of current social and scientific research rather than rallying for any specific interpretation of a cultural cause.

How do you fit personally into the evangelical church community?

Within the mainline Protestant churches of Lebanon, I am viewed as quite conservative. Among Baptists I’ve been perceived—unjustly I would say—as too liberal. These communities are more alike than different, with much overlap in their Venn diagrams. But I won’t be an “odd fish” at NEST.

Those who are considered liberal Protestants in the Middle East are more akin to the conservative-leaning mainline churches in America. I am more concerned about NEST’s pedagogical framework than about its position on the conservative-liberal spectrum. For me, it is most important to determine how to help students get to an understanding that builds their faith and their ability to be pastors and leaders who serve their communities.

One wing of the Middle East church is said to be ecumenical, the other evangelistic. Is this fair?

These are characterizations. Mainline Protestants here care about witnessing to Jesus. Not everyone will actually evangelize, just as not every Baptist will. And the traditional evangelical approach of trying to convert everyone who “doesn’t look like me” is becoming increasingly less common.

It disturbs me when someone says, “I met this priest or monk, and I preached the gospel to him.” What arrogance toward someone who is dedicated to God’s calling. The nonecumenical approach is disastrous. Christian maturity is to preach the gospel in a way that introduces people to Jesus while journeying with them—not simply winning converts to one’s own tradition.

How will you implement this spirit at NEST?

I look for three things when searching for a church: vibrant worship, biblical teaching, and outreach in the community. A seminary should not be different.

Intellectual learning is dry; this becomes problematic if not accompanied by a life of worship, prayer, and application. Solid biblical theology is born not from discussion over what is conservative or liberal but by a devotional practice that feeds into transformation of the community.

If worship and witness result from theology, then it is a theology that works, protected from the two extremes.

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Ideas

Faith Lived Close to the Land

Brian Reisinger

Growing up on a farm indelibly shaped my understanding of God and his creation. It’s an increasingly uncommon experience.

Julian Scholl / Unsplash

My dad eased his pickup truck along the rolling sidehill, tracing the curves in the rows of hay stretching before us, the steering wheel wandering beneath his hand. The afternoon sun was high and warm. We could have fallen asleep beneath its affectionate glow, were it an afternoon lazy enough to let our family rest.

But it was not such an afternoon—for our family of farmers, few afternoons were. My dad threw the truck in park, and at just four years old, I knew this stop was important enough for me to jump out and tramp across the field behind him. He knelt alongside a row of hay he’d recently cut and felt the fallen alfalfa with his hands. Then he looked at the sky, pondering the weather that could either bless or curse his work.

It was a moment that showed me the spirituality of living close to the land, where the beauty of God’s creation, the risk of hardship, and the work that binds them together are always close at hand. This is a life familiar to generations of God’s people, including most of the Bible’s first hearers. Jesus spoke to crowds of farmers, people who could easily make sense of his parables of seeds and fields and failing crops. But this experience of faith lived close to the land, which I grew up with, is slipping away in our country today.

America drew its earliest economic strength from the natural resources of this vast land, but we are no longer a nation of farmers. From a height of nearly 6.5 million family farms, the United States has fewer than 2 million—often losing them at the rate of tens of thousands per year nationwide, according to federal data. In my home state of Wisconsin, we’re losing as many as three farms per day.

And closing or consolidating farms aren’t the only changes coming to America. Ranches and forests are falling to urban development and economic decline, and our population is steadily urbanizing, shifting from nearly 60 percent rural in the 1940s to just 14 percent rural in 2020.

This is not a culturally and spiritually neutral economic shift. For many of us, loss of life close to the land means loss of regular encounters with God’s creation. It means we are more likely to see the world God made on a small and merely recreational scale: in a tame public park instead of a woodland wild with life or a field furrowed with crops to come.

The spiritual effects may be most measurable in rural areas—where addiction is rampant and we see rising deaths of despair—but I see a connection too between this loss and our larger mental health crisis, as well as the deep political divisions between rural and urban Americans.

I also know my own faith would look very different were it not farm grown. When my dad crouched in that field, he was trying to decide how soon the hay would be dry enough to bale. And when he looked up at the sky, he was trying to decide how much time he might have to do it before the rain came. It was a moment of economic decision-making, but it was also inextricable from his connection to creation and our Creator.

This and countless other moments shaped my faith. I grew up Catholic, though our family also attended nondenominational churches at various times. But whatever our church home, I had constant lessons in faith on our land.

As a kid, I was sure my dad could divine the weather. This is laughable to any grown farmer, but it led me to pay attention—to see, like the psalmist, God’s work in the water, clouds, and thunder (Psalm 77:16–19). Working sunup to sundown with my dad was a kind of discipleship, training me in diligence, determination, and dedication. Seeing seeds planted in the spring sprout as alfalfa and corn showed me God’s miracles every harvest. Living with animals taught me that the circle of life—from newborn calves taking their first breath, to dear old dogs taking their last—can point our eyes toward heaven if we let it.

My faith was both tested and confirmed on the farm when I was 14. One morning, my dad woke up to severe bleeding. Operations to address what we thought were digestive issues later turned up cancer.

With my dad sick and undergoing treatment, I rose every morning before the sun. Working alongside a family friend who came to milk our cows and perform the tasks a boy of 14 couldn’t do on his own, I prepared the cows and equipment for milking, cleaned their udders, and helped milk when I got far enough ahead. Then I’d do all the other chores: feeding the livestock, cleaning the barn, leaping from the tractor to the ground and back for one job after another. I’d be back at it in the evening, with school in between.

Along the way, friends from church were the hands of Christ to our family. They dropped off meals, told me what a blessing my work was to my father when they saw the fear and fatigue in my eyes, and rang from house to house with prayer chains. On and on, they taught me a lesson about prayer that has stuck ever since, through times of waxing and waning faith alike. And one day, my dad came back.

These days, I split my time between my family’s farm in Wisconsin and northern California, where my wife’s family lives. I know most people will never become farmers, and though a plurality of Americans say they’d prefer to live in a rural area, they may not be able to move there.

But that doesn’t mean we must be cut off from the land and its revelation of God as Creator. We can teach our children where their food comes from and introduce them to creation in America’s remaining farmland, rural communities, and outdoor places.

My wife and I had a little girl earlier this year. She’s a happy baby who, I’m grateful to say, seems to take after her mother, with watchful eyes and a ready smile. I think a lot about how to teach her what she’ll need to know—about God, about the world, about how to live—and how much she’ll learn rumbling over her grandpa’s fields in a pickup truck.

Brian Reisinger grew up working with his father from the time he could walk. He is the author of Land Rich, Cash Poor and can be found at brian-reisinger.com.

This article is partially adapted from Brian Reisinger’s book, Land Rich, Cash Poor: My Family’s Hope and the Untold History of the Disappearing American Farmer.

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Culture

Fasting Is A Good Thing. But For Some of Us, It’s Complicated.

Jacinta Read

My history of disordered eating means I practice the spiritual discipline in community and with accommodations.

PM Images / Getty

For a time when I was a child, I wanted nothing unless it was grilled cheese—without the bread. My loving parents accommodated me by placing a special order when we went to restaurants. Eventually, I became a vegetarian after making the connection between the animals I professed to love and what was on my plate.

By the time I was a teenager, I ate a greater variety of dishes. But pickiness had given way to something more sinister. A friend and I ate burgers and fries, then guiltily pooled our money to buy a diet product called Trim Gum. My problematic relationship with food escalated after I left home for boarding school, an ocean away from my family. I went to great lengths to mask the fact that I had started throwing up after every meal.

Many factors contributed to my bulimia. I was a mixed-race girl who had grown up in Hong Kong, where grown-ups pinched children’s cheeks and openly body-shamed others. Supermodels reigned supreme in ’90s pop culture, enforcing waifish beauty standards. It didn’t help that I aspired to be a ballerina. Decades later, I’d learn of the link between disordered eating and neurodivergence; it’s common for autistic people like me to struggle with food in one way or another.

Into all this reached the loving arms of God. My illness was interrupted by amazing grace and a youth group full of new friends who provided me with the community I craved. It was a beautiful but sadly temporary reprieve: Eating disorders are resilient. They can morph and return like the unclean spirit in Matthew 12. And this happened to me in the guise of fasting.

Scripture contains dozens of references to fasting. The psalmist fasts (Ps. 69:10); the prophets fast (Ezra 8:23; Dan. 10:3; Neh. 1:4). Jesus went without food and water for 40 days in the wilderness (Matt. 4:2). In fasting, we give something up in order to deepen our dependence on God; we remove a meal or a drink and fill the space they leave behind with prayer.

But there are physical, mental, and social implications to fasting that can add up to major problems for anyone who has struggled with disordered eating. “When you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen,” instructs Jesus, “and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you” (Matt. 6:17–18). For those with eating disorders, however, secrecy can derail recovery.

As a relatively new Christian in my early 20s, I took to fasting with zeal. It was mid-summer; I was training for a marathon and also undergoing a 40-day “Jesus” fast. I ran miles in the heat, then came home to shower and study the Bible, collapsing in an exhausted heap. I drank clear liquids but I did not eat. I don’t remember what I prayed for; I was simply interested in proving that God’s sustaining power was better fuel than food.

There’s no limit to the ways in which good things can, without care and community, distort into chaos and destruction. Neither the body nor the brain works as God intended unless they are cared for as God intended.

As a fit young person, there would be a delay before I felt the long-term physical consequences of this extreme deprivation. It was the psychological effects that first became apparent. Research shows that the quality and quantity of nutrition directly affect our brain’s neurotransmitters, the chemical messengers responsible for every facet of functioning. I was starving and dehydrated, and I quickly lost my grip on reality.

My descent into irritability and paranoia lasted a few short weeks; it ended when I landed in the local ER after a serious self-inflicted injury. The recovery process since has been an uphill slog. It’s taken years—and it’s taken supernatural levels of loving support from others.

For the first 15 years of my eating disorder recovery, I agreed with my husband: I would not fast. Not during Lent. Not during special times of prayer. I’d come to God in other ways: by reading the Bible and books on theology, listening to podcasts, and taking walks in nature.

On one hand, this wasn’t difficult. People tend to afford fasting (or its absence) some privacy.

On the other hand, it was difficult. The desire to fast never left me. I battled faulty logic, wanting to blame life’s troubles on my failure to give up food and drink. It was hard to shake the idea that if fasting could bring about a breakthrough, then not fasting could be the reason behind any number of problems. As a matter of survival, I had to hold this tension.

My fixation with fasting was more than an eating disorder running into hyper-religiosity. It was what the poet John Keats called an “irritable reaching for certainty.” If fasting could make my prayers more powerful, then there was something I could do to get the outcomes I wanted from God. Not fasting meant giving up a measure of control.

Grappling with this, I stumbled upon the essence of faith. I remembered that the cross was an unearned gift. God’s loving salvation is unconditional. I was loved, even if I never fasted another day in my life.

You’re still here even though I didn’t fast? My prayers assumed a playful tone. Responding in kind, God proved himself as I completed my doctoral studies, a miracle I’d previously thought impossible without fasting. I got on with my life, banking all my faith in a grace that exists in spite of failure.

Instead of fretting about eating or not eating, I allowed God to engage me with art and music. He nourished me with words of life from the Bible and great literature. He drew my family to a healthy church community where we contributed what we could while feeling safe to say no when needed. If the topic of fasting came up, I willed myself to disengage. When thoughts of spiritual discipline came with feelings of obligation, I sensed the Holy Spirit: I love you, don’t do me any favors. My recovery was centered on God’s unmerited grace.

That said, complete freedom around food is an ideal I haven’t yet reached. Instead, I struggle on, remembering Paul with the thorn in his side and the Lord’s words to him: “My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9).

This could be the end of the story: I opt out of fasting due to my complicated history with food. For two decades, this was my safe and appropriate stance. There is no shame if the same is the case for you or someone you know.

But in recent years, I’ve felt ready to revisit fasting. There is no overstating the importance of time, which has allowed for gradual healing and greater maturity. Twenty years on, my genuine desire for spiritual formation now grows safely alongside a stubborn commitment to mental and physical health.

This season unfolds under the watchful eyes of my husband, doctors, and therapist. Now, I compare fasting to exercise: It’s not compulsory, but it is beneficial when done for the right reasons and with proper care. People with physical injuries or disabilities might require special accommodations and should use them without shame. I have learned to afford myself the same grace in fasting.

Through experimentation, I’ve found some strategies that work for me. I abstain from solids only; my fasts are shorter; I use nutritional supplementation; I break fasts guilt-free if I feel my motivation veer. I try to let my hunger serve as a call to prayer.

There are new challenges too, such as feeding my family on fast days and being honest with my teens, who are still in their formative years.

I am on track for the 40-day fast I was interested in all those years ago, but the 40 days aren’t consecutive; I’ve been at it for two years already. I have faith that this is fine.

Fasting as a spiritual practice can bring numerous benefits as we heed the call in 1 Corinthians to glorify God in body and spirit. But access to these benefits is complicated for some of us. As we Christians press into spiritual formation, my hope is that we hold space for the community around us, made up of stories and recovery journeys that we might never know.

Jacinta Read is a writer, artist, and neurodiversity advocate. She serves as the Connections Pastor at Vintage Church Pasadena.‌

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News

Lausanne Theologians Explain Seoul Statement that Surprised Congress Delegates

Morgan Lee in South Korea

Leaders of the 33-member Theology Working Group offer insight on their 97-point, 13,000-word declaration.

Ivor Poobalan, principal of Colombo Theological Seminary, and Victor Nakah, international director for sub-Saharan Africa with Mission to the World, served as co-chairs of the drafting committee of the Seoul Statement.

Photography by Morgan Lee

The Lausanne Movement’s decision to release a 97-point, 13,000-word theological statement on the inaugural day of its fourth world congress has sparked a week of debate and conversation.

The seven-part treatise, which stated theological positions on the gospel, the Bible, the church, the “human person,” discipleship, the “family of nations,” and technology, went live online shortly before the event kicked off on Sunday night.

The Seoul Statement “was designed to fill in some gaps, to be a supplement in seven key topics that we have not thought enough about or haven’t reflected or written enough about within the Lausanne Movement,” said David Bennett, Lausanne’s global associate director, on Sunday afternoon, where he met with the media to explain the statement’s vision and purpose.

“We were not trying to create a fourth document which would then replace or make obsolete those earlier three documents,” he added.

The congress organizers also explained at a press conference on Monday that the text was final.

Nevertheless, two days later, Christian Daily International reported that a section addressing homosexuality had been amended after its release. These edits were intended to be made prior to the Seoul Statement’s publication, a Lausanne spokesperson said on Tuesday.

On Thursday, in response to the statement’s release, Ed Stetzer, Lausanne’s regional director for North America, publicly urged the organization to “state emphatically that evangelism is ‘central,’ ‘a priority,’ and ‘indispensable’ to our mission.” Meanwhile, by Friday morning, 235 delegates had signed an open letter organized by Korean Evangelicals Embracing Integral Mission asking the Lausanne Theology Working Group (LTWG), the body that composed the Seoul Statement, to review and revise it with special attention to 10 particular points.

Through Thursday night, no Lausanne leaders had offered an in-depth explanation from the main stage of the Seoul Statement, or of why the statement was finalized prior to the conference—an action that surprised those who, based on previous congresses, had anticipated a document still open to revision based on delegates’ feedback.

On Friday morning, Mike du Toit, Lausanne’s director of communications and content, sent a mass email to delegates, explaining that the Seoul Statement “focuses on certain theological topics identified by the Lausanne Theology Working Group as needing greater attention by the global church, and reflects on them on the basis of the gospel, the biblical story we live and tell.”

“We recognize that in introducing the Seoul Statement, we should have been clearer in explaining its purpose and the way in which participants are invited to engage with it,” he wrote. The email also offered a link to a feedback form.

Du Toit’s email also noted that delegates would be invited to sign a document called the Collaborative Action Commitment during Saturday’s closing session and that this was not related to the Seoul Statement.

Later that morning, Wheaton College president and plenary speaker Philip Ryken mentioned the Seoul Statement and encouraged delegates to provide feedback.

In the meantime, CT heard from dozens of delegates who were confused and frustrated by the lack of formal feedback channels and whose understanding of the purpose of the statement diverged from that presented by Bennett in his Sunday and Monday press conferences.

The process leading to the Seoul Statement began at the end of 2022 when the Lausanne board tapped Sri Lanka’s Ivor Poobalan, principal of Colombo Theological Seminary, and Zimbabwe’s Victor Nakah, international director for sub-Saharan Africa with Mission to the World, as co-chairs of a drafting committee. Poobalan and Nakah worked with 33 theologians from South Africa, India, Ethiopia, Norway, Vietnam, Japan, South Korea, the United States, the United Kingdom, Brazil, Australia, New Zealand, Iran, Palestine, Sweden, Singapore, and Zambia.

“We’re not surprised by the conversations that have been generated,” said Nakah. “It’s a theological document, after all, and the topics in this statement are real issues.”

Poobalan and Nakah met with global managing editor Morgan Lee to discuss the Seoul Statement on Thursday afternoon.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

How was the task of the Seoul Statement articulated?

Poobalan: We asked ourselves, do we need another statement? There was no need for us to write a document simply because the Congress should produce a document. Our existing Lausanne documents are great in themselves.

But Lausanne leadership felt that as global Christianity grows in new places, a new generation of Christians was not aware of the Lausanne Covenant, Cape Town Commitment, or Manila Manifesto and perhaps not very interested in going back there. Instead, they are concerned about current issues.

For instance, anthropology has become a big issue only in the 21st century, and in the last few years it has become even bigger. So it was important for us to speak to some of these issues. We are not replacing the previous documents, but we’re trying to find ways to add more value to what Lausanne stands for, providing some specific guidelines that will help the global church navigate tough issues.

What was the process of creating the statement?

Poobalan: Throughout these 50 years, we’ve talked about the authority, infallibility, and usefulness of Scripture, but we haven’t really addressed how to interpret it. Our purpose was to address issues that have been somewhat neglected or under duress, such as the major challenge of discipleship or the issue of what it means to be human. That’s how we arrived at these seven subjects, though many others could have been addressed.

Nakah: For those who wonder why we started with the gospel again, it’s because there are now many different “gospels” going around. If evangelicals don’t have some agreed way of reading, studying, and interpreting Scripture, how are we going to find answers to the issues facing the church today? If hermeneutics is not attended to, then it’s just the gospel according to Ivor or Victor.

Why was the statement finalized before the Congress?

Poobalan: Different approaches are possible. The Lausanne Covenant was finalized during the Congress. In Cape Town, there was no final document at the end of the Congress; it came out much later, but listening took place in Cape Town and then the team used that information to complete the document later.

We took the position that we could complete this document, present it at the Congress, and get a sense of the chatter. We haven’t decided what we will do as a result, but we will discuss the input together as Lausanne leadership and see how we will go from there.

Nakah: The way people have responded to the document gives a more accurate picture of the global evangelical world’s theological diversity. But all this conversation being generated is good feedback.

Rightly or wrongly, the document was not meant to be something we present, get feedback on, and then refine. If that is what we wanted, we would have done that. That’s why this feedback is warranted. You don’t present a theological document and have everybody celebrating.

I’ve heard criticism over the lack of formal feedback channels. This hasn’t stopped some delegates from giving feedback. But if this feedback then influences any changes, I can imagine other delegates feeling frustrated that there wasn’t a more formal way of communicating their opinions.

Poobalan: I think that tomorrow [September 27], this will be addressed, and I do think people will be afforded opportunities to give feedback. Of course, feedback was going to come anyway, and once you formalize it, then there’s an expectation as to what you’re going to do with the feedback, and that’s what the Lausanne board will wrestle with.

Nakah: We are very grateful to the board for accepting this document and then taking it from there. But ultimately, it is Lausanne’s document. It needs the movement’s leadership to explain guidelines of how to move forward.

There are probably no other theological statements out there whose process was led by theologians from Zimbabwe and Sri Lanka. How might your background and context have influenced this statement?

Poobalan: I was surprised when Victor and I were asked to co-chair the TWG, because this group plays a critical role and has always had leaders from the Western world. The board’s bold willingness to think differently and invite two co-chairs from the Global South was surprising, but also stimulating and encouraging. On the other hand, we wanted to ensure that the document didn’t just become a matter of the Global South.

To that end, in establishing our team, we looked for people who could represent different parts of the church. Many of these 33 theologians are very well-known, but they were an amazing group who collaborated with each other.

In every meeting with them, I had two feelings: a sense of the great expertise in the room, and sheer humility.

Nakah: There were other times in this process when we realized we needed expertise. On more than one occasion, we would realize that someone was missing, and we had to reach out to someone who had done research in that area, because we knew we were not the experts. We ended up working with people who are far smarter than us and far more clever than us. It was a joy.

Can you point to one or two sections of the Seoul Statement that really evidence the presence of the Global South in this document?

Nakah: As we know, Africa has become the breeding ground of the prosperity gospel. In light of that, the section on the gospel was important, because there is a sense in which we can talk about many gospels on the continent of Africa. We wanted to frame the document in such a way that anyone who reads it will leave with an understanding of the gospel that is refreshing and challenging.

The second great challenge for the Majority World church today is discipleship. Some African theologians still push back when the church in Africa is described as one mile wide and one inch deep. But that’s still the reality.

So if there’s one section that is most critical for the African church going forward, it’s this one. We hope it will challenge church and parachurch leaders to take discipleship seriously.

Poobalan: This document speaks to the issue of theological anthropology. In the church, there is a sense of confusion about what it means to be a redeemed human being. Some people have at times claimed a godlike status or a power beyond what the Bible offers to the redeemed human person.

But also in the area of gender and sexuality, at times the Global South has wondered, “Why is Christianity speaking only from the perspective of the Global North?” In that sense, talking about sexuality and gender was important to clarify that our convictions are not reactions to what’s happening in the West, but expressions of the scriptural position.

Consequently, there’s a whole section on what Scripture teaches about sexuality and gender. There’s a little more Bible exposition there, because of the global church’s need for clarity about what Scripture teaches.

Additionally, the “family of nations” section talks about the importance of peace and what it means to be a nation in both a biblical and modern sense. For instance, can we just equate the historic names of people and countries without context? [Editor’s note: See Section 84 of the Seoul Statement.] We are trying to address current situations in which Christians sometimes find a theological basis for particular positions when taking an approach to war or conflict.

And yet sometimes there are contradictions in our approach. Christians may sometimes denounce all violence against civilians, but at other times they may find theological reasons to justify it.

I’m aware that some Lausanne delegates, because of their home context and those they minister to, found the sections on LGBT issues either too soft or too harsh.

Nakah: For the group that worked on this section, we felt that hermeneutics was a good starting point. So we started by asking, “What does the Bible teach?” In our group, there was general consensus as to what the Bible said, and the disagreements were all about application to real-life contexts.

For those leaders who feel our approach was a little bit soft, I would ask: Is it biblical to insult gay and lesbian people? If you come back to Scripture, the Bible helps you understand that God loves sinners. That’s totally different from a cultural position that demeans them.

How did you choose which conflicts to mention by name in the “family of nations” section?

Poobalan: We recognized that not every conflict could not be mentioned, because that was not the point. Some conflicts have been dealt with to the extent that the country has moved on, like South Africa or Sri Lanka or Northern Ireland. The examples of current conflicts serve as points of reference to discuss the biblical position on conflict and where Christians should stand. We do understand when people feel sensitive and sad that a particular conflict they have experienced is not mentioned.

With regard to Gaza and Israel, this situation is unique because the church is very strongly divided, based on its theology of Israel.

In a way, we would like to see the global church put this issue right in the middle and say, “Let’s talk about this. What is the actual biblical theology of Israel? How does this square with our understanding of the church” (which we have discussed in the third chapter of the statement)? It is important to discuss the particulars of the Seoul Statement, but we would really like the church to get back to asking, “Where does our theological basis come from?”

We hope very much that this work will stimulate the church to engage in conversation. This is not going to be easy, because at the moment a lot of emotion is involved, but we hope that the church will take up this task, since it is painful for the church to be polarized on this issue based on theology.

If I’m a delegate reading the Seoul Statement and I agree with much of it but not all of it, should I still feel that I can be part of the Lausanne Movement?

Nakah: I go back to the question of what unites evangelicals. What are the nonnegotiable fundamentals or essentials of the Christian faith?

When it comes to topical issues, most evangelicals don’t quite understand the overwhelming diversity of the global evangelical body. If anyone decides whether they are in or out of the Lausanne Movement on the basis of this statement, that’s unfortunate.

Poobalan: It’s naive to think that all evangelicals, even in one country, will agree on everything. But we practice this discipline of friendship, recognizing that the essentials of the faith must not be compromised.

Even John Stott and Billy Graham, the founders of the Lausanne Movement, disagreed on certain aspects, but they could remain friends. They reached out to each other. Similarly, in this Congress, our idea of collaboration is not based on all of us thinking identically. Collaboration involves a willingness to stretch out our hand to others who hold to the same core convictions.

What do you want people to know about the way this statement discusses evangelism?

Poobalan: The statement is very clear that evangelism is absolutely important. We’re working away from old dichotomies that separate the message we proclaim from the lives we live. Throughout the statement, there are many references to the importance of verbal proclamation, but verbal proclamation by people who do not demonstrate the reality of what they proclaim will ultimately undermine the truth of the message.

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News

More Christians Are Watching Porn, But Fewer Think It’s a Problem

Maria Baer

Ministries expand to reach the 54 percent of churchgoers who say they view online pornography.

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty

Pornography use has continued to climb over the past decade, especially among young people who are exposed to explicit images earlier than ever. Yet most Americans today don’t see porn as a bad thing for society, and many Christians say they aren’t worried about its effects.

That’s according to a new report released this week from Barna and Pure Desire, a ministry for people with pornography addictions.

Researchers found that 61 percent of Americans say they view porn at least occasionally, up from 55 percent in Barna’s 2015 survey on the topic. More women are viewing porn than in the past (44% versus 39% nine years ago).

In the church, pastors are now more likely report a personal history of porn use (67% versus 57% nine years ago). Nearly 1 in 5 pastors say they currently struggle with porn. And among Christians who have attended services within the last month, more than half say they view pornography at least occasionally.

“Porn consumption is no longer confined to a specific demographic or subculture,” the report said. “It touches all segments of society (from young to old) with no regard to gender, social status or religious beliefs.”

The new data aligns with other research showing dramatic increases in the amount of online porn created and consumed over the last several years.

One recent study suggested 2.5 million people view online pornography every minute, and online porn consumption has increased by 91 percent since 2000. The increased availability, the ease of access to pornography on the internet, and even the social isolation exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns are seen as major factors contributing to the uptick.

Some faith-based efforts to curb the growth of the online porn industry have advocated for legal restrictions, including a push for age-verification laws and stricter regulations on tech-device creators. Other ministries have focused on helping individuals overcome pornography habits.

Leaders from Barna and Pure Desire said they hope their research highlights the pervasiveness of pornography and encourages more pastors and church staff to prioritize support for those struggling. But the stats may reveal an even bigger hurdle: Many people, including Christians, don’t see any problem with it.

“Over three in five Christians (62%) tell Barna they agree a person can regularly view pornography and live a sexually healthy life,” the report reads. That’s only four percentage points behind the share of all US adults (66%) who don’t consider viewing pornography harmful.

Moreover, 49 percent of practicing Christians who admit to personally viewing pornography say they are “comfortable with how much pornography” they use.

“It’s just not a big deal to them … there’s no sense of urgency whatsoever,” said Sean McDowell, a professor at Biola University and host of the Think Biblically podcast. “I think this is an example where people are taking their cues far more from the culture and the ideas around us than Scripture and their Christian worldview.”

Yet, in the study, respondents who said they used porn at least semi-regularly were much more likely to report frequently feeling anxious, critical of themselves, easily overwhelmed, and depressed.

“There’s by and large a direct correlation between the more porn you watch and the less healthy you are mentally, emotionally, and relationally,” said Nick Stumbo, executive director at Pure Desire. “We can’t be fine with the behavior that’s undermining out mental, emotional, and relational health.”

A recent Institute for Family Studies/YouGov poll reported similar findings correlating porn use with loneliness and depression. Its researchers flagged widespread porn addiction as a public health issue, noting how porn sites “use similar techniques as social media platforms, such as infinite scroll, autoplay, and personalized content, to keep users engaged,” and how frequent users seek out more extreme videos as they become desensitized.

Barna’s report includes a series of questions focused on “betrayal trauma,” or the impact a person’s porn use has on their spouse or significant other.

The differences between men and women are stark. Women were at least twice as likely to say their partner’s porn use hurt their relationship in some way. Forty-four percent of women said they worried their partner was no longer attracted to them, the top concern. Yet same share of men—44 percent—reported no concerns about their partners’ porn use.

Then there’s the impact pornography has on young people. The report showed that 39 percent of Gen Z adults view porn daily or weekly. Plus, more than half of younger millennials and Gen Z adults (ages 18–37) say they have sent a nude image of themselves, and three-quarters say they have received them, Barna found.

Other recent studies have indicated that kids are seeing porn much earlier than previous generations—the average age for kids’ first exposure to pornography is now 12.

Stumbo said Pure Desire is developing training curricula for parents who are looking for ways to talk about pornography with their kids. But even that strategy faces hurdles: The Barna study asked respondents who or what has had the greatest impact on their views of sex and sexual behavior. “My mom” and “my dad” ranked lower than “my friends,” “television or movies,” “internet research,” and pornography itself.

“If you really want to help your teens, one of the best things you can do is address your own story and your own brokenness in your sexuality,” he said. “The healthier you get, the healthier you can help your teens get.”

McDowell said it’s important for churches to offer resources for people struggling with porn, even if they claim they don’t see a problem with it. The survey found that 83 percent of adults with a history of porn use have no one in their lives helping them avoid it.

“I suspect [Christians] aren’t looking at porn because they found the arguments against it unconvincing,” he said. “There’s often hurt, brokenness, there’s anxiety, there’s … underlying stressors and bad theology that prevents people from getting the help that they need.”

He recommends that in addition to teaching about healthy sexuality from the pulpit, every church should have a support group for people struggling with any kind of addiction, sexual in nature or not.

Juli Slattery, a psychologist and founder of Authentic Intimacy, agreed that offering a safe community for people struggling with pornography is key. She contibuted one of the experts weighing in on the report’s findings.

“You can tell people ‘God says stop looking at porn,’” Slattery wrote. “But if you don’t provide the tools and the community for them to address those deeper issues, a lot of people are going to feel really stuck. [Many Christians] don’t understand what’s being lost when sexuality is broken because they see sexuality more in terms of being a behavioral ethic and not a deeply spiritual battleground.”

Stumbo at Pure Desire said he’s noticed waning interest in hosting porn recovery ministries in churches over the past few years, following a boom of awareness and interest in the early 2000s.

The rise of the internet prompted the founding of several porn recovery ministries, including Covenant Eyes, which offers software to help people avoid online pornography, and XXXchurch. The issue continued to garner attention in the years that followed, especially after the release of the smartphone.

Barna’s previous survey on porn use, “The Porn Phenomenon,” came out in 2016. At the time, “it seemed to be a season where this bubble burst onto the scene and churches were like, ‘We’ve got to do something about pornography,’” Stumbo said. Two years prior, Pure Desire had released its popular Conquer Series, a porn addiction recovery video curriculum that’s now been viewed by more than 2 million men in more than 100 countries.

“Pure Desire grew a ton in those couple of years,” Stumbo said. Around that same time, in 2016, Covenant Eyes widened its mission and started partnering with other ministries to raise awareness about porn in the church. A year earlier, Christians founded Protect Young Eyes, a ministry to help schools and families create safe tech policies for kids.

Stumbo said focus on the issue has somewhat faltered since then: “As we look back … I think the church kind of moved on.”

The church’s perceived apathy toward pornography could inadvertently reinforce another common myth: Barna’s survey showed 66 percent of adults believe that “with enough willpower, a person can overcome porn addiction on their own.”

Like any addiction, however, the first step toward recovery is admitting to having a problem. If nearly two-thirds of Christians believe it’s possible to regularly view pornography and still live a healthy life, that first step may be the hardest.

The moral normalization of porn use could have one small upside: Barna CEO David Kinnaman said survey respondents are much more willing to be open and honest about their porn habits than they used to be—a helpful trend for social science researchers to capture the extent of the problem. He likened this openness to millennials’ and Gen Zers’ increasing openness about their mental health struggles.

“This kind of thing used to be harder to ask,” Kinnaman said. “It really is remarkable how honest people will be … especially online.”

Kinnaman said he hopes the study will convict pastors to attend to their congregations’ struggles with porn across all areas of discipleship. That means teaching a biblical view of sexual wholeness from the pulpit and fostering true community among small groups, where people can encounter an alternative to the “internal scripts” that allow them to rationalize their sins.

But he worries the problem isn’t going away anytime soon. Every survey prompts researchers to start brainstorming the questions they’ll ask next time, he said, and this one is no exception.

“We think we’re living in the porn age now,” he said. “Just wait until AI.”

- More from Maria Baer

News

Global Methodists Find Joy in Costa Rica

Daniel Silliman in San José, Costa Rica

A convening General Conference approves the new denomination with singing, prayer, a constitution, and interim bishops.

The Global Methodist Church met for its convening General Conference September 20–26 in San José, Costa Rica.

Courtesy of the Global Methodist Church

There were lots of tears at the Global Methodist Church’s first General Conference, held this week in San José, Costa Rica, to officially found the new denomination. They were tears of joy, relief, and gratitude for the holy love of God.

“I cried,” said Jeff Kelley, pastor of a Global Methodist church in McCook, Nebraska. “I haven’t cried in worship in a long time. And then we had worship the next day, and I cried again.”

John Weston, pastor of a Silverdale, Washington, church and one of 21 candidates to serve as an interim bishop during the denomination’s formation period, said he felt like he couldn’t stop crying. And Emily Allen, an Asbury Theological Seminary student serving as a delegate for churches in the Northeast, wept in worship too.

“The times of worship every day have prepared us to be the church we need to be,” Allen said. “To hear the Word of God declared very boldly, to hear the invitation to receive the Spirit, to receive the holy love of God? I was just kneeling and crying.”

Many of the more than 300 delegates and 600 alternates and observers from 33 countries remembered there had been tears in past years at past conferences too. The internal strife in the United Methodist Church and the ongoing quarrels over basic theological issues, including human sexuality, the authority of Scripture, and the responsibilities of bishops, had often emotionally wrecked them. In Costa Rica, establishing a separate Methodist denomination, the tears were different.

“There’s a different spirit—it’s like a square and a circle,” said Steve Beard, editor in chief of Good News, the leading evangelical Methodist magazine. “There are disagreements here, but they are respectful, and you don’t have the automatic categorization and dismissal. They’re crying about Jesus and the Holy Spirit. Let it roll! That’s old-time Methodism.”

The newest “old-time” church met for five days at a convention center to modify and ratify the decisions of the Transitional Leadership Council, which was organized in 2022. Delegates debated educational requirements for clergy, regional representation on committees, and the exact shape of the episcopacy.

They considered a proposed constitution, debated amendments, as well as amendments to amendments, and then passed their constitution on September 24 by a vote of 323–2. People cheered—and then sat silent, a little stunned, struck by awe at the significance of what they had done—before rising to sing “Great Is Thy Faithfulness.”

“We’re doing a new thing,” said Yassir A. Kori, a Global Methodist from Sudan who works with refugees in Oklahoma. “It’s full of the Spirit, and grace, and sanctification.”

The new church is made up of 4,733 congregations at the time of formation, putting it in the top 20 denominations in the United States. It is larger, counting by congregations, than the Presbyterian Church in America, the Anglican Church in North America, and the Association of Free Will Baptists combined.

The Global Methodists have organized 36 regional groups, called annual conferences, including 16 outside of the United States. Keith Boyette, the retiring leader of the transitional church, announced the Global Methodist Church has also been legally recognized in six more countries, paving the way for additional annual conferences.

A number of bishops from independent Methodist groups outside the US attended the convening General Conference as guests and witnesses.

Ricardo Pereira Díaz, leader of a group of 580 congregations and 120 mission churches in Cuba, said he doesn’t expect his church to join the Global Methodists.

“We have a friendship without commitment,” he said. “They believe in the Bible. They believe in evangelization. They believe in sanctification. We are in sync.”

The independent Methodist church in Costa Rica, which hosted the General Conference, is not expected to formally join either. But the Global Methodists signed a cooperative agreement with the Iglesia Evangélica Metodista de Costa Rica as one of its first official acts of business.

On the other hand, Eduard Khegay, the Moscow-based bishop of 80 congregations in Russia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, and Kyrgyzstan, said his group will vote on joining the Global Methodists in April.

“It’s the orthodox Wesleyan faith,” Khegay said. “They have the same heart for evangelism and mission that we do. My desire is to join, but we have to vote.”

While the majority of the church is currently in America, a lot of diversity was on display at the conference. Delegates spoke French, Spanish, Korean, and Swahili, in addition to English, with real-time translation done by artificial intelligence and a support team of human translators. A group of 29 delegates from the Democratic Republic of the Congo were not able to get visas to travel to Costa Rica, so the Global Methodists paid for them to go to a hotel with fast, secure internet so they could participate remotely. The delegates joined by Zoom, unmuted themselves to speak for and against a number of motions, and voted online.

The Global Methodists are planning to have their next General Conference in Africa in 2026, though arrangements have not all been finalized.

“When we say ‘global,’ that’s not just a nod, that’s our DNA,” said Suzanne Nicholson, Asbury University New Testament professor. “We’re not meeting in the US, and that says something. It says this really is a global church and the conference is a picture of Revelation 7, with people from every nation, tribe, people, and language before the throne and before the Lamb.”

Many of the Methodists gathered in Costa Rica said, however, that they were struck less by the diversity of the convening conference than its unity.

“When you read in Acts about the unity of the church, this is what you think it’s supposed to feel like,” said Victoria Campbell, a minister from Katy, Texas.

Johnwesley Yohanna, a bishop from Nigeria, agreed. “There is love and joy, and we praise God and are free,” he said. “There is no misbehaving, no fighting, no shouting.”

That’s not to say there were no disagreements. Debates in Costa Rica occasionally got tense, with voices rising.

A proposed amendment regulating committee assignments, intended to force regional diversity, prompted multiple people to protest they didn’t want to be “handcuffed” by a denomination that didn’t trust them to make good decisions. Discussion of ministers’ rights to trial in an ecclesiastical court brought out anguished references to “the situation in a previous denomination.” And delegates expressed strong feelings about the roles and responsibilities of bishops.

Matthew Sichel, a deacon from Manchester, Maryland, said that after years of conflict in the United Methodist Church, he was struggling to unlearn the habit of fighting.

“Each year at the annual conference, I was there to stand for orthodoxy. That was my job. We were having arguments about whether Jesus is Lord. We learned to fight. We had to. I’d go to the microphone to fight. It’s hard to let go of that,” he said.

Zawdie “Doc” Abiade, a pastor in Muskegon, Michigan, and a Christian counselor, said some of the delegates displayed signs of post-traumatic stress and there is still a lot of need for healing.

“The unhealthy comes out in displaced anger,” Abiade said. “The question is, how do we find Christ in trauma? We’re often told to forget, but we’re not designed as humans to forget. My counsel is not to run from it but face it with Jesus. Go back to the hurt and find Jesus.”

The Methodists frequently reminded each other over the five days that they are still being sanctified. They are not yet perfected, but the Holy Spirit is stronger than sin and still at work in them.

And their denomination is just getting started too. Things can change, they said to each other, and will change, getting worked out in committee meetings, ministry, and future General Conferences.

“[Decisions] are up to the church but we must make room for the possibility of adjusting tomorrow,” said Sunday Onuoha, a Nigerian bishop. “We trust their will be discernment. We make decisions and know the Holy Spirit is at work—but it’s a work in progress, not a work accomplished.”

Some of the decisions made at the General Conference were explicitly put forward as temporary measures. The church decided to elect six interim bishops, in addition to the two already in place, to serve two-year terms. At the gathering in 2026, the Global Methodists will transition to a more permanent episcopal structure, with bishops responsible for teaching and spiritual leadership—but not day-to-day administration—consecrated for six-year terms, with a two-term limit.

One of the big debates in Costa Rica was over the process for nominating the interim bishops and whether or not those people could be reelected in two years. The explicitly temporary measures, in some cases, caused more anxiety than long-term decisions.

As those discussions happened, Methodists from around the world paced in the back of the convention hall, praying over everything. One man read promises from Scripture, kneeling at a chair in a corner. Others raised their hands and whispered prayers, the hiss of the word Jesus just audible in the back of the room.

“Jesus be our stage director,” prayed Hui Angie Vertz, a Korean American minister at a church in Hazen, North Dakota. “We aren’t here to direct you in our play. It’s your play, Jesus. Holy Spirit direct us.”

Before major votes, the Methodists took time to pray as a group. After big decisions, they burst into song. When they elected their interim bishops on September 25, the room of nearly 1,000 people stood up and sang the Doxology a cappella:

Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise him all creatures here below
Praise him above ye heavenly host
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Sally Jenkins, a pastor’s wife from Sidney, Nebraska, said it felt like coming home after a long time away. The singing gave her goose bumps.

“We are a people who exude love for the Lord in our music,” she said. “To have the Spirit move—there are so many emotions and tears, it just does something to you, you know?”

- More from Daniel Silliman

Ideas

Pastors, We Have to Play the Long Game

Jim Essian

My whole ministry, I’ve watched fellow pastors crumble. We need to change our scoreboard of success.

Anthony Saint James / Getty / Edits by CT

This year has been rough for the church in Dallas–Fort Worth where I pastor. At least eight pastors, and recently another, have been publicly disqualified for inappropriate relationships or abusive behavior. Enough people emerged from the wreckage and made their way to our local body that I addressed the pain of this summer from the pulpit a couple of times.

As so many have done in recent years, we could look at the mess, shake our fists, and declare, “I’m done with the church!” Many have. And some have deconstructed the whole thing and left Jesus behind, not just his bride.

Or we could see these trials for what they are: a fierce God, jealous and protective of his people, rescuing his sheep from the mouths of their shepherds (Ezek. 34:10). All shepherds are susceptible. We should “stand in fear” (1 Tim. 5:20, ESV).

My ministry started with wreckage all around me.

I was barely 30 years old—no ministry experience, no seminary degree, just starting to plant a new church—when the pastor who had coached and mentored me took his own life.

It was 2010. We were gathering people in our little living room, hoping the Spirit would breathe life into this new work, and I started wondering what I had gotten myself into.

I was a former professional baseball player with a past. The gospel had collided with my heart and changed me. Grace compelled me to ministry; I never asked for it. I certainly wasn’t seeking fame or money or power. I also had no idea what I was doing.

And it wasn’t just my mentor who had lost his life; he was just the one who hit closest to home. Around that time, a Texas pastor in my circles committed suicide—with his elders in the next room. Another on the West Coast shipwrecked his marriage and consequently his ministry.

Boom. Three hits in about three months, just as I was getting started.

Over the years, every few months or so, I’d hear of another pastor disqualifying himself. It was typically the same story, either abusive authority or inappropriate relationships. A misuse of relational equity with those under their authority, either way.

That was my first ten years of ministry.

And then Darrin Patrick took his life. While Darrin didn’t mentor me personally, he was the first church planter I had met. A baseball guy. A dude I could relate to with a big, influential church. I was crushed.

I decided then that the scoreboard had to change.

Not long after his death, a woman in our church passed away. She was young, only in her forties. We had a few months to say goodbye, and watching her and her husband face death taught me something. They taught me that my job as a husband is to make it faithfully to the end. My job as a dad, as a Christian, as a pastor, is just to make it to the end faithfully (2 Tim. 4:5–8).

What if the goal of ministry is just making it to the end? What if the goal of marriage is just making it to the end? What if the goal of Christianity is just faithfully making it to the end?

We pastors can get so caught up watching the scoreboard: Am I winning? We want a more successful ministry. A bigger church. More influence. Viral content. For Christians not in ministry, it’s no different: Success. Money. Clout. A life envied.

But what if the scoreboard—the game we’re playing—is simply finishing?

At the end of Paul’s life, his eyes on the scoreboard, fourth quarter, time running out, this seemed to be his focus: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Tim. 4:7).

It might be easy to think it gets easier as you get older, with more years of experience behind you and temptation looking lackluster. I don’t know. Daniel was almost 80 when he faced the lion’s den. Abraham had some shady moments lying to cover his skin well into his 100s. Your greatest temptations probably won’t come in your 20s. Satan plays the long game.

Most of us know the practices we should employ to keep ourselves from becoming another news headline: accountability, spiritual vitality, pursuit of holiness, regular confession. This is all good advice—essential, even.

But I wonder if changing the game in our mindset first gets us halfway there: Just make it to the end.

Stop playing ministry online. Don’t preach to the sermon reel or the livestream audience. We know the scoreboard isn’t butts and bucks, but it’s also not tribal affirmation or congregational applause. Don’t play that game. It’s not a win if you lose your soul.

Instead, play the long game. Lead, shepherd, and preach for 40 years, and be astonished at all the fruit the Spirit will produce in and through your ministry. Every young pastor or church planter I know overestimates what they think they can accomplish in the short term and underestimates what God can do through them over the long haul.

Certainly, a pastor running on emotional and spiritual fumes is more likely to end up on the side of the road in marriage and ministry. But even here the right scoreboard comes into play. We should pour ourselves out. Pastor Paul spoke of facing “daily the pressure of my concern for all the churches” (2 Cor. 11:28). And he certainly burned out for his people: “So I will very gladly spend for you everything I have and expend myself as well.” (2 Cor. 12:15).

But if the scoreboard you’re watching is still “faithful to the end,” you won’t measure success in the wrong places and end up doing the wrong things. Decide today what game you’re playing in your ministry. Decide today what the scoreboard is. Decide today what you will do tomorrow.

Jesus said, “Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you life as your victor’s crown” (Rev. 2:10). Pastor Paul looked forward to the “crown of righteousness” after his good fight and finished race (2 Tim. 4:8). Peter encouraged us that we would “receive the crown of glory that will never fade away” when our senior pastor appears (1 Peter 5:4).

The Good Shepherd wore a crown of thorns that we might we receive a crown of life, righteousness, and glory at the end. As we keep ourselves in the love of God, he is able to keep us from stumbling and to present us blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy (Jude 21, 24).

Jim Essian is pastor of The Paradox Church in Fort Worth, Texas, and author of Send: Loving Your Church by Praying, Giving, or Going.

- More from Jim Essian

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