Mexican Female Leaders Are Breaking Through Politically. Are Evangelical Women Too?

Four leaders weigh in on whether a woman president will change gender dynamics in the church.

Claudia Sheinbaum supporters during a presidential campaign event

Bloomberg / Getty

Earlier this month, Mexico elected its first female president when Claudia Sheinbaum won 59.7 percent of the vote. The former mayor of Mexico City, Sheinbaum also previously served as an engineer and a university professor.

In recent years, Mexico has been hailed internationally as a model for female political leadership. In the 1990s, the government introduced policies promoting female participation as political candidates. Currently, 13 of Mexico’s 32 states are governed by women; Ana Lilia Rivera serves as president of the senate, and Guadalupe Taddei Zavala leads the National Electoral Institute, which organizes the country’s elections.

As women have advanced politically in Mexico, have women gained similar ground within the church? CT asked four Mexican evangelical women to weigh in (responses have been edited for length and clarity):

Alejandra Ortiz, co-coordinator of the Logos and Cosmos Initiative in Latin America in the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students (IFES):

The Mexican church is highly diverse in its political stances. Pastors and religious leaders often campaign for evangelical candidates who promote pro-family values, while others encourage voting from a neoconservative perspective. In this election, no evangelical leaders or institutions formally supported any candidate.

In political campaigns, candidates often view women as objects or puppets, something easy to manipulate. In a sense, this perception extends to the church as well. Women serve God actively but rarely occupy leadership positions in churches, as the new neoconservative wave seeks to further limit the spaces of influence for women. Those who are aligned with this vision use biblical passages like Genesis 3 and passages of Paul’s letters to Timothy and the Corinthians to make arguments that confine a woman’s influence to their families and women’s ministry.

The social changes that led to a broader female leadership in society are not equally valued in church in the same intensity. There is no intention or plan to open more leadership spaces for women, or even reflection on practices that could extend women’s influence in leadership roles.

Sally Isáis, director of mission agency Misión Latinoamericana de México (Milamex):

Traditionally, the influence of women in Mexican society has been strong, but it often takes place behind the scenes. In recent years, women have increasingly served in public roles, especially as the government has passed stricter laws against sexual harassment and established quotas requiring a certain percentage of women in particular government positions.

Within the church, historically, Pentecostal denominations have had women leaders. For example, Graciela Esparza was national director of the Iglesia Mexicana del Evangelio de Cristo and Febe Flores led the Movimiento Iglesia Evangélica Pentecostés Independiente, although they have since passed, and both denominations are currently led by men.

In general, evangelicals remain divided on the issue of women’s ordination. Methodists, Lutherans, and Episcopalians ordain women as pastors, and neo-Pentecostals and charismatics have many strong female pastors. Many lead congregations, sometimes alongside their spouses and sometimes independently.

In contrast, some conservative churches hold theological positions that prevent women from preaching and holding official positions. Although they recognize women’s gifts and abilities in certain areas (leading other women and children, for example), they do not allow them to access higher positions.

At the same time, in most churches, the majority of congregants are women, many of whom lead numerous ministries and teach the Bible. This is independent of the denomination’s theological stance.

Some assert that a woman’s leadership role does not depend on the presence or absence of a man. Others say that willing, committed, and integral men are conspicuously absent. Therefore, women have had to step up. I believe that women’s formal leadership roles within the church can grow. In fact, it is a reality that without the leadership and work of women, the churches would be in trouble, since much of the work is on their shoulders.

Sandra Márquez Olvera, founder of the Con-Ciencia y Teología blog:

Claudia Sheinbaum’s victory in the Mexico presidential elections shows more dialogue is necessary around gender and women’s leadership. Both topics continue to be the center of discussion in many churches.

In the majority of denominations or confessions, women are not allowed to become pastors, but in some cases they are not even allowed to teach or participate in the discipleship of the community. In the last two or three decades, we have had important changes in Methodists, Lutherans, Baptists and some Pentecostal communities, which have allowed more space for women to exercise their gifts. But there is still no consensus about how women can continue to make their way in the church in the face of a society that challenges this passivity with its first elected female president.

There are numerous biblical stories of women that God used with their leadership, strength, courage and transcendence. Stories that we continue to study though seldom casting our eyes on the role of women. We need to talk more about this and discern what women are called to in this church and in this country.

I do not know how Sheinbaum will turn out in the face of forces that do not want change inside and outside the church, but we know that this is an important step. And I know that God will accompany the nation with all that lies ahead.

Yani de Gutiérrez, copastor at Iglesia Bautista Horeb in Mexico City:

I am witnessing the first woman in Mexico elected as president of the nation and that a majority of the population expressed that they accept the leadership of a woman. Faced with this watershed moment, as a Mexican Christian, I am reflecting and wondering if that same approval of female leadership is present within the church.

Undoubtedly, the inherent design of each sex includes exclusive roles within God’s plan, such as pregnancy and childbirth, which are clearly the domain of women. However, in God’s vision, women were created for much more.

In God’s plan, the responsibility to rule and subdue creation is not determined by sex or roles but is a task assigned to both. Over a century ago, many societies began to shift in favor of women’s rights. Today, women undertake responsibilities that were once unthinkable, such as the presidency of a nation.

We acknowledge that, like all human endeavors, new distortions of God’s design have emerged with feminist movements, such as positions of hatred toward men, debauchery, and disdain for motherhood and marriage, often at high costs. Extreme feminism has fallen into traps equally contrary to God’s plan.

Nonetheless, we cannot deny that it is right for women to have the opportunity to exercise the abilities God has granted them. As a Christian and pastor of a local church, I believe that the election of a woman as president is part of God’s plan.

This awakening is also evident in Christian churches. Yet, instead of embodying God’s plan—recognizing that some women are specifically designed, endowed, and chosen by God to lead within the church—the church often exhibits resistance and dogmatism, misinterpreting God’s original design and limiting women’s ministry. While the world rapidly embraces extreme feminist changes, the church lags in recognizing God’s original plan.

- More from Compiled by Franco Iacomini

Theology

Scarcity’s Strange Gifts

Myles Werntz

Church attendance is down. Giving is iffy. Ministers are tired. But God is with us in lean times too.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty / Unsplash

There are many reasons to expect that the Western church, at least, is heading into a long season of scarcity. Much of the European church is already there, and here in the States, we aren’t so far behind: Attendance is down, though there is reason to suspect this trend line may have plateaued. Giving to church ministries was up in recent years, but the group giving the most is aging quickly, and it’s not yet clear that younger cohorts will fill the gap. Ministers, reporting more anxiety and less support, find themselves with fewer relationships and resources to support their work.

This abundance of scarcity will have a long-term impact on the character, health, and ministry of many congregations. Its effects are already familiar to smaller and more rural churches, but this is increasingly a reality shared by large and urban congregations too.

That may seem like a grim vision, but scarcity of time, energy, and resources can be a mixed blessing. For, while long periods of abundance are to be appreciated, they can be deceiving: We anticipate that the good times will not end, and when they inevitably do, it shakes our very foundations. Churchgoing rates in America, for example, have been discussed for years now as a sign of crisis. But these numbers are arguably nothing special in global and historical contexts. The downturn feels like a catastrophe only in light of 80 years of historically high membership.

So, what if we organized our church lives around an expectation of scarcity instead of an assumption of plenty? Behavioral science researchers Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir have examined how scarcity affects the way we make decisions. Summarized in their 2013 book Scarcity: Why Having Too Little Means So Much, their research provides helpful insights for congregations.

Mullainathan and Shafir discovered that study participants who were asked to deal with scarcity (like a shortage of time) could better prioritize their most important tasks. Scarcity produced not only negative results (like increased anxiety) but also positive ones (like increased focus and attention).

We’ve all experienced something like this. If you’re working on a tight deadline, you can tune out phone calls, socializing, and even meals to give increased attention to the problem at hand. You might reach what researchers call a “flow state,” in which your mind and work simply click along, with hours feeling like minutes. For most of us, this isn’t a normal working condition. It’s the result of scarcity.

Mullainathan and Shafir also found that people who’d gone through particular kinds of scarcity in the past were more likely to be attentive to those going through similar situations in the present. Those who had lost loved ones could read it in the faces of others in grief; those who had experienced economic downturns were more attuned to others in economic crisis. Traveling the valley of the shadow of death left participants more likely to know not only what others were going through but also how to help them navigate that valley themselves.

No one wants to suffer scarcity, but this research suggests that scarcity brings benefits that can’t be acquired any other way. You don’t need scarcity to be efficient and empathetic, of course. But the prioritization scarcity forces and the practical attention and specific care it teaches are unique.

For readers of Scripture, such a finding shouldn’t be surprising. It’s reminiscent of how Moses, having spent years in the wilderness, could help lead the children of Abraham through the desert. It explains God’s chastisement of Jonah who, after being rescued from death, was unhappy that Nineveh was spared God’s judgment. It gives depth to Paul’s letter to Philemon, in which the apostle sympathizes with the plight of Onesimus after having lost his own freedom.

Or consider the Beatitudes. Those who are poor—suffering material scarcity—are given the gifts that only God can give, able to welcome a new way of life in the midst of precarity (Luke 6:20). Those who have had their hearts purified are able to see God (Matt. 5:8), and those who suffer loss and persecution can receive God’s kingdom (Matt. 5:10–12). But herein lies the difficulty: To cultivate that kind of attentiveness, that kind of wisdom, you have to go through that kind of scarcity first.

This invites us to look at our situation again—at the scarcity vexing churches in the United States.

A few congregations may be able to avoid this scarcity altogether, to raise funds and endowments to the point that no financial downturn will affect them. For most churches (and Christian nonprofits and faith-based universities), however, this won’t be an option. Yet given the blessings of scarcity, perhaps that’s for the best. Perhaps the right response is not to build bigger barns but to learn to be reliant on and rich toward God (Luke 12:16–34).

Other churches may simply ignore the connection between unearned suffering, God’s provision, and virtue, emphasizing instead that God’s presence can mean an abundance of resources. This is the bread and butter of the prosperity gospel, and it places the fault of having few resources squarely on the shoulders of those without. But Jesus did not draw such a tight connection between faithfulness and abundance; on the contrary, he taught that God “causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous” (Matt. 5:45).

Still other churches may respond to scarcity by closing down. In some cases, this path is the only option; for others, chronically having too little exhausts goodwill. Calls to resilience become a burden of shame, and when the doors finally close, it feels like relief.

Scripture does not shame those who grow tired (Matt. 11:28–30), nor are Christians called to seek out scarcity and other suffering or endure abuse. But before we choose one of these responses—and especially before the prospect of disbanding a congregation begins to appeal—let us remember that though scarcity will come for us in one form or another, it may not only bring hardship. It can also bring unexpected gifts—gifts that can come to us in few other ways.

The full barns will not last. In many cases, they are already emptying. And in all of this, God will be present. This is a story that Scripture tells repeatedly. It is the story of manna appearing in the desert (Ex. 16), water pouring from rocks (Ex. 17), provisions being supplied by ravens and widows’ jars (1 Kings 17:2–16), poor Christians providing for each other’s needs (Acts 2:44–46). Consider that lean times can offer something greater for congregations than sheer survival.

To the first possibility—of simply outlasting lean times—Scripture counsels us to embrace risky generosity, to give to those who ask, and to remember that God is the one through whom provision comes (Luke 12:32–34). Generosity amid scarcity teaches us be grateful, to give despite difficulty, and to trust in God’s provision in all circumstances. To pull back from generosity is to miss an opportunity to grow in gratitude and learn that abundance is not our right.

To the second possibility—of ignoring scarcity entirely—Scripture counsels us against assuming that lean times signal God’s absence and calls us instead to be faithful with what has been given (Matt. 25:14–30). Learning to mourn what we have lost without despairing for the future is critical to being a people of hope (Jer. 29:11). Likewise, learning to make do with what we have received fosters in us virtues of creativity, thrift, and prudence, knowing what we can do without.

To the third possibility—of simply stopping—Scripture gives a word of comfort: We are not alone in times of scarce resources (Ps. 40:16–17), and the way forward may be to join hands and institutions with believers around us. As Paul instructs the Corinthian church (2 Cor. 9:1–5), the task for a church in scarce circumstances is to remember that we are bound together by Christ. That may mean merging congregations or, following the church in Acts 2, selling our buildings to better share our resources, efforts, and space for the sake of the gospel.

Scarcity of resources is a relatively new situation to the American church, which for decades has enjoyed high attendance, abundant giving, and the luxury of ample volunteer hours. Yet scarcity too has its gifts to offer—strange, hard invitations to an unforeseen future, but ones that could be abundant in virtue and love.

Myles Werntz is the author of From Isolation to Community: A Renewed Vision of Christian Life Together. He writes at Christian Ethics in the Wild and teaches at Abilene Christian University.

- More from Myles Werntz

News

Arab Israeli Christians Stay and Serve as Gaza War Riles Galilee

Jayson Casper

With tens of thousands displaced from the northern border with Lebanon, believers balance their Palestinian and Israeli identities in pursuit of peace with all.

A man looks as smoke rises over the Golan Heights after a Hezbollah rocket attack on Northern Israel.

Amir Levy / Stringer / Getty

One Friday evening, a young woman sat her toddler on her lap at Christ the King Evangelical Episcopal Church in Ma’alot-Tarshiha, a mixed Arab-Jewish town in northern Israel five miles from the border with Lebanon. Like mothers everywhere, she clapped her hands and beckoned a response.

What does the cow say? “Moo,” the child replied.

What does the dog say? “Woof,” came the answer.

What does the bomb say? “Boom,” and they both laughed.

Only a few hours earlier, with Hezbollah rockets flying overhead, intercepted sometimes by Israel’s Iron Dome defense system, church elders had debated meeting at all. When the siren sounded during the service, members wondered if they should enter the concrete basement shelter.

The playful mimicry belies the seriousness of the less reported conflict in the Galilee region, but it also reveals its everyday normalcy.

“By now the bombs have faded into the background,” said Talita Jiryis, the 28-year-old volunteer youth leader at Christ the King. “Dark humor is our mechanism to cope with fear and the uncertainty of tomorrow.”

That is, for the northern citizens who remain near the border. But a different uncertainty pains the tens of thousands evacuated from their homes. Arab Israeli Christians offered different assessments to CT, but all pray for peace in the land of their citizenship. The war in Gaza affects them too.

On October 8, one day after Hamas crossed the border into southern Israel and killed 1,200 Israelis, Hezbollah—the Shiite Muslim militia similarly aligned with Iran—launched its “support front” from Lebanon.

Daily exchange of rocket strikes and retaliatory fire has continued since.

But compared to Gaza, the casualties have been far fewer. In Lebanon, more than 450 people have been killed, mostly Hezbollah and other militant fighters but including over 80 civilians. In Israel, at least 16 soldiers and 11 civilians have been killed.

Within weeks, Israel ordered 42 northern communities neighboring Lebanon to evacuate, displacing between 60,000 and 80,000 residents with financial compensation provided. An additional 90,000 Lebanese have also fled the fighting, generally restricted to a stretch of land a few miles on either side of the border.

The violence has steadily escalated and expanded, though both Israel and Hezbollah have appeared reticent to engage in an all-out war. Ma’alot-Tarshiha was not ordered to evacuate; neither was nearby Rameh, where Jiryis was born and raised.

Mentioned in Joshua 19:29 as a border town of the tribe of Asher, Rameh lies a mere eight miles from the border. Yet the historically Christian village, populated also by Muslims and Islam’s heterodox Druze community, sits on a hill facing away from Lebanon. During the last outright conflict between Israel and Hezbollah in 2006, rockets struck only the peak or the valley below.

But it is not the relative safety that keeps Arab residents from evacuating. Jiryis said that many in Rameh are originally from nearby Iqrit, where in the 1948 Israeli war of independence, villagers were forced by Jewish soldiers to vacate. A promise they could return within two weeks was not honored; neither was the 1951 Israeli Supreme Court ruling on their behalf. The following Christmas, the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) demolished each home.

Seventy-three years and one day later, a Hezbollah rocket struck Iqrit’s Greek Catholic church compound, the only building left standing. The rocket injured the 80-year-old caretaker, and nine IDF soldiers were wounded in subsequent fire as they sought to evacuate him.

Aware of the widespread grievance, Israeli authorities have issued only recommendations—not orders—for Arab communities to evacuate, Jiryis said. In the Christian village of Fassuta, women and children left while the men stayed behind, fearful that history might repeat itself.

Christ the King church, however, represents modern cooperation: Its land was donated three years ago by the Israeli government, and its bomb shelter is open to the public. Services are on the Israeli weekend in advance of the Sabbath, as many from the village work in the Jewish sector. Samaritan’s Purse, she added, helped the poor with a $130 food coupon, a first-aid kit, and battery-charged lamps.

“Jesus is the light of the world,” leaders stated during the distribution.

The church’s average attendance is about 80 people, including a dozen youth, mostly teens. Jiryis’s father is the pastor, and she extended his regional Maranatha family conference ministry with an interdenominational youth gathering planned for April. About 70 signed up from northern Brethren and Nazarene congregations, only for all to be thrown into disarray by Iran’s unprecedented missile barrage against Israel a few days prior to the event.

They held the conference anyway.

“We had to fully activate our faith,” she said. “Christians quote, ‘I will fear no evil.’ But this time, we couldn’t afford to pretend.”

Yet many are mentally exhausted, Jiryis said, and bury their fears rather than turn to God. During the week, she lives in the port city of Haifa, 25 miles southwest of her village, where she works as a psychologist in a government hospital. She has applied her skills through arts and crafts for the village children and insisted the adults continue to meet for mutual fellowship. Breathing exercises and emotional awareness are essential, Jiryis tells them.

Yet as she looks at the war, she is angry at injustice from both sides.

Jiryis knows the history at the heart of Jewish fear. Her mother is German; her great-grandfather was forced to fight in World War II. There are no winners in war, only losers was the mantra instilled in his son. This grandfather passed away when she was seven years old, but the sentiment has filtered into her identity today.

Her paternal grandfather was Palestinian, but like many young people of her generation, Jiryis said she struggles with how to define herself. Although she calls herself a Christian Arab citizen, she doesn’t feel fully Israeli because she is not Jewish, nor does she serve in the IDF. With many Arab and Jewish friends, as a rule she avoids politics and says instead, “Call me Switzerland”—a neutral nation where her father did biblical studies. Yet as an evangelical, she is a minority of a minority of a minority.

Her internal conflict is tangible, but she finds a solution.

“I focus on my heavenly identity,” Jiryis said. “But it is difficult here because you have to belong to something.”

She sees the surrender to community narratives even in the body of Christ. Some Messianic Jews admit they will not pray for the “future terrorists”—Palestinian children—who are dying in Gaza. Some Palestinian evangelicals say they cannot pray for a government committing “genocide.” While tension was always under the surface, relationships everywhere are getting worse.

But some, even apart from Jesus, are still praying together.

A Land of Life

Jiryis’s church is an example of believers praying together, having held joint meetings with Messianic Jews. But the identity issues she described are not uncommon in her community. A 2015 survey of local evangelical leaders conducted by Nazareth Evangelical College (NEC) found that 75 percent called themselves “Arab Israelis,” deemphasizing any Palestinian linkage. A wider poll by the University of Haifa lowered the tally to 47 percent of Christians who identified as “Israeli/non-Palestinian.” Only 29 percent identified with both.

But the war in Gaza has increased Arab solidarity with their nation of citizenship. Last November, the Israel Democracy Institute found that 70 percent feel that they are part of Israel, an increase from 48 percent before the war and the highest total in 20 years of polling. Yet only 27 percent were optimistic about the future of Israel, compared to 72 percent of Jews.

Azar Ajaj, president of NEC, had some of his fears confounded.

The Iran attack forced a northern Israel interfaith gathering onto Zoom, where he was the only evangelical alongside a handful of Christians and several dozen Jewish leaders. He began his remarks by condemning Hamas and grieving with the families of the hostages. Yet he decried the violence and the death of innocent Palestinians—with some inner trembling, since such statements are often interpreted as being anti-Israel.

A ceasefire, he insisted, was necessary.

“The reaction was above my expectations; no one justified what has happened to the people of Gaza,” said Ajaj, who calls himself a Palestinian citizen of Israel. “It gave me hope that they want to live together in respect and dignity.”

Several reached out to him afterward to invite his participation in a joint Prayer for Peace, offered through the interfaith Spirit of the Galilee forum that includes rabbis from all Jewish traditions:

God, Allah, Hashem,
Strengthen the hands of those who strive for peace in our region.
May they know and feel that they are not alone;
Behind them we all stand,
People of all faiths, ages, gender, who pray for peace and quiet in our land.
May all the hostages return to their homes.
We pray for the end of this vicious bloody cycle.
May this be a land of life to all its inhabitants from here and on,
And let us say: Amen.

Slightly more than half of Israel’s 2 million Arabs live in the Galilee area.

It is essential for peacemakers to speak face to face, Ajaj said, to cultivate and sustain good relations. And though the academic gathering was forced online, the Spirit of the Galilee forum has been able to meet a few times in person since the war began.

Ministry continues, as does outreach. Despite the war, NEC was able to publish a small booklet for churches to address Muslim concerns about how Jesus could be both fully God and fully man. Ajaj’s colleague has continued to quietly but publicly conduct discussion groups with about 20 open-minded inquirers in Jerusalem.

And NEC has even grown because of the war. Since 10 of its 35 students live near the border, the college decided to move to hybrid education. Another 20 students then enrolled online. Those in dangerous crossfire areas appreciate the chance to stay near their families. And others can save on the cost of commuting, as the collapse of tourism has pinched many budgets.

Ajaj, speaking in a personal capacity, expects things to only get worse.

“Gaza is messy but not complicated—it can be solved,” he said. “But bad leaders on both sides are more concerned for their political interests.”

The ceasefire he longs for—attempted to be brokered by US president Joe Biden and demanded by the UN Security Council—has yet to be accepted by either Israel’s prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu or Hamas’s Yahya Sinwar. Even if implemented, the final plan might not spare his northern region.

Hezbollah has stated that it would respect a truce in Gaza, as it did during the first pause in late November. The Israeli defense minister, however, stated that the fight to push the militia off the northern border would continue if peaceful negotiations do not succeed.

They might. In 2022, Israel and Lebanon demarcated their maritime border.

Yet land issues are thornier, with 13 points of disputed territory for the two nations, including areas of the Golan Heights. For instance, the UN’s 2000 Blue Line armistice divided the village of Ghajar in half and increased tensions over nearby Shebaa Farms, which is occupied by Israel.

UN Resolution 1701 ended a month-long conflict in 2006 and called for the disarmament of all militias and a buffer zone of 12–18 miles south of Lebanon’s Litani River, with no unofficial armed presence permitted. Today Hezbollah continues its deployment, while Israeli planes regularly violate Lebanese airspace. Fearful that Hezbollah could launch its own version of October 7—which it publicly signaled in military exercises five months before the Hamas attack—Israel is insisting on implementation of the resolution.

Threatening rhetoric has steadily increased over the past week, as Netanyahu announced troops would be transferred to the north. The Israeli prime minister previously warned that in an all-out war, Israel would turn Beirut into Gaza.

Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah stated he turned down offers for Iran-backed regional factions to come to Lebanon and join the fight—which would be waged “without rules.” He boasted enlistment of over 100,000 fighters, and it is estimated that the US-designated terrorist group possesses 150,000 missiles, many with precision guidance.

“The situation is very complicated and scary,” said Ajaj. “I hope for a political solution, but I don’t know how.”

How Forefathers Felt

Neither does Yasmeen Mazzawi. But she is ready to help.

The 25-year-old Catholic from Nazareth is a volunteer paramedic with the Red Cross–affiliated Magen David Adom (MDA), which translates in Hebrew as “the Red Shield of David.” Her full-time job as an analytics business consultant has her in Tel Aviv, 65 miles south; however, she is now working from home in case the northern front explodes.

“There is never a good outcome from war,” Mazzawi said. “But our heavenly Father will not leave us, and there are good people around to protect us.”

Her safety net is three-fold. Her family and community provide the main support that she needs. The second source is MDA, with her strong sense of belonging to the 30,000 volunteers dedicated to national service. The third is the IDF, where she has several friends.

She identifies as an Arab Israeli Christian, with each part equally important.

For Mazzawi, family values learned from her parents have encouraged the integration of her Christian faith and Jewish environment. But it is not so for many others, she said. Many Arabs grow up without an understanding of Israeli national holidays. And when she missed classes to take a trip with MDA to Auschwitz in high school, several schoolmates shamed her. Through conversation, some came around and even joined her in paramedic service.

She is not out to change anyone’s mind but desires less separation between the communities. She feels that the shared values of all faiths are needed to build a future without conflict, rooted in love and compassion.

“October 7 showed us that history can repeat itself,” Mazzawi said, drawing from her experience in Germany. “Arabs and Jews see each other but do not know each other, and we have to bridge this gap.”

Another Christian making an effort is Neveen Elias, an Aramean from Jish, three miles from the border with Lebanon. Last year, at age 39, she enlisted in the army. And along the way, she adopted a further term for her personal identity.

“I am a Zionist,” Elias stated. “We hope that … all the Christians [will] serve in the IDF.”

Israel requires two years of national service for all females who are not religiously practicing, with eight additional months for men, at age 18. Except for Druze, Arabs are exempted, along with ultra-Orthodox Jews. The IDF does not differentiate between Christians and Muslims, for whom enlistment is voluntary. But sources said that consistent with the Arab community overall, few evangelicals participate.

But Elias said the IDF wants her to be an example. In 2014, her community became eligible to change their ID cards from “Arab” to “Aramean,” but anecdotal evidence suggests that by 2022, some 4,500 were in process—less than 2 percent of Christians in Israel. The government initiative sparked tension as a tactic to separate Arabs by faith and increase Christian enrollment in the IDF. Only a few hundred Muslims volunteer to serve in the military, although the number has recently grown.

Elias’s son is one such Arab who joined the troops in combat.

Her desire for more people to enlist is buttressed by an Israeli pre-military academy in the Galilee region, where Jews and Christians share barracks for six months. Founded by a fellow Aramean from Jish, the academy has graduated 315 men and women since its founding in 2017.

Among Jews, the IDF is considered a great equalizer, uniting Israel’s diverse Hebrew communities under the national umbrella. The hope at the academy is much like Mazzawi’s: Arab students learn the Zionist story while Jews become familiar with Christian holidays and beliefs—which Elias said are not taught in public schools.

Her decision to join the IDF is highly controversial, but Elias has not neglected her roots. She cited her ancestral hamlet of Biram as a reason Jish remains populated; like Iqrit, Biram was a Christian village where people were not allowed to return.

Many question how she could join the Israeli army that displaced them. But as she keeps watch over evacuated kibbutzim, her Jewish friends, still evacuated seven months later, lament their newfound understanding: “Now we know how your forefathers felt when told to leave and unable to return.”

She is pessimistic about their chances.

“The IDF is waiting to finish in Gaza before it gets busy in the north,” Elias said. “We feel like it will be soon.”

In the Same House

At least on the southern border, one Arab evangelical is hoping so.

“You need to protect your people, so you need to clean this virus,” stated Saleem Shalash, pastor of Jesus the King Church in Nazareth. “Israel … need[s] to continue finishing Hamas so the people of Gaza can live in peace.”

Outspoken in his support for Israel, he wants his ministry to answer Nathanael’s question in John 1:46: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” And seeking to build bridges between communities, he aims to “get Isaac and Ishmael into the same house.”

October 7, Shalash said, threatened the reconciliation work of many years. His church has supplied aid to 900 families displaced from both north and south, but it still took months to regain the trust of Jewish partners.

“The Arabs did this,” they told him.

The ice was finally broken at a gathering with the mayor, when a fellow Arab pastor prayed for the victims. Afterward, many wept and embraced him.

Shalash, who once disliked Jews, centered his call in the story of the Prodigal Son. His interpretation was always that the Jews were those who lost their way, but he came to see the church—though grafted into the people of God—as the older brother angry that welcome is still extended to them. The parable is unusual in that it remains open-ended.

“The Lord told me, ‘It is your choice,’” Shalash stated. “But what I am saying is not very popular among Israeli Arabs.”

Survey data has shown that most of this community prefers life in Israel to that in any future Palestinian state. But grievances run deep.

Comprising about 20 percent of Israel’s population today, Arab citizens are descended from the original 150,000 who remained after the 1948 war. More than 700,000 refugees fled or were driven from Israel around the time of the war and were not allowed to return.

Throughout Israel today, Arabs are less well-off than their Jewish neighbors. Prior to COVID-19, about 45 percent of Arab families lived below the poverty line, compared to 13 percent for Jews. Education levels are also lower, with 15 percent holding an academic degree, compared to 33 percent for Jews.

Christians are 8 percent of the Arab community and 2 percent of the Israeli population overall. Given the tensions in the region, many—but not all—prefer to keep silent.

“Some want only to pray, others to make statements,” said Toumeh Odeh, a lawyer from Kafr Yasif, a Christian-majority village 10 miles from the border. “We generally prefer to be on the safe side. But as believers, we must have a say against injustice.”

He has done so in his profession, helping Israeli Arabs married to West Bank Palestinians obtain their legal residency in Israel, as a 2003 law ceased the automatic granting of citizenship. And he gives credit where credit is due: Living also in Ma’alot-Tarshiha, he praised the police for containing an anti-Arab incident sparked by anger from October 7—which he thoroughly condemns.

But there is nonetheless a disparity.

“Israel is strong and has the power over Palestinians,” said Odeh. “We must speak about the wrong done by the state, while not neglecting the wrong done against Jews.”

His statement reflects his four-fold identity: Arab, Palestinian, Christian, and Israeli citizen. He laments the bygone days when the government sidelined Jewish extremist groups from parliament; today they occupy key posts in the cabinet.

The situation is only growing worse, Odeh said, but his faith provides the answer: the Good Samaritan. Jesus crafted the parable in response to a lawyer, rebuking all who neglect mercy. In contrast, Odeh praised the Council of Evangelical Churches in Israel (CECI) for raising $13,000 to provide shelter to the displaced and assist those affected by the economic downturn—both Arabs and Jews.

Representing the 35 congregations among local Assemblies of God, Baptist, Brethren, Nazarene, and Christian Missionary Alliance churches, CECI had previously sent money for pandemic relief in the West Bank; for victims of the 2020 port explosion in Beirut; and for damage suffered in last year’s earthquake in Turkey and Syria.

“We try to help everyone in need,” said Odeh. “Hatred only brings more hatred, and only light can drive out darkness.”

Such is his vision for Israel and the region. Peace must first come through governments, he said, citing Egypt and Jordan as partial examples. If rights are honored and prosperity follows, within a generation it will take hold among the people.

True peace with the Palestinians will take away any animosity for Hamas or Hezbollah to exploit, he believes. And separating the conflict from religion will help, as Odeh expressed frustration with the actions of Israeli settlers and Islamist ideologues alike.

Polling

- More from Jayson Casper

Church Life

When My Sermon Riled Our City

Keith Simon

Preaching on sex and gender led to local uproar and national headlines. Here are seven things I learned.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Wikimedia Commons

October 13, 2019, seemed like every other Sunday. And it was—until it wasn’t.

My sermon that day on Genesis 1:27 unexpectedly made national headlines, changing my life, our church, and the relationship our church had built with our community.

Since then, I’ve reflected on what transpired and how the things that we learned might help other churches as they prepare to teach on sexuality and gender.

In the fall of 2019, we started a yearlong preaching series through Genesis. We take a team approach to preaching, so we discussed how we wanted to handle Genesis 1:26–28—an incredibly important passage with profound implications. Dave Cover, who cofounded The Crossing church with me, preached on the image of God, and the plan was that I would preach the next week on what it means that humans are created male and female.

Knowing the sensitivity of the topic, I asked Dave and other pastors to read the sermon ahead of time and give me feedback. The final version was a team effort to speak truth in love. And the truth is that Genesis clearly teaches that God created people male or female. What people often derisively call the “gender binary” isn’t rooted in the patriarchy or Victorian ethics. It’s rooted in God’s design. Sex and gender aren’t social constructs.

It’s also true that transgender people will always be welcome to attend The Crossing. In the sermon, I told parents that if your child comes to you and says they are trans, the right response is to hug your child, tell them you love them, and assure them you will work through it together. I said that if someone visited the church, I’d use the name they shared with me. I want to build a relationship with people, not win an argument.

Right before I went up to preach this sermon for the second of three services, I was told that a woman—who used to attend The Crossing but had since left not only our church but also orthodox Christianity—had posted on Facebook that she’d listened to the sermon and that I (and our church) was transphobic. She had a young child who was in the process of socially transitioning, so this was an especially personal issue for her.

That was only the beginning of the blowback. There were threats against our safety, so we heightened security at the church, and the police were more visible in my neighborhood. On Monday morning, some people’s coworkers confronted them asking how they could remain at The Crossing after such a hateful sermon (which many had only heard about secondhand).

We would go on dealing with the aftermath of that sermon for years to come. In the process, I learned seven lessons that may help other churches.

Sometimes teaching biblical truth is costly.

Perhaps the most painful consequence of the sermon was the rupture of our relationship with the True/False Film Festival. This local festival had developed a national reputation, attracting some of the world’s best documentary filmmakers, and The Crossing was a financial sponsor. We’d spent years building friendships with the festival’s founders, who were smart, talented, and very irreligious. Many people in the church volunteered during the festival and many more attended films.

What made the partnership unlikely is the same thing that made it special. Organizations with very different beliefs worked together for the common good. The New York Times and Christianity Today said it was the nation’s only partnership between a film festival and an evangelical church.

But after the sermon on Genesis 1, the festival’s leadership decided they couldn’t partner with us. While the church and the community eventually healed, the partnership never did. This pales in comparison to the prices other Christians have paid for being faithful to Jesus, but being misrepresented in online arguments or called names is never fun.

You can say everything “right” and still be offensive.

Could we have crafted a more truthful and loving sermon? Always. But was it a good-faith effort? Absolutely. My sermon wasn’t designed to stir up controversy but to teach and shepherd the congregation.

It helped me to remember that Jesus said all the right words at the right time with the right tone, and they crucified him. Sometimes Christian truth is offensive no matter how it’s said.

You can act in good faith and still make avoidable mistakes.

I made the mistake of not talking with any transgender people before preaching the sermon. I listened to podcast interviews that featured trans people and read plenty of books on the topic but didn’t have a personal conversation. Would that have changed anything in my sermon? I don’t know. Maybe not. But it would have been wise to listen to trans people in my community before talking about them.

The way you raise the subject matters.

When you preach through books of the Bible, you don’t get to avoid hard topics like sex and gender, but neither can you be accused of selecting texts to pick on one group of people. We addressed the topic because Genesis does, not because we wanted to jump into the middle of the culture war.

Prepare for tough questions in advance.

When the controversy began, it became obvious that we needed to give the church more instruction than could be included in one sermon. Within a few days, we’d emailed a short document responding to questions we’d been asked and false claims we’d heard in the community.

That email went out by the middle of the week, but those intervening days were rough for people in our church. We should have anticipated this need and posted the document online as soon as our services finished on Sunday.

Clear your schedule to meet with people.

The week following the sermon, I reached out to the people who were criticizing me and the church, including the woman whose Facebook post started it all. My wife and I met with her and her husband at a local coffee shop. Once we said hello and sat down, I opened my notebook and asked what they wished I’d known before I preached that sermon.

I asked the same question of every person who was willing to meet with me face to face: What do you wish I’d known? What do you wish I’d said differently? What do you think I need to learn? While I certainly didn’t agree with everything they said, I learned a lot and walked away with more compassion.

Regardless of the size of the congregation, pastors need to set aside time to get together with people who are confused, feel hurt, or just disagree with a controversial sermon. Meeting with people and answering their questions demonstrates humility and respect. If you sit down and engage in good faith, if you focus more on listening than lecturing, you’ll learn something and, in the process, may win people to the truth.

Respond to critics with grace.

What do you do when people say your sincerely held Christian beliefs cause “tremendous pain in our community”? How do you respond when you’re told that your church “discriminates or explicitly devalues LGBTQ+ citizens”?

One morning about a month after my sermon, my phone started blowing up with texts from friends telling me the local NBC affiliate had interviewed an independent bookstore owner who was sponsoring a lunch discussion highlighting books with transgender characters. The intention behind the event was clear when the owner ended the interview with an invitation: “Pastor Simon is welcome to attend.”

I could tell everyone was surprised when I walked into the bookstore. Heck, I was surprised I was there. But I knew that we couldn’t hide. If we disappeared, it would communicate that we were embarrassed or knew we were wrong, and neither was true. If we showed up, if we humbly engaged, it would be much harder to write us off as hateful bigots.

We asked our staff and congregation to use their social media platforms to express appreciation for the True/False Film Festival even after they ended our relationship. We encouraged people to continue to volunteer and attend.

A few weeks later, one of the festival’s cofounders told us that the church’s response was a master class in grace and asked why we did it. We couldn’t take credit. The truth is that we wanted to punch back. We’d even come up with snarky comebacks and ways to spin the story so that we were the good guys and they were the bad guys.

Instead, we told him that we decided we just couldn’t respond that way. We follow Jesus. He loved us when we were his enemies. If we offered a master class on grace, it’s only because our master first showed us grace.

The conversation around sexuality has changed since I preached that sermon back in 2019. I doubt the same sermon would draw as much attention or be as controversial today. But the need to preach on culturally sensitive topics with truth and love will never change.

Keith Simon is a pastor at The Crossing and coauthor with Patrick Miller of Truth Over Tribe: Pledging Allegiance to the Lamb, not the Donkey or the Elephant and the upcoming Joyful Outsiders: Six Ways to Engage a Disorienting Culture (Zondervan, 2025).

- More from Keith Simon

Church Life

Two Cheers for the Wedding Industrial Complex

Brad East

For all their faults, our marriage rituals present family and promise-keeping as beautiful, desirable, and worth the effort.

Elisabeth Arnold / Unsplash / Edits by CT

It’s summer, and for a professor at a Christian college—an evangelical school in the South, no less—that means it’s wedding season. On my campus, jokes about “ring by spring” still abound.

Talk about a counterculture. Few things are less in tune with the zeitgeist. Americans are marrying and having children later than ever. And even in evangelical contexts, many young people’s parents, pastors, and professors are advising delayed marriage: Focus first on a degree, on establishing a career, on saving some money. Worry about a mate closer to 30 than to 20—and certainly don’t get pregnant! These things will take care of themselves.

This advice is well-intended, perhaps autobiographical. Many Christians in older generations remember and reject the old stigma of singleness into one’s 30s. They may have married young themselves, then come to regret it—or they may worry that young people, especially young women, will follow the script of early marriage and childbearing to their own regrets.

There’s also some real wisdom here: Don’t get married just because it seems like the next step on a checklist. Moreover, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Take marriage seriously, even if that means waiting for a few years.

The risk, though, is that a spouse may not be waiting for you. Marriage and children aren’t just arriving later; increasingly, they aren’t arriving at all. From my vantage point, the problem is not that too many of my students want to get married too young. It’s the opposite. They’ve gotten the memo from their families, churches, and secular culture alike. They know about the likelihood and pain of divorce. They know babies are demanding and expensive. They know pop culture rolls its eyes at lifelong monogamy. No one needs to remind them of these things.

But what a few of us might consider doing—I certainly do—is telling them how great marriage is. How wonderful children are. How beginning to forge a family in your 20s is a perfectly reasonable thing to do. How money is always a stressor; so why not share the load? How praying and stepping out in trust isn’t crazy, though it’s certainly risky.

As it happens, there is one part of the wider culture that doesn’t work at cross purposes with this message. And yet this phenomenon is also, in my experience, a whipping boy for Christian punditry and hand-wringing. I’m talking about the wedding industrial complex.

I doubt I need to enlighten you on this topic. The billions spent annually. The ballooning budgets. The influence of Pinterest and Instagram. The fairy-tale wedding that caps the romantic comedy plot line, from meet-cute to happily ever after.

There is much to criticize here, I don’t deny. Gone are the days of a simple ceremony with your congregation, with cake and punch and decorations arranged by the same church ladies who changed your diapers so many years ago. Now the expectation is that the ceremony be picturesque, professionally photographed and recorded—the party of the year. (Guests have expectations, you know.) Parents go into debt. An already stressful time collapses under its own weight. And the point of it all threatens to be forgotten: Namely, that two people are being joined in holy matrimony.

Yet even if we can’t give three cheers for the wedding industrial complex, I can still muster one or two. So far as I can tell, it’s one of the few remaining cultural institutions that exert any kind of positive pressure on young people to get married.

For all its faults, our ritual of elaborate weddings presents marriage, family, promises, and love itself as beautiful. Desirable, even. The industry provides permission to want to be married, and to kick it off in grand style.

The wedding industrial complex also holds a connection to faith that most of our public life has lost. Even nonreligious people want to be married by a minister; churches remain popular wedding venues; God often gets more than nominal mention; Scripture or Communion or both are features of the ceremony. Tradition reigns. Like funerals, weddings are one of very few remaining occasions to follow wise scripts written long before we were born. We find ourselves, sometimes to our surprise, disposed to follow where they lead.

One place they continue to lead is the making of promises. Three decades ago, the theologian Robert Jenson remarked that in an age when our culture has lost faith in promise-keeping, the church could be an outpost of promises made and kept. Jenson was onto something. Year after year, we lose reasons to trust publicly made promises, including marital ones.

Yet there also endures an ineradicable hunger both to witness them and to be bound by such pledges. I continue to marvel at the earnest stubbornness of supposedly secular wedding ceremonies, in which grooms and brides simply refuse to stop making vows to each other. They do it in front of people who won’t let them forget it, and they persist in invoking the name of the Lord.

I am not so foolish as to think this ceremonial persistence reflects abiding faith or that it mitigates the scandal of divorces, Christian and otherwise. But neither am I so cynical as to see in it nothing but empty formulas and rote traditions. And I think we should celebrate that, against all odds, people continue to see weddings as holy feasts worth the money, the time, and the headache.

This summer, I officiated my first wedding, and I have another one next month. My wife gave me a rule of thumb: If people I love or students I’ve taught honor me with the invitation, then I had better have a good reason to decline. She’s right. I want more weddings, not fewer. I’m the kook on campus telling these crazy kids to go for it, aren’t I?

If that means calling a truce with Brides magazine and The Knot and even Instagram, so be it. The world may mean it for ill, but God means it for good. Maybe “ring by spring” isn’t such a joke after all.

Brad East is an associate professor of theology at Abilene Christian University. He is the author of four books, including The Church: A Guide to the People of God and Letters to a Future Saint: Foundations of Faith for the Spiritually Hungry.

- More from Brad East

Culture

You Can Love Rap, Jesus, and the Color Pink

Interview by Kelsey Kramer McGinnis

The first female artist on Lecrae’s label, Wande talks to CT about being a woman in Christian hip-hop and how the genre can be an entry point for learning gospel truths.

Wande

Courtesy of Proud Refuge

Five years ago, when Yewande Dees became the first female artist with Reach Records, it was a milestone for the Christian hip-hop label and for all of Christian hip-hop. The 28-year-old Nigerian-born rapper, who currently performs as Wande, is one of only a handful of women on the scene.

Wande began as a reporter covering Christian hip-hop online, then took a job in artist development for Reach, the independent label cofounded by Lecrae and Ben Washer.

In 2019, she signed a deal with the label, and since then, her lyricism, charisma, and energy have helped her carve a new path that she hopes other women will be able to follow. Reach recently signed writer and artist Jackie Hill Perry, in another move toward gender parity in a decidedly male-dominated segment of the music industry.

Now based in Atlanta, Wande is bringing her lyrical creativity and flow to collaborations with artists such as Maverick City Music (“Firm Foundation (He’s Gonna Make a Way)”), Lecrae (“Blessed Up”), and TobyMac (“Found”). She has built a loyal following online, connecting with fans through comical send-ups of biblical characters and “get ready with me” videos.

She sees her job as a calling and her music as an opportunity to lead people to worship. Tracks like “Found” showcase her ability to shift between melodic lines and rapped lyrics. Her latest single, “Send That,” featuring Lecrae, is an anthemic declaration of confidence in prayer and the power of the Holy Spirit. It’s unapologetically victorious. “If God is for me, who can come against me? / Send them prayers up and watch him move,” she raps, leading into the first chorus.

Wande spoke with CT about her childhood as the youngest kid in a multifaith immigrant family, her call to pursue a career in the music industry, and the state of the Christian hip-hop scene.

You just released a new single featuring Lecrae, and you’re getting ready to drop a new album this summer. Does life feel busy?

Yes, and I also have a life update! I’m changing my name.

That’s a big change. What made you decide to do it?

I was born in Nigeria, and most of my family is either Muslim or in another faith. My name aligns with the Muslim faith and with reincarnation, and I love Jesus! I never really thought about my name in that way when I was younger, but God brought it to my mind earlier this year and put it on my heart, like, “Hey, I want you to change that up.”

So I’m releasing a new single next month called “Pray for Me,” and that will be under my new name, Anike. It means “someone you cherish and don’t take for granted.” It’s also the title of my new album coming out later this summer. Probably early August.

It seems like the multifaith story of your family has deeply shaped your music and identity. What was it like growing up in a household with both Islam and Christianity?

My family emigrated to Texas when I was a baby. I had the immigrant life at home, and then in that school I had a totally American experience. And that’s all I knew. I knew that at home I eat different food and then at school this other food. Or at home they speak Yoruba to me, which is a Nigerian language, and at school we speak English.

I grew up with that duality, and I see it as a blessing because I feel like it opened my eyes to other cultures and gave me a heart to see beauty in those things.

My mom became a Christian as a young adult. Growing up, I thought it was normal to just choose whatever faith you want. I encountered Jesus for myself when I was in middle school. I was actually allowed to go to church because my dad wanted to be a good person. He didn’t want me to “get saved,” but he thought it was good for me to go for the moral stuff. But I noticed the other kids always got to go to summer camp. I was never allowed to do that, because it was seen as too much beyond Sunday.

I ended up going to a camp in Columbus, Texas, and doing an internship program there, and I encountered Jesus. And that just radically changed my life. After that, all I wanted to do was tell people about Jesus.

Was there any opposition to your conversion from your family?

I came home from camp super excited, like, “Dad, didn’t you hear about Jesus?” and then he’s like, “No, this is too much.” So he decided, “I can solve this, you just won’t go to church anymore.”

There was about maybe a year of severe restriction where I couldn’t go to church, but it was also really cool because my mom became my advocate during that time. She was on her own personal journey as a wife and mother and figuring out, “How do I advocate for my children and for myself?” And eventually she was able to stand up for herself and for me as well.

It was a journey, but God’s been faithful.

So you experienced this powerful conversion in middle school. When did you start to see music as part of your identity?

I honestly never anticipated being a rapper at all. I started playing music because our school had extracurricular activities. It started with middle school band, where it’s just, “pick an instrument,” and I chose the flute. I enjoyed it, and I was good at it.

I started rapping in high school, but ironically it was for a ninth grade biology project. My teacher was like, “Hey, you can either do a PowerPoint presentation or you can do a rap,” and I was like, “Why would you not choose the rap option?”

My life kind of changed after that. I would do these freestyle circles at lunch, and I was trying to tell people about Jesus in 30 seconds of rapping. Then I learned how to record on YouTube and started making videos. It was all very small-scale. But things just evolved from there. I did some talent shows and a church convention in Dallas, and I started to sense God telling me he wanted me to do this as a career.

It was terrifying and totally out of my comfort zone. My whole life to that point, I was on track to become a doctor.

Were you plugged into the Christian hip-hop scene at that point?

Yeah, I listened to Lecrae and Trip Lee, which is crazy because we work together now. I remember getting on YouTube and looking for, like, Christian remixes to Young Money or Lil Wayne, and I actually found some. Then I started finding real Christian rappers like Lecrae, and I ended up seeing him perform at a summer camp.

My freshman year in college, I became a reporter for Rapzilla. I was really aware of the Christian hip-hop landscape, and I was passionate about sharing it with other people.

I wanted to find people who maybe were like, “I love God, but I just don’t have music that matches my vibes.” So I could say, “Here’s some Christian rap, there you go!”

Then, my junior year of college, I got an internship at Reach Records and they offered me a job in A&R [artists and repertoire] after my senior year. After working there for six months, I got an artist contract.

It seems like you were open to working in the industry even if it didn’t mean having a career as a performer. Did you think it was too far-fetched to expect to make it as a rapper?

At the time, I was thinking, “God, I thought you told me to become a rapper, why am I just working for rappers?” But now, I can see God was trying to help me. He introduced me to all the different people I was going to work with in the future. I got to see the back end of contracts and stuff like that, which was helpful when I was trying to negotiate my contract. And he was developing humility in me.

I think God needed to refine certain things in me, like, “Hey, even if you’re not a rapper, are you still content with the life I give you?” So I actually had to come to terms with that. What if my job was only to influence one person to get saved through rapping at a talent show? Would I be content if that’s how God wanted to use me?

But you ended up becoming the first female artist signed to Reach Records. What has it been like to be the first, and to try to help make it easier for other women in the future?

I feel like the oldest sibling. That’s how I describe it right now. It feels like a lot of trial and error. I have to go to the Lord and make sure I never grow bitter. I want to make sure I’m staying joyful. A big thing for me is holding people accountable but also giving grace.

I’ve had to go through a personal journey as well regarding my femininity. This world is so male dominated. I went through a phase where I thought I had to be hard or gangsta. But I think I’ve become more comfortable in just saying that I like feminine things, I like pink. It doesn’t make me a weaker person. It’s just who God created me to be, and I’m leaning into that.

There have been some hard moments, though. There was one producer who made a record with me, then took all my beats and wouldn’t give them back when it was time to finalize and turn it in. So I had to start all over. No one at Reach had ever had that happen before. They don’t usually try guys like that.

And there are other little things, like hair and makeup. Our team has had to learn that I need time to do all that. On tour, they’re like, “Wake up! Brush teeth, Bible study onstage!” And I’m like, “Yeah, I love Jesus, bro, but I need a certain amount of time! I don’t want to look crazy.”

But honestly, I think we’re in a pretty good spot. We’re seeing more features on tracks, and women are getting signed. Now we need people to support women by coming out to shows and supporting women doing their own tours. To get to the next level, we need people coming out to shows and supporting these women so they can sustain a career.

You’ve collaborated and performed with Maverick City Music on songs like “Firm Foundation.” How do you think about the relationship between your performance and worship?

I think a lot of artists actually have a heart for worship. I like having songs that reflect up and aren’t just giving glory to me. But it’s in the planning stages, you have to think about your choruses, what you can do to lead people into worship. That’s been something I’ve been really intentional about in my upcoming album.

And I think this has to come in the early stages of writing and creating. Sometimes when I write, I’m thinking about my life and something I’m feeling or going through, but then when I get to a show, I realize, “Man, I really wish I could have led people into worship right then.” Then you go back to the studio and you think about what you need to say to help lead people into worship or create a certain atmosphere.

Reach Records is 20 years old this year. The Christian hip-hop industry is growing. What makes you hopeful when you look at the scene and think about its future?

I think what makes me the most hopeful is that the artists really love Jesus.

You have artists who are going to influence people for Christ, but on top of that, you’re gonna get quality music. They’re pushing the quality forward while being adamant about being outspoken about their faith.

This music has been a great entry point for people who are open to exploring God but don’t feel “holy” enough to go looking for Christian music. In a way, the music is discipling people by giving them a soundscape that they enjoy, that sounds like what they would normally listen to, but the words speak about Jesus.

People can listen to this music and not know they’re listening to a Christian song. And I think it’s so cool, because this music can live in multiple spaces without feeling intrusive, but at the same time, truth is being spoken.

https://open.spotify.com/embed/playlist/2PwzDOEy9KDUyzOvkt9Y99?si=3c1e807f9cfb4251

- More from Interview by Kelsey Kramer McGinnis

News

Wire Story

After Roe’s Reversal, Most Churches Still Aren’t Involved with a Local Pregnancy Center

Aaron Earls - Lifeway Research

Over two years of new state-level restrictions, younger Christians, Hispanics, and megachurch attendees are more likely to say their congregation supports their community’s alternative to abortion clinics.

Adene Sanchez / Getty Images

Two years ago, the Supreme Court overruled Roe v. Wade and the right to an abortion. In the aftermath, many churchgoers say they’ve seen their congregations involved in supporting local pregnancy resource centers.

On June 24, 2022, in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, the Supreme Court opened the door for states to pass laws restricting abortion. In the aftermath, local pregnancy centers have received increased attention. A Lifeway Research study finds 3 in 10 US Protestant churchgoers (31%) have seen at least one type of congregational connection with those local centers since the overturning of Roe v. Wade.

“In a survey of Americans conducted days before the Dobbs decision was leaked, almost two-thirds of Americans agreed churches and religious organizations have a responsibility to increase support for women who have unwanted pregnancies if their state restricts access to abortion,” said Scott McConnell, executive director of Lifeway Research.

“According to those who attend, the majority of Protestant churches in the US are not supporting a pregnancy resource center that exists either separately or as part of their church.”

More than 1 in 8 churchgoers say their church has supported a local pregnancy resource center financially (16%), encouraged those in the congregation to support a center financially (14%) or encouraged the congregation to refer those with unplanned pregnancies to the center (14%).

Another 11 percent say their church has encouraged the congregation to volunteer at a local pregnancy resource center, and 7 percent say the church has had a leader from the center speak at the church. Among those who say their congregation is involved with pregnancy resource centers in some way, the median number of activities churchgoers hear about is two.

https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/TJ7sg

Others aren’t aware of any connection between their congregation and a local pregnancy center. More than 2 in 5 churchgoers (44%) say they haven’t heard of their church being involved with any of these measures to support a local center. Less than 1 in 10 (8%) say there are no such pregnancy centers near their church. Around 1 in 7 (16%) say they aren’t sure how or if their church is involved.

“More than 4 in 10 pregnancies in the US are unintended according to the Centers for Disease Control,” said McConnell. “Changes to the legality of abortion do not change the reality that a large number of women and couples are not planning for the positive pregnancy tests they receive. They need compassion, care and tangible help but are often not open to turning directly to a church for help.”

Often, younger churchgoers and those who attend more frequently are among the most likely to say their church is working with local pregnancy centers. Those in Lutheran congregations and part of smaller churches are among the least likely.

Specifically, churchgoers under 50 (21%) are almost twice as likely as those 65 and older (11%) to say their church has financially supported a local pregnancy center. Restorationist Movement (22%), Baptist (19%), and non-denominational (16%) churchgoers are more likely than Lutherans (7%) to say this is the case at their church.

Additionally, those who attend four times a month or more (20%) are more likely than those who attend one to three times (11%) to have heard about their church giving financially to pregnancy centers. Churchgoers with evangelical beliefs (19%) are more likely than those without such beliefs (12%). And those at the largest churches, worship attendance of 500 or more, (23%) are among the most likely to say their church financially supports local pregnancy resource centers.

In terms of their churches asking them to financially give to such centers personally, adult churchgoers under 35 (23%) and those 35 to 49 (21%) are among the most likely to say their congregation has encouraged such support. Those at the smallest churches, less than 50 in worship attendance, (8%) are among the least likely.

Beyond financial support, churchgoers under 50 are also among the most likely to say their congregation has been encouraged to refer those with an unplanned pregnancy to those resource centers—27 percent of those 18 to 34 and 22 percent of those 35 to 49.

Hispanic Protestant churchgoers (24%) are twice as likely as white churchgoers (12%) to have heard this type of encouragement. Restorationist Movement (22%) and Baptist (16%) churchgoers are more likely than those at Lutheran (8%) or non-denominational (10%) churches to say their congregation has been encouraged in this way.

Those who attend less frequently, one to three times a month, (11%) and those attending the smallest churches, less than 50 in attendance, (10%) are among the least likely to have heard such encouragement in their congregations.

Younger churchgoers are again more likely to have heard calls to volunteer at local pregnancy resource centers. Those 18 to 34 (19%) and 35 to 49 (20%) are more likely than those 50 to 64 (8%) and 65 and over (5%).

Hispanic churchgoers (21%) are more than twice as likely as white (9%) churchgoers to say their church has encouraged them to volunteer. Baptists (13%) and non-denominational churchgoers (12%) are three times as likely as Lutherans (4%).

Again, the less frequent attenders (8%) and those at the smallest congregations (3%) are among the least likely to say they’ve been encouraged by their church to volunteer at local pregnancy resource centers.

Older churchgoers, those who attend less frequently, those at smaller churches and Lutherans are among the least likely to say their churches have had a leader from a pregnancy resource center speak at their church since Roe v. Wade was overturned. White churchgoers (5%) are also half as likely as Hispanic (11%) and African American (10%) churchgoers to say this has happened in their congregations.

For some, their congregations may not be serving with local pregnancy centers because they aren’t aware of any near their churches. Those in the Northeast (15%) are more likely than those in the South (7%) or West (7%) to say that is the case.

Lutheran (14%) and Baptist (10%) churchgoers are more likely than those in Presbyterian/Reformed congregations (2%) to say their church is not near any such centers. Those who attend less frequently (12%) and those attending smaller congregations, less than 50 (15%) and 50 to 99 (12%), are also among the most likely to not be aware of any pregnancy centers nearby.

Regardless of how close a pregnancy resource center may be, some churchgoers aren’t aware of their church having any involvement with pregnancy centers since Roe v. Wade was overturned. Older churchgoers, those 65 and older (56%) and 50 to 64 (49%), are more likely than those 35 to 49 (32%) and 18 to 34 (22%) to say they haven’t heard of any of the five types of involvement.

White churchgoers (47%) and those of other ethnicities (56%) are more likely than African Americans (33%) and Hispanics (32%) to say they’re unaware of their church being involved. Lutherans (53%) are more likely than Baptist (42%) and non-denominational (42%) churchgoers to say they haven’t heard of their congregation being involved with pregnancy resource centers in any of the five ways.

“There is equal opportunity for all churches to point those with unintended pregnancies to help if there is a Christian pregnancy resource center nearby,” said McConnell. “Yet few churches are doing so in a way their congregation notices.”

- More from Aaron Earls - Lifeway Research

Theology

‘Going for the Jugular’ Does Not Wash Away Sin

Russell Moore

Why the life and death of disgraced culture warrior Paul Pressler should serve as a warning to all of us.

The Fall of the Rebel Angels by Luca Giordano.

Wikimedia Commons / Edits by CT

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

A man named Paul Pressler warned us that a wrong view of authority would lead to debauchery and downgrade. He was right. What he didn’t tell us was that his vision for American Christianity would be one of the ways we would get there.

News did not break about the death of the retired Houston judge, the co-architect of the “Baptist Reformation” that we called “the conservative resurgence,” until days after his demise, probably due to the fact that he died in disgrace.

My colleague Daniel Silliman explains excellently the paradox of Pressler’s public and private life. According to multiple serious and credible allegations by named people, with corroboration from multiple others and over a very long period of time, Pressler was a sexual molester of young men and boys. As reporter Rob Downen of The Texas Tribune summarizes in his thread, the nature of the corroborating evidence against the late judge is the size of a mountain.

It’s fair to say that most people—certainly most people in Southern Baptist pews—did not know about these reports of such a villainous nature for a long time. But it is also fair to say that almost everyone, at least those even minimally close up, could see other aspects—a cruelty, a viciousness, a vindictiveness—that displayed the means of Machiavelli, not the ways of the Messiah. His defining virtue—for all of us who retold the “Won Cause” mythology of the reformers who “saved the convention from liberalism”—was not Christlikeness but the fact that he was willing to fight.

And fight he did. At a meeting of pastors, he famously used the metaphor that conservatives would have to “go for the jugular” in defeating the moderate Baptist leaders of the time. Commentator Bill Moyers and I would have sharply divergent views on almost every major theological issue, but he accurately described Pressler, in the 1980s, as one who “rules the Southern Baptist Convention like a swaggering Caesar, breaking good men when it pleases him.” Good men, and women, indeed were broken—and some are breaking still.

I write this as a biblical inerrantist—more convinced than ever that the Bible is the verbally inspired Word of God and that it contains, as an oft-repeated line of our confession of faith puts it, “truth, without any mixture of error, for its matter.” There were genuine issues of what any honest observer would call theological liberalism in some places, especially in some sectors of the Southern Baptist academy. But, as I came to realize much later than I should have, some of those deemed to be “liberals” were not so at all. Riffing on a misattributed quote from Andy Warhol, I’d realize that among Baptists, everyone gets a turn at being called a liberal for at least 15 minutes.

And many others, I’ve come to see, liberalized precisely because they saw the mafia-like tactics of those such as Pressler and concluded that, since this “conservatism” was so obviously not of the spirit of Christ, whatever was its mirror image must be right. I don’t agree, as a Christian, that this is the correct response—but, as a human being, I can understand it.

Sometimes, when teaching theology at a Southern Baptist seminary, I would quote Pressler warning about what he called the “Dalmatian theory of inspiration.”

“Once you say that the Bible could contain error, you make yourself the judge of what portions of the Bible are true and which portions are error,” Pressler said in an interview at the height of the Southern Baptist controversy over biblical inerrancy. “It is a presumptuous thing for an individual to edit God. Somebody has called it the spot theory of inspiration. The Bible was inspired in spots, and we are inspired to spot the spots.”

Even before the court actions and subsequent revelations, though, those of us in the conservative wing of Baptist life should have recognized the low view of biblical authority even in the actions Pressler did in full public view. Instead, we were told, and believed, that the stakes were too high—the orthodoxy of the nation’s largest Protestant denomination—to worry that the warlords leading the charge were not like Jesus. Many of us learned to tolerate the idea that one can do evil that good may result—a contradiction of the inerrant Word of God (Rom. 3:8).

The implicit idea is that, if the stakes are high enough, the usual norms of Christian morality—on truth-telling and kindness, gentleness, love, joy, self-control, etc.—can be ignored, at least long enough to fix the problem and return to normal.

This is not an unusual temptation: Let’s violate human rights in order to save human rights. Let’s terminate the Constitution to save the Constitution. Let’s elect sexual abusers to protect the family. Let’s disobey the Bible to save the Bible. Pressler warned (about other people in other situations) that what is tolerated is ultimately celebrated. That’s not always true, of course, but it certainly was in the case of conviction defined as quarrelsomeness.

Before one knows it, one ends up with a partisan definition of truth, all the more ironic for defenders of biblical inerrancy and—with a situational definition of ethics—for warriors against moral relativism. When this happens, the criterion by which the confession of faith is interpreted is through whatever controversy enlivens the crowd. Biblical passages that seem to be violated by one’s “enemies” are then emphasized, while those applying to one’s own “side” are minimized. To do this well, one needs some authoritative, if not authoritarian, leaders to spot the spots that are to be underlined and to skip over those to be ignored.

What difference does it make if one’s liberalism is characterized by ignoring Paul but quoting the Sermon on the Mount, or by ignoring the Sermon on the Mount but quoting Paul? How is one a liberal who explains away the Exodus but takes literally the Prophets, while that’s not true for the one who explains away the Prophets but takes literally the Exodus?

If the Bible is breathed out by God, then all of it is “profitable for teaching, for reproof, for training in righteousness” (2 Tim. 3:16, ESV throughout). A high view of biblical authority does not, by itself, guarantee orthodoxy.

As one of my (very conservative) professors in seminary once told me, “Biblical inerrancy, by itself, is just an agreed-upon table of contents.” The work of interpretation must be done, and that requires the hard work of determining what matters are of “first importance” (1 Cor. 15:3) and what matters can be debated without ending cooperation. True enough.

But one can’t even debate those issues of interpretation in good faith if all sides are operating with their own secret canons-within-the-canon, determined by what to affirm or deny in order to stay in the tribe. That’s what the Bible calls being “tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine” (Eph. 4:14). Whether those winds blow to the left or to the right or to the center, they leave us adrift.

Paul Pressler said he believed in biblical authority. He said that it mattered. It did, and it does. But the last 40 years should teach us that inerrancy is not enough. It does not matter how loudly one sings the words, “the Bible tells me so,” if one’s life and character contradict the words, “Jesus loves me, this I know.” Conviction without character destroys lives, and, in the long-term, reveals itself to have been something other than conviction all along. Sometimes, a battle for the Bible reveals itself to be a battle against the Bible.

It’s easy to see this in the tragedy of one man’s life, one denomination’s history. But the truth is that every one of us are vulnerable to the search for someone to spot the spots we are free to disobey. That’s a hill on which to die. It’s not the same thing, you know: going for the jugular and being washed in the blood.

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

Books

Review

Three Evangelical ‘Founding Fathers’ and Their Complicated Relationships to Slavery

Robert W. Caldwell III

A new book steers between full condemnation and “men of their time” dodges.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons

How should white evangelicals think about slavery and past evangelical heroes who affirmed its practice? A new book by historian Sean McGever, Ownership: The Evangelical Legacy of Slavery in Edwards, Wesley, and Whitefield, helps us process these matters with historical accuracy and Christlike humility.

Ownership: The Evangelical Legacy of Slavery in Edwards, Wesley, and Whitefield

Sean McGever (Author), Vincent E. Bacote (Foreword)

240 pages

$17.29

For many white American evangelicals, the issue of slavery is not much of an “issue” at all. After all, we live in a day where every country in the world outlaws the practice (at least on paper). We are rightly repulsed by practices reminiscent of slave ownership, like human trafficking and sweat shops. And we celebrate past evangelical leaders, like William Wilberforce, who tirelessly campaigned against the institution. Our denominations no longer split over slave ownership as they did prior to the American Civil War. Slavery, we thankfully conclude, lies in the rearview mirror of history.

Without denying the truth in these claims, there are two problems with this assessment. First, slavery, broadly construed, is still a live issue for a significant number of Americans, many of whom are believers in Christ. Just like Jews and Muslims carry with them a historical sense—a “communal memory,” if you will—of atrocities done to their ancestors by Christians (like pogroms and the Crusades), many Black Americans carry a remembrance of their ancestors’ subjection to slavery, segregation, and other forms of injustice. Consequently, they experience slavery and its aftereffects as painfully present realities.

Second, many of our white evangelical heroes have a complex relationship with slavery, a fact that can complicate our contemporary witness. What are white evangelicals saying when we honor such historical figures as towering exemplars of Christlikeness while treating their slave ownership (if we mention it at all!) as a minor character blemish, something “everybody was doing” at the time?

In Ownership, McGever helps readers confront these issues by examining the ministries of Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758), John Wesley (1703–1791), and George Whitefield (1714–1770), three 18th-century figures who are arguably the founding fathers of modern evangelicalism. Each affirmed the institution of slavery at some point in their lives, yet only one (Wesley) came to change his mind on the subject.

Working within the system

Ownership is divided into four sections. The first takes up the influences, regarding slavery and its place in the world, that Edwards, Wesley, and Whitefield inherited. The second examines how each was involved with the institution. The third considers how Wesley came to oppose slavery and his actions against it. And the fourth reckons with the legacies of each leader in light of their relationships to slavery.

The book gives introductory biographies of each man before launching into two informative chapters that provide historical context: one on the history of slavery, and one surveying English and Puritan views on the subject. Here, McGever describes the attitude that prevailed in much of Christianity until the 1700s. As he puts it, “Slavery existed in the world as a result of sin and evil, and … the best course of action was to work within that system.”

Edwards, Wesley, and Whitefield naturally adopted this outlook. In their ministerial training, as they studied the consensus found in English and Puritan writers on slavery, they likely absorbed the following lessons: White Christians must avoid the improper acquisition of slaves (“man-stealing” is forbidden, but enslaving prisoners of war or the offspring of slaves is allowable); the slave relationship must be guided by Christian virtue (slaves are to be obedient, masters temperate); and slaves should be evangelized, but conversion does not imply emancipation.

This framework had centuries of the Western Christian tradition preceding it. It was thus quite natural, as each man engaged the surrounding socioeconomic world, for them to participate in slavery to varying degrees.

Edwards ministered in colonial Massachusetts and is known as America’s foremost evangelical theologian. Several of his disciples (including one of his sons, Jonathan Jr.) were known for their strong stances against slavery, which they derived from Edwards’s ethical writings. Yet Edwards himself failed to fully appreciate the antislavery implications nascent in his own works.

Consider that he and his wife, Sarah, enslaved numerous Black Africans, including Venus, a 14-year-old girl they purchased in 1731, and Titus, a 3-year-old boy purchased in 1756. While manumission was an option for handling one’s estate in those days—Sarah’s mother, for instance, arranged to free her slaves upon her death in 1740—the Edwardses did not choose this for young Titus, who was passed on to their eldest son Timothy after their deaths in 1758.

In essence, then, Edwards’s relationship with slavery followed the cultural norms of the day. While his writings led many to oppose slavery in the decades after his death, his example did not live up to his ideals.

Whitefield’s example is even more unsettling. Early in his North American ministry, the famous evangelist stopped short of fully supporting legalized slavery in Georgia, where it had been outlawed since the colony’s founding in 1733.

Whitefield oversaw an orphanage in Savannah named Bethesda (“house of mercy”). Bethesda was one of the central ministries of his life, but the harsh economic realities of sustaining it led him to reconsider slavery, viewing it as an option for addressing financial woes at the orphanage. In time, he came to believe that Black slaves were better suited to work amid hot Georgia summers than white indentured servants, who were far more expensive to employ.

Following a kind of anti-Wilberforce trajectory, Whitefield soon became a prominent proslavery lobbyist both in Georgia and England, campaigning for a decade until the colony legalized slavery in 1751. By his death in 1770, he owned 49 slaves, all associated with his orphanage. Though Whitefield was an outstanding evangelist, McGever reveals that he was a short-sighted businessman whose mishandling compelled him to rely upon slave labor so that his “beloved Bethesda” could survive.

Of the three men, John Wesley’s relationship to slavery was the most distinct, and McGever devotes significant attention to his long and slow awakening. Wesley had no exposure to slavery until he visited the Southern colonies in the mid-1730s. There, he and his brother Charles learned of the harsh brutalities committed by some slave owners.

Wesley’s response, however, was not to call for social change but to double down on commitments to evangelize enslaved people. For almost 40 years, as he led the Methodist movement back in England, he wrote nothing on the subject. As McGever suggests, this silence reveals a major blind spot in his social conscience.

Yet Wesley had a gift that neither Edwards nor Whitefield enjoyed: long life. (The latter pair both died in their mid-50s.) When Wesley was almost 70, he began seriously reading antislavery works, and over the next two decades his views changed. He first opposed all forms of slave acquisition and called for slave traders to immediately quit their jobs. In his mid-80s, he came to champion full emancipation.

Though we should be grateful that one of our evangelical founding fathers made the journey to antislavery views, it is stunning to note that it took him 50 years to complete the process, a testimony to the fact that sinful cultural norms are extremely difficult to eradicate from society.

Their blind spots, and ours

McGever excels at narrating the history of Edwards, Whitefield, and Wesley with an irenic tone. While he is clear that their proslavery actions are contemptable, he issues no fiery condemnations. Instead, we come to the humble realization that they were deeply flawed Christians like the rest of us. They may have ascended to the heights of theological acuity, sanctified holiness, and evangelical proclamation, but they did so as individuals who also participated in a system fraught with moral conundrums and evil. They are, in a sense, failed heroes, and we should acknowledge this complexity while telling their stories.

Ultimately, Ownership gives readers a profound historical sense, a recognition that, even among the best of us, social and cultural conventions shape believers in ways that future generations might find troubling. When history is written this way, we naturally ask ourselves, “What are my ethical blind spots, and those of my church and tribe?”

In the last chapter, McGever leads readers in an exercise of self-reflection patterned after the book’s fourfold framework: Have we inherited cultural influences that are biblically and ethically problematic? How are we letting these influences shape our thoughts and behaviors? What actions can we take to love others in more Christlike ways? What kind of legacy do we seek to leave for posterity?

While applying history in this manner is not without its pitfalls, McGever recognizes that humble self-examination, inspired by failed heroes, is a beneficial exercise for individual Christians and for the church at large. Sinful hearts are infinitely resourceful, and sinful patterns are remarkably resistant to change. The lessons of McGever’s book should aid the church as it pursues the Reformation emphasis of semper reformanda, “always reforming” according to the Word of God.

Robert W. Caldwell III is professor of church history at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. He is the author of Theologies of the American Revivalists: From Whitefield to Finney.

- More from John Wesley

Theology

What If the Christian Sexual Ethic Becomes a Feature, Not a Bug?

Daniel Darling

Evangelicals tend to assume our sexual ethic is deeply unpopular. But the wind may be shifting as thought leaders increasingly declare Christianity a cultural asset.

Jakob Owens / Unsplash

Christianity’s 2,000-year-old sexual ethic is not normal in the contemporary West and hasn’t been for some time.

The notion that sex should be confined to the bounds of a lifelong covenant of marriage between one man and one woman is not simply out of step with a culture reshaped by the sexual revolution and the LGBTQ movement. Many now consider our ethic to be something far worse than outmoded. It’s hateful, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center; “dangerous,” per the Human Rights Campaign; and a source of “great harm,” says prominent ethicist David Gushee.

Evangelical responses to these new norms have varied. Some have doubled down on traditional beliefs as a matter of basic orthodoxy. Some have remained quietly traditional while avoiding public confrontation. And some have joined exvangelicals and mainline Christians to propose a theological revisionism that affirms LGBTQ relationships and sex outside of marriage.

Despite their differences, all three postures understandably have a foundational assumption in common: that our traditional sexual ethic is deeply unpopular. That, at best, it’s a matter of difficult but necessary faithfulness, an obstacle to overcome in evangelism and discipleship—or, worse, a major cause of dechurching, deconversion, and rejection of the gospel.

But is it possible that Scripture’s view of marriage and sexuality is seen by a small but growing crowd outside the church as a feature, not a bug?

It might be too much to say the West is like G. K. Chesterton’s sailor who, having set off for adventure, found himself enchanted by the light of his own home shore. But I don’t think it’s too soon to say that the last decade of upheaval and alienation in our culture of sex and romance have made Christianity’s always-strange sexual ethic freshly attractive.

We’ve already seen this pattern with other elements of Christianity. Most famously, women’s rights activist Ayaan Hirsi Ali shocked the world late last year when she announced her conversion from atheism to Christianity (after previously deconverting from Islam). She embraced Christianity, she said, because she found the “desire to uphold the legacy of the Judeo-Christian tradition” to be the “only credible” option to unite the West in opposition to “great-power authoritarianism,” “the rise of global Islamism,” and “the viral spread of woke ideology.”

Christianity, Hirsi Ali discovered, is the source of the rights and values she wants to defend, and where many progressives see our faith as repressive, she sees it as a great cultural asset. In this, she is not alone. The New Atheist thinker Richard Dawkins expressed his enthusiasm for “cultural Christianity” this past spring. And author Paul Kingsnorth, who moved from atheism to Buddhism to Christianity, similarly described his philosophical journey as one of coming to value some of the very elements of Christianity that modern Westerners are most likely to reject.

“I grew up believing what all modern people are taught: that freedom meant lack of constraint,” Kingsnorth wrote. But Christianity “taught me that this freedom was no freedom at all, but enslavement to the passions: a neat description of the first thirty years of my life. True freedom, it turns out, is to give up your will and follow God’s.”

British journalist Louise Perry has not likewise announced her conversion, but she seems to be impressed, not repulsed, by Christianity’s sexual ethic. Her provocative 2022 book, The Case Against the Sexual Revolution, questions the merits of a sexual order based only on consent and begs for a better ethic, “one that recognises other human beings as real people, invested with real value and dignity. It’s time for a sexual counter-revolution.”

Though she hasn’t embraced Christianity, Perry looks longingly at the very ethical teachings that many evangelicals see as burdens or liabilities. Here she is, writing in First Things last year:

Whereas the Romans regarded male chastity as profoundly unhealthy, Christians prized it and insisted on it. Early converts were disproportionately female because the Christian valorization of weakness offered obvious benefits to the weaker sex, who could—for the first time—demand sexual continence of men. Feminism is not opposed to Christianity: It is its descendant. …

What if … we understand the Christian era as a clearing in a forest? The forest is paganism: dark, wild, vigorous, and menacing, but also magical in its way. For two thousand years, Christians pushed the forest back, with burning and hacking, but also with pruning and cultivating, creating a garden in the clearing with a view upward to heaven.

In recent decades, Perry warns, the pagan forest is creeping back, crowding out that view.

This is only a collection of anecdotes, of course. Though recent polls show a slight decline in support for same-sex marriage and a similarly small reversal on sex and gender identity, the traditional Christian ethic is clearly still a minority position. Yet this trend among thought leaders of fresh interest in Christianity as a positive cultural force is noteworthy—and perhaps may trickle down to the general public.

What’s more, there may be a lesson here for evangelicals: Rather than being defensive about the countercultural aspects of following Jesus, maybe we can see anew that the very strangeness of Christian ethics can be inviting to those stuck in the thicket of cultural confusion.

This is the approach that theologian N. T. Wright took when asked in 2019 if he is embarrassed by the Christian take on sex and gender. “In the early Church, one of the great attractions of Christianity was actually a sexual ethic. It is a world where more or less anything goes, where women and children are exploited, and where slaves are exploited often in hideous and horrible ways,” he told The Atlantic. “So a lot of people, particularly the women, found the Christian ideal of chastity amazingly refreshing.”

Wright was not naive. When his interviewer pushed back, arguing that a “restricted sexual ethic” that appealed “in the horrible world of ancient Christianity, where it was a terrible thing to be a woman,” might not have the same persuasive power today, Wright acknowledged the “constant difficulties”—but didn’t cede the point that the way Christians live can be attractive in our culture too.

Could our sexual ethic be part of what Jesus had in mind when he urged his followers to “let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matt. 5:16)? We aren’t accustomed to thinking of it that way. Yet we must remember that the Spirit “blows wherever it pleases” (John 3:8)—even toward the aspects of Christianity that we’ve been conditioned to deemphasize in our desire to get a hearing in a hostile culture.

That’s not to conflate the cultural fruit of Christianity and the coherence of its worldview with the miracle of conversion itself. We must be wary of what theologian Carl Trueman rightly describes as “instrumentalizing” Christianity “in the service of a different cultural campaign,” as well as the tragedy of King Agrippa, who answered Paul’s articulation of the gospel by declaring himself “almost” persuaded (Acts 26:28, KJV). And as the writer Andrew Menkis said in his appeal to the almost-persuaded author Jordan Peterson, mere rules “cannot sate the hunger of our soul.”

Still, blessed are those “whose delight is in the law of the Lord” (Ps. 1:1–2), and we should not be so surprised if people outside the church begin to see the blessing of Christian sexual ethics in a world bereft of meaning. Perhaps, like former skeptic C. S. Lewis, they are realizing that the “hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation.”

Daniel Darling is the director of The Land Center for Cultural Engagement and the author of several books including Agents of Grace, The Dignity Revolution, and the forthcoming In Defense of Christian Patriotism.

- More from Daniel Darling

Share

Alejandra Ortiz, co-coordinator of the Logos and Cosmos Initiative in Latin America in the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students (IFES):

Sally Isáis, director of mission agency Misión Latinoamericana de México (Milamex):

Sandra Márquez Olvera, founder of the Con-Ciencia y Teología blog:

Yani de Gutiérrez, copastor at Iglesia Bautista Horeb in Mexico City:

Share

Share

Share

Share

A Land of Life

How Forefathers Felt

In the Same House

Share

Share

Sometimes teaching biblical truth is costly.

You can say everything “right” and still be offensive.

You can act in good faith and still make avoidable mistakes.

The way you raise the subject matters.

Prepare for tough questions in advance.

Clear your schedule to meet with people.

Respond to critics with grace.

Share

Share

Share

Share

Share

Share

Share

Share

Share

Share

Working within the system

Their blind spots, and ours

Share

Share

Share