Global Methodists Find Joy in Costa Rica

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

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

Courtesy of the Global Methodist Church

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- More from Daniel Silliman

Testimony

When I Opened My Bible, God Gave Me a Magnifying Glass

Surinder Kaur

I was a Sikh student worrying about my grades when my eyes were drawn in dramatic fashion toward the truths of his Word.

Courtesy of Surinder Kaur

In 1991, as a young girl, I surrendered my life to Jesus Christ. It was not an easy decision, for I was born and raised in a devout Sikh family. Sikhism is among the youngest of the world religions, founded in AD 1469 in the northern state of Punjab, India.

I was born in a military hospital in Meerut in the state of Uttar Pradesh as the youngest of four children. My father’s service with the Indian army required us to move every few years.

Being a very smart child in kindergarten, I was promoted one grade ahead to learn alongside my sister Anu, who is 16 months older than me. Until age 17, I studied at Catholic schools in every city where my father was posted. However, I never knew Jesus as anything more than one of many gods presented in the diverse faiths of my country.

As a family, we attended the Sikh temple every Sunday and partook in the langar—the communal meal shared by all who visit the temple. There were phases in my life when we went to the Sikh and Hindu temples every evening, leaving a deep and lasting impact on my young mind.

A test and a promise

A year before I found Christ, my father was posted in Roorkee, which is now in the state of Uttarakhand, where I struggled to cope with a new school, a new uniform, and new friends. In my struggle, I turned to all the various gods I had worshiped throughout my childhood. I often ended up in the bathroom, where in solitude I prayed with tears to Guru Nanak, Allah, Rama, Jesus, and Sai Baba, begging them for help. After much hard work that year, I barely passed my final exams. Ashamed of my performance, I contemplated committing suicide.

While I was still planning how to end my life, my father decided that my older sister Anu and I should continue our studies in the western city of Ahmednagar, where we had been stationed before and where my brother was already pursuing his undergraduate studies. This, he thought, would ease the academic transition and hopefully improve our results.

So Anu and I got admitted as 12th grade students and moved to a girl’s hostel (our brother was living in the boy’s hostel). There, a senior named Anita shared the gospel with us. My sister accepted Christ, having been miraculously healed of a long-standing ailment. But I opposed Anita and the message she tried to convey, speaking ill of her to those I knew.

After three months in this city and college, my mother decided to join us. She rented a house, and we moved out of the hostel to live with her. I was glad to get away from Anita and her message.

However, a few months later, as I prepared for my approaching exams, the fear and failure of the previous year gripped my heart. I sought out Anita and asked if her Jesus would help me in my exams. She said he would, but I had to promise not to cheat, which was difficult for me since I did cheat. Nevertheless, I made the promise.

Ready to test this God of Anita’s, I embarked on a journey of discovery. I borrowed the Bible that Anita had given Anu, and every day I walked about 500 meters from our rented house, sitting under the shade of a big stone. For the next 40 days, I studied my course books and the Bible there from morning until sunset.

Initially, whenever I opened the Bible to a random page, I could make no sense of what I read. But then, one day, as I pondered the position of Jesus among all the gods I had known, I opened the Bible in my usual manner. Soon thereafter, I noticed one verse on that page was slightly magnified, while the rest of the page was dim. My eyes were drawn to that magnified verse, John 14:6: “Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’”

I was stunned—not only at the visual presentation of the verse but also at its profound challenge to my polytheistic belief system. I closed my eyes and opened them again to check whether the words still appeared larger. And they did.

From that day on, the Bible came alive to me. I began to talk to God several times each day, and every time I opened the Bible randomly, I found a verse specially magnified for me. That was God’s way of communicating with me.

Eventually, I appeared for my exams, and as promised, I did not cheat. When the results were out, I stood third in the college. But instead of exulting in triumph, I felt ashamed of having exploited an almighty, all-powerful God for my own advancement. I confessed to the Lord, “Though I started to follow you out of selfish ambition, today I tell you that henceforth, whether I pass or I fail, I will follow you.”

One day, the Lord said to me, “I have written your name in the Book of Life. Do you know what name it is?” I had always been embarrassed of being called Surinder, a unisex Sikh name. But God wanted it recorded among the names of his people. This helped reconcile me not only to my own identity but also to the God who loved me just as I was.

But I still needed to learn new habits of self-denial. God told me, “Forgive all those who have hurt you.” It was difficult, for some hurts ran deep, but remembering what Jesus had done for me, I obeyed. The next step was even more challenging: “Now go and ask forgiveness from all those whom you have hurt and return all the things that you have in your possession that do not belong to you.”

I was flabbergasted. How could I humiliate myself by asking for forgiveness? But if I wanted to follow Jesus, God told me in no uncertain terms, then I had to take up my cross. “Obedience is necessary,” I recall hearing in a quiet, still voice. “Don’t worry about the outcome.”

Quiet hours

To my amazement, the outcome was not what I expected. In fact, my confession resulted in deep peace, joy, and a greater awareness of the Lord’s presence in my life.

Excited about my newfound faith, I shared the gospel with my mother. But she snubbed me, saying I had not reached an age for talking about God or religion. Instead, she said, I should have fun, eat well, and be happy.

Soon, we moved to a new city to join my father after he got transferred again, and the whole family was reunited. We said a tearful goodbye to Anita, whom I never saw again. Since Anu and I had only one Bible between us, we tore it into two parts and occasionally swapped the portions. The short time we had spent with Anita prepared us to face the tense situation with our family members, who wanted to stamp out our new faith. When I was down, I sang the few hymns and choruses I had heard Anita sing.

We had no church to attend or fellowship with other believers, so we were entirely dependent on our Bible and illumination from the Holy Spirit. Lacking privacy at home and being forbidden to pray openly, we resorted to spending hours alone with the Bible, locked in the bathroom. It was during those quiet hours that the Lord led me through verse-by-verse, teaching me how to read the Bible, meditate on it, and learn from it.

That instruction included a call to repentance. I remember protesting, “I have not committed any sin. I am just a girl of 17.” But the Holy Spirit replayed episodes across my life, dating back to when I was only 3 years old. It turned out I had much to repent of! As a result, my bathroom spiritual-growth sessions got longer, sometimes stretching to more than half the day.

My family did not give up trying to reconvert us. Relatives physically assaulted us, took us to a psychiatrist to test our sanity, and called in Sikh evangelists to try convincing us of our supposed folly; even Roman Catholic priests were summoned to make us change our minds. All these interventions had one purpose: to prove the superiority of my family’s Sikh faith.

There were periods when I doubted the choice to follow this “God of the Christians.” But the Lord would reassure me with words from Scripture, which kept my feet grounded and helped me persevere. Whenever doubt arose, certain verses kept ringing in my ear, like Luke 9:62 (“No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.”) or Matthew 10:37 (“Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves their son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.”).

And God’s promises for my future were my only anchor. I remember finding assurance in Matthew 19:29, which says, “And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life.”

As a last resort, my family separated me from Anu and sent me to my father’s native state of Punjab to stay with relatives, thinking the environment would somehow break my faith and cause me to see reason. But even then, the Lord vindicated his name through many signs and wonders.

While I was exiled in Punjab, my parents took Anu to a witch doctor, hoping to cast the Holy Spirit out of her. The witch doctor set her inside a circle made of lemon and chili, threw ashes on her head, and chanted mantras over her for almost an hour. But to no avail. He turned to my parents and said, “He who is inside her is way more powerful than the [spirit] who is inside me.” They were astonished and speechless.

Meanwhile, in Punjab, the entire village knew that when I prayed to this God of mine, miracles would occur. To give one example: In July 1993, Punjab witnessed massive rainfall. It lasted for days on end, killing hundreds and affecting half the state’s population. My aunts came and asked if I could pray to make the rain stop. I said I would, but only when the Lord led me to.

Soon, there was no food in the house and no place to sit or sleep, as the entire roof was leaking and portions of the house had collapsed. One day, after we had to send my cousins away hungry, I ran to a room drenched in rainwater and tearfully began to pray. When I finished, I stepped outside to see that the rain had ceased. My aunts changed their view of me from that day forward. Every now and then, they would ask me about Jesus or invite me to sing a Christian chorus.

Amazement and gratitude

Seven years after my conversion, I was finally introduced to a church. By then, my father had passed away in an accident. My mother allowed Anu and me to attend worship services every Sunday, hoping it would result in us finding husbands.

Despite intense family pressure to marry, I waited upon the Lord. I told him that, as my heavenly Father, it was his responsibility to get me married, and I would not seek someone on my own. In his time and way, he brought a Christian husband into my life through my unbelieving oldest sister. Outwardly, this happened through the kind of arranged marriage that was common in our culture, but I believe God was the one doing the arranging.

Eventually, the Lord called me into full-time ministry. Over the ensuing 22 years, this call took me to many cities across five continents, where I have spoken about my experience and taught others what God has taught me from his Word. I have had the privilege of addressing women’s ministry leaders and pastors’ wives in both urban and rural settings, tackling key issues they face in their daily lives.

Having suffered persecution firsthand, I closely identify with persecuted Christians and thus advocate for their cause. Besides liaising with the police on behalf of victims, I present their stories to the world to mobilize awareness and prayer.

When I see the Lord using me to teach, preach, and counsel married women, couples, and children, I am filled with amazement and gratitude for all the ways he has blessed me. My prayer is that he will enable me to walk in his most perfect ways until I finally see him face to face: my Redeemer, my Savior, and my Father.

Surinder Kaur is the South Asia editor for Christianity Today.

- More from Surinder Kaur

Culture

‘The Office’ Meets Exodus in ‘The Promised Land’

Peter T. Chattaway

The director of the YouTube series spoke with CT about making a funny show based on Scripture.

Wasim No’mani as Moses (left) in The Promised Land

Courtesy of The Promised Land

We tend to imagine Moses as someone larger than life. Films like The Ten Commandments, The Prince of Egypt, and Exodus: Gods and Kings focus on the heroic role he played in the epic struggle for the Israelites’ liberation from slavery. They build up to dramatic moments like the parting of the Red Sea and the giving of the law at Mount Sinai.

The Promised Land takes a somewhat different approach. It’s a comedy done in the style of mockumentaries like The Office and Parks and Recreation, using humor to highlight the humanity of Moses and his people as they trudge through the desert and get used to the daily grind of life after Egypt.

Moses (The Chosen’s Wasim No’mani) is worn down by the Israelites’ petty complaints. His resentful sister Miriam (a delightfully deadpan Shereen Khan) is irritated by his bubbly wife Zipporah (Tryphena Wade) in a subplot inspired by Numbers 12:1. And his suspicious cousin Korah (Brad Culver) begins to notice there’s something odd about Chisisi (Dav Coretti), an Egyptian who ended up on the wrong side of the Red Sea and is now trying to pass himself off as a Hebrew.

The series currently consists of just one episode, a pilot that covers the events of Exodus 15–18. (It’s now playing on YouTube.) But the producers recently secured $5 million to make five more episodes, which they will start shooting at the end of this month.

Writer and director Mitch Hudson, who has been an assistant director on The Chosen since it went into production six years ago (he works primarily with the background actors) says he hopes to shoot 40 episodes of The Promised Land.

But first, he has to get the first season done.

Christianity Today had a chance to speak to Hudson about the series. This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

Just for starters, I have to confirm: On The Chosen, you are an assistant director, not an assistant to the director?

Yes! Not the director’s assistant, not the assistant to the director, I’m an assistant director. Yeah, that’s funny. I’m not Dallas’s Dwight.

You’ve worked with crowd scenes on The Chosen and now you’re doing your own series about Moses, who’s associated with the proverbial cast of thousands.

We’re going to do something very special in the first season that will hopefully incorporate hundreds of people. [After the interview, it was announced that fans can volunteer to be extras for an episode called “The Tabernacle.”] Certainly, it’s familiar territory for me after all that we’ve done on The Chosen.

You’ve said that you aren’t reverent toward your characters but you are reverent toward God. But that doesn’t mean God doesn’t have funny lines.

When I read some of God’s conversations with Moses in the Bible, I just want to burst out laughing. Like when the Israelites complain they don’t get to eat any meat and God’s reply is basically, Oh you’ll eat meat. You’ll eat lots of it. You’ll get sick of it (Num. 11:18–20).

I think people can be nervous about depicting biblical characters as people who made mistakes, who did things that were wrong and fell on their faces. Sometimes we think we can’t show the weaknesses of characters in Scripture because somehow that would be disrespectful. They’re in the Bible, and the Bible is holy, and so if they’re in the Bible, then we need to treat them that way too.

But the truth is that God used them because they were people and because they were imperfect, and I’m trying to depict them the way that they are in Scripture—as people who have flaws, as people who do make mistakes but keep trying anyways. Hopefully we find a little bit of connection to them.

As for the conversations between God and Moses, you’re right, there’s definitely some humor in there.

But those conversations with God and Moses we can’t see—because the documentary crew can’t go there. The documentary crew can’t go up onto the mountain with Moses; they can’t go into the Holy of Holies. So those conversations are private. I’m trying to do that on purpose because I don’t want it to ever be that I’m looping in God with the jokes.

But then when Moses comes back and he’s trying to communicate what God has said, then I can get into the fallibleness, basically, of Moses trying to convince hundreds of thousands of people to listen to him—and he’s not a born leader. That, to me, is naturally very funny.

You’ve said that you’re looking forward to shooting the Golden Calf episode (Ex. 32), that it’ll be “fun” but also “hurt.” How will you approach that tonal mix?

Also, the biblical version of that story ends on a very violent note. In the pilot, violence is alluded to but it’s all offscreen or in the past; we don’t really confront it. Is Promised Land going to go there? And if so, how is it going to balance that with the humor?

For me the main thing is trying to never undercut the severity of a moment that’s in the Bible but also recognizing that you can show a piece of a story, not show the whole thing, and still communicate how devastating it was.

My goal is that this is generally a show you can watch with your family (circumcision jokes aside).

There are also some mystical things in the biblical story—Moses has a glowing face, so he has to wear a veil (Ex. 34:29–35), people see God standing on something like a pavement “bright blue as the sky” on Mount Sinai (Ex. 24:9–10). Maybe some of those things the documentary crew won’t get to see, but you’re at least going to have to deal with the pillar of cloud and the pillar of fire (Ex. 13:21–22).

The scripts that I’ve written for the next five episodes incorporate some of these mystical moments of people seeing God in different ways. God appears as a thunderstorm at the top of the mountain at one point. He also descends upon the tabernacle as a cloud.

For us, it was a question of “How can we portray these elements of the story while also being limited as a documentary crew?” What could we see that everyone else could see?

There are going to be some fun ways that we incorporate the regular citizens’ perspective on some of these supernatural moments that I think will make them really interesting.

How easy was it to raise funds for a comedy? With The Chosen, there’s always been a ministry aspect—a lot of people get invested in the show because it’s going to have an “impact.” Is The Promised Land going to have an “impact”?

I think so often it can be difficult for people to engage with biblical material when it is serious and heavy. I hope to provide an alternative where we can still be engaging with the truth of Scripture but with a more light-hearted tone.

I never knew much about Jethro before I reread the passages that mention him while preparing for the pilot. Now, I’ve obviously made the pilot, but even if I had just seen it, I think I would have a different perspective on that story.

Ultimately, what’s powerful about the story of Moses is that it’s the origin of the framework that Jesus disrupts: “These are the laws; this is how you can make sacrifices to atone for sin.” This sets the stage for Jesus’ arrival.

So my hope is that The Promised Land does lay a bit of a foundation—and also is super fun.

- More from Peter T. Chattaway

News

Middle East Muslims are Finding Jesus. Can They Fit Within a Weakened Church?

Jayson Casper

A Yemeni man sits amid the rubble of his family house damaged by an air-strike.

Mohammed Huwais / Stringer / Getty

In the Arab world today, the war in Gaza dominates the news, with its small Palestinian Christian community caught in the crossfire. But over the last decade, ancient churches have faced persecution in Syria and Iraq, while political instability and terrorism have threatened believers in Egypt, Lebanon, and Jordan.

Nevertheless, the church’s activity in this region is about much more than war and persecution, as the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) chapter of the Lausanne Movement’s State of the Great Commission report shows. For example, congregations have cared for refugees, and online ministries have expanded.

One notable development is the numerical growth of Muslim-background believers (MBBs).

The report provides an ominous description of Christianity in the MENA region: “The outlook for all Christian communities is negative.” Yet the section on MBBs concludes with hope amid the devastation, predicting that “a new church, from among the majority people, will rise up from the ashes of the traditional structures.”

CT spoke with Rafik Barsoum—coauthor of the MENA chapter, president of Message to All Nations, and pastor of a digital church initiative launched in 2022—to elaborate on key ideas in the report. He described the difficulties faced by MBBs and Christian-background believers (CBBs) alike, the witness offered by both, and why he dislikes the distinction between them.

Why did the report begin with a negative assessment?

Iraq, for example, is nearly bereft of Christians. The region is experiencing war, famine, terrorism, poverty, instability, and turmoil in every way. And with any turmoil anywhere, minorities are the first to be affected. In nearly every nation, if they are not facing outright persecution, struggles such as these pressure believers to leave the region.

Ancient churches are losing their people. The Middle East was once the beacon of Christian history; now it is at risk of losing its Christian presence.

But these struggles do not suggest a gloomy picture as concerns the work of Christ. We have seen signs of revival in the last decade like never before. But a price has been paid for it that is not often covered by the news or political analysis. We do not want this persecution to continue, but new signs of hope are emerging.

One of these signs of hope is the MBB community, which the report calls a “movement.”

The word movement is a missiological term describing an intangible awareness that God is drawing people to himself in ways we cannot explain, beyond the work of any one church or organization. It is as Jesus told Nicodemus: The wind blows where it will, and we see its effects in the wave that is forming. People are coming to know the truth through dreams and visions, the work of missionaries, the testimony of the church, and online media ministry.

Amid political turmoil, people are challenging taboos and delusions of the past—independently of this movement, but also as they witness Christian love in action. God is doing something unique.

Yet the report calls this movement “small.” How should it be measured?

The MBB movement is small compared to our aspirations.

We want to see more even as we cannot grasp its true size; only eternity will reveal it. We love to assess numbers for encouragement and evaluation. But while we do our due diligence, we should err on the side of caution in any calculations. After all, Jesus compared the kingdom to a mustard seed, small in appearance but great in significance.

But I have a more serious concern to raise about MBB and CBB terminology.

I come from a family in Egypt that traces its roots back to the time of Christ. And we were among the first evangelicals when missionaries came from the West. But classifying believers based on what background they come from is not healthy in the long term.

We all have different backgrounds—except for our shared experience of sin and death. Without Christ we are lost, and with him we are saved unto abundant life. We acknowledge that the MBB community has distinct features, but we strongly encourage people not to divide the body of Christ into categories. In the past 15 centuries, the Muslim world has never seen so many testimonies emerging as now. Yet our report does not intend to isolate them from the broader Christian scene; they are implicitly recognized in every description.

Our role as CBBs especially is to de-label us all as we emphasize unity.

Many MBBs worship separately from other Christians. Is this appropriate?

It depends on the circumstances.

In many places, separate worship is necessary due to security concerns, familial and social pressures, or prejudice from either side. In other settings, it is possible for MBBs and CBBs to meet together. But in all cases, we are one in Christ and united in heaven. We cannot advise against separate MBB meetings, but we emphasize our ontological solidarity.

Joint fellowship can be decided only at the local level. We do not live in an ideal world, but biblically speaking, there is no Jew or Gentile, no MBB or CBB. I want our ecclesiology to be correct in principle, but I would allow for different expressions, as we have to do what’s possible when the ideal is elusive.

I challenge both MBBs and CBBs to think of one another as beloved peers. We are building the kingdom of God together, united forever in eternity. We might as well dissolve our differences now.

How else is life challenging for MBBs?

The Muslim world is very diverse, from strict fundamentalist contexts with high persecution to more modern and secular contexts that allow for more variation—at least in theory. Persecution exists on a scale.

Many MBBs have lost their jobs, property, and inheritance. They face family dissolution. Their children get assigned to Islamic rather than Christian education in school when their family names indicate their Muslim background. Women are often more affected, as they have less social protection.

But there is also a challenge that comes from MBBs’ understanding of identity. Faith is intertwined with who they are, not just a system of belief as in many Western countries. In the Eastern mentality, I am because we are. It is not just a matter of changing their religion but of being detached from their roots. It is a major psychological challenge to come to Christ, and this factor is not easily addressed.

I admire the courage of our MBB friends and rejoice in the grace God gives them. Many are maturing in their faith and assuming servant-leadership roles in the church.

The report also cited their courage, specifically regarding MBBs’ “public embrace” of faith. Amid persecution, is it necessary for them to proclaim their Christianity?

This is a contentious issue in missions circles. But Jesus said, “Whoever acknowledges me before others, I will also acknowledge before my Father in heaven” (Matt. 10:32). And Jesus said the same about denial. Following Christ comes with a cost. He was rejected, and we will be rejected, but he has overcome the world.

I cannot speak on behalf of MBBs because I am from a context where I can declare my faith in Christ. How to do it wisely is a different question, and there is no general answer. If new Christians are to grow in Christ, they must be surrounded by a wise group of mature believers who walk the journey with them. This is the role of the body of Christ. Those in the church understand the context and are the ones God uses to provide advice.

But each new believer must get to a place where they confess Christ publicly.

The report celebrates that CBBs are also bold in sharing their faith.

Their witness goes beyond direct evangelizing. This last decade witnessed the martyrdom of Egyptian Coptic Christians in Libya who refused to renounce their faith under ISIS. And when the Muslim Brotherhood regime was overthrown in Egypt, the church responded in love and forgiveness as it stood for the truth. It is good to be bold, yet we must be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.

The church faces clear evidence of opposition.

What is happening now is a continuation of one of the main contributions of Christians from the MENA region to the global body of Christ. Local believers have been standing with Jesus since the apostles started the church. Athanasius, a fourth-century bishop from Alexandria, was told, “The whole world is against you.” He replied, “Yes, but I am against the world.”

We have our blemishes, but we have withstood persecution.

How likely is it that one who shares their faith will be persecuted?

It is certainly possible. We have to stress wisdom, wise counsel, and accountability to the local church—especially for foreign missionaries, who, if working independently, can sometimes do more harm than good. In some places, witnessing will be overlooked. In others, it may result in questioning by the state police. Social discrimination is possible. So are surveillance and imprisonment.

People in the MENA region take religion very seriously.

But we are seeing that if Arab believers live a Christlike example and describe how their way of life stems from their personal faith, people want to ask them more. This pattern of inviting inquiry removes many social barriers and gives Christians near immunity from security services. And most importantly, it paves the way for the gospel to be understood and relevant.

Another positive trend in the report celebrates greater cooperation between Christian denominations.

Cooperation is definitely improving. Christians of different denominations can sit together and listen to each other, whereas we used to build animosity upon assumptions. My prayer is that this growing communication will develop further into understanding each other and working together. One sign of hope is that several leaders have demonstrated love to one another.

Evangelicals have long been seen by people in the Catholic and Orthodox denominations as infidels or as wolves who steal sheep. But now that we are in communication, they see that we love Christ and want to serve his kingdom—not destroy their churches. This alone is a great result.

MBBs are a sign of revival. Might all Middle Eastern churches rise again?

Beyond those of a Muslim background, we see new expressions of faith in the digital church. And mature believers are emerging from all demographics, young and old, liturgical and charismatic. But the essentials are love for Christ, love for truth, and love for holiness—amid all that we witness in our world today. Unless the church stands on these pillars, all hope is superficial.

There is so much to anticipate for our region, built on the foundation of those who have gone before. The outlook does not have to stay negative.

- More from Jayson Casper

Ideas

Pastors, We Have to Play the Long Game

Jim Essian

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

Anthony Saint James / Getty / Edits by CT

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

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

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

My ministry started with wreckage all around me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was my first ten years of ministry.

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

I decided then that the scoreboard had to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- More from Jim Essian

Theology

How the ‘Jezebel Spirit’ Keeps Empowering Sin

Russell Moore

Editor in Chief

The phrase is convenient for demonizing women—while teaching people to excuse immorality.

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons

This piece was adapted from Russell Moore’s newsletter. Subscribe here.

Early in our marriage, when my wife and I had just moved to a new city while I was starting doctoral work, we attended a worship service—knowing almost no one there but hoping to make friends. The preacher, who mumbled a bit, was trying to make a rhetorical point about the importance of a good name: “I mean, how many of you ladies out there have the name Jezebel?” Time seemed to be in slow motion as I turned to see my wife, Maria, raising her hand.

Turns out she thought he had said, “How many of you ladies out there have heard the name Jezebel?” which, of course, she had. She blushed and immediately dropped her hand when she discovered the actual question, while I imagined meeting all of these new people to have them say, “It’s so nice to meet you, Jezebel. Welcome to our church.”

We made it through that moment, seemingly without anyone noticing (or else too polite to bring it up), and the years have proven that my wife lives up to her actual name—that of the mother and some of the disciples of Jesus—and not at all to that of the murderous queen who once hounded the prophet Elijah almost till death did them part. She sighs and rolls her eyes every time I tell that story and says, “That preacher was hard to understand—and you know it.” She’s right. Thirty seconds of Jezebel confusion—in this case—has made for thirty years of laughter from me.

Old Jezebel keeps showing up in other kinds of confusion, though, in ways that are not funny at all. On any given Sunday, I am at my church teaching through the Book of Revelation. I said the first week, We’re going to have a couple months in more familiar territory—as I teach through Jesus’ messages to the seven churches of Asia Minor— before things get weird.

What I meant was that the themes at the beginning of the Apocalypse are easier to grasp: keep persevering, repent of sin, don’t lose heart while suffering, return to your first love, and so on. Most people get confused or scared right after that part, with images of trumpets and seals and horsemen and multi-headed dragons and marks on the forehead. And so, I thought, the first third of Revelation is freer from the bad speculative teaching that keeps some people distant from Revelation. But then I remembered Jezebel.

The ascended Jesus sent a message through John the Revelator that there was one major point of disobedience in the congregation at Thyatira, namely that they “tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess and is teaching and seducing my servants to practice sexual immorality and to eat food sacrificed to idols” (Rev. 2:20, ESV throughout).

This past week, I happened upon a social media post from a minister (apparently in the Pentecostal or charismatic tradition) asserting, “There is no ‘Jezebel Spirit.’ At best, these are words used to silo and demoralize people you disagree with.” He went on, “I believe in the gifts of the Spirit—all of them. This is not godly. It’s wrong and demonic and needs to be purged from our vernacular.”

I’m not yet familiar with this minister’s work so I don’t know exactly what’s theologically in the background for him, but I do know that, on this, he’s exactly right—the concept of a “Jezebel spirit,” the way it’s often used today, has no grounding at all in Scripture and, ironically enough, is often used to fuel the very sin Jesus charged the Jezebel of Revelation with promoting.

Part of the confusion, of course, is with the way we use the language of “spirit.” One can speak of the “spirit of ’76,” referring to patriotism; or to someone having “the spirit of Barnabas,” implying they’re an encourager; or “the spirit of Lydia,” meaning they’re generous. One could speak of someone seeking to sell access to God as being of “the spirit of Simon.” But, usually, the language of the Jezebel spirit is used in our churches today to refer to something quite more than just that.

Many preachers or teachers name the Jezebel spirit as a specific demonic being or force, and, in doing so, portray a particularly dangerous and evil aspect of women—especially of women to men. Often, this will come with a list of “characteristics of the Jezebel spirit” that are disconnected from the actual words of the Bible. In most cases, one does not have to be a Freudian to wonder if these “characteristics” are not describing a particular woman or group of women with whom the preacher or teacher is perturbed.

The Bible does teach exactly what Jesus unequivocally acknowledged as true—that there are dark, spiritual personal beings afoot in the cosmos. The Scriptures sometimes speak of these beings as “principalities and powers.” In most cases, though, these beings are not named and classified for us. This is because their power is not, like a pagan god, independent of us.

The powers of this present darkness work through deception (Gen. 3:1–3) and accusation (Rev. 12:10). One of them screamed in his presence, “I know who you are—the Holy One of God” (Mark 1:24). But they had no power over Jesus. Of Satan, Jesus said, “The ruler of this world is coming. He has no claim on me” (John 14:30). [S1] That’s not only because of his deity but also because of his obedient humanity.

The spirits of darkness work through human fallenness and rebellion, which is why the scriptural remedy for them is the gospel, prayer, and repentance of sin—not talismans or incantations. When Jesus rebuked those in the church who “hold the teaching of Balaam” (Rev. 2:14), he was not speaking of some specifically masculine entity hypnotizing the congregation. He was speaking of those who imitated the prophet-for-hire of old. And when Jesus referenced a teacher as “Jezebel,” he did so in terms of the villain of ancient Israel—one who taught that God could be replaced with idols and that immorality could be carried out without accountability.

When the Jezebel spirit is taught, it is usually presented as eerily consistent with the pagan myths of the succubus, who would sexually attack men by night, or the myths of the sirens, who would lure unsuspecting men to their deaths. The implication is usually that there is something especially treacherous and dangerous—indeed, supernaturally treacherous and dangerous—about women.

Men, in this view, are seen through the lens of frailty—they are the sum of instincts and desires that are uncontrollable when in the presence of the power of the temptress—while women are viewed through the prism of calculating evil. This, of course, is inconsistent with the fundamental gospel truth that both men and women are fallen and, left to ourselves, under condemnation (Rom. 3:10–18).

The Jezebel spirit is convenient in a couple ways. I’ve seen it used to suggest that women who call for holiness and justice in the church should be shunned or ignored. In working with survivors of church sexual abuse, I’ve lost count of how many of them were told that their work for accountability was that of a Jezebel spirit. I have seen women who have done no wrong have their reputations destroyed. Some of them are exiled from their communities. Some are unjustly and unrelentingly harassed in law courts or by church discipline.

I’ve also lost count of how many male leaders have used the term, or something akin to it, to minimize their own culpability for sexual sin. The Jezebel spirit enables them to point to the problem before God as “the woman thou hast given to me,” who is simultaneously a superhuman serpent in the garden.

In many cases, men have used Jezebel language to use purported biblical authority to blame others—sometimes innocent people—for their own abuse of power. In other words, one is able to point to the Jezebel spirit while doing exactly what Jezebel did—crushing those who stand in the way of the sin one wants to commit (1 Kings 21:8–15). In so doing, it’s possible to twist the Bible to say what it doesn’t say (thus leading people to idolatry) while literally demonizing women in order to minimize one’s own sexual transgression (thus teaching people to excuse immorality). That’s exactly what the false prophet of Thyatira was doing.

Women are sinners, just as men are. The way of Jezebel is death; the way of Ahab is too. A woman who thinks she’s unable to follow the path of Nimrod or Esau or Jeroboam or Herod is deceiving herself. A man who thinks he’s unable to mimic the pattern of Jezebel is also. Redeemed women are heirs of the kingdom, just as redeemed men are. Women can fall into false teaching, just as men can. Women need the gospel, just as men do. To project one’s fear or loathing of women onto a Jezebel spirit isn’t to identify a demon but to imitate one.

Russell Moore is the editor in chief at Christianity Today and leads its Public Theology Project.

News

Lausanne Report: Most Missionaries Are Reaching the Reached

Caleb Maglaya Galaraga

The State of the Great Commission Report examines the challenges and opportunities amid a changing missions landscape.

Courtesy of The Lausanne Movement / Photography by Grace Snavely

Today, more than 40 percent of the world has not yet been evangelized. Yet about 97 percent of the current global total of 450,000 Christian missionaries are sent to people who already have access to the gospel.

Another startling fact: In 1900, more than 80 percent of the world’s Christians lived in Europe or North America, but today only about 25 percent live in those regions. The remainder reside in the Global South, which includes Africa, Asia, Latin America, and Oceania.

The geographic shift in Christianity also means a change in missionaries’ countries of origin. The United States still sends the greatest number of missionaries, but the next four countries are Brazil, South Korea, the Philippines, and Nigeria.

These are some of the findings from the State of the Great Commission Report released by the Lausanne Movement earlier this year, in advance of the Fourth Lausanne Congress in Incheon, South Korea. The report draws on research from international nonprofits and Christian organizations and presents insights from 150 global missions experts.

“The Great Commission is not an end in itself; it is a means to an end,” wrote Victor Nakah and Ivor Poobalan in one of the report’s essays. “The future is the presence of all tribes, tongues, nations, and languages worshipping the King at the end of the age.”

The success and unfinished task of global missions

Due to the work of missionaries and indigenous Christian movements, the gospel has now reached an estimated 4.57 billion people, while 3.34 billion have still not heard the gospel, according to data from the Joshua Project.

Yet most missionaries today aren’t going to countries with unreached people groups. “Most missionaries go to predominantly Christian or post-Christian contexts, leading to a lack of connection to and understanding of adherents to other religions,” the report noted. More missionaries go to Europe than to Asia, even though 60 percent of the world lives in Asia and sending a missionary to Europe costs 10 times as much.

The top sender—and the top receiver—of missionaries is the United States, with 135,000 missionaries going out and 38,000 coming in from abroad, according to the World Christian Database’s 2020 figures. The US Christian population is still the largest in the world, as about one-tenth of all Christians are American. Brazil follows with nearly 8 percent of the world’s Christians, due largely to the rapid spread of Pentecostalism. Brazil also sends out the second-highest number of missionaries with 40,000.

South Korea, with 35,000 missionaries, dropped from second to third place between 2015 and 2020. An aging missionary force and decreased involvement by younger Christians has contributed to this plateau. The 25,000 missionaries sent from the Philippines are mostly Catholics, and this number doesn’t include the Filipinos working overseas who function as bivocational missionaries.

In Nigeria, some churches are bypassing mission agencies and sending their missionaries directly to the unreached. An essay in the Lausanne report quoted a book by Yaw Perbi and Sam Ngugi: “The history of the world Christian movement is the story of collaboration between local churches and mission agencies [which] God has used … to advance the gospel right from the first century to date.”

Christianity’s growth in Africa

In the past century, sub-Saharan Africa has seen the fastest growth of Christianity anywhere in the world. That region and Latin America are the areas where Pentecostalism has grown most powerfully. In 1970, sub-Saharan Africa had about 20 million Pentecostals; today that number has skyrocketed to 230 million, according to the World Christian Encyclopedia.

The Pew Research Center projected that by 2060, more than four in ten Christians will call sub-Saharan Africa home. Much of this shift is attributable to demographics, as the region has the world’s youngest population. Currently, the median age of Christians there is 19, compared to 39 in North America and 42 in Europe.

Sub-Saharan Africa is also more religious. In Nigeria, about 90 percent of adults attend religious services weekly, compared to less than 40 percent in the US. Although people age 18 to 39 attend weekly church services less often than those over 40 all over the world, the gap is smallest in sub-Saharan Africa, according to Pew.

“Every person thinking about missions must not only consider how Africa participates, but Africans themselves must be ready to be on the frontlines of the mission force,” wrote Ana Lucia Bedicks, Menchit Wong, and Maggie Gathuku in a Lausanne report essay.

The unreached in India and Pakistan

Meanwhile, a majority of the world’s unreached people groups (UPGs), defined as groups that don’t have “an indigenous church capable of evangelizing their own people,” reside in South Asia, specifically in Hindu-majority India and Muslim-majority Pakistan. Nearly 3,000 UPGs—or about three-fifths of the world’s total—are in those two countries.

Currently, more than 60 percent of the 30,000 Indian missionaries work within the country, according to Operation World. Christians in India are facing greater persecution as a Hindu nationalist government is in control and Hindutva ideology becomes entrenched in society.

India’s expanding middle class offers both barriers and opportunities for the gospel to flourish, according to an essay by Carl Ebenezer, Ted Esler, and James Patole. “The combination of India’s religious, deeply caste-based social structures with this secular and pluralistic context poses a huge challenge in presenting the uniqueness of Jesus Christ,” they wrote.

Yet at the same time, the authors noted that many in India’s middle class “are not necessarily convinced by and dedicated to the teachings of their religion. Many would be open to listening and changing their view if invited to do so in a way that speaks to their experiences and needs.”

Pakistan has the strictest blasphemy laws among Muslim-majority countries, which can lead to imprisonment and even death. Christians living in the cities are also forced into low-paying jobs in sanitation.

The report noted that South Asia “is poised to remain the least evangelized region for many decades to come.”

Polycentric missions

As Christian centers shift away from the West and toward the Global South, missions activity is now polycentric, a term that means “from all nations to all nations,” according to Patrick Fung, global ambassador of OMF International.

An essay entitled “Polycentric Global Missions” argued that “mission has been polycentric from the start.” Although the early church began evangelizing in Jerusalem, persecution forced it to scatter across the Roman world and preach to the Jewish diaspora. Then believers went to Antioch to preach to the Gentiles; from there, Paul began his missionary journeys and planted churches, and those churches went on to spread the gospel further.

The report noted that with the exception of Europe, every region of the world “both sends and receives more missionaries than 50 years ago.” More missionaries are coming from countries where Christians are the minority, often helping them relate to the people they are trying to reach.

Yet one challenge is that Christian wealth is centered in North America, requiring discussions on how polycentric churches can encourage generosity, create “healthy channels” between Christians with more wealth and those with less, and identify new funding sources.

“If every culture has received the Great Commission, then every culture has the privilege of supporting the Great Commission,” said Scott Morton of the Navigators, who is quoted in another essay.

Diaspora missions

One way the gospel is spreading is through the movement of people leaving their home countries due to hunger, war, persecution, better job opportunities, or family. In 2020, there were 281 million international migrants in the world, an increase of 60 million from a decade prior, according to the World Migration Report. Of those migrants, nearly half are Christians.

This pattern fits into polycentric missions, as Christian migrants are relocating to new locations where they can witness and plant seeds. At the same time, Christians in the destination countries can evangelize the new arrivals, who often are more willing to accept a new faith as they are far from the traditions and religions of their home.

“God is sovereign over human history and human dispersion,” Sam George wrote in the essay “People on the Move.” One result, he stated, is that “Christianity in the West is not declining, but immigrants from Asia, Africa, and Latin American are reviving it and transforming it with renewed missional thrust.”

For instance, the tightening of freedoms in Hong Kong has led to a boom of Chinese churches in Britain as citizens of the former British colony find refuge in the UK. In Belgium, African Christians are increasingly teaching religious education classes. In the US, Bhutanese Nepali churches are growing as they meet in church buildings where the local congregation is dying.

“Christianity is a missionary faith par excellence since it is a faith that was born to travel,” George noted.

The church opposing injustice

Globally, the number of people living in extreme poverty has dropped from 2 billion in 1990 to 1 billion in 2019, according to the World Bank. The Lausanne report connected this trend with the importance of integral mission, which addresses not only a person’s spiritual needs but also physical, social, and economic concerns.

Human rights are more protected than in previous centuries. Yet government restrictions on religion have increased globally. North Africa, the Middle East, and Asia have seen the highest percentage of government use of force against religious groups, according to Pew.

Today, an estimated 40 million people are victims of forms of modern slavery, which include forced labor, sexual exploitation, and unwanted marriage. Women and girls are disproportionately affected, accounting for 70 percent of the victims of exploitation and 99 percent of victims in the sex industry.

“Though the church speaks out in certain pockets favoring the oppressed, in many of these cases it limits itself to statements from leadership and does not get it converted into actions,” wrote Christie Samuel, Jocabed Solano, and Jenny Yang in a Lausanne report essay. They urged the church to “take on its prophetic role by working more promptly in denouncing injustice, freeing the oppressed, and rising against the unrestricted freedom of the oppressors.”

Artificial intelligence presents both pitfalls and possibilities

Another seismic shift the missions community needs to take into account is how the internet is changing every facet of human life. The report stated that “the rise in digital media is potentially as transformative to Scripture engagement as the advent of the printing press in Early Modern Europe.”

With about 60 percent of the world connected to the internet, there are new opportunities for Bible apps that allow people to easily read and hear the Bible in their own language. Bible apps also provide a new way for people to access the Bible, especially in countries where security is a concern. Translation software, online collaboration tools, and crowd-sourcing have also expedited the Bible translation process.

At the same time, technological advances pose challenges for the church, particularly around artificial intelligence (AI) and what it means to be human.

“The proclamation of the gospel is not simply about information transfer but is rather a whole person transformation by the power of the Holy Spirit,” wrote the authors of the report’s essay on AI. They added that “many are seeking to harness the immense power of AI tools in the furtherance of the gospel message to all people, tribes, and nations.”

The authors acknowledged that God uses such tools to aid the church but warned that their use must be “guided by the unique nature of humanity and the recognition that machines are fundamentally different from humans.”

- More from Caleb Maglaya Galaraga

Theology

The Cross in an Age of ‘Spiritual Derangement’

J. D. Peabody

Twentieth century theologian P.T. Forsyth’s work reminds Christians today to put the cross before and the world behind.

Trophim Lapteff / Unsplash

I love the church, but I can’t say I always understand or even like it. And in my more than half a century inside it, I can’t remember a time when the American church seemed less clear about its identity and purpose.

The Lord decreed love as our signature characteristic (John 13:35), yet Christians have earned a reputation for hatefulness and even raunchiness. From our epidemic of leadership failures to the steady hemorrhaging of the disillusioned, it feels as if we’ve lost our moorings.

“It is an age of very great spiritual derangement and moral dissolution,” the Scottish preacher and theologian P. T. Forsyth shrewdly observed in his time. “The peril of the hour,” he believed in his time, was “a religious subjectiveness which is gliding down into a religious decadence.”

Forsyth wrote these words over a century ago, just before World War I, when modernist theologians were severely eroding trust in the Bible and orthodox traditionalists hunkered down in rigid defensiveness to stem the tide. Like today, the church of Forsyth’s time found itself in crisis and severely divided—and he felt a burden to help it recenter and regain its bearings.

“No religion can survive which does not know where it is,” Forsyth mused. “And current religion does not know where it is, and it hates to be made to ask.”

I first picked up his slim volume The Cruciality of the Cross back in seminary. And for more than two decades of pastoring, I’ve leaned heavily on Forsyth’s teaching to navigate a path across the treacherous terrain of cultural change, political division, and the ethical complexities of our technological world.

The core of his message to a beleaguered church is straightforward: Center on the Cross of Christ. That’s it. Forsyth’s writing unapologetically calls us back to our source of grace and meaning. Like the apostle Paul, he determined to know nothing but “Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Cor. 2:2).

But let’s all be honest: That’s not our natural go-to for addressing our most pressing concerns. Placing the Cross at the center of our faith and daily lives might sound either (1) incredibly basic and too obvious to highlight or (2) narrow and imbalanced, elevating the death of Christ over his life. And it certainly doesn’t strike us as the cure for what ails the church today.

Yet Forsyth was insistent. “Christ’s supreme eternal work is in His cross,” he wrote, “which contains, along with the power, the principle which solves the problem of every age.”

Forsyth was neither simplistic nor myopic in calling us back to Calvary. Far from merely tacking “Jesus died for our sins” to the end of every sermon, he went much deeper into the everyday implications of the Cross, which alone anchors us to God’s action as opposed to our own.

“It is the Gospel of the achieved more than the call to achieve,” he declared. “It bids us not to make, so much as to rest in something we find made.”

“To rest in something we find made” requires us to stop trying to manufacture it for ourselves. Truly nothing else has the capacity to unburden our spirits more than the thoroughness and finality of Jesus’ words on the cross: “It is finished.”

Yet how easily we relegate Christ’s death and resurrection to the margins, even in our efforts to serve him. Too often, we treat the Cross as merely the starting point for our faith journey—but then we take over the reins, striving for a sense of control over our spiritual growth and seeing our efforts as a supplement to Christ’s work.

“The Kingdom as a reality exists outside of us since Christ finished His work of establishing it,” Forsyth observed. “And it makes a great difference in the agents of the Kingdom whether they think they are making it or bringing in what is already made.”

It is easy to lose sight of that distinction. Back in seminary, one of my theology professors asked everyone in the class why we were there. One aspiring pastor replied, “I just want to breathe a little life into the Word.” As if the God-breathed text needed his CPR to save it! That student articulated blatantly what we all do in more subtle ways whenever we overestimate the value of our contribution—inserting our endeavors in a place that belongs to God alone.

We may accept the Cross as the crucial center of the Christian faith in theory, but what does that look like on a practical level? How exactly does it change the way we approach the very real challenges facing the church today and keep us from the “religious decadence” Forsyth decried?

First, it calls us to read and interpret Scripture through a relentlessly cruciform lens. Since Jesus was the “Lamb who was slain from the creation of the world” (Rev. 13:8), the gospel itself existed prior to the Bible being written—it was action before it became words. That eternal truth enabled Jesus to show the disciples on the road to Emmaus how the entire Old Testament pointed specifically to him (Luke 24:27).

If the Cross came first in a “superhistoric” sense (as Forsyth would phrase it), then Scripture itself serves that gospel. The written word derives its true authority and unity through the way it bears witness to Christ and his work. Forsyth pointed out that “The Bible is not a compendium of facts, historic or theological, but the channel of redeeming grace.”

This principle serves as a litmus test for our own interpretation of Scripture. No matter the text, I try to begin my study with the question, What does this passage show me of redemption? How does this take me to the Cross? Instead of merely hunting for a life application or broad spiritual theme of a passage, I seek to be attentive to the very presence of Christ.

Some texts remain stubbornly opaque, but more often than not, I find myself surprised by fresh encounters with the living Christ that leap off the page and show me anew the vast dimensions of God’s love. Without fail, this posture—approaching Scripture with the Cross in mind—drastically alters my assumptions about a text. And it filters out many of my competing ideologies that might otherwise hijack the Scripture for their own ends.

Author and pastor Rich Villodas recently summed up this idea well: “Unless we read Scripture through the lens of the crucified Christ, with others, our exegesis is dangerously subject to personal preferences and political allegiances.”

A Cross-centered theology also recasts the way we think about the deep divides polarizing our culture and churches today. As Billy Graham once stated, “the ground is level at the foot of the cross” because it puts everyone on equal standing in our shared need for redemption.

There are nuances in every debate raging today, requiring us to hold certain truths in tension, and we find no better space for doing that than the Cross. Think of the paradoxes of our faith that sit unflinchingly side by side there: The giver of life facing death. Perfection becoming sin. Exclusive holiness offering inclusive love. The judge personally bearing all judgment.

The more attuned I am to the enormity of Christ’s mercy toward me, the more humbled I am and the more room I allow others to receive the same mercy. The Cross of Calvary demands a continual mindset of reconciliation and readiness to forgive as Christ has forgiven us (Eph. 4:32).

What’s more, as we grow in our appreciation of the Cross, it changes the way we experience and make sense of our own suffering. Reflecting on Jesus’ agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, Forsyth noted, “It is a greater thing to pray for pain’s conversion than for its removal. It is more of [a] grace to pray that God would make a sacrament of it.”

When I was walking through my own deep valley of mental and emotional anguish, I first came across those words, and they became a balm for my weary heart and mind. Rather than simply asking God to eradicate my pain (as I had been doing), I began to view the pain itself as a vehicle for meeting the one who understands my suffering better than anyone.

The crucified Jesus personifies the love and character of God in ways we don’t find anywhere else. His death is a rugged, shocking display of his glory. In his physical body on the cross, the entire spectrum of human experience is given voice.

As theologian Jürgen Moltmann, author of The Crucified God, once wrote, “It can be summed up by saying that suffering is overcome by suffering, and wounds are healed by wounds. … Therefore the suffering of abandonment is overcome by the suffering of love, which is not afraid of what is sick and ugly, but accepts it and takes it to itself in order to heal it.”

Christ’s death says all the horrors of this broken world deeply matter to God. We matter to God, to an infinite degree. And isn’t that what everyone longs to know for certain—that we matter?

At the Cross, all our uncertainties and hurts, our questions and feelings, our hatred and judgment, our longings and fears—all of it is converted into prayer. All of it. The Cross is where Christ uplifts humanity’s aching plea, “Why have you forsaken me?” and prays it on our behalf until it gives way to the complete trust of his final words, “Into your hands I commit my Spirit.”

Forsyth understood that the death and resurrection of Jesus didn’t just address human sin but also all the suffering produced by the Fall. It’s this prophetic insight that has repeatedly drawn me to him as an author, and through him to Christ himself.

One of Forsyth’s biographies bears the Latin title Per Crucem Ad Lucem—through the Cross to the light. That was his endless pursuit. “We must clear and lighten the Gospel for action,” he wrote. “We must scrape off the barnacles that reduce its speed.”

More than a century later, P. T. Forsyth’s work continues to do just that. And if we let them, his words provide a trustworthy compass for a church eager to refocus on its true north.

J. D. Peabody is the founding pastor of New Day Church in Federal Way, Washington. He is the author of Perfectly Suited: The Armor of God for the Anxious Mind.

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Ideas

Emptying the Nest in Hope, not Fear

Gretchen Ronnevik

When Christian kids leave home, we worry about deconversion. But our trust and hope are in Christ, not well-practiced apologetics.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty / Pexels

If you’re in the midst of launching a child into adulthood, preparing them to keep the faith as they grow up, you’ve probably already begun to train them in apologetics.

It might not be formal apologetics, though that’s what comes to mind for me: debates, arguments, refuting other people’s beliefs point by point. That kind of apologetics can be helpful for people legitimately wrestling with faith and Scripture. For teenagers especially, it can be a wonderful tool—evidence that Christianity is not illogical, that there are answers to their questions.

But as my own children become adults, I’m also realizing apologetics has its limits. Some doctrines, like the Trinity, are beyond our capacity for total logical understanding. Some apologists work without humility, and that is an ugly thing. And not all challenges in the life of faith involve apologetics’ target, the intellect, for faith is a gift from God that pierces the heart.

More than these limitations, though, I find myself reconsidering the assumption that our proper task as parents is to teach young adults to “defend their faith.”

It’s an interesting turn of phrase—“defend the faith” or “defend your faith”—and not one found in the Bible. (Jude 1:3-4 speaking of “contend[ing] for the faith,” but the interest there is preserving orthodoxy within the church.) The closely related term “defender of the faith” doesn’t come from Jesus or Paul but Reformation history. It’s a title Pope Leo X gave Britain’s king Henry VIII for his writing against the Reformer Martin Luther (and it remains a title of British monarchs today). In that twisted and bloody time, the phrase very much meant defense in a legal and military sense. Henry would wield swords alongside arguments.

Instead of defending our faith, the Bible speaks of defending our hope. This comes from 1 Peter 3:13–17 (CSV):

Who then will harm you if you are devoted to what is good? But even if you should suffer for righteousness, you are blessed. Do not fear them or be intimidated, but in your hearts regard Christ the Lord as holy, ready at any time to give a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you. Yet do this with gentleness and reverence, keeping a clear conscience, so that when you are accused, those who disparage your good conduct in Christ will be put to shame. For it is better to suffer for doing good, if that should be God’s will, than for doing evil.

The word translated here as “give a defense” (or, in other translations, “an answer”) is apologia in Greek, and it’s where we get our word apologetics. But the passage presents a rather different scenario than the one we tend to teach young people as we train and encourage them to defend their faith.

Peter teaches that Christians don’t need to be afraid, nor do we need to go looking for arguments. On the contrary, he envisions other people noticing our hope and asking us about it, then us giving an explanation in gentleness and reverence. The best apologia to teach young Christians, in other words, is to give them a solid hope in Christ the Lord.

To do this, we must first address our own fears and lack of hope. After launching two of our six kids into adulthood, I’ve been astounded at the things other adult Christians have said to my children as they left our house to pursue the vocations God had prepared for them. There’s a consistent theme of fear and discouragement: If you go to that college or move to this place or aren’t super careful, you’ll lose your faith.

These statements come from a place of genuine and justified concern. Many young Christians go to college and never return to church. We’ve all heard of a young person who’s moved out of the house, begun dating an unbeliever, and rejected their faith to live a different life. We know the data. We know the stories. And we are filled with fear. So we impress that fear on our children, urging them to draw their apologetic swords.

But however good the intent, these warnings communicated something more to my kids: Have fear, not hope. Your faith is delicate. It’s fragile. It’s glass. At any moment, it could shatter forever.

Talking with my kids, I found I had to push back on that implicit teaching—because it pushed them toward a false and lesser understanding of God, his mission for each of them, and his role in preserving their faith. “God will never leave you or forsake you,” I told them (Deut. 31:6). “There’s nothing you could ever do that would make God stop loving you” (Psalm 139; Rom. 8:35–39).

And my husband and I talked about our continued role in discipling our children, even in adulthood. “No matter what happens or what you’ve done, you can always come home,” we said. “Going through dark seasons and enduring suffering in various ways is normal. Remember you are never alone. Pray. And reach out to us, and we’ll pray. We’ve all been there.”

If my children develop a passion for apologetics, wonderful. But what the Bible calls all Christians to do is to defend our hope. I tell my kids they don’t have to enter every argument they encounter. Not all questions are asked in good faith, and some of us don’t think on our feet as well as others. But when people ask us about our hope in Christ, that is the surest thing we know, and we can be ready with an answer. We can be ready to explain our hope—our confidence that Jesus will never leave us or forsake us, our trust that we can’t be separated from his love.

I don’t ignore the data about loss of faith in young adulthood, but instead of speaking fear and doubt to our kids as they leave home, we equip them by speaking hope and assurance over them. I want to speak that same hope and assurance to other parents and Christians in youth ministries too.

Don’t be afraid. Your children’s salvation does not rest in their own hands; it rests in the hands of Jesus. It always has, and it always will. Their hope—and ours—is not in having the most articulate answer or the government leaders we want, getting into the right school, having our professors’ or bosses’ approval, or leading a suffering-free, easy life.

Our hope comes from Christ, and Christ alone. Our hope is not in the strength of our faith but the object of our faith. There is nothing more certain we can give our kids.

Gretchen Ronnevik is the author of Ragged: Spiritual Disciplines for the Spiritually Exhausted and cohost of the Freely Given podcast.

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Books

Review

An Evangelical’s Warning to Evangelical Christian Nationalists Aims Beyond the Easy Targets

Ralph C. Wood

Joel Looper’s prophetic arrow pierces Trump sycophants and revered historical figures alike.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons / Getty

Donald Trump’s manifold sins and acts of wickedness are so numerous that they are almost too tedious to repeat. He is a danger to democracy, a would-be fascist who has promised that voting for him means never needing to vote again, and he fomented the worst event in recent American history, the January 6, 2021, attack on the Capitol—the refrain could go on ad nauseam, ad infinitum.

Yet Joel Looper convincingly shows that these are the obvious political symptoms of a subtle theological disease. Leprosy cannot be cured pustule by pustule, as Martin Luther said. Looper is not preaching to the already converted; he is an evangelical issuing a clear alarm to his fellow evangelicals. He takes the title of his book, Another Gospel: Christian Nationalism and the Crisis of Evangelical Identity, from Galatians 1:6–7, where Paul warns all believers against the deadly heresy of embracing a “different gospel” than Jesus Christ and his church, “which is really no gospel at all.” Hence his clarion warning:

The Trump strategy … encourages Christians to identify the nation rather than the church as their primary community and to practice America’s politics rather than the politics of Jesus. It encourages us to believe another gospel, the gospel of America, which is no gospel at all.

That Looper writes in an engaging, informal style accessible to ordinary no less than learned readers does not diminish the sharpness of his central argument: Evangelicals are confronting nothing less than a status confessionis: a condition of crisis wherein a political threat “puts serious barriers in the way of preaching the gospel.” The churches must take a strong public stand on behalf of their central beliefs and thus for the Word of God that they confess. As Looper elaborates,

Those who embrace this anti-gospel are cursed because just as no one will be justified before God by observing the Jewish law (Gal. 3:11), no one will be justified before God by living as a “real” American or a good citizen. To put your hope in the gospel of America means that you are cut off from grace. If the outcome of an election means “everything” to you, the new creation cannot mean anything.

Looper skewers such obvious targets as Eric Metaxas, who told Trump in 2020, “Jesus is with us in this fight for liberty. … This is God’s battle even more than it is our battle.” He also takes aim at Robert Jeffress, pastor of First Baptist Church in Dallas, who said in 2016, “I want the meanest, toughest SOB I can find to protect this nation. And so that’s why Trump’s tone doesn’t bother me.”

Lest liberal Protestants cluck in self-satisfaction at Looper’s evisceration of evangelicals—since their churches may contain few if any MAGA-style Trumpers—they too should beware. “Since the late 1960s,” writes Looper, “many liberal Protestants have slipped into a brand of Americanized Christianity without realizing it. The worship of God came to seem extraneous to their primary task of community activism, nonprofit work, and getting out the vote, and the Democratic Party slowly displaced the church as their primary community.”

Looper also takes on such weightier figures as Reinhold Niebuhr and Rod Dreher, as well as Stephen Wolfe, the Presbyterian author of The Case for Christian Nationalism. But contemporary malefactors are not Looper’s only bêtes noires. He also shows how Protestant heroes like Martin Luther, John Calvin, and Ulrich Zwingli were willing to use coercive state power in alleged service of the church—burning heretics, for instance.

Not even such revered figures as Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King Jr. escape Looper’s theological critique. He has no desire to tarnish authentic American heroes. He confesses that only the flint-hearted can fail to be moved by the Gettysburg Address. Yet the unchurched Lincoln more readily adverted to an abstract Providence than to the incarnate Lord.

Quoting Lincoln’s words, Looper writes that he thus turned the blessed dead of Gettysburg into little “Christs through whose shed blood ‘the nation might live.’” Looper concludes, “The military has become America’s savior and redeemer … because the nation had first assumed the place of the church as the primary vehicle for God’s work in the world.”

Looper dares even to challenge the most revered Christian martyr in our nation’s history. In his justly celebrated “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop” sermon, delivered on the night before he was assassinated, Martin Luther King Jr. was altogether justified, Looper affirms, to put “African Americans in the place of Israel. They too came out of slavery. They too hoped for centuries in the Lord’s redemption and still suffered under the weight of injustice in the years that followed.” Even so, he argues, King erred in “identifying Black America … with Israel. [For] biblically speaking, the church—and there is only one church!—is to be identified with Israel, and no one else.”

Looper continues in this vein:

The church does not just work for the common good, for justice, or for as many people as possible to identify as Christians. The church witnesses. We point forward into the future, toward what, on the basis of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection, we expect him to do to set the world right. All other such hopes, including those noble hopes King himself held, will sooner or later be dashed. History is a slaughter bench. … Its arc does not of its own accord bend toward justice. As long as Christ tarries, the world is never going to stop being the world. And America and its founding vision are very much a part of the world.

Looper does not confine his prophetic warning to America alone. In a remarkably learned chapter, he lays out the complex historical developments that have led Vladimir Putin to become a self-avowed Christian nationalist with a claimed mandate from God. Not only elite Muscovites but also Russia’s rural poor—despite their disregard for Orthodox doctrine and their rare church attendance—have embraced Putin’s willingness to use nuclear weapons in a holy war that aims to de-Satanize Ukraine. In 2023, Orthodox patriarch Kirill of Moscow thus declared that war-making on behalf of Russia is “the greatest duty and a holy deed.”

Looper’s powerful conclusion about Putin’s messianism is worth quoting at length because of its patent relevance to the American scene:

Putin, his yes-men, and many in the Russian Orthodox hierarchy chose Russia over the body of Christ. They decided that the future they wanted to build was more important than what God has [built] and will build. They decided that the political community of the nation was more important than the political community joined together in the flesh of Jesus Christ. In so deciding, they put themselves in danger of blaspheming the Spirit. They, not the Ukrainians, broke communion with their brothers and sisters when the Patriarch of Constantinople granted Ukraine its own church in 2019. They then destroyed the property, institutions, and lives of those they called brothers and sisters in the faith and agreed together to lie about their reasons for doing it. The rejection of the one, universal church implied by this war tells us that the revival of faith in Russia is not orthodox (little o) even if it is Orthodox, that it propagates another gospel, not the gospel of Jesus Christ and his kingdom, but the gospel of the greatness of Russia.

In the end, however, Looper’s theological arrow strikes most directly at Donald Trump and his strongest devotees. The messianic character of Trump’s campaign rhetoric is unmistakable. Speaking to supporters at his New Jersey golf club in 2023, he boasted, “I am the only one that can save this nation.” Looper also reported that former Trump national security adviser Michael Flynn offered this paranoid prophecy to a church group last year: “There is an effort by these dark forces … to rewrite the Bible. … They are going to do it using AI!”

In that same talk, Flynn urged his pastor-filled audience to “put aside the Bible and read the Constitution” in some of their sermons. As if such overtures weren’t revealing enough, a source who advises Trump’s legal team told Vanity Fair, “It’s kind of a Jesus Christ thing.” Trump, in fact, likens himself to the crucified Christ. According to the same adviser, Trump’s pitch is, essentially, “I’m absorbing all this pain from all around from everywhere so you don’t have to” and “If they can do this to me they can do this to you.”

Looper makes no call to vote for Kamala Harris. He argues, instead, that Donald Trump and his evangelical acolytes are guilty of the primal evil, the idolatry expressly forbidden in the first commandment: “You shall have no other gods before me.”

Ralph C. Wood spent 50 years in the collegiate classroom at Wake Forest, Samford, and Baylor. He has written extensively on Flannery O’Connor, Walker Percy, J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, and G. K. Chesterton.

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