Serving Our Children Means Saying No to Youth Gender Medicine

Casey Hough

The administration’s new stance against childhood surgeries is only a start. Jesus has grave warnings for those who cause little ones to stumble.

Mercedes Mehling / Unsplash / Edits by CT

The Biden administration’s newly announced opposition to gender transition surgeries for minors is welcome. But Christians would be mistaken to let this news make us less vigilant on this issue.

The announcement only came after The New York Times reported late last month on efforts by the administration to “remove age limits for adolescent surgeries from guidelines for care of transgender minors.” And the White House clarified that the administration still supports “gender-affirming care for minors, which represents a continuum of care,” and respects “the role of parents, families, and doctors in these decisions.”

Youth gender medicine of all kinds also remains a live issue in state government and the judicial system. On June 24, the Supreme Court agreed to review a case challenging a Tennessee law that prohibits “gender-affirming care for transgender youths.” United States v. Skrmetti addresses whether the state ban violates the equal protection clause of the 14th Amendment.

Tennessee’s law currently differentiates the rights of a minor for treatment of a “congenital defect, precocious puberty, disease, or physical injury” from treatments rendered for “gender dysphoria, gender identity disorder, gender incongruence, or any mental condition, disorder, disability, or abnormality.” Even so, medical groups like the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) and the American Medical Association (AMA) oppose such laws based on the claims that such medical procedures have reduced suicide attempts and decreased rates of depression and anxiety among minors who identify as transgender.

The neglected question is whether that’s true. What has been overlooked in these debates is that the well-being and long-term health of minors is taking a back seat to appeasing activists and politicians.

Such procedures, whether they be puberty-blocking medications or various surgeries, are misguided attempts by medical professionals who sincerely believe that they are helping children. However, sincerity does not sanctify an action. As Charles Spurgeon once said, “If you sincerely drink poison, it will kill you: if you sincerely cut your throat, you will die. If you sincerely believe a lie, you will suffer the consequences. You must not only be sincere, but you must be right.”

In the case of “gender-affirming care,” those who suffer the consequences of the lie are children. To even speak of “gender-affirming care” without qualification betrays a Christian’s fundamental convictions about the dignity of human life. Medicine heals the body; gender reassignment surgery disfigures it.

In fact, while American activist and medical groups claim that “gender-affirming care” works, other medical groups in Europe are questioning these claims, raising serious concerns about the ongoing health impact of these procedures, which is giving pause to medical professionals and lawmakers alike around the world. Recently, UK researcher Hilary Cass released her review of relevant studies and flagged the unstudied long-term impact of such medical procedures on minors, especially regarding “cognitive and psychosexual development.”

That should come as no surprise to Christians. These procedures are steeped in the demonstrably false idea that our gender has no relationship to our biology. If we desire to offer compassionate care to those who are in distress, we are best to counsel our children on the goodness of their created bodies as those made in God’s image. God’s design for his creation is very good (Gen. 1:31). The compassionate and loving course of action in these cases is not found in embracing a lie but in speaking the truth in love (Eph. 4:15).

With children experiencing gender dysphoria, we must be patient, listen to them, pray for them, teach them, and, when necessary, connect them with a professional Christian counselor. But social or medical transition is not the answer.

Doctors and surgeons currently perform these irreversible procedures with near impunity due to poorly researched studies that suggest there is some immediate benefit conferred to the child suffering from these mental disorders. Long-term studies, however, show that people “with transsexualism, after sex reassignment, have considerably higher risks for mortality, suicidal behaviour, and psychiatric morbidity than the general population.”

What is also rarely mentioned are the rates of desistance among children who grow up without puberty-blocking medication and surgical alteration to their bodies, or the distress that many continue to feel after these procedures. Our government has a moral obligation to address these purported treatments and to expose the real harm that takes place in the name of “care.”

The bodies and brains of our children ought never to be regarded as pawns for political gain. They hold inherent dignity as image-bearers. Caring for them well in the midst of their mental distress forbids us from thinking or acting in any way that denies the rights of their Creator and Lord.

The Biden administration’s opposition to surgery is a start, but it’s only a start. Christians should support comprehensive bans on these treatments out of regard for God’s good design for humanity and his express purpose for governments in society (Rom. 13:1–17). Such laws guide our governing authorities and serve a good purpose that benefits all of humanity. We should desire and support such laws, for they prevent irreparable harm to the most vulnerable people among us and affirm that God has created and ordered us for his glory and our good.

This is not just a political and medical matter; it’s a theological matter as well. If, as Christians, we believe that God has created humanity in his image, then any debate regarding the health and well-being of children is inherently theological. The themes of God as creator, humanity as part of his creation, and the obligations of humans as stewards over the rest of creation bear great significance for how we ought to care for children in society.

In Matthew 18, Jesus tells his followers that unless they become like children, they will not enter the kingdom of heaven, and that whoever welcomes a fellow believer (child) welcomes Christ as well. He continues: “If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea” (v. 6).

Jesus’ point here is that just as children were to be protected from harm in the world, so also his disciples should be protected and not be caused to stumble by others. This comparison only works if Jesus’ audience understood that he expected both children in the world and the “children” of his kingdom to be protected from harm. If anyone ought to understand the importance of protecting children in the world, it should be those who have taken on the identity of a child of God and know the consequences of causing little ones to stumble.

Protecting children is the right and loving thing to do. It should be a priority for our government and for us as the people of God.

Casey Hough is director of partnerships and curriculum at World Hope Ministries International and assistant professor of biblical interpretation at Luther Rice College and Seminary. He is author of Known for Love: Loving Your LGBTQ Friends and Family Without Compromising Biblical Truth (Moody, 2024).

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Until the Next World Comes, Christians Hold This World Together

Coleman M. Ford

How the early church’s example of public witness helps us avoid the extremes of triumphalism and retreat.

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons / Unsplash

Early on in my reading and study of early Christianity, I was struck by an assertion from an unnamed author writing to a man named Diognetus in the second century. This author, in his Epistle to Diognetus, declared that “what the soul is to the body, Christians are to the world.”

Cultural Sanctification: Engaging the World like the Early Church

Stephen O. Presley (Author)

230 pages

$22.20

The author was getting at a paradox resting at the heart of our faith: Christians dwell in the world, yet in the beliefs they confess and the virtues they seek to model, they also transcend the things of this world. While Christ and the apostles taught this same principle, the Epistle’s analogy of the soul to the body is compelling. Though existing in a mortal body, Christians are bound for immortality. As the soul holds the body together, they are meant to hold the world together. Their task is to live in a way that makes the world better because of their presence.

Stephen O. Presley, a scholar of early Christianity, articulates this vision wonderfully in Cultural Sanctification: Engaging the World like the Early Church. The book unpacks how early Christians viewed their place in a world that increasingly looks and feels like our own.

In a secular age, the postures and wisdom of early Christian voices can help us reclaim a vision for how to dwell within a society that has no room for religious exclusivity and little desire for transcendent moral reasoning. By exploring and connecting prominent themes of early Christian public witness, Presley channels the analogy presented to Diognetus and amplifies it through the voices of early Christian thinkers.

Active dualism

Presley begins by reminding us that our world is not just suspicious of the church; Christianity is seen as the antagonist. “Christianity,” he writes, “is not sidelined anymore because it is religious but because its moral claims frequently run contrary to new expressions of social progress and moral diversity.”

Our age of “expressive individualism,” as author Carl R. Trueman argues in The Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self, has no need for transcendent theological claims and classic ethical foundations. Thus, Christian witness in the 21st century must increasingly answer the question, Is this good and beautiful? Without convincing today’s world that Christianity is appealing and desirable, we’ll struggle to convince it that Christianity is true.

To illustrate this, Presley assesses the nature of early Christian identity. Conversion, as the early church understood it, was no mere mental assent to propositional truth claims. Through catechesis and participation in the liturgical life of the church, new believers had their identities cleansed and remade.

Catechesis, or intentional instruction in doctrine, identified false beliefs and sought to replace those with biblical concepts. But this was a deeply spiritual experience. It served as a form of exorcism, cleansing one’s heart and mind from satanic presuppositions and leaving room for life-giving nourishment. The liturgical life of the church, which included baptism and the Lord’s Supper, ordered one’s entire life around the work of Christ and the redemptive story of God. As Presley notes, “This liturgical formation reminds us that the early church was not interested just in evangelizing and preaching but in forming a community.”

While always implicit in Christian faith and practice, this idea of “liturgical formation” must be recovered in our day. This is not an argument for high church worship alone, but a plea for intentional worship and formation practices within one’s church body. Christian community must extend past a causal relationship with a church down the street and instead be viewed as a vital collective of unified and committed men and women.

Beyond this, Presley highlights the cultivation of intellectual life among early Christian thinkers. We are privileged to see a recovery of this impulse within much of contemporary evangelicalism. But early Christian thinkers can help us carry it further.

By putting their thought lives into conversation with literature and philosophy, these thinkers brought all learning under the yoke of Christ. Scripture was the guiding compass, indeed the very fabric of knowledge, for early Christian thinkers. While evangelicals have (mostly) retained a high attention to Scripture, we have often lost the notion of how God’s Word ought to shape the way we engage all other forms of knowledge.

As Presley observes, “The church recognized the importance of intellectual engagement and interaction with the philosophical climate of the world around them.” Early Christians, even under persecution, did not consider retreat an option. Christian leaders today, in an age of moral and epistemological confusion, need to reinvigorate the church for winsome and irenic intellectual engagement in the public square.

Central to Presley’s argument, then, is a portrait of how early Christians understood their role in public life. While he separates his formal discussion of this subject into two separate chapters, one on citizenship and another on public life, the underlying ideas are similar across both. At one level, Christians understood their allegiance to Christ and his kingdom. They also sought to demonstrate their service and commitment to temporal authorities as those who had been ordained by God to serve. Christians were not “anti-imperial,” as Presley observes; they affirmed the established order and sought to live faithfully within its bounds.

Presley identifies this way of public life as an “active political dualism.” It involved prayer for governing authorities, commitment to pay taxes, and efforts to promote virtuous living for the common good. This, of course, did not guarantee acceptance by pagan neighbors. But the consistent witness was compelling enough to win some to the community of faith. If nothing else, it demonstrated the otherworldly nature of the Christian community.

Though Christian worship was much less public than Roman polytheism, it does not follow that Christians resided in the shadows. Their life and witness were attuned to what was taking place around them. Early Christian faith always impacted public life, whether it inspired a faithful presence caring for the community, a public witness against violence and atrocity, or a prayerful demeanor toward civic authority. A posture of active dualism tempered expectations while reminding believers that, ultimately, they were sojourners bound for a heavenly country.

Faithful presence

Presley’s core claim, simply put, is that Christians today need to relearn and apply the lessons of this active dualism. He is aware, of course, that retrieving voices from early Christianity is not an exercise in cherry-picking idealism. We must not assume, in other words, that every Christian in the church’s first three centuries carried out the work of cultural sanctification perfectly. (Here, it helps to remember Nadya Williams’s recent work on the presence of cultural Christians within the early church.)

Nevertheless, the framework of faithful presence espoused by early Christian thinkers and attested by non-Christian observers remains compelling. Today’s church shouldn’t operate with a triumphalist mentality, but that doesn’t mean shrinking in fear of the surrounding culture. As Presley asserts, “The Christian call to cultural sanctification is a call to pursue holiness and conformity to the likeness of Christ within any and every cultural context.”

The overall template provided by the early church and transmitted to us by Cultural Sanctification is sound. It may require some of us, however, to deal with cancers that threaten to infect our view of the church, the world, and our place in it. Cultural rejection isn’t the solution. Nor is replacing our current culture with some thoroughly Christianized alternative. The only answer to a world that rejects the church is a church that loves the world with faithful discernment and patient engagement, even as it longs for the world to come.

Coleman M. Ford is assistant professor of humanities at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and author of Formed in His Image: A Guide to Christian Formation, as well as a forthcoming book, Ancient Wisdom for the Care of Souls: Learning the Art of Pastoral Ministry from the Church Fathers. He is cofounder of the Center for Ancient Christian Studies and serves as a fellow of the Center for Pastor Theologians.

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The Pentecostal Who Shaped Swedish Politics

Interview by Geethanjali Tupps

Lewi Pethrus founded the Christian Democrats, started a still-in-print newspaper, and preached his countercultural values to whomever would listen, explains historian Joel Halldorf.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Unsplash / Wikimedia Commons

Joel Halldorf is a fourth-generation Swedish Pentecostal, so it was natural for him when he became a historian of evangelical religion and politics to take a strong interest in the most famous figure in his tradition: Lewi Pethrus.

Born in 1884, Pethrus was a tireless, creative leader of a relatively small religious group that received little notice at the time. After guiding the Swedish Pentecostal movement, Pethrus helped shape Swedish society by entering politics—something Pentecostals did not do back in the 1940s. Along the way, he founded a Christian newspaper and spoke out against secularism.

“If the church should learn one thing from Pethrus,” said Halldorf, “it is that there is no need to fear the loss of power, the loss of status, and marginalization. Because when you’re on the margin, you can do a lot of creative things as a church.”

Halldorf, author of Pentecostal Politics in a Secular World, spoke with CT about Pethrus’s lasting influence on his country, the impact of secularism on Swedish society, and the different political priorities of Swedish and US evangelicals.

Why was Lewi Pethrus such an important figure in Sweden?

When some people want to understand themselves, they go to a therapist. As a historian, I go to the past. Lewi Pethrus was a leading architect of the movement that shaped me, my family, and my friends.

He was a charismatic figure and public speaker, so the gifts of the Holy Spirit, including reports of healings and speaking in tongues, were an important part of his ministry. Not only did Pethrus establish contacts and friendships all over the Swedish Pentecostal movement, he also created institutions that became pillars of the Pentecostal movement such as Bible schools, a journal, songbooks, and conferences.

You talk about Pethrus’s surprising political transformation. How did that happen?

During World War I, Pethrus rose to become the most prominent leader of the Swedish Pentecostal movement. He viewed the war as a consequence of hedonism, arguing that people had turned away from God and society, and called on people to abandon the sinking ship of this world, join Pentecostal congregations, and await the imminent coming of the Lord.

When World War II broke out about 20 years later, Pethrus saw that secularization had dire and ongoing consequences for society: war, authoritarian politics, and lack of religious freedom. This propelled him into working for the political reform of Swedish society. He was perhaps the first Pentecostal leader in the world to move self-consciously into party politics at the national level.

What are the notable institutions that Pethrus began?

In the 1940s, Pethrus started a daily newspaper, Dagen, as well as a radio station that broadcasted in Sweden. The country had very particular laws and a state monopoly on radio broadcasting. When Pentecostals were denied access to this state-sponsored radio, Pethrus challenged the law by pirate broadcasting, that is, broadcasting via an offshore boat.

Pethrus’s political work also helped lay the foundation for the Christian Democrat political party, which was founded in the 1960s. Today, the Christian Democrats are not only represented in the Riksdag (Swedish parliament) but several members of the party also serve as ministers in the government. While the party has Christian roots and many of its representatives belong to different churches, they have developed a more secular and right-wing profile in the last decade.

Additionally, I don’t think there have ever been as many Pentecostals in Sweden’s government as there are today. This fascinating connection all started with Lewi Pethrus.

As for Dagen, it is still Sweden’s major Christian newspaper and has an ecumenical readership.

How did Pethrus advocate for his positions?

In Pethrus’s time, Sweden was moving toward a rational, secular, Enlightenment posture, particularly toward an infatuation with what is known as the “Swedish sin,” a progressive posture toward sex and nudity. Pethrus publicly opposed sex, drugs, and rock ’'n’ roll, often debating his opponents in the media and writing books that planted the Pentecostal flag.

When it comes to politics, what distinguishes Swedish evangelicals from Americans?

Having lived in the US during my years as a student, I’ve experienced several US presidential elections and discussed politics extensively with US friends who are evangelical or Pentecostal. It’s a strange experience as a European. When you come to the United States, there is so much in common—you recognize the services, the style of sermons, spiritual expressions, the hymns. Everything is very recognizable until you start talking about politics.

European evangelicals tend to view the role of government, especially the welfare state, quite differently from US evangelicals. To understand why, one must go back 100 years and see that in Europe, many of the churches, including Pentecostals, Evangelical Free churches, Baptists, and Methodists, were part of larger social movements, such as the workers’ movement and the temperance movement. These movements helped change Swedish society and other European countries in the late 19th and early 20th centuries as they moved from monarchy and the old regime toward democracy.

Many of the evangelicals were in the liberal camp, working alongside the Social Democrats and against the conservative party, which wanted to keep power in the hands of the king. This created an alliance that continued through the 20th century. As a result, the politics of evangelical movements in Sweden are far more centrist. They are in the middle—not right-wing and not socialist or Communist, but fairly liberal politically.

The state churches in England and France and even the Swedish Lutheran church supported the monarchy. They would not get onboard with democracy. That led to a loss of credibility for Christianity.

There’s an important lesson here for Christians: If you, as a church, tie yourself to a political system or movement, and then that system loses credibility in society, as the monarchy did, you will go down with it.

US evangelicals have tied themselves very closely to one particular political party. If this party loses its public credibility, the evangelicals will lose their credibility too.

Where do Pentecostals and other Christians in Sweden align politically today?

There are three areas in which we can see distinctive Swedish Christian politics today as a legacy from Pethrus. First, they don’t want to have a small state. Swedish Christians generally believe there should be a strong welfare state that can care for the poor.

Second, Swedish Christians want to have strong morality in society. For example, they believe it should be difficult to get access to alcohol and drugs. They are more right-leaning on moral issues than on social issues.

Third, polls have shown that evangelicals in Sweden are actually more pro–environmental politics, pro-migration, and pro-pluralism than secular voters. If you ask Swedish voters, “Do you think Muslims should have the right to build mosques in your city?” evangelicals will be more likely than other Swedish groups to say yes, because they believe that religious freedom is vital for their own existence.

Modern Swedish society was created largely by the workers’ movement and the Social Democratic Party, with a strong religious undercurrent. Now that we are experiencing some post-secular revival in Sweden, religion is talked about and debated more. Pentecostal movements from Brazil and Africa are growing here, and Syrian Orthodox have entered the country.

What is it like to be an evangelical in Sweden today?

There’s a very complex picture here. We can see what sociologists call depersonalization, which means people are moving away from religious traditions. It has become difficult to raise children in religious households, because secularization is accelerating. But we also can see a countermovement, because modernity has failed to fulfill its promises.

The promise of modernity was utopian societies with robust communities and a rich culture. While modernity has brought blessings, today we also struggle with social fragmentation, increasing mental illness, an endless cultural war, and a wave of shallow entertainment. I believe this has awakened a spiritual longing in which people are turning back toward religion and Christianity. However, this longing could be utilized by politicians looking for something they can use as a tool to fill in the gap that religion seems to have left in society.

Would it be fair to think of Pethrus as Sweden’s Billy Graham?

The existence of Billy Graham is a sign of how mainstream evangelicalism was in America during his time. This evangelist built close relationships with presidents and could be called “America’s pastor,” as his biographer, Grant Wacker, has written.

Even though Pethrus shared many of the visions of Graham, the Swedish public square did not have room for a Pentecostal pastor, or even an evangelical pastor, to take that position. If there was a religious figurehead for society, it would be a representative of the Church of Sweden, the state church.

But also because he lived in such a secular nation, Pethrus was always “the other” in Swedish society. He never belonged to the majority culture. On the one hand, he appreciated this position, since it gave him the freedom to challenge the mainstream and turn the Pentecostal movement into an alternative counterculture. But on the other hand, Pethrus longed for social respectability. He loved to quote professors and prominent politicians who said good things about the movement. He wanted to shape Swedish society beyond his own particular movement—much like Billy Graham did in the US. But Pethrus could never be a Swedish Billy Graham.

Right now, Pethrus is in the news because antisemitic comments he made in the 1930s have surfaced. What should we know about this controversy?

While Swedish Pentecostals were troubled by the rise of Nazism, ideas related to this movement seeped into the revival. Pethrus was, for instance, interested in the fate of the Jews, and saw the growing migration to Palestine as a fulfillment of biblical prophecies. Accordingly, he understood the persecution as part of God’s plan, since it increased this migration—and he even suggested that the persecutions were a consequence of the sins of the Jewish people. This was a bad case of victim blaming, in other words, and one that shows that antisemitism can be an integrated part of Christian Zionism.

Pentecostals put a great emphasis on ethics, and when Pentecostals go into politics, they sometimes do this with the ambition to create a society that reflects their biblical norms. But when this is done through censorship, laws, and restrictions, they might end up close to fascism.

In January 2004, a prominent Pentecostal leader in a religious community called Knutby sexually abused his young nanny and convinced her to murder his wife and their neighbor (who survived). How did this incident affect your faith, the Pentecostal church, and the Christians around you?

During the 1990s, there were a lot of renewal movements within Swedish Pentecostalism that attracted young people, and the congregation in Knutby was one of these. What first appeared to be an isolated and tragic happening turned out to reflect a deeply unsound and sectarian environment, where a murder was orchestrated by the local Pentecostal pastor. The leadership of the Pentecostal church in Knutby manipulated their congregation through references to special revelation and esoteric interpretations of the Bible, and thus created a cesspool of sex, violence, humiliation, and even murders.

I was never personally part of these charismatic and experiential groups, but several of my friends were involved. Even if none of them went to Knutby, the events there showed how wrong things can go in sectarian groups who separate from the mainstream and try to be, shall we say, theologically innovative.

How did it affect the Pentecostal movement in Sweden overall?

It gave Pentecostalism a bad reputation. I remember how local schools canceled their visits to an Easter play our congregation put up. These things happened all over the country.

Within the Pentecostal movement, it resulted in a strong coming together. One of the legacies from Lewi Pethrus was a rejection of denominational structures, but Knutby made the need for an organization and some kind of oversight over the congregations apparent.

Around this time, Karisma Center, one of the more controversial congregations in Stockholm, also collapsed, which helped tamper some of the charismatic fervor from the 1990s. The mainstream stepped up and tried to create order.

What type of impact can you still see today?

The tendency in the Pentecostal movement has been to emphasize that the events in Knutby were exceptional and reflections of the psychological setup of a corrupt local leadership. And, of course, this is in some sense true. But there are still questions that need to be asked: Why did Knutby attract so many young Pentecostals, and how can the risks for manipulation that biblicism and charismatic authority bring with them be addressed? There has, unfortunately, been a reluctance to have these conversations.

What has the influx of immigrants meant for the church?

This has meant a lot for the Pentecostal movement in Sweden. To begin with, many churches worked together with local authorities to find housing and help for those who came. By playing a constructive role here, relations with other local organizations were created, and some of the trust that had been lost due to Knutby was rebuilt.

Pentecostal churches have also been able to add groups of Pentecostals from Africa, Asia, and Latin America to their congregations—and they have also reached new converts. This has given new energy to the churches. But, of course, pluralism of this kind also has its challenges.

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After Two Elections, France Is Divided. Can Evangelicals Make a Difference?

Kami Rice

Though they make up only 1 percent of the population, these believers want their presence to be meaningful.

Demonstrators celebrate after the voting primary results were announced in 2024.

Abaca Press / AP Images

Like the rest of the country, French evangelicals went to the polls on Sunday for the second round of parliamentary elections in what became a showdown between the far right and the rest of the country. The Nouveau Front Populaire (New Popular Front), a fragile new coalition of leftist parties, formed a “Republican front” with the centrist parties allied with President Emmanuel Macron. While this strategy successfully kept Marine Le Pen’s Rassemblement National (National Rally) in third, neither the leftist nor centrist parties won an outright majority in the National Assembly, a situation which may result in numerous political stalemates in the months to come.

French evangelicals represented only a tiny number of Sunday’s voter turnout; about 60 percent of all voters in the country of nearly 68 million showed up, the largest turnout since 1981. At 745,000, the number of evangelicals has grown by nearly 100,000 in recent years but remains squarely on the margins.

Despite their community’s size, French evangelical leaders have regularly engaged the challenges affecting their country, such as weighing in on concerns over Islam and free speech, speaking out about a bill trying to end Muslim separatism that could make churches collateral damage, and articulating their pro-life values after the country enshrined abortion into the constitution.

Prior to the June 30 first-round election that preceded yesterday’s runoff, the Conseil National des Evangéliques de France (CNEF, National Council of Evangelicals in France) called on believers to pray, to be discerning, and to vote.

“Politics cannot do everything,” the press release stated, noting that in such troubled times evangelicals whose ultimate hope is in God should act in accordance with their hope and “be catalysts of peace, seeds of life, actors of reconciliation and hospitality.”

Given the historic moment in French politics and evangelicals’ miniscule electoral presence, Christianity Today asked Christian leaders what role French evangelicals can play in such a fraught era.

Erwan Cloarec, president of CNEF

In this time of division and national confusion, the churches in France must, more than anything else, show by what they are that another society is possible—a society in which the divisions of origin, gender, and social condition that fracture humanity do not prevail.

This is the meaning of “neither Jew nor Greek, … neither slave nor free, … neither male nor female” of which the apostle Paul speaks in his letter to the Galatians (3:28, NASB). We owe this example to the world, and we owe it to ourselves to ensure that the divisions and invectives that plague global society are not imported into our communities.”

Rachel Calvert, president of A Rocha France

Many French evangelical churches bring together people from diverse political, ethnic, and socioeconomic backgrounds. In this fractured political climate, our contribution must involve serving those who are “not like us” as well as practical care for God’s creation.

We grieve at the rise of a party which has seduced voters by promising short term relief, while scapegoating migrants and largely ignoring longer term issues such biodiversity loss, environmental degradation and the impact of climate change. Yet we can and will continue to bear witness to the God who is reconciling all things to himself in Jesus.

Matthew Glock, missionary, pastor, and coordinator of CAEF’s (Communautés et Assemblées Évangéliques de France) church planting commission

The snap election called for by President Macron offers a window to the disorder of French politics and the ineluctable movement of many voters to the extremes of the political spectrum. It is difficult to imagine, within this reality of national politics, how the evangelicals in France could have a role, but on a local level there is much to do.

The way to offer hope in these confusing times is to follow Jesus Christ’s command to “love your neighbor as yourself.” By following Christ’s example of sacrificial love, the church has much to offer.

Caroline Bretones, pastor of Église protestante unie de France (United Protestant Church of France)

Persecuted for more than two centuries and very much a minority, Protestants have learned to live discreetly in France while developing a keen sense of responsibility, freedom of conscience, and social commitment. If they have a decisive role to play today, it is not by making public statements that demonize certain parties while implicitly stigmatizing their voters but rather by continuing to unite extremely diverse men and women (ethnically, culturally, socially, and professionally) around a Christian hope that transcends [not only] human divisions but also frustrations and easy solutions.

As Christians, our belonging together to the kingdom of God must take precedence over any other citizenship of this world and enable us to open up spaces for dialogue and communion where divisions threaten.

Françoise Caron, president of the Fédération Nationale des Associations Familiales Protestantes (National Federation of Protestant Family Associations)

The Bible encourages us to seek the “welfare” of our city and country, because our own welfare depends on it.

I see seeking welfare as praying for our country and those in power. It also means being at [our leaders’] side whenever possible in order to be peacemakers and witnesses and spokespersons for those who suffer, acting on their behalf. It's taking our place as representatives of civil society, bearers of gospel values, in the places where we can be heard and can give advice.

In addition, this means being at the heart of what is happening in our towns and neighborhoods so that our words are followed by deeds.

Finally, it means always choosing to imagine what Jesus would do in our place! We can and must have a calming influence in society and be a source of reconciliation. We can denounce things that aren’t good. We can assert gospel values through concrete actions and words of respect and goodwill.

We are known by our fruit, and that's what can make the difference in these troubled times!

Nicolas Blum, Groupes Bibliques Universitaires (University Biblical Groups) staffer, and elder at Ternes evangelical church, Paris

In France, evangelical churches are among the few places where the three words of our national motto—“liberté, égalité, fraternité” [liberty, equality, fraternity]—are lived out. We would like to invite our fellow citizens and political figures to discover this Christ-based ability to live well together even though we have differences—we experience generational, social or cultural differences as assets rather than factors of division or rejection.

Fidelity to the Gospel and the witness of Christian hope lived out on a daily basis, with joy and real love for each other—these are the contributions we can make to bringing peace to our society. The change our country's inhabitants need right now is Jesus!

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UK Evangelicals Look Ahead to Potential Changes After Labour Victory

Danny Webster

Survey finds that evangelical voters are motivated by care for those in need.

Labour Party leader and newly elected prime minister Keir Starmer

Christopher Furlong / Getty Images

The United Kingdom elected a new prime minister in a landslide win for the Labour Party, a significant shift of political power after 14 years of Conservative-led government.

Neither party secured the majority of the country’s evangelical vote, but evangelicals of varying affiliations will be following how the new Labour government addresses areas of concern for the church, including the treatment of refugees, the beginning and end of life, and policies around sexuality and gender.

In the July 4 election, Sir Keir Starmer garnered the second-largest parliamentary victory since World War II, just short of the margin Tony Blair won by in 1997. Research from our team at the Evangelical Alliance found that 42 percent of evangelical Christians said they would vote Labour while 29 percent would vote Conservative. (The survey was conducted in late 2023 before a new party, Reform UK, increased in popularity.)

Just over half of evangelicals said they want to vote for a party that represents biblical values, but there is no consensus on what party that might be. A significant minority in our polling do not see that as a top issue in determining how they vote—probably because they do not see any party as offering that option.

When asked whether a commitment on certain issues would increase their likelihood to vote for a party, evangelicals wanted parties to protect free speech, stand for global religious freedom, reduce term limits on abortion, oppose assisted suicide, support safe routes for refugees, and promote marriage in the tax system.

The only issue evangelicals were polled on that has had any salience in the UK election is reform of laws that protect single-sex spaces on the basis of biological sex. Many non-Christians have spoken up about the issue, probably most notably Harry Potter author J. K. Rowling, who was very critical of the incoming governing party’s position on the issue.

The diversity of opinions among evangelical Christians means that no political party stakes a claim to their vote, but it can also mean political issues are viewed as too difficult to talk about in church.

Less than 2 percent of evangelicals we heard from said their church leader had explicitly backed a party or candidate, and only 1 in 7 had witnessed clear support or opposition for particular policies.

The government’s legislative priorities will be set out in the King’s Speech on July 17, but key policy announcements ahead of that will demonstrate its focus in the early months.

Evangelicals will be paying particular attention to the Labour government’s decisions on how sex and gender are handled in school. Prior to the election, plans were in place to take a more cautious approach and to ensure teachers are able to assert that biological sex determines someone’s gender, not being disciplined if they do not use the gender or pronouns a child asks to use.

A related area where evangelical Christians are likely to challenge the incoming government is over its commitment to introduce a ban on sexuality and gender conversion practices. Previous proposals could significantly affect churches and Christian ministries by restricting their freedom to teach and provide pastoral care and prayer.

The new Labour government immediately scrapped the former government’s agreement with Rwanda for processing asylum applications, which had been a highly controversial policy in recent months.

The previous government passed numerous laws to try and tighten immigration requirements, and the UK Evangelical Alliance joined with fellow Christian organizations to call for a system—whatever the level of immigration—that treated people humanely and with the inherent dignity they have as people created in the image of God. Critics worried that too many proposals put forward instead treated them as pawns in a political game.

“The Evangelical Alliance is committed to working with the government on restoring hope in our society, strengthening social cohesion, and honoring the dignity and value of every human being,” said Gavin Calver, CEO of the UK Evangelical Alliance. “Our faith is a vital component of what makes a difference and helps transform lives across the UK.”

Churches were more likely to talk about local social issues such as poverty or global issues like war and peace, international poverty, or the persecuted church. Though churches are likely to talk about practical care for asylum seekers and refugees, fewer than 1 in 5 heard their church talk about immigration policy.

In UK politics, life issues like abortion and assisted suicide are considered matters of conscience and typically are not governed by party platform, so members of Parliament (MPs) are free to vote as they wish.

Starmer, the new prime minister, has indicated that the government won’t take a position on any potential new law on assisted suicide, but he has also pledged parliamentary time to consider the matter—so it will likely be a key issue over the next couple of years.

Before the election was announced, the Conservative-majority Parliament was expected to vote on reforms regarding the regulation of abortion; these were abandoned when the election was called but are likely to come back for Parliament to consider.

Our survey found that the top reason motivating how evangelicals vote is the party that helps those most in need.

Though the estimated turnout was the lowest in 20 years, more than 9 in 10 evangelicals said they planned to vote in the election.

Evangelical Christians will be looking to work productively with the new government and with individual MPs both nationally and locally. As representatives of specific geographical areas, MPs want to build strong links with local groups, and this is a chance for churches to forge relationships and influence decisions for their communities and the country.

“There will be points in the years ahead where we will disagree with the government’s direction and will challenge policies and decisions. Any moves that disempower and harm the most vulnerable in society will be met with a robust response from evangelical Christians across the UK,” Calver said. “Our heart is always to serve and advocate for those most in need, and we urge the government to do the same.”

Danny Webster is director of advocacy for the UK’s Evangelical Alliance.

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Theology

Missionaries Have Gone to Thailand for 200 Years. Why Aren’t There More Christians?

Compiled by Rebecca Brittingham

The Buddhist nation hosts many Christian conferences, but the faith hasn’t taken root. Five local church leaders discuss why.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: Unsplash / Pexels

In Asia, Thailand is the go-to location for Christian conferences. Thanks to its sunny weather, low cost of living, bountiful hotels, and close proximity to countries closed to missionaries, Thailand is often the gathering spot for missionaries and international evangelical organizations. Though Theravada Buddhists make up about 93 percent of the population, the Thai government is open and accommodating to Christian groups, to the point where the country has become a popular spot for numerous mission agency headquarters.

Yet the freedom that Christians enjoy in Thailand hasn’t translated into a wide acceptance of Christianity by local Thais. Despite nearly 200 years of Protestant missions, only about 1.2 percent of the population are Christians. The question of why Thailand is such difficult soil for the seed of the gospel to grow has plagued missionaries, as many have seen little fruit for the years they’ve spent learning Thai, building relationships, and trying to introduce locals to the gospel.

CT asked two missionaries and three Thai church leaders about why they believe growth has been so slow in Thailand and what can be done to help Thais better connect with the gospel. They pointed to the reality of spiritual warfare, the challenge of communicating Christian concepts to Thais, a lack of discipleship, and the role of Buddhism in Thais’ cultural identity.

Allan Eubank, cofounder of Thai Christian Foundation and missionary in Thailand for more than 58 years, Chiang Mai

In Thailand, people experience multiple layers of powers and principalities. One of the reasons Christianity hasn’t grown in Thailand is because many of us do not fully understand the struggle against powers and principalities outlined in Ephesians 6:10–20. When I first received the calling to be an evangelist, I didn’t understand these powers. Neither did my theology professors in the 1950s and ’60s during the peak of rational criticism of the Bible.

In the beginning of my ministry, I struggled to reach people because I thought that their belief in evil spirits would pass away with education about different spirits, including the Holy Spirit. However, after 10 years, I realized that Thais needed to know more about who God is, why we need him, and what happens when we accept Jesus as our Lord and Savior. We then created a small booklet that talks about salvation called the Itract. Since then, I have seen more people responding to the gospel.

Another reason that Christianity hasn’t grown very quickly in Thailand is because Thai Christians often don’t look any different than the world. We have often given in to the temptation for power, material wealth, and sex. We have often been very arrogant, choosing not to repent when we do something wrong and choosing not to forgive those who have hurt our feelings.

As Christians, we try our best to evangelize and share the gospel with others despite our weaknesses. However, in the end, conversion happens in God’s own time. He will bring the harvest.

Manuel Becker, coordinator for YWAM Frontier Missions Thailand, Phitsanulok

The foremost reason for the apparent resistance of Thais toward Christianity is the inseparable intertwining of the cultural identity with religious affiliation to Buddhism. To be Thai is to be Buddhist. Consequently, embracing Christianity—which is viewed as a Western religion—entails losing one’s Thai identity, which results in significant social repercussions, as becoming a Christian usually means staying away from anything related to Buddhism. In Thai society, almost all important events include Buddhist elements.

Christians need to free the gospel from Western Christianity and allow Thais to explore ways to follow Jesus the Thai way without adopting Western forms that are foreign to their culture. This will affect the form of the gatherings of believers and how the gospel message is proclaimed. Instead of trying to plant megachurches, we should focus on smaller house churches that foster a familial atmosphere. The perception that clergymen are more important and holy than laymen needs to be overcome, and the priesthood of all believers needs to be promoted.

Only when Thais find incarnational ways of following Jesus will we see a greater kingdom breakthrough in Thailand.

Natee Tanchanpongs, lead pastor at Grace City Bangkok and former academic dean of Bangkok Bible Seminary

Over the years, the Thai church has often been the same as the world around it when she should be different, and different when she should be the same. For example, materialism, moralism, and class system have often looked the same in both society and the church. At the same time, the church has often used words and concepts that are foreign to the people around her. It’s possible that the Thai people haven’t fully embraced the gospel because the gospel message has not been clearly communicated and Christians in the church haven’t lived out the gospel of Jesus Christ in the ways that they should.

D. A. Carson points out the truth of compatibilism, which means that God is sovereign while at the same time human beings are responsible for their actions. Jesus puts forward this twin truth when he says, “All those the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away” (John 6:37). Perhaps this is the best way to explain what happens in Thailand.

Jesus goes on to say that no one can come to him unless the Father draws or enables them (John 6:44, 65). In the end, God is the one who draws individuals to himself. There is thus a sense that what happens in Thailand is not within human control, just as corporate spiritual revivals are not ultimately caused by human beings and their actions.

Mali Boon-Itt, church leader and pastor’s wife at 4th Church Suebsampantawong, Bangkok

Christians haven’t been able to communicate across different worldviews. Even though we are speaking Thai, Buddhists don’t understand what we are saying because Christianity isn’t the same as the Buddhist worldview. Christianity doesn’t make sense to them, so it doesn’t touch their hearts.

Another problem that may impact Christians’ ability to be influential in Thailand is that there is a lot of corruption in churches. There are a lot of lawsuits where Christians are suing one another. This is not a great witness to the Thai people.

In order to effectively share the gospel in Thailand, you not only need to know Thai well, but you also need to know both Christian theology and Buddhism very well. You need to be able to communicate in a way that Buddhists appreciate and understand. In order to do that, you need to understand how to translate the concept of redemption in a way that Buddhists can understand. This isn’t only a problem in Thailand. It’s a problem across the Buddhist world.

Nurot Panich, executive pastor of Acts of Christ Church in Bangkok

Christianity hasn’t grown in Thailand because Thai churches often lack unity. There is a lot of conflict in churches, and a lot of problems arise within and across organizations.

Also, Thai church leaders often act as bosses rather than managers. In Thai culture, it’s widely accepted that lower-level leaders cannot disagree with senior leaders. This means that rising church leaders must always follow the senior pastors. This is a problem because sometimes junior leaders have good ideas, but because of their status, they cannot propose them.

Thai church leaders also struggle to provide discipleship, especially for new believers. Churches in Thailand might evangelize well but often fail to disciple new converts. Only about 10 percent of new converts continue to get involved in church. Discipleship is a long-term process that requires commitment. Because many church leaders don’t want to make that commitment, they prefer evangelizing at a one-time event.

As Christians, the best way to share about Christ is to allow our life to be a good witness whether we are at home, at school, or the marketplace. No matter where we go, we should represent Christ. When people see that our actions glorify the Lord, they will be impacted in a positive way.

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Books

Review

Modern Secularism Makes No Sense Without Christianity

Daniel K. Williams

A new book argues that early Protestant thinking helped fuel an anti-supernatural worldview. But that worldview retains more Protestantism than it cares to admit.

Ted Soqui / Contributor / Getty

Where did our modern secular age come from? What was the source of the Western idea that belief in God is optional or irrelevant?

A decade ago, Notre Dame history professor Brad Gregory argued that it came from the Protestant Reformation. Martin Luther and John Calvin certainly didn’t intend this result, as Gregory argued in The Unintended Reformation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society, but their rejection of ecclesiastical authority led to an individualism that ultimately undermined the entire Christian project. If people could interpret Scripture on their own, maybe they could rely on their own reason to understand everything. And if that was the case, should it be surprising that many contemporary people would come to disavow any need for God at all?

Peter Harrison’s Some New World: Myths of Supernatural Belief in a Secular Age accepts some of Gregory’s findings but pushes them in a new direction. Yes, he concedes, modern Western secularization was the product of Protestant thinking. But even if Protestantism led people to reject the supernatural, it’s worth asking how much of the Protestant worldview modern secular people have unwittingly retained.

Quite a bit, argues Harrison, an emeritus professor of the history of science at the University of Queensland in Australia. In fact, the modern secular worldview is so strongly dependent on unspoken Christian assumptions that it’s incoherent without them.

Justifying belief

To take one example from the book, scientific methods of investigation depend on assumptions about the regularity and comprehensibility of nature. No one in the ancient pre-Christian pagan world held these beliefs. Christian faith, however, led believers to expect that a rational God would create a rational, predictable universe. Modern secular scientists retain this belief even while rejecting the theological assumptions that support it.

But this is only one example among many. As Harrison argues, the entire secular worldview is comprised of Christian beliefs (especially Protestant beliefs) that are retained in distorted form. Some New World is a detailed history of how the Western world adopted those beliefs in the immediate aftermath of the Reformation and then incorporated them into the secular philosophy of naturalism after stripping them of any theistic underpinnings.

When Harrison discusses the modern secular or naturalistic worldview, he seems to have in mind someone a bit like Richard Dawkins—that is, an educated Westerner who claims a commitment to rationality above all else and who is firmly convinced that belief in the supernatural is unreasonable. Such a person, Harrison argues, has unwittingly adopted an early modern Protestant approach to belief and knowledge.

Before the Reformation, Harrison says, few European Christians thought they had to justify their belief in the supernatural. Indeed, they didn’t spend much time justifying any of their beliefs about God. Most of their beliefs fell under the category of “implicit faith”—convictions they had inherited from their parents and the surrounding culture and felt no need to discard, even if they couldn’t prove their truth.

But Martin Luther argued that faith had to be personal to be genuine; it could not consist only of assumptions thoughtlessly inherited from one’s parents. And ever since Luther, many Protestants (including most American evangelicals) have similarly insisted that faith must be personal.

Luther and Calvin’s emphasis on personal faith highlighted the role of the Holy Spirit in producing such faith. But by the 17th century, some Protestants were already hedging on that idea and placing greater weight on the role of reason in producing faith. Whereas most Christians of the 16th century and earlier had seen faith primarily as a matter of trust in God, some rationally minded Christians of the 17th and 18th centuries began to define faith primarily as belief in a set of propositions. Genuine faith, from this perspective, required the support of sufficient evidence. To find this evidence, they turned to natural theology.

Some of the earliest arguments for belief in God leaned on the general consensus, across nearly every society in the world, that some kind of divine being (or beings) existed. By the late 18th century, however, Western thinkers looking for intellectual supports for faith had largely discarded this approach.

That was not because it was no longer true. Indeed, the fact that nearly all human societies believed in some sort of divinity or supernatural realm remained as valid as ever. But this was no longer seen as sufficient evidence for a truth claim. Most of humanity could be wrong, people decided. What mattered was the ability to give valid reasons for your beliefs, independent of any external authority or tradition.

Burdens of proof

This change in thinking led to another shift in how people thought about belief in God. Before the 18th century, most people in the West had assumed that since belief in God was nearly universal—and since it was highly unlikely that the universal human consensus could be wrong—the burden of proof in any argument about God’s existence was on the skeptic, not the theist.

But a growing loss of confidence in human tradition flipped that dynamic on its head. Because the beliefs of others could no longer be considered authoritative, the burden of proof shifted to the person arguing for God’s existence. (In more recent decades, in fact, skeptics have generally treated the near-universality of theistic belief not as a reason to doubt atheism but as evidence of an evolutionary trick of the brain or a vestigial remnant of human prehistory.)

If Protestant assumptions played a role in skeptics’ assumptions that tradition or community consensus could not justify holding a belief, they also played a role in diminishing the credibility of accounts of miracles. The 18th-century Scottish philosopher David Hume famously formulated an argument against miracles based on experience. But, in fact, as Hume well knew, there were thousands of testimonies of miracles over the course of many centuries. How could Hume categorically dismiss the whole bunch without even bothering to look into them?

Harrison argues that Hume could do so only because he had a progressive understanding of history—an understanding that would become widely accepted in the late 19th century and beyond. According to this view, the past was a more ignorant age, but modern science or enlightenment has given us a much better understanding of the world. But where did this confidence in human progress—and a corresponding willingness to dismiss the past—come from? The answer, Harrison says, is a distortion of the Protestant view of history.

All Christians believe that history is more progressive than the ancient pagans imagined, because they know that God is at work within it. Jesus’ birth, death, and resurrection inaugurated a new era in history. Christians also anticipate a final endpoint, with history culminating in Jesus’ second coming and the beginning of the new heavens and new earth.

But Protestants of the early modern era introduced a new element that made history even more progressive than earlier Christians had imagined. They believed that their own era was more enlightened than the medieval past and, at least for those who held to a postmillennial theology, they also looked forward to an even more enlightened future era leading up to Jesus’ return.

Skeptics of the 18th and 19th century appropriated this progressive view of history and confidence in ever-increasing enlightenment, but they failed to notice that without a divine orchestrator, it no longer made sense. There was nothing in nature to make history inherently progressive, yet skeptics took for granted that it was.

They also took for granted the idea that miracles no longer occurred, even though this too was a Protestant idea that Protestants had adopted for theological rather than empirical reasons. While Catholics believed in an unbroken line of miracles from the biblical era to the present, most Protestants of the early modern era claimed that the age of miracles had ceased shortly after the death of the apostles and the end of biblical revelation. In their view, miracle-working Catholic saints were theologically problematic. The deists of the Enlightenment era built on that foundation by applying the widespread Protestant skepticism of Catholic miracles to all claims about miracles.

But this made little sense on empirical grounds. Protestants dismissed Catholic miracle claims in principle—not, in other words, because they had firm empirical evidence that these claims were groundless, but because a Protestant theology of revelation and ecclesiology ruled out the possibility of believing them. Skeptics accepted the presupposition while abandoning the theological foundation that had given the presupposition its original credence.

“Modern naturalism,” Harrison declares, is therefore “Protestantism on steroids.” But it is Protestantism severed from its theological foundations, and as a result, it is based on a set of assumptions that no longer make sense without God.

A hopeful apologetic

By the end of this book, some Christians may be tempted to come away with a diminished respect for the Protestant project—or, at least, for Protestant rationalism or Protestant individualism.

But regardless of how we view some early modern Protestants—did they go too far in rejecting Catholic miracles or insisting on the necessity of an intellectually defensible personal faith?—Harrison’s argument gives us a hopeful apologetic for dialogue with skeptics.

This is because modern naturalism, in its contemporary Western guise, subscribes to certain truth claims made by Christians. Both the atheist scientist and the Christian believe that nature is predictable and intelligible. Both the secular college professor and the Christian believe that history is progressive rather than endlessly cyclical and meaningless. We can appeal to this common ground when conversing with each other.

But Harrison’s study also gives us the historical evidence to demonstrate that modern secularism is based on presuppositions that make no sense without God or Christian theology. That is a powerful apologetic. Although Harrison is not the first to make this argument, his book substantiates it with additional historical evidence.

Harrison’s book, at nearly 400 pages of densely written intellectual history, is not for the casual reader. Even many academic historians will probably find it a challenging read. That’s unfortunate, because I think the intellectual history of 18th-century beliefs can be presented to a nonacademic audience in an engaging manner, as recent books like Andrew Wilson’s Remaking the World have shown. But as Harrison suggests in his introduction, he was looking to model his study after something more like Charles Taylor’s A Secular Age—a book deservedly recognized as a landmark history of philosophical ideas, but by no means a light read.

For those with the fortitude to wade through the full complexity of Harrison’s arguments, there’s a lot that will give Christians greater confidence in their faith.

Harrison equips us to realize that modern secularism is neither a superior explanation of the world nor an alien philosophy that Christians need to fear. Instead, people who subscribe to atheistic naturalism are more like long-lost cousins who accept Protestant assumptions about the world but reject the God on whom those assumptions depend. And if that’s the case, maybe the evidence that Harrison presents will be a good conversation starter for Christians and skeptics discussing what they believe and why.

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

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When Worship Leaders Go on Vacation, Churches Get Creative

Kelsey Kramer McGinnis

Acoustic sets, recorded tracks, and alternative setups can offer volunteers a break and invite congregants into new spiritual practices.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: Unsplash

When you imagine the summer attendance slump at church, you probably picture empty pews, not an empty stage.

But with around 20 percent lower turnout during the vacation months, the seasonal slump also affects the availability of the volunteer musicians that many churches rely on for worship each week.

In the midst of vacations, camps, conferences, and other activities, assembling a worship band—especially over a holiday weekend like Memorial Day, Independence Day, or Labor Day—is harder when more people head out of town.

In Owosso, Michigan, it’s not uncommon for folks to spend almost every weekend between May and September at cabins on the Great Lakes.

“Many of our volunteers either go up north, or just don’t want to commit,” said Glenn Rupert, pastor of worship and creative arts at GracePointe Church, a Wesleyan community of roughly 200. “If we don’t have significant depth on our team, certain times of year are hard. Sometimes it’s just me and a piano.”

Megachurches with multiple bands or large teams of musicians can usually make it through the summer without any noticeable interruptions, but small and mid-sized churches like Rupert’s can find themselves scrambling to put a band together or to find an alternative—maybe even skipping corporate singing altogether.

On Memorial Day weekend this year, when Rupert went out of town, GracePointe opted to skip live worship and play instrumental music (William Augusto’s album Soaking in His Presence) during a “Come and Go Communion” service.

Members could come and participate in a written guided meditation on Joshua 3–4 (the story of the Israelites crossing the Jordan River and building a stone memorial) and receive Communion from a church staff member.

For the church staff and volunteers, the week was a welcome respite from struggling to put together a Sunday service without enough help. The drop-in service took minimal planning, and there was no scrambling to practice with a skeleton crew running sound and leading worship.

In terms of the music, Rupert said, “It’s very easy. One person needs to be there to open the doors and turn things on and off.”

Some music ministers believe foregoing congregational singing should be a last resort, even if there are valuable and edifying practices that can replace it.

“There are so many resources churches can use to substitute for live musicians,” said Kenny Lamm, worship ministries strategist for the Baptist State Convention of North Carolina. “[Congregational singing] should be a tremendous priority. There are just so many other options we have now, there’s really no excuse to go without singing together.”

At Global Outreach Church, a nondenominational congregation in Virginia Beach, Virginia, everyone knows that during the month of August, there won’t be any live musicians to lead worship.

“In August, we dial back everything,” said pastor Chris Cunningham, who has led the church for 13 years.

“We only have seven people on our worship team in all, and they are all volunteers who receive a small honorarium. We rotate leadership, and at least one person always gets the week off.”

The church of roughly 75 members has a long-standing commitment to worship in an array of languages. Each week, the church sings in at least one language other than English and prays for a different country by name—preceded by a short lesson about the country, its culture, and its people.

For volunteers, leading means practicing at least one song in a different language, in addition to the four other songs for the service, which could include anything from a Hillsong favorite to a reggae tune.

Recognizing this time-intensive commitment the volunteer musicians are making, Cunningham gives the whole worship team a week off every quarter and invites musicians from other churches to lead for the week. And because summer is already a challenging time for scheduling, they take the whole month of August off and rely on recordings and videos to lead the congregation in song.

“People love it,” said Cunningham. “The congregation gets to request songs, and it’s a break from the usual. Everyone knows it’s just for the month of August, so people look forward to it and plan which songs they want to request.”

What might sound like a last resort to some church musicians has become a much-anticipated part of church life during the summer.

“Someone will want to hear Andraé Crouch, so we’ll find a way to make it work,” said Cunningham. When possible, he tries to find quality videos of live performances with lyrics on the screen. But sometimes a lyric video is all that’s available.

“We do everything. Literally everything. Southern gospel, which we don’t do often. We do popular songs from Elevation and Bethel. One favorite is the Nigerian song ‘Imela.’ We don’t limit what people can request, because we’re always going to have to do the editing.”

Singing along with a lyric video requires some adjustment for a church that is used to worshiping with live musicians, but the willingness to embrace something different so that the musicians can rest has been good for the health of the church.

Likewise, Rupert has found that flexibility and an open hand with the Sunday service at GracePointe has helped him and his congregation take rest more seriously.

“Even if we have people who could serve every week, we should still give them rest and space,” Rupert said. “Choosing to do things differently every once in a while says we value rest and we value the people here in our ministry.”

Even bigger churches, he suggests, would benefit from taking weeks off of doing everything— giving full bands and full tech teams regular breaks. It’s an opportunity to allow the congregation to notice just how many people it takes to make a Sunday morning worship service come together. It’s also a way to invite people into spiritual practices that don’t usually fit into a business-as-usual Sunday.

“Most of us don’t do a lot of quiet reflection and meditation, even on Sunday mornings. If rest and reflection really are values for us, we have to create space for them.”

In the case of Global Outreach Church, there is a commitment to weekly congregational singing, even if it means singing along to “canned” music. This puts some constraints on the service—it can’t be livestreamed because of music licensing, for example. Song selection is also limited by the lyric videos and recorded performances that are available. And taking congregational requests means having to sometimes (kindly) say no.

“We make sure that we don’t let any one person’s requests or preferences dominate,” said Cunningham. The relatively small congregation also makes it possible to wade through music requests without getting overwhelmed.

Sam Hargreaves of Engage Worship, also a lecturer at the London School of Theology, suggests that churches might consider alternatives to band-led congregational singing, or even music altogether, during seasons of intentional simplicity or restraint, like Lent.

“We have 2,000 years of Christian heritage to draw from here, where in many cases people have worshiped without music,” Hargreaves points out. He offers “15 ideas for worship without a band,” such as taking a prayerful walk, chanting, creating a collage, or sharing a communal meal.

For Lamm, who trains and consults with worship leaders and churches of varying sizes and worship styles, there’s no substitute for corporate singing, and perhaps an unwillingness to embrace fully acoustic or a cappella worship is part of the problem churches are facing.

“I welcome those times when the band is gone,” said Lamm. “I can lead from the piano. You can sing a worship song a cappella. Those can be the sweetest times of worship, when the congregation can really hear their voices ring out.”

There are numerous Protestant traditions that have long embraced a cappella singing or very simple service music. Members of the Church of Christ have always sung without instruments. Many Mennonite churches chant without accompaniment as well. And unaccompanied psalm-singing is a staple of the Reformed tradition.

GracePointe Church’s “Come and Go Communion” lets go of corporate singing entirely, if only for a week. For some churches, that’s a nonstarter. But Rupert suggests that the trepidation at foregoing congregational music for a week may be rooted in too narrow a view of what it means to worship as the body of Christ.

“Worship is more than just music. And I’m a music guy, born and raised,” said Rupert. “But worship is not just about corporate singing or preaching. Those are critical components, but we can offer a different kind of service. And it still counts.”

Whether a congregation is willing to have an occasional service with no corporate singing comes down to the culture and commitments of that particular church. This is a conversation that many churches had to have during the COVID-19 pandemic, when the very act of community singing could be a health risk. That was an extreme case, though, said Lamm.

“The Bible strongly points out how important singing is, and we can’t ignore that. Singing is the best way of putting the Word of God in the hearts of our people. If we truly want to see lives transformed, singing our theology is our primary method to do that.”

The freedom to try new forms of congregational worship can be hindered by an overreliance on a particular setup or number of people on stage. Whether a church sings with a full band or a YouTube video, it’s still to the glory of God.

“God is good, God will be glorified,” Rupert said. “And he can work whether there is an electric guitar or not.”

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Theology

Jesus Didn’t Grasp for Status. But I Sure Do.

Griffin Gooch

He “made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant.” I dread admitting I don’t have a fancy new job.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty / Lightstock

This past spring, I finally finished my master’s program—adviser emailed, final submitted, graduation forms signed. But instead of relief or accomplishment, the primary thing I’m feeling is dread. After 50 applications and multiple interviews, my job offer total is zero.

The source of my dread is not just my lack of employment, I’m realizing. It’s the feeling that I lack status. I’m reminded every time small talk takes the inevitable turn: So, what do you do? Finishing up a master’s is great, yet I feel like I’m in an awkward spot—falling behind my peers, not quite where I should be, not quite measuring up.

I’m not alone in my craving for status. Psychological r esearch indicates that humans are widely driven by this desire for esteem, respect, or affirmation based on social rank. Psychologists have described status as a fundamental human need alongside safety, love, and meaning. While there’s debate about how deep this need goes, it’s hard to deny that the way others perceive us influences our beliefs and behaviors. Even if we tell ourselves we don’t care about status, our brains typically do.

And it’s not just status in some absolute sense but status compared to other people. For example, a Harvard and University of Toronto study about “air rage”—passengers erupting in angry fits mid-flight—suggested status comparisons were a major factor. The most common factor in some 4,000 cases of air rage wasn’t delays, fees, or lack of legroom. It was whether the flight had a first-class cabin. Economy passengers were eight times more likely to burst into air rage when they had to pass through the first-class cabin on the way to their seats.

Another study asked subjects if they’d prefer a yearly income of $50,000 while everyone else makes $25,000, or a yearly income of $100,000 while everyone else gets $200,000. Over half picked the lower income—and higher status. Riches typically matter less than being richer than others. What would it profit someone to gain the world if their neighbor had two worlds?

Bible translators generally don’t use the word status as we do. You’ll find it in The Message, but conventional translations are more likely to speak of glory, honor, or renown (translating the Greek word doxa), or name, title, or reputation (translating onoma).

But status was just as important to ancient people as it to us. In the Roman world, honor was such a coveted resource that one philosopher described social life as cursus honorum (a “race for honors”). At public and private gatherings alike, hosts seated guests according to both “ascribed honors” (status inherited from lineage or generational wealth) and “acquired honors” (one’s personal achievements). This offersbackground for James’s correction toward churches that gave nice seats to the rich while seating the poor at their feet (2:1–4). Status display was so normalized that it couldn’t easily be left at the church doors.

While every Roman church wrestled with status obsession, New Testament scholar Joseph Hellerman argues the foremost in this vice was Philippi. Known as a “small Rome,” the city had the kind of culture where elites would rattle off their honors before public speaking and even emblazon tombstones with lists of achievements.

Writing to this church, the apostle Paul first seems like he’s playing their status game. “If anyone thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more” (Phil. 3:4), he says. If anyone is winning this honors race, it would be me. Next, following the style of a Philippian tombstone, Paul lists off ascribed and acquired honors: born in the right tribe, at the right time, to the right race; surpassing all his peers in righteousness, passion, and justice (vv. 5–6).

But then Paul reveals his purpose in listing these honors. He’s not doing it to establish status but to honor Jesus. Subverting the cursus honorum, Paul declares his honors to be worthless rubbish (in the Greek, skubalon, or excrement) because his standing in Christ is infinitely more valuable (vv. 7–10).

This revelation shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to the letter’s original audience, for by this point in the letter, Paul had already pointed to Christ’s intentional loss of status. Jesus wasn’t concerned with upward social mobility—the drive to accumulate more money, prestige, and power as life progresses. If anything, his trajectory was more in line with what Henri Nouwen called “downward mobility.”

As God, Jesus had countless opportunities to pull rank. But at every turn, he undermined his own status. He could’ve become wealthy and famous as a full-time miracle worker. He could’ve been born a prince or magistrate instead of the son of a blue-collar family. He had the same status as God, Paul wrote to the Philippians, but never used that status to his advantage (2:5–11). Christians, the apostle advised, should have the same mindset (v. 5).

That’s still a daunting prospect here in the 21st century, where Christians, like me, are trying to keep the pace in another status-obsessed culture. How can we discipline our endless desire for status—a desire we may not always even recognize for the sin it is?

Early Christianity had a useful word for this tendency: vainglory. It means anxiety over one’s reputation. Vainglory might offer more clarity for this conversation than the term status can: It distinguishes between our wholly appropriate instinct to give honor and respect to wise elders (1 Tim. 5:1–2) and leaders (Heb. 13:7; 1 Pet. 2:13) and the sort of selfish status-seeking Christians should guard against.

Vainglory was taken so seriously among early Christian monastics that it was regularly ranked among the deadliest of sins. Like lust or greed, the desert theologians taught, vainglory clouded one’s relationship with God and had to be fought. Some even drafted “battle plans” to isolate vainglorious thoughts and replace them with truth from Scripture—to “take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (2 Cor. 10:5).

Everything about our daily experience screams that we should care more about status: Buy more luxury brands, post more jealousy-inducing photos, always be on the hunt for a better house or job or even partner. But what Paul told the Philippians is that all these signs of status are irrelevant. We don’t have to try to appear impressive. We’re already—and only—impressive by virtue of Christ in us.

Griffin Gooch is a writer and speaker who recently finished his master’s in theological studies at Fuller Theological Seminary. He plans to pursue a PhD in philosophical theology.

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Theology

Theocracy Is Not the Enemy of Pluralism

Richard Mouw

God’s rule is inherently true and doesn’t require that we force it on anyone.

duckycards / Getty

A liberal acquaintance told me recently that while he generally dislikes evangelicals, he doesn’t find me to be as bad as the rest: “At least you don’t rant about wanting to establish a theocracy!” I decided to accept what he said as a compliment, even though I regretted not coming clean with him about theocracy.

Truth be told, my wife and I do belong to a pro-theocracy organization. Indeed, we attend its meetings every week. In those gatherings, we learn about what it means to support a theocracy, and we sing songs that are meant to strengthen our theocratic commitments. The organization I am referring to, of course, is our local church.

Theocracy literally means “the rule of God,” and Christians believe that while our churches do have human leaders, those leaders know that they are directly accountable to God for what they think and do. They keep reminding us that we Christians belong to “the kingdom of God,” which means that our ultimate allegiance is to Jesus, whom we often refer to as “ruling” over us.

The idea of the church as a theocracy, however, is part of a much larger theocratic picture. The universe itself in all its complex glory is a theocracy. The Jewish community’s shabbat prayer captures well the Bible’s theocratic perspective when it begins with “Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe.”

Everything that exists is under God’s rule. It is this theocratic arrangement—defining the very nature of reality—that gives believers meaning and hope in our lives. But does that mean that believers like me should try to turn the United States into a theocracy? I think not. God does not want me to force my theocratic understanding of reality on others. What God wants from people is that they freely offer their obedience to his will.

I do not serve God’s purposes in the world by trying to impose “Christian” laws on people against their own values and convictions. I should not want everything that I consider to be sinful to be made illegal. For example, although I don’t like the blasphemous language that I hear all too frequently while watching Netflix these days, I am not inclined to call for laws banning these expressions.

That does not mean that I should withdraw into a live-and-let-live posture, content to wait for Jesus to return. The Bible makes it clear that God wants me to be active in the society where he has placed me.

The apostle Peter puts the mandate this way: “Live such good lives among the pagans that … they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us” (1 Pet. 2:12).

Peter is echoing the admonition God gave through Jeremiah when the people of Israel were exiled in the pagan city of Babylon: “Seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper” (Jer. 29:7). In addition to witnessing to others about the power of the gospel, we can join them in working for God-glorifying social goals.

I am grateful for the opportunity to live in a pluralistic society where I can learn from people with whom I seriously disagree about religious beliefs, public policy, and moral lifestyles. For one thing, I can learn about the mistakes and misdeeds that Christians like me have made in the past—and still make today—about important matters. In genuinely engaging others on these matters, I often find effective ways to partner with them for the common good.

Historically, American evangelicals have gone back and forth between two ways of relating to the larger culture. In my youth during the 1950s, we evangelicals had a reputation for being “apolitical.” We liked to sing patriotic songs, and preachers regularly reminded us that we had a Christian obligation to show up as voters on election days. But we typically did not actively engage in political advocacy.

To be an evangelical citizen was to mostly cast our votes for Republican candidates and pray for God’s blessing on the likes of Dwight Eisenhower and Richard Nixon. In all of this, we were passive about politics—grateful that we enjoyed the freedoms of a nation that was “under God.”

Things changed around 1980 with the emergence of the New Christian Right, led by Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson. Evangelicals became aggressively political, working for candidates who promoted what we saw as godly causes, often explicitly guided by the theocratic project of returning to the vision of a “Christian America.”

Thus, we have either distanced ourselves from active involvement in the political system or worked to take it over. Either we were a cognitive minority content to sing, as we did in my youth, “This world is not my home, I’m just a-passing through”—or we proclaimed ourselves to be a “moral majority,” boldly belting out “Shine, Jesus, shine / Fill this land with the Father’s glory.”

There is, of course, a third option, one desperately needed today in our increasingly polarized society: an evangelical willingness to labor patiently alongside others—persons of other faiths and of no faiths at all—in seeking workable solutions to the complex challenges we face as a nation.

In our weekly theocratic gatherings, we evangelicals tell God—in our prayers, hymns, and sermons—about our spiritual weakness as vulnerable human creatures. When we walk into church, we also bring with us the hopes and fears that we experience in our political lives.

The self-righteousness that we so often exhibit in the public square does not fit well with what we know about ourselves in our deep places. It is time for us to display a kinder and gentler evangelicalism, promoting a cooperative political quest for new ways of flourishing together in our shared humanity.

One of my heroes in the faith, the great Dutch statesman Abraham Kuyper, proclaimed in his inaugural address at the university he founded, “There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry: ‘Mine!’”

I find that inspiring manifesto to be a motivation for how I am to live as a theocrat in contemporary life. There is always a temptation, of course, for us to answer that rallying cry in an arrogant and imperialistic manner—as if all we have to do is go out there and grab hold of all those square inches in the name of Jesus.

Properly understood, theocracy requires a humble spirit. The apostle Peter tells us that when we are challenged “to give the reason for the hope” we have in Christ, we must take care to “do this with gentleness and respect” (1 Pet. 3:15). Since Jesus claims every square inch of creation as his own, wherever we go in our lives, we are standing on sacred ground.

In my evangelical youth, I was taught Hudson Taylor’s famous saying “Christ is either Lord of all, or is not Lord at all.” I keep learning more about what it means to represent the cause of the gospel in a gentle and respectful manner.

The God whose majesty we theocrats worship in church not only sends us out into the world over which he rules but also assures us that, wherever we go, he will be with us.

He invites us to join him on those square inches that are occupied by precious human beings who suffer from the pain of abuse, grief, loneliness and the hopelessness that comes from unbelief.

We live in times when our fellow human beings desperately need to encounter evangelicals for whom being theocratic means actively serving the cause of a loving Savior.

Richard Mouw is a senior research fellow at the Henry Institute for the Study of Christianity and Politics at Calvin University and former president of Fuller Theological Seminary.

- More from Richard Mouw

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Active dualism

Faithful presence

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Erwan Cloarec, president of CNEF

Rachel Calvert, president of A Rocha France

Matthew Glock, missionary, pastor, and coordinator of CAEF’s (Communautés et Assemblées Évangéliques de France) church planting commission

Caroline Bretones, pastor of Église protestante unie de France (United Protestant Church of France)

Françoise Caron, president of the Fédération Nationale des Associations Familiales Protestantes (National Federation of Protestant Family Associations)

Nicolas Blum, Groupes Bibliques Universitaires (University Biblical Groups) staffer, and elder at Ternes evangelical church, Paris

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In this series

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Justifying belief

Burdens of proof

A hopeful apologetic

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