Last week, worship artist Cory Asbury (who wrote the popular song “Reckless Love”) posted a video to social media featuring some original music. He performed from a bed. The song was about God’s faithfulness during recovery from a vasectomy.
That sounds like something out of a weird-Christian-internet joke book, and it only makes sense in the context of a months-long, very online story about another Christian musician, Forrest Frank.
On July 19, Frank—whose song “Your Way’s Better” hit the Billboard Hot 100 earlier this year and who has become one of today’s most popular Christian artists—shared on social media that he had fractured his back while skateboarding.
“Dads, this is your sign to get off the stick,” Frank wrote in the caption of a post that included a video of himself in a hospital bed and a recording of the accident, captured by a home security camera. According to Frank, he had fractured his L3 and L4 vertebrae.
Two weeks later, Frank posted a video telling his millions of followers that he had woken up, forgotten to put on his back brace, and realized he wasn’t in pain: “Did we just witness a miracle happen or do i have the fastest bones OF ALL TIME”?
As if to preempt accusations of fraud, he posted a screenshot of what appears to be medical documentation of his diagnosis and a video of the x-ray that showed the initial fractures. “I have complete healing in my back,” he said.
On August 7, Frank gave his first post-injury performance to an enthusiastic crowd at the Iowa State Fair, becoming the first artist ever to sell out the venue.
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The 30-year-old had embraced the accident even before his recovery. He recorded a tongue-in-cheek song, “God’s Got My Back,” days after the injury. He collaborated with a relatively unknown band, The Figs, to turn their parody of his music into a bona fide hit, “Lemonade” (and subsequently invited them to perform it with him live). Frank also teamed up with fellow Christian artist David Crowder (who coincidentally had just broken his leg) on a song about “standing on the rock” (pun definitely intended).
Notably, there’s been very little public questioning of Frank’s integrity in the wake of his miraculous-healing claim. Maybe that’s because, at the time of his injury, he was arguably the most famous Christian musician of our moment. Fans know he wasn’t in need of a publicity stunt to promote his already-popular songs.
Shifting beliefs about the supernatural, especially among younger Christians, may also have something to do with the level of support. Contemporary Christian music (CCM) has always been an ecumenical endeavor, with artists and audiences including both cessationists and continuationists. Influential institutions like Calvary Chapel Costa Mesa (the California church that was a hub of activity during the Jesus People movement in the 1970s) explicitly avoided taking a side in the ongoing debate, allowing participation by artists and audiences with a range of beliefs about speaking in tongues, miracles, and prophecy.
But over the past 30 years, charismatic ideas have become more mainstream among Christian music’s core audience through the influence of megachurches like Hillsong and Bethel, whose leaders affirm the possibility of miraculous healings and visible manifestations of the work of the Holy Spirit. In the US, charismatic Christianity is growing more quickly than any other segment of the church, and recent studies suggest that Gen Z is more open to the possibility of the supernatural than preceding generations. More broadly, belief in miracles seems to have increased modestly in the US since the 1990s.
So maybe the celebratory online response to Frank’s miraculous recuperation suggests his fans see no reason to be suspicious or doubtful of miracles themselves, even ones they hear about online.
But I think the main takeaway from this injury saga is about Forrest Frank himself—about the power of parasocial relationships in the Christian-influencer sphere and about how Christian influencers are reforming the Christian entertainment landscape. Frank is a musician, but as many artists of his generation have found, success in today’s entertainment industry requires good music and good content. And a story of miraculous healing, of course, makes really compelling content.
CCM has long made room for drama and spectacle: Think of the theatrics of artists like Carman, the Dove Awards, and spinning drum sets. Altar calls and invitations to pray to receive Christ—often framed as public spiritual healings—have been fixtures of Christian concerts for decades.
But this is different; fans are “participating” in the miraculous via smartphone screen. The outpouring of enthusiasm around Frank’s story has become a kind of modern pilgrimage as followers flock to the digital location of a reported miracle. Millions of people have liked, shared, and commented, bringing themselves virtually closer to what they perceive as a holy site. Other artists and content creators have chimed in, riding the wave of attention and seeking proximity to the online action.
The state of the music industry right now is such that artists must self-promote on social media. And Christian musicians who fervently believe that they have good news to share know they will reach more people by generating views through viral content. It’s the same reality Billy Graham contended with as he sought to capitalize on developments in radio and television broadcasting.
Graham, like many evangelical media figures after him, decided that the potential pitfalls of mass media didn’t outweigh the potential value of figuring out its formats and learning to reach the people listening and watching.
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For his part, Frank has become a master of online content. For years he has been able to attract attention on social media with trendy videos and musical hooks that seem written with short-form video in mind; fans use his songs to soundtrack their own posts.
That followers believe Frank’s claims of healing is evidence of the strong parasocial bond he has been able to forge with them online. They trust him. For some singers, a claim of miraculous healing could easily become a “jump the shark” moment for fans, causing loss of credibility. Followers, even the most devoted ones, are aware that anyone can post deceptive or staged content online. But Frank’s fans believe him and are eager to affirm his testimony.
Meanwhile, Frank increasingly seems to see his platform as an evangelistic one, referring to his followers as his “flock.” Over the past year, he’s progressively opened up about his personal faith in interviews, seemingly eager to share the gospel and his own story of transformation.
Frank is also adept at creating content that has a winsome air of authenticity. The collaborations that resulted from his injury seemed to take shape organically and spontaneously, giving fans the impression they were collectively watching the unfolding of something totally unscripted. Millions of followers watched the progression from The Figs’ initial musical send-up of Frank’s style to the eventual single and IRL performance. All of it was entertaining and feel-good.
Through a combination of catchy, uplifting music and an online presence that registers as authentic and unfiltered, Frank has managed to create a “halo” for himself. He talks about his artistic endeavors as a ministry; he tells fans that he makes decisions based on God’s direction.
This spiritual earnestness may very well be genuine. It also provides a defense from criticism, questions, and even satire. It’s a line of defense against naysayers, critics, and perceived haters.
In the aftermath of Frank’s injury, the artist posted videos in which he speaks vulnerably (and sometimes tearfully) about the experience and even calls out artists like Cory Asbury for creating related content that seemed to be mocking rather than offering good-natured support. Asbury then publicly apologized for his vasectomy parody. The two artists are now creating a collaborative single.
We are all—fans and skeptics alike—watching an artist try to navigate the line between public celebration of God’s work in his life and opportunistic self-marketing. This has always been the rub for Christian figures who say they have experienced the miraculous: They want to testify to God’s goodness and observable work in their lives, but the mere act of sharing it can invite accusations of fraud or grift.
He probably can’t walk that line perfectly, but Frank seems confident that “God’s got [his] back.”
Kelsey Kramer McGinnis is the worship correspondent for Christianity Today. Her book The Myth of Good Christian Parenting: How False Promises Betrayed a Generation of Evangelical Families, cowritten with Melissa Burt, will be released this October.
