I Had a Horrific Childhood. I’m Glad I Exist.

The prospect of a rough upbringing, even one as traumatic as mine, should never be “remedied” by abortion.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: Unsplash

It is midnight, and my phone is ringing. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I roll over to see my older sister’s name flashing across the screen.

“Hello?”

My sister says nothing at first. She is crying. The sound jolts me awake.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Finally, she speaks: “I killed my baby.”

Shock lodges itself in my throat. My sister’s pain is suddenly in my chest, crushing my heart against my rib cage. I scramble down the bunk bed ladder, my feet slipping on the rungs, and tiptoe past my sleeping roommate. “Just a second,” I whisper, holding my hand over the phone’s speaker until I’ve left the dorm.

“He made me do it,” she says, sobbing. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal.” The pavement grits against my bare feet. “I killed my daughter. I’m going to hell.”

Eventually, I discerned what had happened. My sister had been pregnant. And then, at 12 weeks, she’d had an abortion. She was pressured by her boyfriend, who said that he couldn’t afford to take care of the children he’d already had with other women, let alone another one.

I am not equipped. I have no words to offer.

I clutch the phone to my ear and I stand in the wind and I listen.

When we were young, my sister and I had many late-night talks about our determination to be better parents than our own. The abuse we braved as children in the years before we were adopted is almost too heavy to express, too horrible to justify with language. Our parents were addicted to drugs. They bloodied and bruised us; they admired the whip marks their belts left on our skin, and put their cigarettes out on our elbows and knees. Until the age of eight, I ate only baby food.

My sister and I survived together. And yet as we grew, my sister began to shut me out. She left home suddenly, with no way to contact her; she entered a relationship with an abusive man. After a while, I stopped fighting to keep a connection. The door between us stayed closed, and I stopped knocking—until it cracked open that chilly spring night.

That desperate call was more than five years ago, but my sister’s words still ring in my ears. She thought she was doing the right thing. The father was abusive and money was tight. But her grief was a confirmation: Every human life has intrinsic value, no matter the poverty or cruelty or chaos that life is born into. My sister had discovered this the hard way, the same way she had learned most of her lessons.

“Every child, a wanted child.” The 1923 Planned Parenthood slogan has a horrific subtext; if a woman believes that she’s ill-equipped to be a mother, or that her partner is ill-equipped to be a father, or that her home will be an unhappy one, then abortion is encouraged. It’s not just an option; it’s a solution. It’s responsible. It’s the right thing to do.

Pro-abortion advocates have long suggested that abortion access improves future outcomes for women and children. In June of 1978, the National Abortion Rights Action League published Legal Abortion: A Speaker’s and Debater’s Notebook. Among other talking points, it asserted that “a policy that makes contraception and abortion freely available will greatly reduce the number of unwanted children, and thereby curb the tragic rise of child abuse in our great country.”

These arguments have persisted into the 21st century. In 2002, an article in the American Economic Reviewclaimed that “unwanted children may be more subject to child abuse and neglect by their parents or care-takers than are desired children. … Abortion availability may reduce the number of unwanted children … leading to lower rates of child abuse and neglect.”

“There’s a lot to be said for preventing babies from being born who are going to be unwelcome and therefore have a rotten childhood,” argued a Guardian columnist in 2016. “A few years ago the crime figures of New York were suddenly much lower than they had been, and researchers linked the fact to high numbers of abortions in the year when the potential criminals would otherwise have been born.”

“Unwanted” children are less likely to succeed in school and make money, wrote a trio of psychology professors around the time of the Dobbs leak: “We are focused on preventing the transmission of risk factors for poor economic, social, physical and mental well-being for parents and children.”

“Every child, a wanted child.” By this formulation, a child’s dignity is determined not by the fact of their existence but by the extent of their parents’ desire and their likelihood of future “success.” A child’s personhood is contingent. It would be better for suffering children, children like me and my sister, to have never been born at all than to experience those cigarette burns and baby-food lunches.

But the prospect of a rough upbringing, even one as traumatic as mine, should never be remedied by removing a child’s opportunity to live at all. Abortion discounts the redemptive power of God—and the “wantedness” inherent in our creation.

Genesis tells us that we are sanctified, set apart, created in the image of God (Gen. 1:26–27). Psalm 139 elucidates the intrinsic value that God places on every person, value that comes only from the Father, not from any earthly parents. We are “fearfully and wonderfully made,” knit together, our days ordained.

Mark 8:36 shows that one human soul alone has more worth than the entire world of material possessions: “What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?” Even in the direst circumstances—even if a child is born with a deformity, even if a child will go hungry, even if a child will be hurt—God imparts boundless value on their life. My sister should have kept her daughter, even given her boyfriend, her instability, her past. In spite of the pain, I’m glad that my parents kept us.

God’s hand is evident in my life, especially after my adoption by two wonderful people. I was the first person in my family to graduate from college, and with highest honors. God gave me gifts in writing and music. Now, I lead worship for youth and young adult programs at my church. My participation in youth ministry is an outlet for me to ensure all children are shown love.

“Every child, a wanted child” implies that the goodness of my life today isn’t worth my bad beginning. But I know that’s not true.

My sister April is a mother now. She has two beautiful sons, Edward and Justin. April learned she was pregnant with Edward only a month after she lost her daughter. “When I got pregnant again a month later,” she reflects, “it was almost like God was saying, ‘Did you think I didn’t know what I was doing?’”

Randi Bianchi is a church administrator and writer.

- More from Randi Bianchi

Ideas

The Acceptance Stage of Lost Evangelical Influence

Matthew Kaemingk

Five pathways toward breaking the cycle of political outrage, depression, and lament without settling for passivity.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty

American Christianity is in cultural and political decline. In 1937, 70 percent of Americans reported that they belonged to a church. These numbers held relatively steady through much of the 20th century. But in the past 25 years, an estimated 40 million Americans have stopped attending church. As Ernest Hemingway said, bankruptcy comes gradually and then suddenly.

The American public square, previously white and Protestant, is quickly becoming a pluralistic bazaar of diverse cultures, religions, ideologies, and lifestyles. Once dominant and uncontested, Christianity is increasingly one moral vision among many.

How are evangelicals responding to the decline of Christianity’s cultural and political power?

Contrary to media caricatures, evangelicals are not a monolith. We’re responding to this decline in a wide variety of ways. The classical stages of grief can offer an insightful tool for understanding the ways evangelicals are processing their cultural and political decline (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance).

It is quite possible to meet an evangelical at any stage in this grieving process. But of course, this scheme does not fit everyone. Some evangelicals are not grieving at all. They actually celebrate Christianity’s loss of power. This group believes it would be fundamentally good and healthy for Christians to take a moratorium on political engagement, seeing it as beneficial for both America and the church.

While I sympathize with their sentiments, I must object. I believe that Christians are called by God to engage in political life. We must actively seek public justice and mercy. We must vigorously work for the flourishing for our neighbors. This requires us to be involved in politics and exert some level of political power and influence toward these ends. Privileged Christians who wish to politically disengage are abandoning the very neighbors they’re commanded to protect, serve, and love.

No, I believe it is entirely appropriate for evangelicals to grieve their loss of cultural and political power. That said, as any counselor will tell you, there are productive and unproductive forms of grief. The bereft are not permitted to remain in denial, anger, depression, or bargaining forever. Nor are they allowed to hurt others as they wail.

Here’s how we might interact with these stages. The first stage of grief is denial. While some evangelicals are still in denial over the decline of Christianity, their numbers are dwindling by the day. It is becoming harder and harder to ignore Christianity’s marginalization in the media, the academy, the marketplace, arts, and politics. For those still in denial, there is not much to say.

The second stage is anger. Evangelical rage makes for great TV; infantile evangelical leaders coming unhinged attract a lot of clicks. It is thus no surprise that the bulk of media attention has been trained on evangelical fits of outrage, victimhood, and lament over the emergence of a post-Christian America.

The third stage is bargaining. Quite a few articles and books have explored the disastrous ways in which evangelical leaders are increasingly willing to make a devil’s bargain for a few scraps of political power and access.

While much ink has been spilled on these forms of evangelical denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, the final stage has received precious little attention. What might look like for American evangelicals to step into a state of acceptance?

I’m not a neutral observer on this issue. I’m an evangelical who believes that American Christianity should adopt a form of non-passive acceptance. To be clear, acceptance is not acquiescence. By non-passive, I hope to indicate my fervent support for ardent Christian engagement in public life. Accepting America’s ideological diversity is not a sign of my resignation from American public life. As an evangelical, I still intend to advocate for a biblical approach to justice, peace, and flourishing in our nation.

With this clear, let’s return to the question before us: How might evangelicals progress through their grieving process and emerge from various states of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression? As far as I can tell, at least five things are needed.

The first is a change in theology. All political philosophy begins with a rather simple question: “Who’s in charge?” Academics call this the question of sovereignty. For Christian political philosophers, the answer, of course, is Jesus. Christ alone is ultimately the one in charge, not kings, politicians, or ideologies. There is one throne, and it belongs to Christ.

Unfortunately, many American evangelicals suffer from a weak Christology when it comes to politics. They seem to imagine that Jesus is either absent or weak in American public life, that he is not strong enough—not tough enough—to take America “back.” Given this apparent weakness, evangelicals cast about looking for a strong politician who can do Christ’s job for him. After all, if Jesus is not up to the task, we need someone who can do it for him.

Carrie Underwood’s music is good for everyone, but evangelicals in particular should work “Jesus Take the Wheel” back into their playlists. Too many American evangelicals are trying to white-knuckle a political wheel that does not belong to them, that they do not, cannot, and should not control. If Christ is in the driver’s seat, that means Christians are not. We must learn to place our trust in the political sovereignty of Jesus.

The second change is tactical. As evangelicals accept their status as a political minority, they will need to learn how to play with others. They will need to build tactical partnerships with other “moral sub-cultures.” Rather than demonizing Catholics, Mormons, and Muslims, evangelicals will need to learn to collaborate on mutually agreed upon political goals. Tactically speaking, evangelical leaders are too weak to go it alone. To succeed, we need to make friends.

Evangelicals in the Netherlands offer an interesting path forward in this regard. They’ve been a minority political voice for decades. In a recent effort to curtail the practice of prostitution in the Netherlands, local evangelicals formed a common political effort with left-wing feminist groups. Despite their deep ideological differences, they agreed on three things: Women have profound value, their bodies should not be commodified, and they are worthy of protection from the moral privations of the sexual marketplace.

Dutch evangelical leaders did not bargain away their Christian principles to make this political deal. And, importantly, evangelicals did not attack their leaders for collaborating with left-wing feminists. These Christian brothers and sisters have accepted that if they wish to seek public justice in the Netherlands, they need to partner with diverse groups.

The third change is one of posture. Some evangelicals are acting like martyrs hunched over in a state of depression about their loss of power. Others are desperately grasping about for what little power they can grab before it slips through their fingers. If we’re in anger, we may have a fighting posture—head down, fists up. If we’re bargaining, we prostrate ourselves before politicians who promise political scraps in return. None of these postures serves us well.

Like a basketball player who can only dribble to the right, evangelical voters have become predictable. Politically speaking, this makes them easy to manipulate, pigeonhole, use, and ignore—a politician’s dream. Whether crouching, bowing, or fighting, evangelicals lack the posture necessary to adapt and respond to a dynamic and pluralistic political landscape.

One of the first lessons a basketball player learns is the power of the three-point stance. With one foot forward and the ball in front of his chest, the player becomes a “triple threat” and can in an instant pass, shoot, or dribble. The defender doesn’t know where he’s going next, so he has options. The three-point stance enables the player to use creativity, imagination, and skill to improvise, adapt, and overcome.

Evangelicals need a new posture that will enable them to collaborate and contest, fight and forgive, persuade and listen. Our game is in desperate need of some new moves.

This need leads us to the fourth change. The future of evangelical political engagement is going to require a profound renewal of the evangelical imagination. Any artist will tell you that things like creativity and inspiration are tricky to come by. They can be fickle friends, here one day and gone the next. There is no three-step process to “becoming politically imaginative.” But there are a few practices that could certainly help.

Evangelicals will need to shift from a life of political consumption to one of cultural creativity. Rather than consuming endless hours of political vitriol via cable news, talk radio, and social media, we need to focus on—to put it frankly—becoming more interesting human beings. It may seem an odd political prescription, but evangelicals need to throw more dinner parties, attend more poetry classes, take up woodworking, and start book clubs or bowling leagues. We should serve refugee families or learn a new language, learn to cook or throw a neighborhood picnic.

The mindless consumption of political rage will never produce an evangelical political witness marked by creativity, imagination, or wisdom. A life filled with play, beauty, learning, and love offers fertile soil for a much healthier political culture.

Extracting oneself from the clatter of the 24/7 news cycle and investing one’s hands and heart in life-giving practices can do a great deal for one’s political posture and practices. The iron grip of political outrage, depression, and bitterness must be broken. Embodied activities can liberate evangelicals to navigate a polarized world of deep differences with a renewed and open-hearted imagination.

The final change for American evangelicalism brings us back to the heart of the gospel. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Rom. 5:8). The center of evangelical politics must be the Good News.

If this is true, ours should be a politics of gratitude, not grief. The global evangelical movement, regardless of culture or context, has always agreed that the gospel is central. The evangelical life begins with an experience of grace and gratitude—not fear, anger, or resentment. This personal experience of grace in Christ has public consequences for evangelicals who claim to follow him. The hospitality we’ve experienced in Christ is a hospitality that must be demonstrated before a watching world.

America is an increasingly pluralistic marketplace of diverse religions, ideologies, and lifestyles. How should evangelicals politically respond to this diversity? When should we listen and learn? When should we stand and fight? When do we collaborate? When do we contest?

Dynamic political environments call for dynamic political postures and practices. On this side of eternity, the boundary lines are not always clear. This should not concern us as long as we remain clear on our center.

Matthew Kaemingk is the Richard John Mouw Associate Professor of Faith and Public Life at Fuller Theological Seminary. His podcast on faith and politics is called Zealots at the Gate. His recent books include Reformed Public Theology and Work and Worship.

Learn more about Evangelicals in a Diverse Democracy.

- More from Matthew Kaemingk

Ideas

How to Talk About God and Politics in Polarized Times

Seth Freeman

My work in conflict management helped me develop an effective way to navigate sensitive topics. Here’s what I found.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty

How do we talk about Big Things when it seems so risky? It feels hard these days to even mention Jesus in conversation when we are faced with hostility toward Christianity. As faith is declining in the West, how will people find Christ if we can’t talk about him with nonbelieving friends and family? Our churches, families, and communities often feel so polarized we can’t talk about politics or values either.

So we’re understandably wary of talking about God or Christ or politics with anyone outside our close circles, and sometimes even within them. We fear it will just lead to arguments or damage our relationships. We don’t have the answers to tough questions. We can’t even agree on the facts. Loved ones seem uninterested or resentful about views different from their own. Small wonder we avoid evangelism and political conversation with friends and family, never mind strangers.

But I am confident there’s an effective, enjoyable, and winsome way to talk with people about Christ that also works well in discussions about any sensitive issue, even in heated times.

For years now, my students have used a simple method to have excellent “hot topic” conversations with friends they strongly disagree with—conversations about every conceivable political issue around the world. “It went so well,” they often report, “my friend and I feel closer now, and we want to have more conversations like that.”

I’ve seen the power of this method firsthand. For example, when I used this method a few months ago in a conversation with a secular friend, he said as we parted, “That was the best conversation I’ve ever had.” We’d been talking about God for two hours. This method has also equipped me to talk with people I disagree with about highly charged political issues in lengthy conversations that leave us feeling energized and warm toward each other.

Knowing how to discuss important and sensitive topics can make you a better friend, family member, and follower of Jesus. It’s not about winning an argument; it’s about being more loving and connecting more deeply and joyfully with someone you care about. It may also be the best way to help gradually change someone’s heart. The Barna Group found that an approach like this is the most effective way to reach nonbelievers. Best of all, it’s a method that’s surprisingly learnable.

The key is three words: paraphrase, praise, and probe. The method: Privately, over coffee or a meal, nudge the conversation into a Big Topic and ask your friend what they think about it. Then:

Paraphrase: Repeat the gist of your friend’s thoughts so well they say, “Exactly!”
Praise: Highlight anything they said that you can sincerely honor.
Probe: Ask about your concerns, curiosities, and confusions as a co-seeker of truth.

Do this two or three times. Then, share your own perspective and let the conversation unfold from there, returning to paraphrase, praise, probe whenever there’s tension. When you want to exit the conversation, simply express gratitude and change the subject: “Thank you. I’ve enjoyed this. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Let’s talk more about it another time. How’s your weekend looking?”

Here’s an example of how it works. You mention to your friend, “I see X died the other day. What do you think happens when we die?” She replies, and you paraphrase back to her, “So you’re saying death really is the end, and the afterlife is just wishful thinking. And believing a fantasy like that is a distraction from the important work of caring for people here and now. Am I getting that right?”

“Exactly!”

Then you add, “I appreciate your concern about this life and your worry that someone might focus on the afterlife too much and stop caring about this one. I so appreciate your commitment to taking care of people here and now. I share it.” She breathes a sigh of relief.

Then you probe: “So let me hear more. How do we get to that conclusion that this is all there is?” Whatever she replies is useful. You paraphrase, praise, and probe again, delving more deeply into her thoughts, feelings and, perhaps, her story (which may be particularly illuminating).

Eventually, the conversation generally becomes safe and rich enough that your friend is open to and interested in hearing your own perspective: “I do find a faith in an afterlife makes me more focused on this one. For example …” And you’ve begun a rich and often eye-opening conversation.

Though they usually do quite well with it, students sometimes struggle with this method when they use it spontaneously. Some casually turn to it in the middle of an argument, after things have gotten testy. Not good. Others try to use it in a group setting where others can chime in, interrupt, and argue. One tried it at a bar. Ugh.

I’ve seen most of my students do better when they plan ahead for a private conversation and choose a quiet, comfortable setting. They might invite a friend to talk about a topic or simply watch for an occasion to use this method during a conversation. For a conversation about Christ, it may be better to take an indirect approach, looking for a topic that touches on spiritual matters, like an event that raises the problem of evil or a movie that raises a philosophical question.

Why is Paraphrase, Praise, Probe so effective? First, because it’s grounded in humility, a quality that’s so winsome that the most admired people are renowned for it—Mother Theresa, Nelson Mandela, Abraham Lincoln, and far more importantly, Christ himself.

This approach also adds safety and lowers defensiveness because it validates and respects the other person without requiring you to agree with their conclusions. People feel safe and relax when they sense you deeply respect them, and they trust you more. The approach also slows the conversation down, making you both less reactive.

Also, it gives you a chance to learn and frees you from having to rebut points you don’t have answers for. (“That’s an intriguing point. I have more to learn about that.”) Barna found that Christians who listen generously like this are markedly more winsome; nonbelievers say they’re much more open to further conversation and learning about Christ from someone who listens to them than from someone who tries a hard-sell approach.

Paraphrase, Praise, Probe also lets us emulate the apostle Paul’s approach to evangelism. In Acts 17, we see Paul at the Areopagus reasoning with the Athenians, demonstrating he deeply understands their beliefs then praising them for their religiosity before speaking about Christ.

As Tim Keller observed, if Christians just monologue and argue, we’ll get nowhere with unbelievers. Paul, he notes, is not preaching in that passage of Acts. Rather, Paul is “entering into dialogue … a Socratic method.” That means, Keller explains, that you should come inside the other person’s perspective and listen sympathetically. Then and only then do you challenge their view from its own standards. In other words, you probe.

In fact, knowing how to talk about Big Things with our perceived opponents or true enemies can transform us and them. Daryl Davis, an African American R & B musician, dialogued with KKK leaders and, in the process, led dozens of them out of the Klan, moving them to repent of their racism. Yet he never asked them to do so—he just had generous and inquisitive conversations with them. The ability to talk across chasms of thought can make us peacemakers and agents for change.

Here, then, are two safe, easy ways to practice using Paraphrase, Praise, Probe:

Watch a YouTube interview of someone you strongly disagree with. Stop the video, practice Paraphrase, Praise, Probe, resume the video, and then repeat. Perhaps get feedback from a friend who’s watching you.

Or, try it with a friend this week. Choose someone you usually agree with and pick a nonreligious topic you each care about somewhat but not passionately (Minimum wage? Greatest basketball player?). Invite your friend to talk about this topic with you for 15 minutes. Intentionally use Paraphrase, Praise, Probe. See what effect it has, get some feedback afterwards, and then try it again the following week with someone else, perhaps nudging a conversation toward God, salvation, or another Big Thing.

We change the world by the way we listen and talk. Paraphrase, Praise, Probe can help us be that change, living out more fully on Monday what we pray to become on Sunday, helping us act more like the God we want others to know. It can help us gently, safely start conversations that could one day lead a person to Christ. Additionally, it can help us build bridges across political and ideological divides. What could be better?

Seth Freeman is a professor of conflict management and negotiation at the NYU Stern School of Business and Columbia University and the author of 15 Tools to Turn the Tide: A Step-By-Step Playbook for Empowered Negotiating. He has given talks to The Veritas Forum, InterVarsity Fellowship, and Christian college groups.

- More from Seth Freeman

News

Died: Andar Ismail, Prolific Writer Who Made Theology Simple

Hendro Suwito

With his Selamat series, the Indonesian pastor wrote more than 1,000 short stories illuminating Jesus’ life and teachings.

Edits by Christianity Today / Source Image: Courtesy of Sunoko Samiadji

Andar Ismail, a prolific Christian writer who distilled theological truths into short stories accessible to ordinary Indonesians, died of congestive heart failure on August 25. He was 84.

From 1981 to 2022, the pastor and seminary professor wrote 33 books, each containing 33 short stories, for his Selamat series. Ismail described his literary style as gado-gado (“hodgepodge”)—after an Indonesian dish with mixed vegetables and peanut sauce—because the stories were an amalgamation of genres: Bible exposition, stories of Jesus or characters of the Bible, church history, biographies of Christian figures, comments on books or art, humorous anecdotes, and personal reflections.

While other Indonesian Christian authors wrote for the educated class, Ismail’s books were entertaining and simple enough for lay Christians—as well as nonbelievers and people of other faiths—to grasp. And the readers abound: His books have sold tens of thousands of copies, a rare feat in Indonesia, where interest in reading is low.

Even after finishing the Selamat series, he published two more collections of short stories. In addition to his literary contributions, he also pastored Indonesian Christian Church (GKI) Samanhudi in Jakarta for 40 years and taught theology and Christian education at Jakarta Theological Seminary, the oldest seminary in the country.

The 33 books of the Selamat series, and the 33 stories in each one, honor the number of years Jesus lived on earth, Ismail once told Validnews Indonesia. (Selamat is the Indonesian word for “greetings, congratulations, and salvation.”)

“I was mesmerized … by the 33 years of Jesus’ life,” Ismail said. “How he was still so young, yet he had done so much. A short yet very impactful life.”

Born as Siem Hong An in 1940, Ismail was raised in a poor Christian Chinese-Indonesian family in Bandung, West Java. When Ismail was a child, his father, who owned a small factory, suffered from a prolonged lung illness that left him unable to work, forcing Ismail’s mother to support the family by selling homemade cakes. The fourth of six children, Ismail recalled his family receiving food and payment for school fees from their local church.

Yet despite what they lacked financially, Ismail’s mother nurtured her son’s imagination through telling stories and encouraging him to make up his own. Even though he only had leaves and branches to play with, he created his own imaginary world.

Beginning at age four, his mother brought him to Sunday school, where he loved to listen to Bible stories. He recalls in his book Tukang Ngantar Selamat (Courier of Salvation) how, one time, his Sunday School teacher, Sioe Bing, enthusiastically told the story of Jesus quieting the storm on the Lake of Galilee. As he waved his arms to portray the raging seas, he accidentally slapped Ismail’s face.

Yet Ismail looked back at that moment fondly, because it awoke in him a new dream. When the “waves of Galilee” landed right in his face, the seed for his future was planted. It then blossomed several years later when he wrote, “I want to walk along the same path as Uncle Sioe Bing. I want to be the storyteller of the Bible.”

Ismail nourished that love of stories by frequenting the Bandung library, where he read books by Hans Christian Andersen and Charles Dickens, as well as a local Christian bookstore, where he read Dutch theologians Johannes Verkuyl and Hendrik Kraemer. At a young age, he saw the power of writing. While delivering newspapers, he realized that people would wait eagerly for him to bring them the latest issue and that this anticipation made him feel important. Ismail reasoned that if the deliverer of the newspaper was indispensable, how much more was the writer of the newspaper? “Since then, I wanted to be a writer,” Ismail told Validnews.

At 18, Ismail studied at Balewijoto Theological School in Malang, East Java, to become a pastor. Once again, his church rallied around him to help him pay for schooling. At times, he found his teachers difficult to understand, as they used words that felt esoteric and gave long-winded lectures. But this challenge only further motivated him to become a writer and teacher. “I wrote, driven by the desire to explain something difficult easily, not long but brief, not boring but captivating, and with humor,” Ismail told Validnews.

After graduation in 1963, he began serving at GKI Samanhudi, a Presbyterian church. Two years later, he was ordained and married his wife, Constance (Stans) Budihalim, a Sunday school teacher. He served at GKI Samanhudi for 40 years, occasionally studying abroad. Among others, he studied at a university in Utrecht, Netherlands; Presbyterian University and Theological Seminary in Seoul; and Union Presbyterian Seminary in Richmond.

In order to equip the next generation of Indonesian pastors, Ismail started teaching theology and Christian education at Jakarta Theological Seminary as a part-time lecturer in 1978. He went on to become a full professor and taught at the seminary until 2005.

During Ismail’s funeral, one of his students, Nanang (who only goes by this one name), shared that he was once called into Ismail’s office after a pedagogy writing class. “My heart was beating fast because he was known as a very strict lecturer,” Nanang said. When Nanang entered the room, Ismail was holding the paper he had turned in. His anxiety faded as Ismail asked for his permission to share Nanang’s writing as an example for his younger students.

“I considered this as his way of appreciating my writing,” Nanang said. Now a pastor of GKI Mangga Dua Church in Jakarta, he often shares his writing on social media.

Ismail’s childhood dream of becoming a writer first came to fruition in 1981 while he studied in Seoul. There, he wrote his first collection of 33 short stories, entitled Selamat Natal (Merry Christmas). It included biographies of John the Baptist and King Herod, a story entitled “If Jesus was born in Jakarta,” and an essay on how Christmas is only meaningful if we accept Jesus’ death on the cross for our sins.His second book, Selamat Paskah (Happy Easter), was published a year later, in 1982.

The books received a positive response from readers. Yet it would be another decade before Ismail published more books in the series, as he was busy teaching and then pursuing his PhD in the US. When he returned to Jakarta to become a full-time lecturer at Jakarta Theological Seminary, his publisher, BPK Gunung Mulia, asked him to continue the series.

It took him a few more years, but in 1992, he wrote the third book in the series, Selamat Pagi Tuhan! (“Good Morning, Lord!”), and then started to write one book a year until he finished all 33 books in 2022. Ismail wrote each book by hand, and his close friend Sunoko Nugroho Samiadji then transcribed it on the computer. Samiadji, who viewed Ismail as his spiritual father, was inspired by Ismail’s discipline and perseverance to keep writing when he was ill.

“He had even completed ten story drafts for his next books, although his health had substantially been deteriorating these last four months,” Samiadji said after Ismail’s passing.

Ismail’s Selamat stories focus on the life, teachings, and practices of Jesus, including prayer, ministry, teaching, work, integrity, and love. By using down-to-earth language, Ismail hoped to help readers examine their lives and faith.

To connect with people of other faiths, some of his stories describe how Muslim poets and artists viewed Jesus.

One famous journalist and writer, Sobron Aidit, said on the back cover of one of Ismail’s books that while he was a Communist and exposed to Islam in his earlier years, he was “often confused, looking for a handle on various problems.” Friends sent him the Selamat series, and he said his “heart was touched, and the more I loved Andar’s writing. From year to year, I continued to examine his books. Finally at the age of 66, I confessed Christ as my Savior.”

For two decades, the Selamat books were BPK Gunung Mulia’s bestsellers. For his contributions to the Indonesian church, Ismail won the Christian Art and Literature Festival’s Tokoh Inspiratif (Inspirational Figure) award in August 2018.

The Christian Conference of Asia called Ismail and fellow author Eka Darmaputera “undoubtedly the most prolific Christian authors in this archipelago” on the back of a Selamat book. “Their writings are based on thoughtful theological scholarship, yet easily consumed by the average parishioner. Both Eka and Andar have been a substantial asset for the churches in Indonesia … in communicating the heart of the Gospel to the heart of the people.”

Binsen Samuel Sidjabat, lecturer at Tyranus Bible Seminary, largely praised Ismail’s work, yet he noted a theological shift in two of Ismail’s later stories. While his early works stress salvation only through Jesus, his later works seem to question John 14:6, which says, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” His story “The Only Way?” says this verse merely points to the early church’s high respect for Jesus, and his story “Is Christ the Only Way?” says it explains Jesus’ relationship with the Father.

Ismail’s children remember their father continually pointing them to Christ.

His daughter, Atikah, recalled that when she was about 12 and her brother Syarif was 10, her father came home one night and said he had a gift for them. He handed them his Bible, and the children wondered if the gift was hidden inside. Atikah said, “We searched and searched from the front to the last pages, but we could not find any envelope or other things.” Later, she realized that her father wanted to teach them that the most precious gift a father could give his children was the Word of God.

Near the end of Ismail’s life, Samiadji moved in to help take care of Ismail, who had prostate surgery in April, and his wife. As Ismail’s health deteriorated in late August, Samiadji said that he had prayed, “Dear Lord, you have given me so much. But, with your consent, I ask you that I will not get sick for long, which will make others’ lives miserable from taking care of me.” Samiadji said he was concerned about burdening his wife.

Not long afterward, Ismail passed away peacefully. Ismail is survived by his wife, two children, and two grandchildren.

- More from Hendro Suwito

News

Wire Story

China Ends International Adoptions, Leaving Hundreds of Cases in Limbo

Diana Chandler - Baptist Press

The decision shocked dozens of evangelical families in the US who had been in the process since before the pandemic.

Chris Hondros / Getty Images

The Chinese government has officially ended its international adoption program, foreign ministry spokesperson Mao Ning announced Thursday, ending hopes for hundreds of US families who were matched with children before the COVID-19 pandemic but had adoptions put on hold in 2020.

Karla Thrasher, senior director of international adoptions at Lifeline Children’s Services based in Birmingham, said the announcement was shocking to the adoption agency and to its 48 families who were matched with Chinese orphans before the pandemic.

“They were definitely in shock. This came very suddenly,” Thrasher told Baptist Press. “We actually had thought things were moving in a more positive direction over the past couple of weeks, and then received this email out of the blue regarding China no longer carrying out the foreign adoptions.”

Lifeline was serving more than 100 matched families when China suspended adoptions in 2020, Thrasher said, but the number dwindled due to various family circumstances.

The remaining 48 families waited with anticipation and suffered a range of emotions including anger, sadness and disbelief at the news, Thrasher said.

“Some of them were just a couple of pieces of paperwork away from traveling to meet their children and finalizing their adoption,” Thrasher said. “That’s how close many of these families were.”

Some of the children had participated in Lifeline’s hosting program.

“Several of these families had actually met their children and spent time with them through a program that we have where we host children here in the United States,” Thrasher said. “Several of these children had been a part of that hosting program where they had come to the US, actually spent time in the family’s home, so these families knew these children.”

China’s announcement ends a 30-year program, with exceptions for international residents adopting blood relatives or stepchildren, Ming said in her announcement during a press briefing. The program officially ended August 28.

Before China suspended the program during the COVID pandemic, 202 US adoptions were finalized from China in fiscal 2020, which spans October 2019 through September 2020, according to the US State Department’s Annual Report on Intercountry Adoption.

China was a robust country for adoptions by US parents in the years it remained a destination, generating 819 adoptions in 2019, 1,475 in 2018 and 2,036 10 years prior in 2008, the State Department reported.

After the suspension in 2020, no additional adoptions were seen from China until 2023, when 16 adoptions were finalized, the State Department reported. Those adoptions included families who were already approved for travel to China, a final stage in the adoption process. Some of those families were served by Lifeline, Thrasher said.

“Those are families that when the suspension happened in January 2020 due to COVID, they at the very last step of the process,” Thrasher said. “They had a document called travel approval, and China honored that document and allowed those families to travel last year.

“Even yesterday, amidst all of the sadness, the Lord reminded us of those families that did get to travel,” Thrasher said, “and those children that did have homes. It’s important to celebrate that as well.”

Lifeline Children’s Services, the largest evangelical adoption organization in the US, will pray with and for the 48 families as they grieve and process their loss, and work with them as they consider their options, Thrasher said.

The children left behind in China face lives in orphanages with limited medical care, limited education and limited opportunities. They will age out of orphan care at 16 with no resources and few options, she said, other than low wage work. Some may be relegated to lives of begging or crime.

She encouraged Southern Baptists to pray for the children left behind, for the families grieving the loss and still hoping to adopt children, and for adoption agencies working to place children with families across the nation.

- More from Diana Chandler - Baptist Press

Ideas

Public School Can Be a Training Ground for Faith

Stefani McDade

My daughter will wrestle with worldliness in her education, just as I did. That’s why I want to be around to help.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: Getty

Depending on your circles, mentioning “public school” may elicit strong reactions. Many Christians in America avidly allege its degeneracy, while many others fiercely defend its merits. And although this debate isn’t new, it has come back to the foreground of our public life in recent years.

Last month, for example, a video went around in which actor Kirk Cameron described Christian parents who send their children to public school as “subcontract[ing their] parenting and discipleship out to the government,” warning them to expect “little Marxists, little statists, little atheists, drag queens, strippers, drug dealers … you name it.”

By contrast, writer Jen Wilkin has made faith-led arguments in favor of public education, citing benefits for children including a more diverse socialization, a healthy exposure to different worldviews, and fulfilling the call of being a Christian witness in the world. “Our participation in the public school system was directly related to loving our neighbors,” she said in a Gospel Coalition debate on the issue.

As a new school year starts with an election underway, I think the Christian case for public schooling is worth revisiting—not only because it’s a pressing conversation right now but because it prompts us to examine how we think about education, discipleship, and the faithfulness of God.

First, though, I want to recognize this is a practical question as much as a theoretical one. We ultimately make our decisions based on the actual situation, options, and children before us. That means we’re not talking about “public school” in general, but the specific public schools in our districts—and the specific private, Christian, and/or homeschool resources in our areas. And we’re not talking about kids in general, but our specific kids—and we all know that every child has different needs. So, take all that follows with the recognition that it may not be possible for you to make the same decision I would.

Our daughter is just a toddler, so she’s not in school yet, and it’s possible something in the next few years will lead us to change our minds. But, for now, my husband and I have decided to send her to public school.

One of the most important considerations for me in making that choice is that studies show there are more important elements for building and safeguarding our kids’ faith than the school they attend. As I’ve previously reported for CT, research suggests that taking children to church regularly matters more than finding the “right” school.

In fact, as I discovered two years ago in my interview with Christian public health expert Tyler VanderWeele, director of Harvard’s Human Flourishing Program, childhood church attendance is one of the highest predictors of overall wellbeing as an adult. Though homeschooling provided some unique benefits, researchers found, there was very little difference, across a host of outcomes, between public and private school kids.

Another major consideration is that I would rather most of my child’s first close encounters of the worldly kind happen while she’s still under my roof, not after she leaves home. That preference is informed by my own unique educational background.

Growing up, my parents’ ministry positions moved our family around a lot. I started in public school for kindergarten and first grade, switched to a private Christian school for second and third grade, was homeschooled from fourth through sixth grade, and then returned to public school for middle and high school. Then I chose to attend the private Christian university where my parents worked at the time.

While researching this piece, I asked my parents how they had made their schooling decisions each time they moved. They said they’d weighed the quality of available education against the influence of the local atmosphere—pretty much as most parents do. And it wasn’t until I was approaching high school, they said, that warnings against the “dangers” of public education really started to influence their Christian circles.

Looking back, my experience at Christian school was mediocre, whereas I enjoyed homeschooling and saw its benefits. That said, it set me up for a massive culture shock when I went from homeschooling in Miami to public school in Washington State. We moved halfway through my sixth grade—possibly the worst time to transition from one end of the country to the other, from a Christian homeschool bubble to a secular outpost, from a setting of urban diversity to suburban homogeneity. Most of my time in middle school was spent figuring out how to fit in.

By the time we moved to Northern California, where I began high school, I was faring far better socially, culturally, and academically. But, there, a new obstacle arose, one I’d only gotten a taste of in middle school: I was bullied for my faith at school.

There was a group of boys, and even a couple teachers, who often teased me for my faith. Once in class, for example, we were reading a passage from Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad and came to this line: “Or you may be such a thunderingly exalted creature as to be altogether deaf and blind to anything but heavenly sights and sounds.” My teacher interrupted to say, “Like you, Stefani.” The same teacher signed my yearbook, “You have a great brain. Don’t be hindered by dogma.”

Now, I know I did myself no favors in how I responded—due to my strong personality, deeply ingrained convictions, and ministry upbringing—but it was bullying all the same. It was, at times, rather miserable. But it was also motivating.

I look back on that time now as pivotal for my spiritual formation. Until then, I’d mostly been living under my parents’ faith; it was something I just took for granted. I didn’t know how to articulate my beliefs because I’d never had to defend them.

Once I was regularly provoked at school, I had to learn why I believed what I believed. I had to make my faith my own. With my parents’ guidance, I began reading apologetics books so I would know how to respond when someone attacked my views. That decision began a trajectory that led to who and where I am today, serving as theology editor at CT.

It’s worth noting that I attended high school from 2003 to 2007, near the height of fervor around New Atheism. That context, especially in California, made it socially acceptable in my school to openly mock Christianity and anyone who identified with it. But children in most public schools probably wouldn’t have the same experience today. New Atheism has fallen out of style, and some recent research has shown that vitriol toward religion generally and Christians specifically has significantly declined over the last decade or so.

And though bullying is terrible, and no parent wants their children to experience it, keeping children out of public school doesn’t guarantee they’ll never be bullied—while putting them in public school may give you the opportunity to guide them through this and other early challenges to their faith. You can remind them of what is true about themselves and what God says about them.

Think of it like strength training: Your children need to build muscles of faith, and public school can provide weight to lift while you’re around to spot them. Let them wrestle with worldly counternarratives to God’s truth while they’re still under your care. That may feel risky, but the alternative—keeping them sheltered, then letting them be exposed to everything all at once when they leave home for work or college—is risky too.

Christians are called to be “children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation” (Phil. 2:15), and we also know how seriously Jesus takes harm against children and how gravely he judges those who fail to treat them with the proper dignity. Anyone who despises a child or causes one to stumble is better off drowning in the depths of the sea (Matt. 18:1–6) than facing the wrath of God for their actions.

As parents, we can’t permanently protect our children from the world and its influences; and at the very least, they’ll encounter the worldliness of our own sin. Nor can we protect them from the inevitable and necessary struggle to truly understand and claim their faith for their own. The only question is when they’ll face that challenge and who will be around them when they do. As a mother, I want to be there—in person, every day—when those questions first come up for my kid.

That presence isn’t just about talking apologetics or exploring Scripture together, which we could do over phone or email after my daughter leaves home. It includes many other things we as parents can do to help our kids and their faith flourish: maintain a good marriage, attend to their physical and emotional needs, raise them in a healthy church environment, and practice the faith we preach.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still worried about what could happen to my daughter at public school. But my worries are more about her physical safety (especially when school shootings happen an hour away) than her exposure to people and ideas that might cause her to wrestle with her faith, values, or sense of self—even at a young age. And that’s not only because I know I’ll be there to guide her through the pitfalls of our fallen world. It’s because I trust God’s sovereignty far more than my control over my daughter’s future.

Much of the rhetoric urging Christian disengagement from public education in America has to do with the larger question of how Christians should interact with the broader culture—with what it means to be “in the world but not of it.”

That saying is a paraphrase from Jesus’ high priestly prayer at the Last Supper: “My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one” (John 17:15). It comes after his warning to his followers that “in this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (16:33). And it’s not the only time he said the world would be hostile to Christians. “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves,” he said when commissioning his 12 disciples for ministry. “Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves. Be on your guard” (Matt. 10:16–17).

That hostility is the reality in which we parent as Christians, and that tension of witness and holiness, shrewdness and innocence is what we must faithfully navigate, whatever schooling decision we make. It’s a dance of both entrusting our kids to God and knowing that God has entrusted them to us. And it’s a dance we don’t undertake lightly, for at the end of all days, we will be held accountable for how we performed.

Stefani McDade is the theology editor at Christianity Today.

- More from Stefani McDade

Church Life

Boomers: Serve Like Your Whole Life Is Ahead of You

Donald Sweeting

What will our generation do with the increased life expectancy God has blessed us with?

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty

Not long ago, I visited my 99-year-old father and 97-year-old mother. My dad had just passed his driver’s test again, and a year before that, he published yet another book. He told me he wants to take up painting again. Then, with a mischievous look in his eye, my dad turned to me, a 60-something baby boomer, and said, “Son, what are you going to do with yourself? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you!”

A hundred years ago, this kind of comment would have seemed nonsensical. But the fact is, a massive demographic shift is taking place in our country, and Americans today are living longer than ever.

Life expectancy in the US increased from 47.3 to 78.7 years between 1900 and 2010. Sixty-five and older happens to be the fastest-growing age group in the US population today. In fact, the US Census Bureau predicts that by 2034 the US will have more people over 65 than under 18. Think about that: For the first time in US history, older people will outnumber younger people.

This is partly due to the size of the baby boomer generation and the declining US birth rate, but it’s also because advances in health care, public health, and nutrition have increased lifespans beyond historic norms.

US hospitals and universities are now referring to the 65-plus life stage as the period of “late adulthood,” which they divide into three stages: the young-old (65–84), the oldest-old (85–99), and the centenarians (100+). The young-old stage is considered the “golden years” of adulthood with fewer responsibilities, relatively good health, and meaningful social engagement.

Though Gen Zers may soon pass them in number, boomers continue to make up a growing number of the US workforce. In 2020, the Bureau of Labor Statistics reported that 10.8 million people, or 19 percent, of those 65 and older were still employed. In popular culture we are hearing some suggest that 60 is the new 40 and 80 is the new 60. People are talking about the 60-year career instead of the traditional 40-year career.

This is due, in part, to employers’ desires to retain experienced workers and many boomers’ desire to keep working. For others, it may be a matter of financial necessity—they may want to retire to spend more time with family, travel, or serve in ministry, but they can’t afford to. Whatever the reason, older people today are working longer than in previous generations, which could have far-reaching consequences on the workforce and economy.

This also impacts the political realm, where most politicians today are older than their predecessors have been. In this election season, we almost had a rematch between a 78-year-old Republican nominee and an 81-year-old Democratic nominee, who responded to public pressure and stepped down.

Of course, this trend is not always appreciated by the younger generation, who sometimes criticize boomers for not passing the baton or relinquishing their positions of control. But the fact is, most of my peers are struggling to determine the right age to retire. Many still see retirement as something that happens in our 60s, while some anticipate another 20-plus years of full-time employment ahead.

But regardless of when we decide to stop full-time work, we dare not neglect the new opportunities for ministry in our families, communities, and churches in the latter years of our lives. If we are wise, we must consider how we can serve the Lord and his kingdom in the extra years he has graciously given us.

For one, our schools, churches, and ministries will need to adjust to this new reality. Christian colleges and seminaries would do well to rethink their educational tracks and start favoring the nontraditional adult learner. Perhaps our concept of education should be reconceived as not simply a one-time initial infusion but a lifelong endeavor.

In recent decades, many churches have focused their outreach efforts on reaching the young at the expense of losing older congregants. But perhaps pastors should instead be helping older members by finding meaningful outlets for them to serve and utilize their gifts and experience.

Recent research shows that 1 in 4 pastors plan to retire before 2030. Yet perhaps churches should think differently about ministerial retirement—providing pathways for older clergy to re-deploy and remain fruitful in a new capacity that is more appropriate for their stage of life.

For some boomers, the 40-year ministry is expanding to a 60-year ministry. Think, for instance, of some of the most prominent evangelical leaders of recent history.

Carl F. H. Henry (1913–2003), the well-known theologian chosen to be the founding editor of Christianity Today, retired from teaching at age 85 but continued to write, lecture, and serve on boards until his death at age 90.

Vernon Grounds (1914–2010), Baptist pastor and theologian from Denver Seminary, also served as a contributing editor of Christianity Today. He had an amazing 70 years in ministry as an academic dean, president, and chancellor of the seminary before dying at 96.

John Stott (1921–2011), the well-known Anglican preacher and Bible scholar and cofounder of the Lausanne movement, began his ministry in 1945 in the church of his childhood, All Souls Langham Place, in downtown London. He served at that same church for more than 60 years as curate, rector, and rector emeritus, ending his public ministry at age 86 before passing away at 90 years old.

Billy Graham (1918–2018), one of the most important Christian leaders of the 20th century—whose vision led to the founding of Christianity Today—began his ministry with Youth for Christ in 1944. He kept serving well into his 90s, preaching his last sermon at age 96 and holding his last official crusade in 2005 when he was 97. He died at the ripe old age of 99.

J. I. Packer (1926–2020), the evangelical Anglican theologian and author who was an executive editor at Christianity Today, had a ministry that lasted 62 years before his death at 93.

And most recently, Charles Stanley (1932–2023) was the senior pastor of First Baptist Church in Atlanta for nearly 50 years and continued to preach in the pulpit until he passed away at the age of 90.

My own father, George Sweeting (b. 1924)—who for years was associated with The Moody Church and the Moody Bible Institute as pastor, president, and chancellor—continued to serve part-time at his local church, leading the senior adult ministries into his 80s and early 90s.

All these great evangelical leaders have something in common: They loved God and kept serving, exemplifying the new longevity of a 60-year career. By contrast, Thomas Aquinas died at the age of 49. John Calvin and Jonathan Edwards passed away at 54. George Whitefield only lived to age 55 and Charles Spurgeon to age 57. Martin Luther and Dwight Moody were gone by age 62.

While we rest in the sovereignty of the God who numbers our days, we are also called to be responsible as good stewards of the bodies and minds he has given us by cultivating good habits.

A recent Boston University study reports that 70 percent of longevity is driven by our “health behaviors.” These include things like staying physically active, avoiding destructive habits like smoking and excessive drinking, maintaining a healthy weight and diet, staying intellectually active, sleeping consistently, and having a strong social network.

When Vernon Grounds was asked about the secret of his longevity and long-term vocational ministry, he often talked about what he called “the three Gs”: God, genes, and the gym. He began with God because the Bible makes it clear that our lives—and every year we have on this earth—are entirely gifts from God. He didn’t buy the common American retirement narrative of work till 60 and then spend the rest of your life near a golf course.

Grounds did not believe in retiring from active service. He said he already had a great retirement plan called heaven. He cherished scriptures like Psalm 92, which speaks about the righteous who “flourish like the palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. … They still bear fruit in old age; they are ever full of sap and green” (vv. 12, 14, ESV).

While the Bible does not say much about retirement specifically, there are plenty of examples of people who never retired from serving God—those who flourished and bore fruit late in life. Think of Abram, whom God called at the age of 75. Moses was 80 when he led the Israelites out of Egypt, and Caleb was 85 when he entered the Promised Land. Or think of Anna, the 84+-year-old prophetess who finally saw Jesus, and Simeon, whom God promised would meet the Messiah before he died.

None of us knows how long we will live—as only the Lord knows the length of our days (Ps. 37:18). But the proposal I make to my fellow boomers and to the generation that follows is that we need to adjust our thinking. We should plan to live wiser, serve longer, and retire later. Why? Because God has providentially given us the gift of extra years and, as my dad said, “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you!”

Donald Sweeting serves as chancellor of Colorado Christian University.

- More from Donald Sweeting

Books

Review

Take Me Out to Something Bigger Than a Ballgame

Paul Putz

American stadiums have always played host both to major sports and to larger social aspirations.

Charles Gullung / Getty

In 1929, a Kansas preacher named Charles Sheldon had to get something off his chest.

Best known as the author of In His Steps (1896)—a novel that encouraged Christians to ask, “What would Jesus do?”—Sheldon reflected on a recent experience during a stormy winter night in Topeka. Most of the town was shut down that evening. But there was one exception: the local college’s basketball arena. There, the scheduled game took place, and fans packed the gymnasium to the rafters.

“I couldn’t help wondering,” Sheldon mused in an article for Christian Herald, “how many church members would be in the fifty different churches at a prayer meeting on a night like that, and paying a dollar apiece for the privilege of going.”

Sheldon’s question was less a rallying cry for change than a sigh of resignation. This was simply the way it was. Sure, plenty of Americans still attended their local congregations on Sundays. But given a choice, Americans were more interested in the thrill and excitement of sporting spectacles than the weekly activities of church life.

Historian Frank Guridy makes no mention of Sheldon in his remarkable new book, The Stadium: An American History of Politics, Protest, and Play. Still, he fills in the contours of the new reality that Sheldon seemed to recognize: In the 20th century, sporting spaces were increasingly central to Americans’ shared life together, emerging as sanctuaries where people could form bonds of community, express their identities, and experience something close to the feeling of transcendence.

They were, in other words, the sort of places where people would brave blizzard conditions on a wintry December night, just to enter the door and be witnesses.

‘Palaces of pleasure’ and ‘arenas of protest’

A professor of history at Columbia University and director of the Eric H. Holder Jr. Initiative for Civil and Political Rights, Guridy did not begin his career as a sports historian. His first book, the award-winning Forging Diaspora: Afro-Cubans and African Americans in a World of Empire and Jim Crow (2010), established him as a leading scholar of the Black Freedom Movement in the United States and the Caribbean.

With his second book, he turned his attention to sports, producing The Sports Revolution: How Texas Changed the Culture of American Athletics (2021). His background and expertise gave him a vantage point to see and understand sports as a cultural phenomenon, with an eye toward the broader social and political meanings bound up in the games we play.

In The Stadium, Guridy continues this line of inquiry, weaving sports history with economics and politics, culture and geography, race and class, gender and sexuality. “Stadiums,” he writes, “make possible the spectacular staging of a society’s ideologies and self-perceptions.”

Guridy sweeps through American history as he explores those “ideologies and self-perceptions” from the late 19th century to the present. Throughout, he emphasizes a core tension at the heart of the stadium’s presence in American culture. “Elites have constructed stadiums as monuments to affluence, technological wonder, and exclusivity,” he writes. “Yet, America’s marginalized groups have transformed them into venues to express their desires and discontents, and to proclaim a more inclusive vision of American society.”

While Guridy’s narrative is soaring in scope, he also shows a careful eye for granular detail. He describes the physical landscape and the shifting architecture, aesthetics, and design of stadiums. He explores the human experience of the stadium too, including the sights, sounds, and smells that Americans would have encountered when they clicked through the turnstiles. And he identifies particular places in specific cities as anchor points for his narrative—symbols of the broader themes he tries to illustrate.

He begins with New York City, where he describes the evolution of stadiums and arenas from temporary wooden structures to permanent buildings like Madison Square Garden, made of concrete and steel and designed for mass spectacles. Although often created to be “palaces of pleasure” owned by the rich and wealthy, by the 1920s these sites drew fans across classes and from immigrant populations, serving as “arenas of protest” where people could articulate competing visions of American identity.

From there he moves to New Orleans, where Tulane Stadium, host of college football’s Sugar Bowl from the 1930s to the 1970s, served as a “monument to white supremacy.” Guridy shows how the annual Sugar Bowl spectacle helped to project and protect the South’s system of segregation and racial hierarchy until the civil rights activism of the 1960s finally brought it down.

Next, Guridy goes west to California, focusing on Los Angeles Coliseum. Guridy’s attention turns to the ways stadiums helped to nurture Black identity and expression, with African Americans helping to “make the stadium into a semipublic square where they could voice their aspirations for justice and equality.” The chapter culminates with a vivid description of the Wattstax concert held at Los Angeles Coliseum in 1972—an “unapologetic expression of black politics and black pleasure.”

Guridy’s chapter on Los Angeles marks a turning point in his narrative. While the first two chapters tend to highlight exclusion and hierarchy, chapters 3 through 6 generally portray mid-century stadiums as more democratic spaces that promoted greater inclusion. To Guridy, this change occurred, in part, because of a gradual shift in stadium and arena ownership from private to public hands. As a result, he argues, stadiums became more responsive to the demands of activists and people on the margins seeking to claim a place of belonging.

Of course, the stadium remained contested terrain for competing visions of society. Inclusion for some did not necessarily translate to inclusion for others. Guridy emphasizes this point in a chapter on Washington, DC, where the construction of DC Stadium in the 1960s—publicly financed and governed—cultivated a more diverse fanbase while also forcing Washington Redskins owner George Marshall to end his practice of segregation. Yet, as Guridy shows, this did not eliminate the team’s use of racist Native American stereotypes and tropes in its name, mascot, and rituals.

Even while giving attention to these ongoing examples of exclusion, Guridy still sees the mid-century stadium as a place of surprising democratic possibility, including for gender and sexuality. One particularly fascinating chapter explores the “gendered geography” of the stadium, with a focus on the locker room and press box as sites of male dominance. Guridy traces and analyzes the efforts of female sportswriters to claim a space within the stadium for carrying out their work and having a voice in the story of sports in America.

He also spends a chapter on LGBTQ inclusion, using the Gay Games, held in San Francisco in 1982 and 1986, to highlight the efforts of gay and lesbian communities to make their presence felt and voice heard in American society.

The good vibes of the mid-century stadium, in Guridy’s telling, did not last. With chapter 7, his narrative takes another turn, with stadiums transformed from an “institution that largely accommodated America’s marginalized peoples between the 1960s and the 1980s” into a “corporate temple of exclusion.”

Guridy sees Oriole Park at Camden Yards, completed in 1992 as the home for the Baltimore Orioles, as emblematic of the new era. Unlike multipurpose stadiums designed for both baseball and football and managed by the public, the ballpark at Camden was designed for a single sport and placed in Baltimore’s downtown area. It was supposed to have a “retro” look and feel, evoking feelings of nostalgia while helping to revitalize neighborhoods and communities near the stadium.

Instead, the new craze for stadiums patterned after Oriole Park led to greater social stratification and further gentrified inner-city neighborhoods. The best seats and luxury experiences were set aside for corporate partners and affluent fans, who could drive in from wealthy enclaves, while working-class people who lived near the stadium were priced out of actually enjoying the game day experience.

“Commerce and consumption,” Guridy laments, “displaced the stadium’s historic role as a venue of public recreation and civic engagement.”

An additional final chapter highlights another worry for Guridy: the rise of militarized patriotism at the ballpark. Guridy charts the response after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, when the stadium quickly moved from serving as a space for collective mourning to hosting a proliferation of patriotic rituals (some paid for by the US government) that glorified the military and law enforcement. As part of this trend, the national anthem became more entrenched as an essential part of the spectacle and experience of sporting events.

Yet Guridy notes that the potential for contested meanings remained. Protests for racial justice during the national anthem, represented most dramatically by NFL player Colin Kaepernick, challenged the enforced conformity expected during the patriotic stadium rituals. Guridy sees the rise of athlete-activists like Kaepernick, as well as the use of stadiums as voting sites in 2020, as signs that the “historic civic function” of the stadium is still in play today.

A surprising omission

As a work of history, Guridy’s book is truly impressive. The breadth and depth of his research and analysis shines through, and his writing is compelling—and also full of surprises shaped by his curiosity. Guridy writes not as a detached academic, but as a sports fan too, someone who truly understands the religious-like allure of the stadium. He gives his attention not just to splashy moments and events but also to small, behind-the-scenes details, like the history of the ballpark organist. In this book, the stadium comes alive, sparkling with fascinating details and soaring ideas about its meaning and significance in American life and culture.

At the same time, readers of Christianity Today will rightly wonder where they fit in the story Guridy tells. For as much care as he takes looking at the meaning of the stadium from a variety of angles, his narrative can at times fit too easily into a simple binary: Those on the side of progressive politics are the good guys, and those with conservative politics are the bad guys.

The biggest gap, however, is the lack of attention to religion. Other than scattered references here and there to religious figures (like Jesse Jackson) or movements (like the Christian Right), there is no sustained analysis about how religious groups have made use of the stadium.

This strikes me as a surprising omission, given how central religion has been as a source of identity for Americans and how important the stadium has been to religious movements and groups throughout American history—including Catholics, Jews, Latter-day Saints, and, yes, evangelical Protestants.

For evangelicals, the stadium is an especially important place. For Charles Sheldon, it may have been a competitor for time and attention. But from Billy Sunday to Billy Graham, it has also served as a site for revival, where Americans have been urged to receive new life in Christ—not just for their sake, evangelists have claimed, but for the sake of the nation itself.

It has also provided a backdrop to prove the cultural relevance of the evangelical faith. The spread of stadium revivals across the United States in the 1940s and 1950s—often featuring sports stars offering their testimonials—helped to “mainstream” a movement that saw itself on the margins of cultural respectability. In the decades since, stadiums have helped to nurture and cultivate an evangelical movement within sports that has turned the playing field into one of the most evangelical-friendly spaces in American popular culture today.

Stadiums have also been a space where evangelicals have sought to promote particular visions of gender and race. In the 1990s, the Promise Keepers movement, founded by a football coach, swept through stadiums across the country, urging men to embrace leadership roles in their homes while also encouraging racial reconciliation.

No doubt Guridy encountered examples like this throughout his research, and every author has to leave important themes on the cutting room floor. But it’s precisely because of Guridy’s skill as a historian that I would have loved to see him explore the religious side of the stadium experience in more depth.

Even so, The Stadium remains an essential read and a book of lasting importance for anyone interested in exploring the deeper social meanings of American sports. Guridy shows with clarity and insight that stadiums are “inextricable parts of American social, political, and cultural life”—and that they will continue to mirror and reflect the debates, tensions, and developments in American society in the years ahead.

Paul Putz is director of Truett Seminary’s Faith & Sports Institute at Baylor University. He is the author of The Spirit of the Game: American Christianity and Big-Time Sports.

- More from Paul Putz

News

Wire Story

Bangladeshi Christians and Hindus Advocate for a Secular Country

Rishabh Jain - Religion News Service and Surinder Kaur

As political changes loom and minority communities face violence, religious minorities urge the government to remove Islam as the state religion.

Amid a spike in violence against religious minorities in Bangladesh, a national council of Buddhists, Hindus and Christians is renewing a campaign for the Muslim-majority South Asian nation to remove Islam as the state religion.

In mid-July, student-led protests demanding reform of the country’s job quota system turned violent, culminating in the collapse of former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina’s government on August 5. After Hasina’s resignation, the anger aimed at her government poured onto religious minorities, especially Hindus and members of Hasina’s party, the secular Awami League, which is backed by much of the Hindu community. Furthermore, mobs targeted Christian homes and churches, and Christian converts from Islam reported death threats.

The attacks on minorities’ homes, places of worship, businesses, and lives, as well as Awami League politicians, have resulted in the death of at least 650 people since the violence began, according to a report by the United Nations Human Rights Commission.

The Bangladesh Hindu Buddhist Christian Unity Council (BHBCUC), a human rights organization, argues that enshrining Islam as the state religion has been detrimental to the country’s religious minorities and aspirations for greater democratic rule.

“According to the communalist and fundamentalist forces, Islam does not coexist with other religious faiths and beliefs and also contradicts democracy, in which they have no belief,” said Monindra Kumar Nath, the council’s joint general secretary.

Nirmal Rozario, president of the Bangladesh Christian Association (BCA) and the Christian co-president of the BHBCUC, said that the Christian community has advocated strongly for a secular country. The BCA presented 10 demands to the previous government in 2016 and “‘secularism’ has always been on the list,” Rozario told CT.

The council said earlier this month that there were 1,045 cases of human rights violations against religious minorities between June and August. Council members, including Nath, have received death threats for their activism. Nath called the reestablishment of “a discrimination-free state” a dream “dreamt by the recent student movement,” and one the BHBCUC will keep fighting for.

Six churches were seriously attacked during these two months, including the Naogaon Church of Bangladesh, Rangpur Isse Church (which serves Muslim converts), Chapai Lutheran Church, and two Pentecostal Church of Bangladesh congregations, Bony Baroi, the executive director at Bangladesh Social Service (BSS) and senior pastor at Bangladesh Evangelical Revival Church, confirmed to CT.

The house of a Muslim-background pastor was ransacked and looted by a fundamentalist Islamic group, a source who asked to remain anonymous for security reasons told CT.

“He was instrumental in bringing several people to Christ and runs eight house churches. He was translating the Bible into their native language for the believers, but all his translation work was burnt by the mob that attacked him,” said the source. “All his belongings, including chickens and ducks, were looted and his house and furniture were broken.”

A Catholic priest told La Croix that small churches and Christian villages were attacked during the riots.

The BHBCUC, an interethnic and interreligious forum, was established by Maj. Gen. C.R. Dutta Bir Uttam, a veteran of Bangladesh’s guerrilla war for independence from Pakistan that occurred in 1971 and was fought by people of different faiths, including Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, and Hindus.

After the war, in 1972, architects of Bangladesh’s constitution included secularism alongside nationalism, socialism, and democracy as the country’s four founding principles. But a few years later, the first president, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, known as the “father of the nation” and Hasina’s actual father, was overthrown and a military ruler, Ziaur Rahman, replaced secularism with “absolute trust and faith in the Almighty Allah.” His successor Hussain Muhammad Ershad, another military officer, officially made Islam the state religion through a change to the constitution.

Activists have since demanded the removal of this establishment of a state religion, but despite Ershad’s fall in 1990, successive governments have kept the status quo, including those led by the Awami League. In 2011, a constitutional reform restored the original four founding principles, including secularism, but Hasina and others’ conception of secularism included a state Islam that would also guarantee religious freedom.

Under this system, religious minority leaders say they face discrimination and many hurdles that prevent them from practicing their faith freely. They feel strongly that democratic states should be secular states.

“The Christian community of Bangladesh dreams of living in a peaceful, prosperous, secular state where churches can worship openly and freely, public holidays will be available on special religious festivals and religious activities will not face any harassment or obstruction,” Jenny Moushumi Adhikary, Women and Children Coordinator of Talitha Koumi, an evangelical ministry in Bangladesh, told CT. “If we show respect and honor to people of all creeds, we can expect the same respect from the country and government.”

During this season of political unrest, Christians from all denominations have met at the Catholic archbishop’s house to regularly meet and pray for “peace, protection, wisdom and social justice to be established,” said Baroi.

This community is currently forming a Christian team that will seek to visit the interim government’s Chief Adviser, Mohammad Yunus, to discuss issues such as the “protection of minorities, Christian development organizations and the situation of the religious institutions,” Baroi said. This group intends to lobby alongside the BHBCUC in their efforts to make Bangladesh a secular state.

“The Christian community has always shown solidarity and stood by the BHBCUC—whether through demonstrations, human chains or demands,” said Rozario.

Last September, the BHBCUC launched a hunger strike to hold the Awami League to its election promises, which included proposing legislation that would allow Hindus to reclaim confiscated property, the creation of a national minority commission, protection for religious minorities, and the reinstatement of employment quotas that would distribute government jobs more equally across faiths.

The Bangladesh Youth Unity Council, a student-led organization, wants the international community to remind the interim government of its obligation to protect its citizens, irrespective of religion and ethnic identity.

“Whoever comes to power should establish a minorities commission and a ministry for religious and ethnic minorities,” said the youth council’s secretary, who requested anonymity out of concern for his safety. “They should give land rights to everyone and there should be a special tribunal to protect religious minorities.”

Communications laws, such as the Digital Security Act, are used to single out members of minority faiths, especially Hindus, for “offending the religious sentiments” of the Muslim majority. Courts have also imposed stricter penalties on religious minorities accused of posting offensive content on Facebook.

“The Christian community does not feel the freedom to express themselves on social media platforms out of fear of repercussions,” Rozario noted.

The Youth Unity Council’s secretary added that after Hasina fled earlier this month, the movement to remove Islam as the state religion in Bangladesh is at square one. “The mob rule on the streets right now has made it clear that they don’t want religious minorities in Bangladesh,” he said. “They want only one single religion, which is Islam.”

The international community, including the United Nations and the US State Department, has called for the protection of minorities in Bangladesh.

“We have made it clear that our goal is to ensure that the recent violence in Bangladesh is de-escalated. We are firmly against any racially driven attacks or incitement to such violence,” said Farhan Haq, the deputy spokesperson for United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres, in an August 8 statement.

Michael Kugelman, director of the South Asia Institute at the Wilson Center in Washington, said removing Islam as a state religion would significantly improve the interim government’s relationship with India, which has called on Bangladesh to protect its religious minorities in hopes of preventing Hindu refugees from coming across the border.

But Kugelman cautioned that dropping Islam’s favored status is not a simple fix, and he does not foresee it happening.

“Simply removing Islam as a state religion would not mean that influential religious and particularly Islamist actors would go away,” he added. “On the contrary, they would become more emboldened.”

While “some are demanding to rewrite the constitution,” the Chief Adviser does not have the power to do so and a constitutional change can only “be done by an elected government,” emphasized Asa Kain, the superintendent of the Bangladesh Assemblies of God denomination.

Rozario of the BHBCUC explained that their organization submitted seven demands to then–Prime Minister Hasina in 2023, “which included the demand for a secular Bangladesh. We had expectations from her, but our demands were not considered. Our demands and stance remain the same with regard to the future government.”

Yunus, who is also a Nobel laureate, recently showed support for minorities by visiting Dhakeshwari Temple, a prominent state-owned Hindu site in Dhaka considered the country’s national temple.

He urged Bangladeshis to be patient before assessing his government’s performance, according to local media.

“In our democratic aspirations, we should not be seen as Muslims, Hindus, or Buddhists, but as human beings,” Yunus said, according to The Daily Star, the largest English-language daily newspaper in Bangladesh. “Our rights should be ensured. The root of all problems lies in the decay of institutional arrangements. That is why such issues arise. Institutional arrangements need to be fixed.”

- More from Surinder Kaur

Ideas

How to Find Common Ground When You Disagree About the Common Good

John Inazu

Interfaith engagement that doesn’t devolve into a soupy multiculturalism is difficult—and necessary in our diverse democracy.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty

How do Christians live faithfully and as good neighbors in a world we don’t control?

In 2020, Tim Keller and I coedited a book titled Uncommon Ground. Our project convened a group of evangelical and evangelical-adjacent friends to reflect—as the subtitle said—on how Christians can live faithfully in a world of difference. Since then, however, I’ve rephrased the question for my own work. We should be faithful, yes, but also neighborly. And our world is not just host to real difference of belief; it’s also a world we don’t control.

I owe this subtle but important reframing to my friendship and work with Eboo Patel, the founder and president of Interfaith America. The most important interfaith organization in the country, Interfaith America does not advance a soupy multiculturalism that pretends that all roads lead to heaven or that our differences don’t matter. It takes religious particularity seriously, identifies conflicts and tensions created by that particularity, and works to find common ground across religious differences.

I met Eboo nearly a decade ago. On that first meeting, we talked about the challenges of having young kids, busy travel schedules, and public writing commitments, as well as the importance of interfaith cooperation. Since then, we’ve spoken, taught, written, and built together.

As a Muslim, Eboo does not believe in the saving work of Jesus Christ—and that difference between us is no small thing. We have other differences too: Eboo tells more stories than I do. I drink alcohol, and he doesn’t. His language is usually more colorful than mine. We are friends in spite of our differences.

What does this kind of friendship have to do with Christian engagement in the world? Almost everything.

My question of how Christians can live faithfully and as good neighbors in a world we don’t control is the interfaith question. It asks how we can be fellow citizens, coworkers, and friends with people who do not share our belief in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This question has become increasingly important in a cultural context where Christians are too often seen as self-interested and unconcerned for our neighbors of other faiths and no faith, in our politics and in our personal lives.

There’s nothing relativistic or wishy-washy about the interfaith question posed this way—nothing to suggest we should water down our beliefs or pretend they don’t matter. Theologian Stanley Hauerwas often says that few statements are more incoherent than “I believe that Jesus is Lord, but that is just my personal opinion.” The gospel is either true for the entire created order or a lie that has captured the hearts and minds of fools (1 Cor. 15:12-19).

The universal truth of the gospel compels me to want all to come to know it, Eboo included. But I’m also convinced that the gospel is best advanced through persuasion, not coercion or control. Eboo knows I want him to become a Christian. He also knows I believe his conversion doesn’t depend on me—and that our friendship doesn’t depend on his conversion.

Jesus is the author and perfecter of our faith, and the Spirt is the one who convicts the world of sin, righteousness, and judgment. As a Christian, my calling is not to force people into our faith but to live faithfully as their good neighbor. It is to bear witness to God’s story unfolding in creation.

That can include partnering graciously with those who do not see things as we do. In my work as a law and religion scholar, I have often advocated for greater liberty for others to live according to their own faith commitments, even though this increases their opportunities to advance beliefs and practices I find false and misguided.

For his part, Eboo wants to help Christians be better Christians. He doesn’t believe Jesus is Lord, but he does—just as Jesus promised—recognize Christians when we are behaving like Jesus’ disciples (John 13:34–35). He believes that when American Christians love God, love our neighbors, and demonstrate the fruit of the Spirit, all Americans benefit.

I have my own interests in this partnership. I want to destigmatize interfaith among evangelicals leery of the word by demonstrating that Christians can hold our convictions firmly and partner generously with non-Christians across many domains: friendship, advocacy, religious freedom, charitable services, education, and more. And I want to help show the interfaith community that evangelicals—especially younger ones—are eager for these partnerships.

One of my initiatives with Eboo, which this essay serves to announce, is called Evangelicals in a Diverse Democracy. For the past two years, we’ve cultivated friendship and trust among a group of people whose voices collectively offer a counternarrative to the assumptions of the Christian and post-Christian right and an increasingly dechurched and unchurched left. We believe Christians can be friends, neighbors, and fellow citizens with those who don’t share our faith—and that we can do so within the fullness of our Christian identity.

This is the first of a series of essays at CT which will explore what that means between now and Election Day. Each essayist believes that the reality of an interfaith America provides an opportunity for Christians to engage our neighbors with confidence and compassion. It is an opportunity to “walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love” (Eph. 4:1–2, NASB).

As I wrote in Uncommon Ground, “Many of our differences matter a great deal, and to suggest otherwise is ultimately a form of relativism.” The Evangelicals in a Diverse Democracy essay series will not minimize our differences. “But we can still choose to be gracious across those differences. When we demonize the other side, we miss important insights that can only be learned through charitably understanding a different perspective. We lose the possibility of finding common ground,” which in turn means losing chances to advance common interests and bridge relational distances.

My friendship with Eboo is one example of how we can find common ground with others despite real differences in our understanding of the common good. My hope is that in the years to come, this kind of friendship will become commonplace among my fellow Christians. And my prayer is that the essays that follow in this series will encourage and equip evangelicals in our diverse democracy as they ask what it means to be a good and faithful neighbor.

John Inazu is a law professor at Washington University. His most recent book is Learning to Disagree: The Surprising Path to Navigating Differences with Empathy and Respect (Zondervan, 2024). He serves on the board of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship and is a senior fellow with the Trinity Forum and Interfaith America.

Learn more about Evangelicals in a Diverse Democracy.

- More from John Inazu

Share

related

Share

Related

Share

In this series

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

related

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

‘Palaces of pleasure’ and ‘arenas of protest’

A surprising omission

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

In this series

Share

Related