South Africa’s Brain Drain Takes Wealthy Tithers from Churches

Ray Mwareya in Pretoria, South Africa

An exodus of educated and generous families has pinched ministry budgets—and threatened the lavish lifestyles of mega-rich pastors.

Pixel Catchers / Getty Images

In the last two decades, over 400,000 South Africans have left their country to set up a new life abroad in the US, Europe, Canada, Australia, and the United Arab Emirates. They are mostly highly educated and highly skilled young families looking to escape crime and economic decay at home.

This exodus has prompted authorities to warn that South Africa’s tax base is at risk, with over 6,000 affluent earners emigrating yearly.

“I must be honest, it’s giving me sleepless nights,” said Landon Dube, a pastor for Tabernacle of Grace, a Pentecostal denomination in the middle-class suburb of Midrand, near Johannesburg.

Church leaders are worried about what the departures mean for their churches if they continue to lose families they rely on for tithes and financial support.

It’s an interesting dynamic: Some pastors may be legitimately worried about the future of their church and its ability to serve the community at a time of financial turmoil. But South Africa is also a place where fraudulent ministers and self-proclaimed prophets prey on desperate believers, so Christians may hear some leaders’ concerns about the departures as coming from selfish motivations and a desire to keep up extravagant lifestyles.

The majority Christian country has only become more religious in the past few years; while colonial denominations are shrinking, newer Pentecostal and African-initiated churches are growing. But financially, South Africa is in turmoil.

With rolling blackouts, high crime rates, and stark inequality, its economy is growing at a dire 1 percent per year against the ideal 7 percent threshold needed to put a dent in youth joblessness (now up to 59.7% for workers under 25), according to Steven Koch, the head of economics at the University of Pretoria.

The United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs says 247,300 people of South African descent now live in the UK.

“Dozens are young Christians with young families. They have left behind South Africa and their churches,” said Dali Mapaile, 47, a dentist and Baptist church adherent who moved his family to London.

“I can’t sit around and see my children grow with zero prospects for a meaningful job in South Africa,” he said. “I love the country but I have had enough.”

The departure of families like Mapaile’s has impacted the churches that relied on their tithes and financial pledges to fill their coffers.

Shami Gcana leads a major Pentecostal prophetic ministry affiliated with the Enlightened Christian Gathering. He sees all Christians as the same before God but recognizes the disproportionate impact some have on the local church.

“We must be truthful, the upper class—lawyers, accountants, small business owners, pharmacists, doctors—these are the worshipers able to pay big monies that anchor the ministry’s successes,” Gcana said.

Enlightened Christian Gathering has been embroiled in controversy in South Africa, with its leader, Shepherd Bushiri, implicated in tax evasion and money laundering.

Last year, 20 of Gcana’s high net-worth congregation members left with their young families and relocated to Dubai, Netherlands, and Australia. His church meets in City Bowl, one of the affluent suburbs of Cape Town, and its monthly tithe pledges used to come in around 150,000 South African rand ($8,200 USD) a month. They have fallen to $5,200, he says.

“One particular worshiper, who was my deacon, took his young kids and wife to Australia. He was a senior bank executive—used to give my church lavish loans for just 1 percent interest rate for us to buy building materials,” said Gcana. “It’s all dried up. I feel his absence in a big way.”

Emigration of highly paid, generous Christians is also troubling Paseka Motsoeneng, known as Prophet Mboro, a televangelist who is head of the Incredible Happenings Foundation church.Along with Bushiri, Prophet Mboro’s church is criticized in South Africa for aggressively collecting money from congregants and doing little to establish sound theology, and Mboro was recently arrested on kidnapping charges in an incident involving his grandchildren.

Mboro had voiced worries about “church drain,” saying that if crime and economic decay are not addressed, South Africa will be left with financially poor worshipers. Last year alone, 33 of his highest-earning congregants moved away.

Mboro says his main concern is that their high tithes and financial pledges enabled the church to extend charity and food to poorer worshipers. If the rich leave for the US or Canada, the poor who are left behind will live in more poverty and hardship, he says.

In some communities, the situation is severe enough that some South African church leaders are following members of their flock abroad too, says Delight Pinto. An accountant and pastor from South Africa, Pinto has relocated to the UK, where her former congregants had been clamoring for her to join them.

“I was faced with a stark choice: remain in South Africa and see my standard of life as a pastor and professional deteriorate, or follow my congregants to London, minister to them as a pastor, and work as an accountant on weekdays,” she said.

Fifty members of her former congregation in South Africa now live across Greater London, she says. She has found a job as an auditor for a global shipping company, and she hopes to return to her role as a part-time pastor in 2025.

Pinto says she feels sorry for pastors back in South Africa, because congregants who have emigrated will likely stop sending tithes home; the cost-of-living crisis is sweeping the US and Europe, and most Christians who arrive in London, Atlanta, or Frankfurt won’t be able to stretch budgets to keep giving to their church. She also sees Christians switching churches when moving abroad or leaving the faith altogether.

Ed Bonolo, a retired reverend with the United Baptist Church in Johannesburg, says he has no pity for church leaders who have come to view members of their congregation as cash cows to fund their own lives rather than as souls to be nurtured.

The pastorship has become a big-money profession in South Africa, spurring an industry of fake theology degrees, a spate of financial misconduct, and a surge of fake miracles. In evangelical and Pentecostal circles, certain pastors and self-proclaimed prophets are in a scramble for high-worth worshipers who can donate cars, cover lavish rent costs, and pay for vacations.

“Money-hungry clerics have brought the church into sharp disrepute,” Bonolo said. “Perhaps the emigration of affluent worshipers should make all pastors and prophets slow down on material ambitions.”

- More from Ray Mwareya

Theology

It’s a Theological World After All

Joshua R. Farris

We need trained theologians to help us think through ideological and ethical questions in light of God’s Word and world.

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

It’s no secret that theological education is in a state of crisis today. In recent years, faculty layoffs and the downsizing of evangelical seminaries and Christian colleges in the make it hard to overstate the grimness of the prognosis.

Yet as a theologian myself, I find this troubling trend to be a symptom of a larger problem: There’s a growing sense, at least in some circles, that academic theology—along with its students and scholars—is practically irrelevant. While biblical illiteracy and anti-intellectualism are impacting the local church at every level, recent personal interactions have led me to wonder if some pastors take the formal study of theology all that seriously anymore.

One pastor I spoke with voiced a not-too-uncommon sentiment when he downplayed theology as impractical and out of touch with his congregation’s needs. “I don’t read much academic theology anymore,” he confessed, “as it comes out in my preaching in a way that fails to connect with the laity.” This sentiment has been echoed by other pastor friends of mine at various times, with one pastor’s wife suggesting such scholarly pursuits might benefit from a more “accessible” approach.

Such comments reveal a skepticism of rigorous theological inquiry in certain circles that is often paired with a preference for more easily digestible forms of spiritual discourse, untethered from academic institutions. It’s hard to compete with the volume—in both senses—of the spiritual sound bites by Christian celebrities and megachurch preachers churned out to broad audiences. And while some of this public theology at the popular level is good, much of it lacks the depth and nuance that results from careful theological study.

In short, academic theology is not a waste, nor is it obsolete or irrelevant. As one of my mentors, Stephen Priest, says, “Philosophical questions demand theological answers. And everyone ponders philosophical questions.” Yet I propose we take this claim a step further: Questions in every field of human inquiry demand theological answers—and such answers require careful intellectual study. Not only is theology the most relevant of all disciplines, but it may also be the most meaningful. As R. C. Sproul once said:

Everything we learn—economics, philosophy, biology, mathematics—must be understood in light of the overarching reality of the character of God. That is why, in the Middle Ages, theology was called “the queen of the sciences” and philosophy “her handmaiden.” Today the queen has been deposed from her throne and, in many cases, driven into exile.

A negative or even ambivalent posture toward theology fails to realize the valuable contributions of its scholars and ultimately cultivates superficiality within the church and ignorance in our broader culture. But if theology is to play the same vital role it once did—both in the pulpit and the public square—we must first identify what factors led to its decline, and then how we must respond.

In 2020, Wesleyan theologian Roger E. Olson posed a stark question: “Does theology even matter anymore?” It seems this had been a point of discussion with his friend, the late Baptist theologian Stanley J. Grenz, who coauthored Who Needs Theology? An Invitation to the Study of God (1996).

Toward the end of his life, in the early 2000s, Grenz had privately shared his concern that Christianity was entering a “post-theological phase”—a new era that would see the “end of theology” altogether. In many ways, these concerns echoed the warning that Mark A. Noll issued in his famous work, The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind, published only a few years before.

Though Olson protested the prognosis at the time, he has since come to agree, based on anecdotal observations from his “forty years of experience as a theologian.” Olson recounts situations when he discussed theological topics, which he felt were rich in cultural relevance, only for them to be dismissed as mere “academic” exercises, what he notes is often a codeword for “irrelevant.”

Beyond obvious problems with today’s “American folk religion”—the democratization of a populist Christianity—Olson offers several reasons for why theology has lost its influence in our nation. First, he notes a growing perception that theologians only care to speak to each other, rather than to a broader audience, and that they no longer seek a unified voice. And if theologians can’t seem to agree on much, how can people trust that what any one of them has to say is true?

Olson also points to shifts in academic theology in the ’60s, when religious studies departments succumbed to the perception that no one knows or can say anything about God. Theologians moved from discussing God to discussing discussions about God, leading to a lack of consensus among theologians and an uncertainty about the role and relevance of theology in society. As one Time article put it, theology turned from “reflection on God—the proper object of theology —to the human religious consciousness.” Or as Sproul stated, “We have replaced theology with religion.”

Amid these shifts, the authority of theology as a discipline waned in the eyes of the public. For instance, Olson observes, ever since its famous “God Is Dead” issue ran in 1966, no theologian has graced the covers of Time magazine—as the likes of Karl Barth, Reinhold Niebuhr, and Paul Tillich (among others) had once done. This leads Olson to wonder whether the watching world concluded that since theologians declared God dead, theology itself must have also died.

At the same time, legal precedents further contributed to this perception. In a 1975 CT article, “Is Theology Dying?” evangelical legal scholar John Warwick Montgomery explained that the rise of independent theological seminaries was partially the result of the Supreme Court’s 1963 Abington School District v. Schempp decision to restrict the study of religion in secular educational institutions to literary and historical analysis—effectively distancing theology from mainstream intellectual discourse. (Contrast this with the European context, where Wolfhart Pannenberg successfully championed academic theology as a science suitable to be housed in secular universities, for which we have no parallel in our US context.)

Montgomery’s comments on the perception of theology in the US deserve repeating: “Theology today is superficial and faddish,” he wrote. “The important question is why, and the answer lies much deeper than the separation of theology from religion or the theological seminary from the university.” Indeed, “the central source of the problem,” he says, “is that theology is no longer sure of its data”: Scriptural study had been deconstructed to the point where the Bible no longer held enough authority to ground theology.

Taken together, the assertions of Olson and Montgomery offer two vital points for us to consider. To revive the study of theology, we must reclaim both its subject and its source.

First, the primary subject matter of theology is God. British theologian John Webster said, “The ontological principle of theology is God himself—not some proposed entity but the Lord who out of the unfathomable plenitude of his triune being lovingly extends towards creatures in Word and Spirit.” He also called for a revival of theology as it had been done in the past, where “God is not summoned into the presence of reason; reason is summoned before the presence of God.”

As C. S. Lewis once famously stated, “I believe in Christianity just as I believe the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.” If all of life, including all educational disciplines, can only properly and fully be seen in light of God’s truth, then theology (especially as an academic, rigorous, and careful discipline) is pertinent to all aspects of life. In other words, if God exists and has created the universe, then theology matters universally.

Second, the source of theology’s data is none other than the Bible, which God ordained for his self-revelation. Webster urged for a return to “theological theology” by engaging with classic Christian texts and grounding claims with sound biblical exegesis. “Scripture is the place to which theology is directed to find its subject matter and the norm by which its representations are evaluated,” he said. And as Montgomery warned, “Either Scripture speaks univocally of God, or the death of theology is a dead certainty.”

Reclaiming these two elements—the subject and the source of theology—must remain top of mind if we are to see theology restored to the place it has historically held in our world. And, thankfully, I believe the winds might finally be shifting in this direction, as theologians today are bringing the truth of God to bear on contemporary concerns and using that lens to engage with many fields.

There have been recent developments in analytic theology and science-engaged theology, for example, which have received wide attention and spurred on a host of publications, conferences, events, and productive discussions. These expanding fields shore up the “scientific” nature of theology—both its language and conceptual content—so that it is better equipped to engage in dialogue with other academic disciplines. This movement, arguably, allows theology to shed light in sociological and scientific fields, providing confirmation on some issues or clarification on others.

One specific area in evangelical theology’s resourcing is on the doctrine of creation. Consider the Creation Project at the Carl F. H. Henry Center and the numerous volumes published in recent years demonstrating how the creation doctrine matters to all areas of scientific concern. Issues like the age of the earth, Adam and Eve, and evolution are still live discussions among theologians for good reason. In the words of theologian John Polkinghorne, “Science cannot tell theology how to construct a doctrine of creation, but you can’t construct a doctrine of creation without taking account of the age of the universe and the evolutionary character of cosmic history.”

Speaking of cosmology—the study of the universe and our place in it—some theologians are making a modern comeback for Christian intelligent design in their defense of theism. This sheds light on adjacent fields at the intersection of science and religion, like biology, physics, chemistry, creation care, and consciousness studies. Some theologians even have something to say about potential extraterrestrial life and its implications for the existence of God and theology at large.

There has also been a revival of theological exploration on the afterlife—a topic that many people, religious or otherwise, often wonder about—as evidenced by a slew of recently released books on heaven, hell, and the intermediate state. Christian theologians are showing they have something vital to say on near-death experiences, and they are also deepening our understanding of neglected doctrines like deification, transfiguration, as well as Christ’s resurrection and ascension.

Another area of revitalized investment is the doctrine of humanity and how it overlaps with almost every contemporary concern. As a previous piece for CT explains, “Evangelical theologians are taking topics that ‘we tend to think of as being more sociological’ … and showing they are, in fact, ‘deeply theological.’” Notable recent works bear out the importance of anthropology for other disciplines from theological and Christological perspectives.

For instance, advances in science, medicine, and technology have sparked a renewed interest in fields like psychology, disability, dementia, neuroscience, and the life ethics of reproductive and palliative health care. Likewise, the advent of artificial intelligence and transhumanism, or “techno-humanism”—which prioritizes technologically advanced human organisms over “mere” humanity—have prompted age-old inquiries into what defines human nature and what separates our consciousness from other creatures or technological entities.

“The more a society becomes technological,” said theologian Gabriel Vahanian, “the more it worries about spiritual questions.”

Such developments pose significant opportunities for theologians to assert an authoritative voice on today’s pressing existential and ethical questions—in everything from politics to public health. And thankfully, we are seeing signs that theological scholarship is indeed descending the ivory tower of academia to engage in vital discussions that impact every facet of our contemporary life.

Theology’s transcendence as an informing discipline for all others is what will continue to draw the minds and hearts of the young—as it once drew mine. Growing up, I longed to understand the mystery of the gospel and the richness of God’s creation, knowing that to truly understand the world, one must approach it in light of its creator and redeemer. As the psalmist states in Psalm 19, “The heavens declare the glory of God,” and Paul tells us that God’s attributes and his character are revealed in his creation (Rom. 1:20). All of creation is constantly pointing back to its creator.

As I studied in college and seminary, I realized theology is not merely a rich methodological approach to questions of vital importance; it is also a culture unto itself and, ultimately, a spiritually formative practice that can bring Christian community into godly maturity. Theology is the gradual process of allowing the word of Christ to dwell in us richly (Col. 3:16).

Because God has spoken and continues to speak, theology not only still matters—it is necessary. Without God’s voice, our understanding of the world is limited. While some secularists may suggest that the natural sciences can give us all that we need, they can never give us a coherent perspective on the world and our place in it, let alone tell us what is important and meaningful.

Today, we have good reason to be hopeful that theology may someday reclaim its rightful place as queen of the disciplines and be restored in its vital role of maintaining the health of our local churches. Theology, when done right, should propel the global church into cultivating a deeper community of faith, along with a public face that calls the world to a higher, better life.

Every time we engage in the work of theology, we echo the words of Francis Schaeffer, who proclaimed just six years after Time announced God’s death, “God is there and he is not silent.”

Joshua R. Farris is in the research faculty at Ruhr Universität Bochum in Germany and is the founder of Soul Science Ministries and Spiritually Driven Leadership. His most recent books are The Creation of Self, The Banquet of Souls: A Mirror to the Universe, and Humanizing AI Business.

- More from Joshua R. Farris

Theology

How a TikTok Trad Wife Decodes Our Cultural Moment

Russell Moore

A viral video reminds us that God works through disciples, not edgelords.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty / Pexels

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

Sometimes, a viral video can explain a cultural moment better than a stack of sociology journals. This is one of those times. Standup comedian Josh Johnson expertly explained the ironies of the recent double-cancellation of a racist-talking TikTok “trad wife.” His larger point is one we need to hear right now.

Johnson explained in his set the background of all of this: the growing trend of women who bill themselves as “traditional wives,” instructing other women through cooking and other sorts of videos on how to be “better” at being women. One of these content creators enraged the internet with a use of the most notorious racial slur while seasoning some chicken. The comedian was intrigued not by that controversy but by what happened next.

The trad wife, he said, doubled down on the racist talk and, after being fired from her job, started dropping the slur repeatedly in her videos. She tried to affiliate herself with other alt-right white nationalist “influencers.” It did not go as she planned.

“She just doesn’t quite have the juice,” Johnson said. “Like, when you’re watching her, she’s saying bad things, and they’re annoying, but I’m not angry—she just doesn’t have the oomph to get me there.”

She kept using more and more slurs, Johnson recounted, more and more frantically, in the hopes of getting an audience with neo-Nazis and other bigots, “just trying to prove how terrible she is.”

“The neo-Nazis start rejecting her as a psyop,” Johnson said, “because they feel what I feel. They see the video and they’re like, ‘Um, you don’t mean it, though.’” That’s when the turn comes. The neo-Nazis, Johnson explained, start finding and posting things the woman had tweeted years ago, calling out racism.

“So now she’s getting canceled by the neo-Nazis for old not-racist tweets,” Johnson said. “Then she’s over here fighting for her life, trying, like, N-word, F-word, everything, just throwing it all out there, trying to see what sticks,” but all that just makes the white nationalists angrier.

“She doesn’t have enough of the real. You can tell she’s not really racist. … You can just tell she doesn’t have the fire in her,” Johnson said, so much so that her awkward, frantic attempts to fit in were actually making racist people uncomfortable.

“That’s not how you do it,” Johnson said. “If you really want to be somebody as a racist, if you really want to make waves as a bigot, you start out slow, you start with a bunch of slow and steady dog whistles over decades.”

Johnson’s routine makes the audience laugh, of course, because he recognizes the pathetic nature of the ironies of it all—the career woman who makes videos pretending to be a trad wife, the climber who tries to be a star by pretending to be a bigot. We cringe when we think, Who would want to find a community with white supremacist online bigots, anyway? And we cringe again when we realize that, despite all that self-degradation, it doesn’t even work.

What Johnson is really lampooning here is not this one ephemeral situation in an online controversy, soon forgotten. Nor is he making the case that this would-be “influencer” is somehow less racist than the others because she’s trying to use racism for self-advancement rather than expressing an internally felt ideology. Is a bigot who would feign bigotry for Machiavellian self-advancement less morally compromised than the one whose bigotry comes from reading Mein Kampf?

Instead, Johnson is pointing out something about fallen human nature that’s especially on display right now in our time. The craving for significance—proven in the approval of other human beings—is so strong that some people will pretend to be even more depraved than they actually feel in order to appeal to people for whom the depravity is the price of belonging.

We see this all over the place in the political arena, as people morph themselves into sounding like demagogues of the left or the right, people who don’t really mean it, and who end up losing not only their integrity and their own self-respect but—ultimately—even the respect of those to whom they seek to pander.

And we see it in the church by those who seek not to learn how to teach the Bible, counsel the hurting, or evangelize the lost, but to be significant by how shockingly viral they can be in hating the people other people want them to hate. This is often, in our day, called the aspiration to be an “edgelord,” a person who aims to be known for saying shockingly nihilistic or taboo things to gain an audience. Sometimes, this is because someone they respect is egging them on, someone who will discard them the minute they are no longer useful.

Usually, with most people, this temptation is not so extreme; but it is, as Scripture says, “common to man” (1 Cor. 10:13, ESV throughout). Human beings fear being put “out of the synagogue”—however they define that gathering of people whose approval they want. And this is rooted, the Bible tells us, in a pull to love “the glory that comes from man more than the glory that comes from God” (John 12:43).

We typically think that this temptation is for glory from people in general, or from “the culture” in general (whatever that is). In reality, it’s usually much more specific.

People want to fit into not a culture but a subculture—a group of people who will absorb them and protect them from feeling alone and insignificant and alone. When those people demand they prove their worth with edginess or craziness or bigotry—well, that’s just as alluring as the demand of those who demand brilliance or wealth or success or sexiness or urbanity or anything else.

One gets free of this, as with every other temptation, by recognizing it for what it is—a pitiful pull to Esau’s pottage (Heb. 12:16–17)—and by replacing the fake glory with what’s real: the glory of Christ. This glory brings us into community by first reducing us down to one (Matt. 18:12) and grants us significance by first having us sacrifice every claim to it (Phil. 2:5–9).

Within the church, in this age as in virtually every other, most people seek to build up the church in the ways of Christ by quietly learning to exercise their spiritual gifts. Right now, some young person called to ministry is in an empty room practicing a sermon or seeking counsel from an older sage on how to study the Bible. Some young person called to counsel those who are hurting is learning how to “read” people and what to do in certain crisis situations. Someone is memorizing where he should stand at an usher station, how loudly she should project her voice in the Scripture reading. To some, that seems boring and a waste of time.

And yet, God works—invisibly, slowly, effectually—through fidelity and not through vitality, by disciples and not by edgelords. Anything else—no matter how it seems to “work” in the moment—is, in the long run, so sad it’s not even funny.

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

Church Life

How to Love Your Local Public School

Courtney Vineyard

Even if you have kids in private education—or no kids at all—you can be the hands and feet of Christ on campus.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty / Pexels / Wikimedia Commons

Recent years have seen a large shift away from public education in America. Beyond private school options, charter schools are popping up across the country, and homeschool curriculum options are expanding. As a public school teacher and a Christian, I’ve empathized with friends as they pray and toil over the weighty, complex question of how to educate their kids.

I believe we can honor God in any schooling choice. Are you loving Christ? Are you caring for your neighbor as yourself? Are you discipling your children? Parents living within these biblical guardrails have much freedom to discern God’s specific will for their circumstances, including where they send their kids to school.

But it’s important to realize that our individual choices have communal consequences. As enrollment drops across public school districts, what students remain, and what happens to their education? How does our absence affect the most vulnerable within the neighborhood? Christians can and should support public schools even if we have kids enrolled elsewhere—or no kids at all.

As Christians, we’re called to seek the welfare of our cities (Jer. 29:7), and partnering with a neighborhood public school is a uniquely effectual way to do this. Where do children in poverty congregate daily en masse? Where do orphans build healthy attachments? Where do homeless kids get clean clothes? Where do students with disabilities learn fundamental life skills? In much of America, the answer is: At your local public school, every Monday through Friday.

The variety and number of needs in a public school classroom can be overwhelming. It’s far too great a load for the shoulders of one teacher. If you know an educator, a great start would be to periodically ask, “Is there anything your students need this week?

I speak from personal experience. In fact, I sometimes wonder whether I’d still be in education without the consistent and abundant support of the local church. I’m certain my students and I wouldn’t be flourishing to the degree that we are.

Over the last seven years, singly and in official church programs, Christians have donated school supplies, snacks, uniforms, and meals for students of mine who don’t have enough to eat over the weekends. Christians have tutored, mentored, volunteered for career day, and decorated classrooms. They’ve read us books and thrown class parties and chaperoned field trips. They’ve provided us with dental hygiene kits, brought clothes when houses have burned down, donated stuffed animals to students facing homelessness, and delivered groceries when primary caregivers have been incarcerated. They’ve even brought their sometimes-tired teacher friend a coffee, a lunch, or some flowers.

This past May, when my fourth graders met their national academic growth goals, I asked them to type up suggestions for what they’d want for their hard-earned reward. Most students asked for something realistic: a pizza party, Takis, or fidget spinners. But one kid skipped the typing and immediately blurted, “An Xbox!”

I smirked at him from across the room and joked, “What do you think I am, made of money?”

“Hey, that’s an idiom!” He smiled. “But also, you could probably ask some of your friends. You know, put your money all together.”

The earnestness in his demeanor caught me by surprise. Of course, I couldn’t help but giggle at the audacity of a nine-year-old. But secretly, I wondered if this meant he’d noticed how his Christian teacher’s friends had spent that school year generously giving of their time and their money. Maybe, just maybe, this kid was starting to recognize that these people shared all things, and that among them there was no need (Acts 2:44–45).

My hope is that he’ll someday know our God because of our love (John 13:34–35). And I hope that other kids in other schools will make the same connection after experiencing the same generosity. Here are a few practical ways to support your neighborhood school:

If you have school-aged children who don’t go to public school, search online for a district school supply list for their grade level, go shopping with your kids, and drop the items off in the office of the closest public school. You might even leave your contact information with the guidance counselor and ask them to reach out as needs come up throughout the year.
If you work a 9–5, give one lunch break a week to being a mentor or reading buddy at the public school closest to your work. You can go to that school’s website and email the guidance counselor, and they can plug you in to help meet a student’s need on campus.
Seek to know the truth behind what’s happening within your local public schools, especially if they’ve become controversial in your circles. False rumors too easily circulate, and misinformation could damage imperfect but ultimately beneficial institutions serving the most vulnerable children in your area. Though there are undoubtedly exceptions to be found, it’s very likely that the good at your neighborhood school far outweighs the bad, so work to speak about it fairly and graciously.
Finally, if your family is debating a school choice, don’t prematurely rule out your neighborhood school. Ask to take a tour of the campus, meet with an administrator, and look up data online. Ask an educator friend to help you interpret the nuances behind the information you find. Pray throughout the process. It might just be that your child could thrive right down the block from you, and opting into public school could bless your community as well as your family.

However you choose to support public schools, I implore you to do so. May we not mollify our consciences by pretending our personal decisions have no wider effects. May we refuse the path of apathy toward the flourishing of our neighborhoods. May we know these are little children whom Jesus deeply loves, and as we work to share his love with them, may they come to know him too.

Courtney Vineyard is a teacher and neighbor in Fort Worth.

- More from Courtney Vineyard

News

Wire Story

Nearly Half of the World’s Migrants Are Christian

Chloë-Arizona Fodor - Religion News Service

With few nones entering the US, religious immigrants are stalling secularization.

The world’s 280 million immigrants have greater shares of Christians, Muslims, and Jews than the general population, according to a new Pew Research Center study released Monday.

“You see migrants coming to places like the US, Canada, different places through Western Europe, and being more religious—and sometimes more Christian in particular—than the native-born people in those countries,” said Stephanie Kramer, the study’s lead researcher.

While Christians make up about 30 percent of the world’s population, the world’s migrants are 47 percent Christian, according to the latest data collected in 2020.

The study found that Muslims make up 29 percent of the migrant population but 25 percent of the world’s population.

Jews, only 0.2 percent of the world’s population but 1 percent of migrants, are by far the most likely religious group to have migrated, with 20 percent of Jews worldwide living outside their country of birth compared to just 6 percent of Christians and 4 percent of Muslims.

Four percent of migrants are Buddhist, matching the general population, and 5 percent are Hindu, compared to 15 percent of the world population.

Over the past 30 years, migration has outpaced global population growth by 83 percent, according to Pew.

Though people immigrate for many reasons, including economic opportunity, to reunite with family, and to flee violence or persecution, religion and migration are often closely connected, the report finds. US migrants are much more likely to have a religious identity than the American-born population in general.

The influx of religious migrants can have a significant impact on the religious composition of their destination countries. In the case of the US, “immigrants are kind of putting the brakes on secularization,” Kramer said.

While about 30 percent of individuals in the US overall identify as atheist, agnostic, or religiously unaffiliated, only 10 percent of migrants to the US identify with those categories.

Pew studied data from 270 censuses and surveys, estimating the religious composition of migrants from 95,696 combinations of 232 origin and destination countries and territories.

Their analysis focused on the “stock,” the total number of people residing as international migrants, rather than “flows,” numbers measured over a specific time. This methodology allowed them to study all adults and children who live outside their countries of birth, regardless of when they immigrated.

“We’re not only interested in the religious composition of people who arrived in a destination country in the last year or in the last five years,” explained Kramer. According to the report, measuring the total “stock” of migrants reflects slower changes, “patterns that have accumulated over time.”

The study found that migrants frequently move to countries where their religious identity is already represented and prevalent. For example, Israel is the top destination for Jews, with 51 percent of Jewish migrants (1.5 million) residing there, while Saudi Arabia is the top destination for Muslims, with 13 percent (10.8 million) residing in the area.

Christians and religiously unaffiliated migrants share the US, Germany, and Russia as their top three destinations.

The majority of the world’s Christian migrants originate from Mexico and settle in the US, Pew found. They are typically looking for jobs, improved safety, or to reunite with family members. Meanwhile, 10 percent of the world’s Muslim migrants (8.1 million) were born in Syria, fleeing regional conflict after a war broke out in 2011.

The report attributes high rates of Jewish migration partly to Israel’s Law of Return, which grants Jews the right to receive automatic citizenship and make aliyah, a move to Israel.

As of 2020, about 1.5 million Jews born outside of Israel now live within the country’s borders. Jewish migrants to Israel often come from former Soviet republics, such as Ukraine (170,000) and Russia (150,000). The United States has the second highest population of Jewish migrants (400,000), with a quarter moving from Israel.

Across the board, however, Kramer said that immigration levels across religious groups have remained fairly stable over time. Despite consistent numbers, she advocated for doing this study because of the popularity of a 2012 Pew report, Faith on the Move. The two studies used different methodologies, and Kramer described Faith on the Move as a “snapshot” of religion and immigration in 2010.

“A lot of people have asked for an update to it, and we get a lot of questions related to religion and migration,” she said. Despite demand for the data, “Faith on the Move was really the last report we put out that focused on this.”

Many of the findings in the new report are similar to the 2012 study, and Kramer found the results relatively unsurprising.

“Even in that older data, you can see that religious minorities were so much more likely to leave their country of origin and migrate to a country where their religious identity was more prevalent,” she said.

- More from Chloë-Arizona Fodor

News

In Our Anger Era: Too Many Americans Stay Enraged Rather than Seeking Help

Emily Belz

Christian counselors wish more people would acknowledge their rage in a boiling cultural moment.

Protestors from different parties clash outside the Republican National Convention in July.

Jim Vondruska / Getty Images

More Americans than ever are seeking help for mental health issues like depression and anxiety. But they seem to be avoiding help for another emotion, even though it comes up across life stages and can be destructive: anger.

Current events have fanned the flame of wrath even more. Like many Americans, Nycole DeLaVara has seen angry conversations about the news invade her church life—especially over politics, race, and gender.

But in her work as a biblical counselor in Southern California, DeLaVara says that anger often remains unaddressed and unresolved.

“I kind of wish people were coming and saying, ‘I am having a hard time processing what I’m seeing,’” said DeLaVara. “That would be a humble way of approaching things. I find people don’t know what they’re feeling.”

CT spoke with Christian counselors across the country who agreed. Not enough people, they say, have been able to recognize the uncertainty they’re feeling as anger, and they may be missing out on the guidance that could help them during a heated and divisive climate.

“The Facebook warrior usually doesn’t come into counseling and say, ‘I really struggled to manage my dialogue on Facebook,’” said Brad Hambrick, who oversees the counseling ministries at Summit Church, in North Carolina, which has 14 campuses and about 13,000 in attendance.

The flood of information people experience now—being able at every moment to know anything frustrating going on in the entire world—contributes to a “background sense of irritation,” said Hambrick, which “contributes to impulse control being harder these days.”

Last year, the Los Angeles Police Department recorded the most road rage incidents in seven years, and nationally, the number of road rage shootings has risen 400 percent over the last decade.

Service sector workers have endured more enraged vitriol from customers since the pandemic. Flight attendants have noticed an increase in outbursts on airplanes. Anger appears to be sitting right under the surface of life in the United States.

But what’s going on beneath the outbursts?

Anger is a “smoke detector—what is it telling me?” said DeLaVara. Anger in personal relationships is often someone not knowing how to communicate the feelings they are having, she said, feelings like fear, uncertainty, a sense of injustice, or not being understood or respected.

Christian counselor Anna Mondal in San Diego compares good and bad anger to how a child responds after being hit by another kid.

“It’s okay for a kid to be angry, but it’s not okay for them to harm another child in their anger,” Mondal said. “It’s okay to feel it, but how they express it matters. … That is such an important thing to know how to do: feel the anger but not express it destructively.”

Braden Benson, a Christian counselor at The Owen Center in Auburn, Alabama, said the assassination attempt on former president Donald Trump stirred people’s anger. For people who watch Trump every day, it was as if a friend had been shot. With current events, a lot of anger that comes out is from people having “parasocial” relationships with politicians and online figures, he said.

“I think the deeper you go into the parasocial world, the more likely it is that you’re opening yourself up to that anger, that sense of vulnerability,” he said. “Because this thing, this person, this podcast, this TV show, whatever this character that you have seen as your friend, is now getting attacked.”

Anger at social media or a news article might require some deep breaths or a long run, Mondal said.

“Western culture emphasizes thinking and logic and intellectualism—like, Let me think about my right response,” said Mondal. “Often, we can’t. We have to wait for our body to calm down.”

But she added that with longer-standing issues that cause anger, a deep breath probably won’t do much.

People seeing seismic change around them will still feel a certain level of threat and sense of vulnerability. They don’t recognize what’s happening in the world, and they don’t know what’s coming next.

“You either respond to the vulnerability as God, which means you’re in charge, you have to fix it, you have to cope, you have to control it,” said Benson. “Or you respond to the vulnerability with God—understand that you can’t fix it.”

When Christians find themselves overwhelmed by the world, they have to work to recognize what they can and can’t influence, counselors said. Christians can use their anger to take action without letting their anger become hurtful to others.

“The tendency is when we see people overreacting, we try to balance it out, almost by an encouragement to underreact,” said Hambrick at Summit.

Churches could be addressing problems with anger and related issues through peer support groups—something Summit has. Like 12-step recovery groups, these groups are lay-led and can naturally fit in the ecosystem of a church, Hambrick said.

“It’s one of the greatest untapped modes or ways of creating change,” he said. “It’s just humble honesty … with people you respect.”

Others who have worked through anger found circles of others outside their family who were willing to hear their anger very helpful.

Mondal, a counselor, experienced trauma-induced anger 15 years ago after sexual assault when she was teaching overseas.

“I had no tools for how to express the anger that I felt at being dropped, left alone, not being taken care of,” she said.

She had to learn first that she was angry—beneath the shame she felt initially—then learn how to express that anger to others and to God. Once she was able to express it in a constructive way, she said she could feel joy more deeply.

A support group for deep anger is typically a small circle of people, she said, and usually not those the person is closest to.

“It’s a different kind of people who come out of the woodwork, who are not afraid of that [pain],” she said.

Support groups have been helpful for people struggling with more everyday forms of anger too.

Tim Schultz, a lobbyist in Washington, DC, felt comfortable confessing his struggles with anger toward his family to a small prayer group at his church.

“People would not see me as an angry person,” he said. But a few years into his marriage, after having children, he was having angry outbursts at home. “I was both aghast and ashamed of that.”

He had been in a men’s prayer group at his church for over a decade, and first shared his problem with them.

“If you’re known by people outside your immediate family, you don’t have any problem confessing stuff like this that might feel really shameful,” he said. “Shame is paralyzing. It makes you not want people to know this about you.”

He talked to his pastor, read books from Christian psychologists, and went to therapy.

“The biggest technique was to find a vocabulary for each stage of anger and verbalize it,” he said. If he asks his kids to go to bed three times and they don’t, telling them he feels disrespected lets some air out of the balloon. People “hold level 4 anger in, and then they get to 7 and blow up. You weren’t honest with yourself and the people around you.”

He thinks part of the reason people around him in DC are struggling with unhealthy anger is that they are overscheduled. When they have no time to pause and be aware of what emotions are happening, anger has more opportunity to boil over, he said.

Schultz and his family have a big Christmas party every year with about 100 people. Every year, he shares something short about how Christmas and the gospel connects to the cultural moment.

Last year, he told the gathering: “Look around you, look online, people behaving badly on flights—there is so much anger in our world. … We need a certain dose of anger, otherwise it will be runaway injustice. But oftentimes, anger is destroying people.”

He talked about God seeing the things we are angry about, and how God is also angry about injustice and death. He also said God didn’t pour “brimstone” on the world in response, but instead came in a manger.

Once he started talking about his efforts to address his anger, other men started asking for the number of the counseling service he went to. He’s now referred at least seven of them to counseling for anger.

“God is taking something bad and using it for his kingdom,” he said. “If I can be open about my struggles in this area, others can get help too.”

- More from Emily Belz

News

Angry Enough to Turn Tables? It Might Not Be Righteous Zeal.

Interview by Emily Belz

Christian counselor Brad Hambrick talks about how we deal with our own fury in heated times.

Brad Hambrick oversees counseling ministries at Summit Church, a North Carolina church with 14 campuses and about 13,000 in attendance. He also teaches biblical counseling at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary and is the author of books like Angry with God.

How do you distinguish between good and bad anger?

All anger says two things: “This is wrong, and it matters.” In the interpersonal space, sinful anger says a third thing: “This is wrong, and it matters more than you.” I can be right about the first two: “You shouldn’t have done that, and it’s important.” But when I’m willing to sin against you, then just because my prompt is theologically and morally accurate, that doesn’t mean my expression of anger is righteous. When you move toward social media and politics, in many ways, the “you” either becomes very far off or very ambiguous. People feel a lot more freedom to vent or to rage because they don’t really see a person. They just feel a cause.

Where do you see destructive anger?

Anger shows up most in private settings. If somebody is blowing up at Walmart, their regulation and social filters have deteriorated significantly.

We want to use an oversimplified test for righteous anger. “If I’m right, and it matters, this is okay. Tell me where I’m wrong.” Usually when we’re in that righteous anger spot, we love Jesus turning over tables in the temple. That’s what we feel like we’re doing.

And if you look in Matthew 21, after Jesus is finished turning over the tables, it says, “The blind and the lame came to him.” In my mind’s eye, when I think about Jesus in the temple, he’s just gone full on Incredible Hulk. He’s turned green. He’s staring through people’s souls and everybody’s backing away from Jesus because we messed up. But in Jesus’ most expressive moment of anger, the most vulnerable felt protected and attracted. Not scared.

Am I doing Christlike anger? It’s not that Jesus didn’t get mad. Anger is one of God’s attributes, that means it can be done well. It can be done beautifully. It’s not inherently off limits to the Christian as if we’re stoics. But if we’re going to do it in a Christlike manner, then those who are in need of care—there should be a clear sense of attraction and protection around what we’re doing.

What are the tools for this angry moment we are in?

A category that I think is helpful is responsibility allocation—realizing what you can influence. When I get most intense about where I have the least influence, my anger is going nowhere good. As we start to feel more powerless, we start to rely on anger, to try to get back some of what we felt like we’ve lost.

In the cultural discourse, everybody’s saying, “We need to calm down and chill out the rhetoric.” But nobody’s doing it. Even if it’s not from the top down, it ought to be from the bottom up, and culture ought to demand it of its leaders, if leaders will not lead the culture.

Do different principles apply for anger over current events versus, say, anger over betrayal in personal relationships?

There is selfish anger. There’s also suffering anger. If you look at Psalm 44, in the first few verses, life is going great. And then you hit a selah. You don’t know what happened. But it was a train wreck. In the next 12 or so verses, the psalmist gives God every bit as much blame for the bad things as the psalmist did giving God credit for the good things in the first part.

It’s this angry mic drop. There’s heresy in there. The psalmist is calling on God to wake up, when we know God doesn’t sleep. But there’s no sense that the psalmist needs to repent. The psalmist is going through a season of suffering in life that doesn’t make sense, and the moral equation isn’t balancing. I do think there is innocent grief-anger, in response to suffering.

So the Psalms are a good place to go with anger?

One of the common features of anger is we don’t feel heard, and we don’t feel understood. And so we increase our volume to make sure we’re heard and we increase the sharpness of our words trying to be understood. And the angrier we get, the more people pull away from us.

It’s not as if we necessarily come to the Psalms and we get some deep penetrating insight that explains away our situation, and we go, “Oh, I have no reason to be angry.” What we do often find is where we have felt like, “This is off limits,” and everybody’s pushed us away—we can bring those kinds of things to God and know that he cares and that he’s not deaf to that.

On this theme, you’ve got Moses at the burning bush. Moses had an anger problem. He killed a man in a moment of rage. When the golden calf was made, he ground it up and made them drink it. He threw a temper tantrum in Numbers 20 and started beating on the rock and scolding it.

One of the first things that God says to Moses at the burning bush after “Take off your shoes” is “I heard the cries of my people. I’ve seen their suffering.” If you’re thinking about what it would have been like to have been Moses—“Okay, I shouldn’t have killed the man. That was a flash of anger. That was bad. But at least I did something. God, you do nothing.” And God says, “I’ve heard, I’ve seen, I’m paying attention.” We don’t get our own burning bush, usually—that’s not a common human experience—but the Psalms are a place where we get that from God.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

- More from Emily Belz

Church Life

Christians Are Peculiar, and That’s Okay

Sho Baraka

I joined Christianity Today not as a trite multicultural experiment but to contribute to the wonderful weirdness of building the kingdom.

Courtesy of Sho Baraka

The word weird is weirdly being thrown around by politicians as if it’s an official political critique. Once that label is hurled at someone, they return to middle school ethics and recite the gospel of rubber and glue. Most people don’t want to be weird.

However, I can’t help but think of the strange predicaments that Yahweh has put his people in: Noah building an uncanny boat, Ezekiel’s dramatized prophecy, John the Baptist as a pre-modern hipster wandering the desert, and many more. It’s very peculiar for enslaved people to sing of God’s goodness and provision on plantations that attempted to designate them as worse than weird—inhuman.

Maybe to be set apart is to be weird and peculiar. However, many people have auctioned off their weirdness to cultural lobbyists for relevance and power.

Then I think of myself and the reasons I’m joining Christianity Today as the editorial director of the Big Tent Initiative. They sometimes feel peculiar. I feel weird that I still carry hope. I feel docile when I speak of reconciliation. I feel lonely still having a tremendous amount of love for the bride of Christ. But then I feel content that I’m bringing my peculiar self and many other descriptives to CT.

I bring complexity. I am a Canadian-born man with a Swahili name, who was raised by a Black Panther in the suburbs of Southern California. I’ve known privilege and poverty. I have bobo tendencies with a militant’s temperament, but I’m a pacifist on paper. I’d rather discuss the implications of rap beefs than political beefs because at least there is poetry involved. I’m a theological nomad who tries his best to allow Jesus to take precedence over all my wonderful distinctions. I am the divergent tenets of Ecclesiastes in a soaked paper bag.

I bring impartiality. When I mention that I accepted this position with CT to friends and associates, I’ve received both congratulations and concerns. I’ve had friends call CT “too white” and others call it “too woke.” Both these terms serve as coded language that express some concern or critique of my character for the work I’ve engaged in.

I’ve been called a pawn for my views on biblical and social orthodoxy. I’ve also been called a Marxist and a “woke preacher” for my views on racism and social injustice. Be assured, I do not sit in some compromised middle, but I am centered in a gospel that is actively revolutionary and traditional.

I bring the focus of Toni Morrison. This literary giant gave a solution to the grievances of complacent critics. “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it,” she once told a newspaper columnist. I will write these essays and find others to write them.

My objective isn’t to bring “soul” to Christianity Today like some magical Negro teaching a well-intentioned white man how to cha-cha slide across the difficult social issues of our culture. My objective isn’t to “do evangelicalism” in blackface so that more Black and brown folks will smash that subscribe button.

I’ve joined Christianity Today to cultivate an all-too-forgotten garden. A garden far from Eden but aspiring to the New Jerusalem. This is a place where anger, suspicion, and betrayal threaten to trample on the seeds of hope, love, and endurance. This is not a trite multicultural experiment, but it is an ambitious work to shine light on the brilliant voices of our manifold family who have been marginalized despite the rich history of their faith tradition. I’ve joined CT to be an additional hand in the dirt that prays for heavenly waters to fertilize a new social imaginary.

I bring the unbothered constitution of Zora Neale Hurston, who said, “I am not tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes.” Often, Black writers are expected to only write from their pain and trauma. I will not be here for crisis writing. I write at the speed of wisdom and not anxiety. I will write when compelled. I will exercise the tenth fruit of the Spirit, which is to “shut yo’ mouth” when I have nothing helpful to add.

I am also no valet for Black essentialism. Too often in the Black community, we champion the maxim “We are not a monolith!” while snatching the Black card from those who question the doctrines that are sometimes established by academics and elitists in institutions far removed from the people they claim to serve. If I speak of plights and joys, I speak as someone who knows the benefits of living in the castle and the attic. However, I can’t distinguish with certainty which resident is advocating for his own self-interest if and when they conflict; therefore I don’t presume to carry the soapbox for all of Black society.

Let us be peculiar.

It seems as if the price for reconciliation and redemption has been inflated along with gas and groceries, but not many desire those luxury purchases. Let us be the strange ones who spend the cosmic currency to be heavenly ambassadors.

The church is weird and messy. However, most importantly, the church is sanctified and essential. Therefore, join me in seeking the kingdom and putting Jesus’ beautiful bride on display.

Sho Baraka is editorial director of Big Tent for Christianity Today.

- More from Sho Baraka

Christianity Today Welcomes Sho Baraka as Big Tent Editorial Director

Baraka will shape stories and strategies to help the historic publication reach and impact new audiences.

Photography by Sophia Denard

Christianity Today has hired author, artist, and innovator Amisho “Sho” Baraka to serve as the editorial director of its Big Tent Initiative.

“I cannot tell you how excited we are to have Sho on the team. His creativity and entrepreneurialism are exactly what we need to catalyze the important work of advancing the Big Tent Initiative,” said Christianity Today’s chief impact officer, Dr. Nicole Martin.

“You must have a unique calling from God to navigate between differences and elevate voices we might only hear on the margins. Sho has spent his life doing just that; bridging between cultures and ideas to frame the redemptive story of Christ in the world. We couldn’t have asked for a better person to fill this role at this critical time in our history.”

Christianity Today was founded in 1956 by the late Billy Graham to “express evangelical Christianity to the present generation.” The evangelical church in the United States has grown increasingly diverse, and the Big Tent Initiative aims to help the ministry represent that diversity. It also aims to build bridges of conversation and common cause across political and racial divides.

“Historically, Christianity Today has not represented minority and immigrant churches as well as it might have,” said president and CEO Dr. Timothy Dalrymple. “We’ve been working to change that. Sho is a transcendent talent who has earned enormous respect for his thoughtfulness and faithfulness. He has our full blessing to bring new kinds of stories and storytelling to Christianity Today that go beyond what we’ve typically done.”

Baraka has spent the last 17 years traveling the world as a Christian recording artist, writer, speaker, and consultant. He brings a wealth of media experience, with four solo albums, three feature film appearances, and a book, He Saw That It Was Good.

He was a founding member of Reach Records, the internationally known hip-hop consortium known as 116 Clique, and the AND Campaign, which focuses on weaving together biblical conviction and compassion. Baraka has also served as visiting professor at Wake Forest University and Warner Pacific University and has worked alongside his brother Dhati Lewis to coach leaders in minority-majority contexts.

Baraka will build on initiatives started by Ed Gilbreath, who paved the way with Big Tent partnerships and events that embodied the rich diversity of the kingdom.

“As the Big Tent director,” said Baraka, “I’m passionate about the ambitious work to expand CT’s voice and audience. We have an opportunity to spotlight a more accurate and beautiful mosaic of the North American church. I’m even more excited about creating the space for God-glorifying hospitality that will turn estranged neighbors into family.”

Baraka lives in Atlanta with his wife of 21 years, Patreece, and their three children, Zoë, Zaccai, and Zimri. They have two boys on the autism spectrum and have become ambassadors and advocates in the autism community.

For media inquiries pertaining to this story, please contact media@christianitytoday.com.

Christianity Today was founded by Billy Graham in 1956. In the nearly 70 years since, it has served as a flagship publication for the American evangelical movement, equipping the church with news, commentary, and resources. An acclaimed and award-winning media ministry, CT advances the stories and ideas of the global church. Each month, across a variety of digital and print media, the ministry carries the most important stories and ideas of the kingdom of God to over 4.5 million people around the planet.

Ideas

The World Says Accelerate. The Church Says Abide.

Aryana Petrosky

Prayer, fasting, and reading Scripture in community make our days more spacious.

solidcolours / Getty

If Moses took out his phone to take a video of the burning bush instead of lending his full attention, would he have missed the words of the Lord? If Mary had been scrolling on her phone on a break from her daily responsibilities, would she have been too distracted to notice the arrival of an angel?

Moses and Mary were witnesses to the eternal breaking into the temporal, the miraculous interrupting the mundane. They were fully present in time.

Can we say the same? We worry time is scarce and crave an escape from the inputs that “waste” it: TV and news, text and emails. Paradoxically, we turn to the same technology to speed time up when we feel bored or want distraction. Videos and pictures captured on a phone pull us away from a full experience of the moment.

Trying to hoard or waste time only makes the days go faster and faster. Like an hourglass with a hole in the bottom, time leaks out so steadily that we are surprised when we notice that the bulb is nearly empty. How do we patch the hourglass and start to recover, one by one, the grains of time?

For the six years I lived in Washington, DC, time was a constant tension. I wanted it to speed up, wanted it to slow down. I obsessively counted minutes when I was in transit on foot, bike, or metro. If I found myself frozen—waiting in line at the grocery store or on the public bus—I would immediately pull out my phone and scroll and scroll and scroll, attempting to escape time, wishing there were fewer minutes. I would have walked right past the burning bush or looked back down at my phone at the disruption of an angel.

My conflict with time led me to experiment. I fervently tried Sabbath practices, solitude retreats, long walks without my phone, the Book of Common Prayer, and social media fasts. It was never enough. These practices often felt like just another demand to squeeze out more minutes from an over-full schedule. They were mostly solitary. Life was a one-woman wrestling match with a culture that always wanted to consume more time , more of me, whether it was pressure to work, watch Netflix, scroll social media, or read the news. I struggled to not fall behind, to keep pace, while also leaving time for friends, family, church, and rest—all of which also began to feel like obligations.

I’d read enough to know that a disordered relationship with time wasn’t a personal problem but a cultural one, and especially anxiety-inducing for young people. But I hadn’t thought much about how a faith community could help. Turns out, transforming time by myself wasn’t sustainable, or even possible. It required the church.

The Anglican church I attended in DC had started a new program called the Christian Formation Cohort. When I first read the commitment form, I immediately thought, No way. The requirements appeared impossibly demanding for a city like DC. But I couldn’t silence the nagging feeling that I needed to participate.

The six-week program included a long list of spiritual practices designed for “detachment” and “attachment,” gradually incorporated. The detachment practices included no social media, no visual streaming alone (three hours a week with other people was permitted), no audio streaming other than the Bible and Christ-centered music, and no reading except for Scripture and material that fit Philippians 4:8.

The attachment practices included attendance at a weekly group session, 30 minutes of prayer a day in a posture of surrender, daily Bible immersion, weekly volunteer service, weekly fasting, weekly hospitality and “spiritual friendship,” weekly Sabbath, one 10-hour retreat, and attendance at one meal a month for four months after the completion of the six-week program.

I was immediately struck by how much these practices had to do with time. The practices of detachment encouraged less time (or no time) spent on absent-minded distraction. The practices of attachment encouraged more time spent communing with other people, God’s Word, and the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

The anxious question for many of us that first week was simple: What am I going to do when I get home after a long day at work? Stare at the wall? We were asked to prepare by making lists of alternative activities and of people or situations we would pray for during our allocated minutes.

In The Congregation in a Secular Age, Andrew Root makes the case that our modern experience of time is a type of famine—an unsatiated desire for not just more hours in the day, but for a fuller and more meaningful experience of each passing moment. Silicon Valley asks us to innovate, accelerate, and maximize, making it possible to endlessly multitask, to do more and more quickly. Ironically, devices that purport to save us time make us feel like we never have enough. We can’t slow down long enough to hear ourselves think, let alone hear the whispers of the Holy Spirit.

This freneticism makes it especially difficult for the church to guide congregations into sacred time. Instead, “time is emptied for the sake of speed”; the church’s purpose becomes change, compulsive growth, rather than “transformation in the Spirit.” We need the church to go against the cultural tide of acceleration and to be a place where we learn to inhabit the holy, mysterious, and eternal.

As I settled into the program, time altered. The metro ride grew longer, evenings at home felt more spacious, and 30 minutes of prayer every morning became a comfort rather than a task. A few of the detachment practices came easily to me. But attachment practices like Scripture memorization, volunteer service, and fasting felt overwhelmingly difficult to fit into my full schedule. Some weeks, I completely failed to incorporate them, and hunger from skipped meals heightened my nerves.

The practice that surprised me most was listening to the Bible on audio. I listened while I made dinner; I listened while I washed the dishes. Gradually, the sounds in my mind changed. Instead of chaos and noise, I experienced life-giving quiet and peace.

The cumulative effect of consuming less, only “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable,” was liberating. Instead of cramming in more content on my metro rides or during my evenings home, I was given a moment to be still with my thoughts, and when prompted, to pray—a provocation I might have missed if I was tapping on my phone or watching Netflix.

But it was the community that made the real difference. On the days we met as a group, time lost its structure entirely as we became absorbed in each other’s stories. We empathized with just how difficult these practices were to incorporate and encouraged each other in our shared earnestness to inhabit time in a new way.

Sharing our experiences with other people—with free-flowing tears, laughter, and words of wisdom—create moments that Root describes as “resonance,” the solution for our time famine. Resonance, according to Root, is time gathered-up, filled with meaning and purpose. To create resonance, we have to get outside of ourselves and off of our phones. In an encounter with God or another person, in a moment of extension, we leave ourselves open, vulnerable to receive a divinely appointed moment of grace. Resonance fills the hourglass, replenishing us rather than leaving us depleted.

When I spoke with one of the pastors who co-led my group, he said that what made the cohort effective was its simplicity—a return to “the basics” of the Christian faith. Rhythms of detachment and attachment, focused on commitment rather than outcomes, feels novel in an era where we’re told to optimize our time. Fasting and prayer aren’t “productive” in a way we can immediately see.

But in reality, meeting together and reading Scripture and sitting in silence are simple and historic practices, fresh in every age across all of time. In DC, ranked the loneliest city in America, my pastor said we also ought to think of community as a spiritual discipline. We can’t reclaim sacred time as solitary individuals—especially not with technology that’s so powerful and addictive. It’s a task that is too difficult to do alone.

The countercultural cohort was transformational for my relationship with time—time as plentiful rather than scarce; time as opportunity rather than burden; time as something to inhabit with others rather than spend on ourselves. As Psalm 90 reminds us, we must be taught to number our days and be fully attentive to how we spend our time in light of eternity; for “a thousand years in [God’s] sight are like a day that has just gone by” (v. 4).

In the months since the cohort finished, rather than trying to go against the grain of our culture alone, I’ve cofacilitated silent weekend retreats and participated in weekly dinners. I’ve committed to daily morning prayer and Scripture reading, this time with a friend. Time spent together in praise and petition seems to multiply and slow down. Time fills up but doesn’t overwhelm; time is resonant. The burning bush flickers, and the Lord speaks.

A church known for its ability to transport people into transcendent, sacred time is a true respite from an insatiable culture of consumption and acceleration. It’s a compelling place to abide—past, present, and future.

Aryana Petrosky is a graduate student at The University of Edinburgh where she studies the intersection of ecumenical monasticism, spiritual disciplines, and faith in the public square. She helped launch The After Party: Toward Better Christian Politics and formerly worked for the American Enterprise Institute's Initiative on Faith & Public Life.

- More from Aryana Petrosky

Share

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

Share

Share

Share

Share

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

Share