It’s not easy to be a Christian in the Bay Area.
I’ve lived in San Francisco for 12 years. But it’s often impractical, even impossible, for Christians to put down roots here. Pastors and ministry workers have trouble keeping up with the skyrocketing cost of living; many churches can’t afford to buy permanent locations. Young Christian families that aren’t forced out by the affordability crisis are drawn to more faith-friendly school systems in other parts of the country, opportunities to be closer to family, and the ability to raise their kids in environments more aligned with their personal convictions.
Our political moment has only worsened the situation. Ever since Donald Trump’s first presidency and the prominence of his much-discussed evangelical voting bloc, telling people I’m a Christian in San Francisco has usually also involved telling them a long list of things I’m not. No, I’m not a racist. No, I’m not a xenophobe. No, I don’t hate gay people. (If I did, I would have left San Francisco a long time ago.) But even if I were to disown Trump’s entire political platform, the suspicions would remain. After all, am I not one of the Christians under the protection of the newly minted Task Force to Eradicate Anti-Christian Bias?
And then there’s the tech industry. For six of my years here, I worked as a software engineer for the company now known as Meta, and found its ethos largely opposed to Christian belief. I know many techies whose faith didn’t survive the pressure to succeed, the money, and the cultural indoctrination. Mine did only by God’s grace.
So when a friend on the East Coast shared a recent New York Times story about a Christian “revival” occurring in Silicon Valley, I groaned—not because I’m against revival in the Bay Area! I was just skeptical of its supposed locus: the tech industry.
The Times story, published earlier this year, describes how Christianity is coming into vogue among tech executives, artificial intelligence evangelists, and venture capitalists. Thanks to a growing contingent of tech elites who have “come out” as Christians, plus recent political shifts, a religion once anathema to this secular region is now being not only promoted but also celebrated as the next big thing. The reporting focuses on swanky San Francisco events—featuring high-profile Christians and focusing on topics like how science relates to the Bible—that have an arguably evangelistic bent.
A few months later, Vanity Fair also reported on this development, calling it “business networking for the spiritually curious” and multiple times mentioning Peter Thiel, a prominent venture capitalist and Christian who publicly discusses his faith. The article also quoted an anonymous Christian entrepreneur: “I guarantee you, there are people that are leveraging Christianity to get closer to Peter Thiel.”
Hence my groaning. Bay Area Christianity barely exists as it is. I worried this affiliation with another ultrawealthy, controversial figure, even if overblown, wouldn’t do the faith any favors.
It’s no wonder that The Atlantic’s Christian staff writer Elizabeth Bruenig, reacting to events that simultaneously introduce people to Jesus (however indirectly) and offer opportunities for professional and economic success, thought of the story of the rich young ruler in Matthew 19.
I, however, found myself thinking about the Feeding of the Five Thousand.
Or more specifically, the day after the bread and fish multiplied, when the crowd that Jesus had miraculously fed found him on the other side of the Sea of Galilee. (Jesus had walked there, though not on land, during the night.) This was the same crowd that had listened to Jesus teach about the kingdom of God for hours, so it is somewhat surprising that Jesus told them, “You are looking for me, not because you saw the signs I performed but because you ate the loaves and had your fill” (John 6:26). In other words, these folks were coming to Christ for his material benefits, not for Christ himself.
Some of Jesus’ closest followers did the same thing. The disciples James and John once outright approached Jesus to ask if they could one day have positions of honor at his right and left hand. They were likewise seeking the Messiah in part for the earthly rewards they expected him to offer.
As I did.
For the past few years, I’ve been working on a memoir. At the time I first read the revival reporting, I just so happened to be writing about the moment I decided to go back to church. I was in college, and it was many years after I’d completely run away from my faith. The decision to return was motivated by my desperate situation: I was about to buckle beneath the academic hazing of my university’s computer science program, I had very few friends, and I was thousands of miles away from home. I needed some sort of divine assistance, and my childhood experiences in church made Christianity seem like a good place to start.
Back then, I was not interested in who Jesus actually is. I wanted a “cosmic vending machine” to meet my academic, social, and emotional needs. Just like the crowd that Jesus miraculously fed, I wasn’t coming to Jesus because I wanted Jesus. (Also like the crowd, I overvalued free food to the point that I would shamelessly help myself to anything left out in the computer science building.)
I’m sure that if I’d known what the take-up-your-cross-and-follow-me part of discipleship would mean for me personally—namely, becoming disabled and unable to hold my tech job at the age of 27, and not making use of that fancy degree ever since—I would have bailed on the whole Jesus thing.
But I didn’t bail. Not because I realized how selfish I was being but because Jesus humbled himself to my self-serving views for a season in an act of grace. Then he began to teach me—slowly, gently—that he is God and I am not.
It’s a lesson I’m still learning.
This is not to say that what I did, or what James and John did, or what the crowd did, was right or good. Jesus didn’t condone the impure motives of those who sought him for the wrong reasons. But neither did Jesus outright reject them for their selfish ambitions.
In the case of James and John, Jesus still allowed them to follow him all the way to the cross, then to the tomb, then into his resurrection life. He also announced his plans for them to suffer greatly for the sake of the gospel: “You will drink the cup I drink and be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with” (Mark 10:39). Clearly, at the moment they quibbled over their future job titles, they weren’t ready for that. But no matter. Jesus sanctified them in spite of themselves.
After rebuking the crowd for their selfish motives in coming to him for earthly instead of spiritual provision, Jesus extended an invitation to be similarly sanctified: “Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you” (John 6:27).
And this is similar to an invitation Jesus extended to the rich young ruler: “Go, sell your possessions … Then come, follow me” (Matt. 19:21).
In all these examples, Jesus had patience and grace for people who came to him for the wrong reasons. And not only that—he also opened to each of them a door to the kingdom of God, giving them opportunities to be transformed over time by his saving grace.
Do I have my reservations about mixing business networking with evangelism? Yes. Do I think everyone attending Christian events is genuinely seeking the Savior? No. Do I think of the Silicon Valley “revival” as an actual revival? Not yet. (Unless it has brought about much more conviction of sin and work of the Spirit than my outsider’s view of it has so far led me to believe.)
But do I think God can be glorified through all this? Yes. Yes, I do.
Even if all of the Bay Area acolytes are coming to Jesus with the wrong idea, wanting him only insofar as he enables them to obtain earthly treasures of money or fame that will spoil and fade, what Jesus said to the five thousand makes me think that coming to him for exactly the right reasons is not strictly required. Jesus can work with our selfishness and, eventually, work out our selfishness to his glory.
He certainly did with me. I pray he does the same for Silicon Valley.
Natalie Mead is currently pursuing an MFA while writing a memoir about chronic pain, relationships, and faith. Read more of her writing at nataliemead.com.
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