Books

On America’s 250th, Remember Liberty Denied

Three history books on the US slave trade.

Three books on a green background.
Christianity Today April 24, 2026
Illustration by Christianity Today

This piece was adapted from CT’s books newsletter. Subscribe here.

Gregory E. O’Malley, The Escapes of David George: An Odyssey of Slavery, Freedom, and the American Revolution (St. Martin’s Press, 2026)

In this anniversary year of American independence, the problem of slavery introduces a minor chord into our national celebrations. The United States proclaimed that all men are created equal, but it also permitted the enslavement of millions of people. Gregory O’Malley’s The Escapes of David George brilliantly evokes the founding’s moral tensions by reconstructing the amazing life of the runaway slave and Baptist preacher.

George’s improbable escapes took him away from the Virginia plantation where he was born into slavery, to stopovers in Native American villages, and then to a South Carolina plantation where he heard the gospel of salvation through Christ. Around 1773, George became the pastor of the Silver Bluff Baptist Church, likely the oldest enduring African American–pastored congregation.

Then, during the Revolutionary War, he escaped again, going to British-occupied Savannah and Charleston before evacuating to Nova Scotia at the war’s end. He became one of Nova Scotia’s key evangelical pastors before leaving one more time, resettling in Sierra Leone in West Africa.

O’Malley has little direct source material with which to reconstruct George’s extraordinary story, but he makes the most of what exists to depict slavery’s grim realities in the Atlantic world. However, O’Malley might have done more to understand George not just as a former slave escaping bondage’s shadow but also as a sinner saved by God’s grace. The sources suggest this was how George primarily viewed himself.

Edited by Yuval Levin, Adam J. White, and John Yoo, Slavery, Equality, and the American Revolution (AEI Press, 2025)

Slavery, Equality, and the American Revolution (America at 250, 5)

Slavery, Equality, and the American Revolution (America at 250, 5)

AEI Press

130 pages

The American Enterprise Institute (AEI) has produced a terrific series of thematic volumes about the American founding in anticipation of the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. One of these collections is Slavery, Equality, and the American Revolution. Available in print and for free online, this book features five essays by scholars of law and politics, all considering the relationship of America’s founding documents to slavery.

As AEI’s Yuval Levin notes, the dilemma regarding slavery and America dates back to the founding itself. Jefferson initially included a critical section on the slave trade in the Declaration, but the Continental Congress removed it from the final version.

Likewise, the Constitutional Convention debated several clauses related to slavery, including the notorious three-fifths clause, which counted each slave as three-fifths of a person for the sake of representation. Many people today misunderstand this clause. It was designed primarily not to denigrate enslaved people but to give more political power to slaveholders in Congress and the Electoral College.

The first two essays in Slavery, Equality, and the American Revolution deal with the founding period. The other three discuss interpretations of the founding by Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass. Both men embraced the Declaration as the “charter of our liberties,” as Lincoln put it. The Constitution made concessions to the ugly realities of chattel slavery, but the Declaration was an aspirational document (albeit one written by a slaveholder) envisioning an American future without slavery.

David Brion Davis, Inhuman Bondage: The Rise and Fall of Slavery in the New World (Oxford University Press, 2006)

Inhuman Bondage: The Rise and Fall of Slavery in the New World

Inhuman Bondage: The Rise and Fall of Slavery in the New World

Oxford University Press, USA

464 pages

The late David Brion Davis wrote several classic books on slavery in the Age of Revolutions, including Inhuman Bondage: The Rise and Fall of Slavery in the New World. This ambitious synthesis ranges from the ancient advent of slavery to its abolition in the British Empire and United States.

The claim that slavery was inhuman is conventional. But to Davis it is an especially apt term for New World slavery because of the way slave traders and enslavers dehumanized people and treated them—economically, legally, and personally—as if they were animals.

New World chattel slavery became especially harsh because it linked racist views to an unfettered market that demanded cheap and unlimited sugar, cotton, and other plantation crops, regardless of the cost to the enslaved.

Davis observes that European and American culture moved from virtual silence on the immorality of slavery as of 1775 to its abolition in most of Europe and the Americas by 1865. Explaining this change is not simple.

Some have argued that vast economic shifts undermined the profitability of slave-grown staples and paved the way for emancipation. Others contend that the idealization of free labor in the 1800s made slavery intolerable, even in the eyes of many white laborers who otherwise had little sympathy for others.

Davis recognizes such explanations, but he can’t escape the conclusion that without Christian reformers, including evangelicals such as England’s William Wilberforce, abolition simply would not have happened. The fall of New World slavery, then, resulted from “a major transformation in moral perception,” a transformation few would have predicted in 1775.

Thomas S. Kidd is research professor of church history at Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary.

News

How a Kidnapping Changed a Theologian’s Mind

An interview with Sunday Bobai Agang about the lessons he learned from his abduction last month.

An image of Sunday Agang.
Christianity Today April 24, 2026
Facebook / Edits by CT

In the early hours of March 24, Sunday Bobai Agang was in bed in his home in Jos, the capital of Nigeria’s Plateau state, when four men broke into his house and kidnapped him.

They made him walk 10 hours into the bush and held him in a remote cave. The second night, they walked a long distance to a different cave, where Agang remembered being cold, as he only had a T-shirt on, and in pain, as he had hit his leg on a rock and stepped on a thorn during the journey. The bandits demanded a ransom of 50 million naira ($37,000 USD) but ultimately released him March 27 after his family paid them 5 million naira (about $3,700 USD) they borrowed from friends.

Agang, a prominent Nigerian theologian, was formerly the provost of Evangelical Church Winning All (ECWA) Theological Seminary, Jos, and is now the chairman of the ECWA board of trustees. A prolific author, Agang has also written for Christianity Today.

Agang spoke to CT about his interactions with the kidnappers, the increase in kidnappings in the country, and ways the church can minister to families of kidnapping victims. This interview has been edited and shortened for clarity.

What was on your mind during the kidnapping? Were you fearful?

The first thing that came to my mind was that I was about to experience what others have suffered. I felt God allowed this to happen because he wanted me to come back with a message. I saw God’s hands upon me—the kidnappers brought me water to drink and were friendly to me. They promised not to kill me if the ransom was paid.

When I heard the ransom of 50 million naira, I lost hope. I believed it was better for me to just die instead of paying them. My family would need to borrow a huge amount of money. And even if they could, where would they get that kind of cash? But my kidnappers refused to kill me. They said it was because my time had not come to die. They just wanted me to work to get the ransom money for them.

They were all Fulani herdsmen and had one AK-47. They asked me to call my wife to tell her the ransom amount. I also called one of the leaders in my denomination, ECWA. I told him my situation and asked him to mobilize prayers for me. I was encouraged to know Christians were praying for me.

What did you learn about the kidnappers through your interactions with them?

When one of the kidnappers began speaking to me about his experience, I felt perhaps this is another dimension of the Fulani people that I need to know about. He told me his parents died and left him with 70 cattle, but the Nigerian military came to their homes and took the livestock. They were left without anything to survive on.

A second kidnapper also shared a similar experience. He said the military came and killed his parents, killed some of his siblings, and then carted away 80 cattle, leaving him with nothing. They told me they don’t kidnap because they want to but because it was the only way for them to survive. He also said Fulanis aren’t seen as legal citizens of the country because people only see them as bandits or Boko Haram members, so they can’t go to the city like other Nigerians. He added that if I had a job for him, he’d rather take that job.

God really sent me to listen to those stories. I learned to avoid stupid conclusions about what is going on in the conflict between Fulani herdsmen and farmers, as if it is all about religion. As a researcher, I believe God has given me another angle to research. The kidnappers told me where I could gather more information, as many Fulani are in prison.

I want to work with two researchers who are focusing on reaching out to Fulani and see how I can contribute to what they are doing. I need prayers and wisdom.

CT reported the case of pastor Audu Issa James, who died in a kidnappers’ den even after his family paid a ransom of 5 million naira ($3,000 USD). How can the Nigerian church minister to the families of kidnapping victims as well as the victims themselves? 

When the kidnappers came to my house, they broke the windows and shattered the main doors. The church immediately took my family to a hotel for their safety. I was very happy to hear that. However, our denomination has a policy: The church does not help pay ransom. I was the first person that was affected by the policy.

It is true that some families don’t even see the dead bodies of their loved ones—even after paying ransoms in millions. But we must always realize that anything that happens is because God allowed it.

Last year, the husband of a woman at my village of Kafanchan in Kaduna state was kidnapped. His captors killed him even after his family paid for his release. When I went back to Kafanchan after my release, this woman visited me. I didn’t even know he had been killed. She said something that struck me: “If God had not planned that my husband would die that way, he wouldn’t have died.”

We don’t always have to search for words to comfort them; we just need to go and listen to them. Nobody can assume they have a way of comforting them, of helping them process their situation. It is difficult for them to go on with their lives. They need more than we can give them, and God will always give his people what they need.

The church could also provide a trauma-healing process for kidnapping victims. I was lucky that my daughter helped organize such a session for our family, which was very, very helpful. We were very happy because it helped us to process what we have gone through and think through it.

Amnesty International reported 1,100 kidnappings occurred between January and April of this year. How do you view the crisis of kidnappings in the country?

Nigeria’s problem is sin: the sin of corruption, dishonesty, jealousy, and greed. My experience confirmed that the conflict is serious in this country and we will continue to suffer. We will continue to go through this until we face the reality of sin.

We also have to talk about the reality of who we are. How do we help people recognize that they are human beings created in God’s image? The issue is one of human dignity—the dignity of these bandits, the dignity of the kidnappers. How do we still see them as human beings and begin to find ways of making sure that they realize that?

Based on my conversation with the kidnappers that I encountered, they have not lost that consciousness. They still believe that they are human beings and we are all human beings.

The church must begin to speak to the issues and challenges facing this country. We must demand politicians, who have been given the opportunity to be in power, focus on rebuilding this country. The church also needs to put its house in order. It’s unfortunate that with all the mess in Nigeria, the church is still engaging in harmful lifestyles, such as immorality and preaching the prosperity gospel. We need to face the reality of sin in the church and in society.

It’s now been several weeks since the kidnapping. How have you adjusted back to normal life after this traumatic experience?

God has turned that harrowing experience for his own glory. There were celebrations when people heard I was released. Even up to today, people are calling and only thanking God and celebrating God.

Recently, my family and I went to our home in Kafanchan. Several widows and orphans came to us, thanking God for answering prayers and releasing me. There were prayers for me from across Africa and other continents of the world. God really intervened.

My satisfaction is that people are giving glory and honor to God. I now have a certificate from the university of kidnappers.

News

What Christian Athletes Can’t Do

An NBA player’s fall resurrects an old anxiety: When does talking about faith become “detrimental conduct”?

Jaden Ivey and Cade Cunningham

Jaden Ivey, of the Chicago Bulls (center), talks with Detroit Pistons guard Cade Cunningham after a game on February 21, 2026.

Christianity Today April 24, 2026
Photo by Jayden Mack / Getty Images

It was the night before Easter, and the shouting began to spread. Street preachers had claimed a corner near Auburn University. As video of their efforts circulated on social media, one preacher in particular appeared to drive interest.

Tall, with twisted locks and sporting a “Child of God” jersey, the man paced and declared the words of Matthew 5:8 (“Blessed are the pure in heart”). Onlookers quickly recognized him as Jaden Ivey, who five days earlier had effectively been ousted from the NBA.

Ivey, 24, was dismissed by the Chicago Bulls on March 30 for “conduct detrimental to the team.” Acquired via trade from the Detroit Pistons not two months earlier, Ivey had posted a string of Instagram videos the day of his release. Streaming from inside his car, he offered what many media outlets quickly branded “anti-LGBTQ+” remarks.

“They proclaim Pride Month in the NBA,” Ivey said. “They say come join us for Pride … to celebrate unrighteousness. They proclaim it on the billboards. They proclaim it in the streets. Unrighteousness.”

Ivey had long been outspoken about his faith. In April 2024, when he strolled into Detroit’s Little Caesars Arena for a game against his future team, the Bulls, Ivey wore a sweatshirt emblazoned with the words Do not fear and an excerpt from Psalm 23.

Fear he did not. Ivey joined the Bulls two years later, and journalists were warned ahead of his introductory press conference that he was “a Jesus guy.” The shooting guard allegedly flipped the script in locker-room interview sessions, asking reporters about their lifestyle choices and personal salvation. On personal livestreams, the former Purdue star spent hours reading the Bible aloud or opining on spiritual matters.

After just a few games with the Bulls, when the team had an abundance of healthy players, Ivey was benched. He downplayed any disappointment.

“I’m not the J. I. I used to be,” he told reporters. “The old J. I. is dead. I’m alive in Christ no matter what the basketball setting is. … Jesus is not going to say, ‘Feb. 19, why didn’t you play, Jaden?’ He’s gonna say, ‘What did you do for my kingdom?’”

More than a year earlier, in an interview with Sports Spectrum, Ivey had credited God for victory over sin, including drunkenness, premarital sex, pornography addiction, and borderline abuse of his wife, Caitlyn. In 2024, while still playing for the Pistons, he ended a press conference by quoting John 14:6, declaring calmly that Jesus is “the Way, the Truth and the Life.” He once autographed his jersey for a young man with a note to “repent and believe in the gospel.”

In short, Ivey’s problematic remarks were perfectly in character. And so in the hours after his release from the Bulls, he seemed perplexed that his Christian messaging was now considered “detrimental conduct”—the reason for his dismissal.

“All I’m preaching about is Jesus Christ and they waived me,” he said during another livestream while boarding a plane out of Chicago. “They say I’m crazy, psycho.”

If Ivey’s professions were permitted before, why not now?

Ivey’s behavior may have simply been the final straw for an organization that had grown tired of his commentary while he was rehabbing from a knee injury; ESPN reported that some team staffers became “agitated” by his “preachy” presence.

But Ivey’s fall may also reflect the unwritten rules of platforming faith in professional sports.

Presumably unrelated to the Ivey drama, the Bulls failed to make the cut for this year’s NBA playoffs. Regardless, the tournament, now entering its second week, will offer ample opportunities for fans hoping to catch stars glorifying God in an era when professing pro athletes seem to be everywhere. Teams poised to make deep runs feature plenty of faith-forward talent, from Detroit Pistons point guard Cade Cunningham (“I get my aura from Jesus Christ,” he said in February) to Boston Celtics coach Joe Mazzulla (whose family kept a request on their home “prayer board” that he would someday lead an NBA team).

Pro locker rooms are far more open to faith than they once were. Rob Maaddi, an Associated Press sports reporter, told CT that in the 1970s, Christian athletes were mostly seen as “sissies,” and “fewer players openly prayed or shared their faith.”

But clearly, teams and fans still maintain boundaries—often invisible—around what’s acceptable. Why do plenty of players get away with talking about God, but some don’t?

Benjamin Watson, who played in the NFL for more than 15 seasons, says that viewers (and team owners) are generally comfortable with athletes who express faith. But there are limits.

“We’ve always seen certain guardrails,” Watson told CT in an interview. “It’s one thing for an individual athlete to thank Jesus for keeping them safe on the field or to honor God for giving them talents or even honor God in defeat by saying their identity is not in winning or losing. That’s personalizing their faith. The rub is always going to be when they start talking about biblical principles that don’t align with an accepted cultural norm.”

More than 55 percent of sports fans are comfortable with proclamations of faith, Watson said, citing a 2025 Sports Spectrum survey. This “brings more fullness to the personality of the people they watch perform.”

The apparent difference in Ivey’s case: His words took aim at people beyond himself.

Matt Forte, a former Chicago Bears running back who hosts Sports Spectrum’s podcast, wondered if the manner and method of Ivey’s delivery overshadowed the principles he was trying to convey.

“I’m not in agreement that big organizations should force their employees to … promote what you promote and join the parade,” Forte said on his show. But “even if we do speak the truth, we need to speak the truth in love.”

Watson, who also hosts the CT podcast The Just Life, says believers—and not only those with large platforms—point to God most effectively by emphasizing their own unrighteousness apart from Jesus.

“We are to stand firm for the Lord, but we don’t hold the world to the same standard,” Watson said. “We still say, ‘This is God’s best for you,’ but we always uphold the dignity of every person. We’re condemned as well. We have to lace everything in love.”

Ivey’s prophetic posture cut across the grain of self-infatuation often associated with the NBA. Ironically, after Ivey’s ouster, he appears in one clip of his street preaching asking a young man whom he will serve—“your father the devil, or your Father who loves you”—to which the passerby replies, “I will serve myself.”

Yet Ivey’s divisive videos sometimes found targets beyond biblical lists of unrighteousness. The former top-five NBA draft pick called Catholicism a “false religion.” He claimed that Golden State Warriors star Stephen Curry, one of the most prominent Christians in pro sports, is “not even surrendered” to God and “don’t know Jesus.”

Ivey acknowledged that some of his family members thought he was “losing my mind,” prompting some ex-teammates and media personalities to question his overall well-being, saying they “hope he gets the help he needs.”

Watson says the messiness of Ivey’s remarks underscores a larger need for Christians to pray for the high-profile believers they root for.

“As a Christian athlete, suddenly you are the poster child for Christians and organizations,” Watson said. “Many times it’s a disservice to the athlete who needs discipleship, mentorship, who may be young in their faith and trying to navigate storms.”

In the immediate hours after Ivey’s exile from the Bulls, people and personalities lined up to defend or destroy the young man’s declarations.

Dane Ortlund, senior pastor of Naperville Presbyterian Church in Illinois, swore off the Bulls as his favorite team, condemning the club for “cancelling … a man who did nothing more than hold to his convictions” in a “tragic capitulation to the spirit of the age.”

Josh Howerton, senior pastor of Lakepointe Church in Dallas, compared Ivey’s stand against Pride Month to Daniel refusing to worship a golden idol.

Two-time NFL MVP Lamar Jackson fired off a string of Scripture-filled posts and said, “I’d rather be canceled by society than rejected by Christ.” He then reported to the Baltimore Ravens’ offseason program with an “I Love Jesus” sweatshirt.

Others offered less sympathy. Former NFL linebacker Emmanuel Acho called Ivey’s words “dangerous” and linked them to mental health issues, then urged Christians to emphasize the “lamb” of God—love, grace, mercy—over “the lion.” Former NBA champion Nick Young took to Instagram and suggested, through laughs, that Ivey’s real misstep was criticizing Stephen Curry.

Joe Cowley, a Chicago Sun-Times columnist who reported on Ivey’s Bulls tenure, was equally pragmatic. “Jesus ain’t paying your bills,” he said on his podcast. “The NBA is.”

Watson feels all the noise was the inevitable result of Ivey’s aggressive public stance: “He becomes a mascot for greedy people.” He said culture warriors and conflict entrepreneurs took Ivey’s controversial words and the Bulls’ decision and exploited them without a care for the man at the center of it all. “They point and say, ‘See, they’re coming for us and they’re coming for your kids.’”

A cold truth that both sides appear to acknowledge in debating whether Ivey crossed the line: Had he simply been more talented at basketball, “the line” may not have existed at all.

After all, athletes’ careers, contracts, and endorsements survive legal and criminal trouble all the time. Owners don’t like firing players who sell lots of tickets. As former NFL player RK Russell put it, the NBA “does not police its players’ beliefs, only how their image affects the NBA’s bottom line.”

Ryan Clark, a former NFL veteran who also cohosts The Pivot podcast, spoke on a recent episode as if addressing Ivey directly: “You don’t have the tolerance that great talent provides you.” Consider Minnesota Timberwolves star Anthony Edwards, Clark said. Edwards’s controversies—including viral comments made about gay men and alleged texts urging a woman to have an abortion—were more easily overlooked given Edwards’s résumé and fan appeal.

“There’s a sliding scale for what’s acceptable,” Watson explained. If a player “wins games for you but is late to curfew a couple times, you’ll put up with it more than you will for the 52nd man on the roster.”

This may explain why Clayton Kershaw, the former Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher, could oppose his team’s promotional night for the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, an LGBTQ charity; write a Bible verse on his Dodgers-supplied Pride Night hat; and still retire a beloved West Coast icon after 18 years with the club.

It may also explain America’s fair-weather embrace of Tim Tebow, a brief cultural phenomenon for his avid Christian faith as both a Florida Gators standout and NFL hopeful. Tebow accumulated a hysteric following for his conservative personal values and frequent displays of faith—“John 3:16” eyeblack and steady kneeling for on-field prayer that became a “Tebowing” movement. Yet that same faith became fuel for ridicule when his star faded after only a few seasons in the NFL.

So is there a template for athletes who want to express their faith and preserve their careers?

If so, it probably involves prudence. A day after Ivey’s release, Dallas Mavericks veteran Daniel Gafford was asked to explain a T-shirt referencing faith. He declined to elaborate, saying, “I don’t wanna get waived or anything like that.” (The Mavericks, ironically, launched in 1980 as an NBA model of Christian values, what cofounder Norm Sonju called a club of “wholesomeness and goodness and respect for God and country.”)

Stephen Curry has made at least a few believers with a much less provocative brand of witnessing on the West Coast. Filmmaker Brian Ivie, who partnered with the Golden State Warriors star on a documentary about the 2015 Charleston church shooting, said in an interview that he once thought “evangelicals were like the children of the corn” and he wanted “nothing to do with Christianity.” Ivie partially credits Curry and the way he carries himself for his conversion. “He makes God accessible.”

Photo by Thearon W. Henderson / Getty Images
Ivey, then with the Detroit Pistons, drives to the basket past Golden State Warriors star Stephen Curry in an early 2026 game.

Curry has long cited the same two verses—Philippians 4:13 and Romans 8:28—as inspiration. In a 2023 interview, he said he’s “never been one to just bash people over the head with Scriptures or verses or mantras about my faith.”

But his palatability as a public Christian may have as much to do with his three-point shot as it does with his God-blesses-me demeanor.

Joshua Cooley, a longtime Christian sports editor and best-selling author, thinks there’s no denying the influence of star power. But Cooley, who cowrote a memoir of former Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Nick Foles, also pointed to the Super Bowl MVP and outspoken Christian as a model for relatability. The morning after a historic performance to give the Eagles their first Super Bowl win in 2018, rather than flexing for the world, Foles highlighted his flaws, telling reporters: “I’m not Superman.”

“Nick approached it so humbly. ‘I almost quit football. I’m weak. I fail,’” Cooley said. “Athletes could learn from that.”

Watson, for his part, has wrestled with the balance between boldness and discretion. He became a vocal advocate of “protecting life in the womb” while playing for the New Orleans Saints. Many inside the locker room, including coaches and their wives, lent their support; others, like the ACLU, branded him “outspoken and ill-informed.” A decade later, when Watson criticized the confrontational style of the late political activist Charlie Kirk, “it cost me financially—ironically in the same realm where I was speaking.”

There is a fine line, Watson concluded, between speaking truth and speaking too much. Sin is not ended by multiplying words, the Proverbs warn, but the prudent hold their tongues.

Meanwhile, the words already spoken will hang in the air, immortalized online.

On March 30, Ivey paused his post-release livestream, quietly receiving a flight attendant’s request to wrap up his video before departing Chicago. He smiled, rubbed his chin, and offered a few more assurances before signing off.

“All them rings LeBron [James] got, all them rings Michael Jordan got, all them people in the Hall of Fame who don’t know Jesus Christ?” he said from his seat. “It’s not gonna matter on Judgment Day. … And they gonna try to stop me. But I’m not. I’m gonna keep speaking the truth.”

Cody Benjamin is senior news writer at Christianity Today.

News

Facing Arrest, Cuban Christian Influencers Continue Call for Freedom

Young people are using social media to spread the gospel and denounce the Communist regime.

Screenshots from several Cuban influencers' accounts.
Christianity Today April 23, 2026
Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Instagram, Youtube

Ernesto Ricardo Medina began filming short videos with friends in early 2024 from a small room, or cuartico, of his home in Holguín, Cuba. By 2026, he had become one of the foremost Christian voices speaking out against the Cuban government.

“Jesus is Lord, not the Communist Party of Cuba,” Medina declares at the beginning of a January 26 video posted from his Instagram account @el4tico, short for cuartico. Behind Medina, “Dios es el Señor” (“God is the Lord”) is scrawled on the chalkboard in his iconic makeshift studio. To his right sits an old Russian desk fan that turns but doesn’t blow air with a pair of sunglasses perched on its unmoving blades—a metaphor for the futility of the Cuban state.  

“They’ve taken everything from us—food, health, hope. They’ve even taken our own self-respect,” Medina continues, encouraging his Cuban compatriots to throw off fear, speak the truth, and “begin to live as if your life means more than just obedience.”

Nearly 70,000 people liked the video. Eleven days later, on February 6, authorities arrested 32-year-old Medina and his filming partner Kamil Zayas Pérez for “crimes of propaganda against the constitutional order and incitement to commit crimes.” They remain in custody even as calls to #freeel4tico reverberate across social media.

In early April, Medina managed to smuggle out a message to his fellow Cuban Christians written on sheets of toilet paper.

“I deeply long for my freedom, but I know that this is an opportunity the Father has given me so that he may be glorified in me,” Medina wrote. “He is the God of all comfort, and although the pain has been greater than I ever imagined, his presence has been even greater.”

Though threatened and detained, Cuban Christian influencers like Medina have used social media as a tool in recent years to proclaim Christ and push for freedom. Their words echo across YouTube shorts, Instagram reels, and X posts, with messages like “I am a Christian and anticommunist,”Liberty for Cuba now!” and “Down with the dictatorship!”

Combined, Cuban influencers Iván Daniel Calás Navarro, David Espinosa, and Anna Sofía Benítez Silvente have hundreds of thousands of followers. Never before has the antisocialist message, a topic banned in libraries and universities, been so influential and accessible in the country, said Yoe Suárez, an exiled Christian Cuban journalist and analyst at the Family Research Council. Suárez pioneered independent Christian journalism in Cuba, resulting in government harassment and eventual exile to the US.

“These evangelical influencers are the most influential independent political voices in Cuba today,” Suárez said.  

Yet their truth-telling comes at a high cost in Cuba, an authoritarian state where churches are heavily regulated and speech against the government is illegal. In a recent interview, Cuban president Miguel Díaz-Canel claimed no political prisoners exist on the island and that Cubans are free to protest. Reality proves otherwise. Online dissenters face intimidation, interrogations, arrest, surveillance, and threats of job loss or detention in prisons known for human rights abuses.

The current online Christian resistance movement is a crystallization of several factors, according to Suárez, including the authorization of home internet in 2017 and the introduction of 3G internet access for mobile phones a year later. Suárez said he believes the regime saw a financial boon in selling expensive mobile phone data, not realizing it would provide Cubans with an outlet to speak freely about their frustrations.

Furthermore, in the past decade, evangelical Christians have increasingly stepped into political activism, starting with the Evangelical Civic Movement in 2018 and continuing with the July 11 protests three years later. Also called “11J,” these post-COVID-19 demonstrations brought together thousands of Cubans as they marched peacefully for increased liberties and economic relief. The Cuban government responded with a violent crackdown and arrested more than 700 protestors, including evangelical pastors and church members.

For many years, the catchphrase Los Cristianos no se meten en política (“Christians don’t get involved in politics”) defined the church’s role in society. This philosophy, Suárez said, is a tool the regime uses to prevent “the sleeping giant” of the church from waking up. 

Iván Daniel Calás Navarro, a 22-year-old audiovisual producer, originally began his YouTube channel Voz de Verdad (Voice of Truth) in 2018 because he wanted to share the gospel with other young people in Cuba. It was never his intention to get involved in politics, Navarro said, but “the injustices and the situation in Cuba compelled me to speak out.”

After becoming more politically vocal, the police summoned him to the station in 2023, where they interrogated him and threatened him with prison time for criticizing the government. In late March, Navarro and his wife left the country to take political refuge in Spain.

“Our mission is to preach the gospel and make disciples,” Navarro said. “Remaining silent and turning a blind eye to injustice is the very opposite of the gospel.”

Many Christian political dissidents, like Navarro and Suárez, have fled Cuba. Those who stay do so either because they feel the Lord has called them to remain or because a legal exit path doesn’t exist. Either way, they face the constant risk of repercussions from Cuban State Security. 

David Espinosa, 38, first created a Facebook account in 2014. At the time, the only way to access the web was through hotel internet at a costly hourly fee. An audiovisual producer at Havana’s Calvary Baptist Church, Espinosa said his initial purpose was to publish evangelical content; but like Navarro, he couldn’t stay silent about politics. 

“I’ve had to use whatever I have on hand to somehow speak out against these wrongdoings,” Espinosa said. “For a while now, with a lot of caution, I’ve been trying to speak out and proclaim that the truth is Jesus Christ, the truth of the gospel, the truth of the Bible, and the wrongs our leaders are doing and the injustices that are being committed.”

Authorities have often summoned Espinosa to the police station, including most recently on April 13, when police interrogated him for nearly two and a half hours. They fined him 3,000 Cuban pesos ($125 USD), threatened him with prison, told him his children’s safety was at risk, and warned him his filming equipment would be confiscated, all to persuade him to stop publishing content online.

While Espinosa is certain he’s doing the right thing, depression and fear are, at times, also part of the struggle. He said he fought depression much of last year.

“There are a lot of times I’ve felt afraid,” Espinosa said. “I have three children, and I want to see them grow up.”

Espinosa said some Christians still don’t support what he’s doing, calling him zelote (zealot), apedreador (someone who throws stones), and a false Christian. But far greater in number are the Christians who do support him, Espinosa said. His pastors, family members, and even strangers from across Cuba send him messages saying they are with him and praying for him. These words of encouragement, he said, are what keep him going. 

“God has given us the responsibility to speak the truth and share his Word,” Espinosa said. “It’s been hard and it’s dangerous, but we know that God is with us, and that’s why we’re doing it.”

Twenty-year-old Anna Sofía Benítez Silvente, also known as Anna Bensi, became an overnight sensation in October 2025 when she posted a video citing the Cuban constitution and drawing attention to the basic rights many Cubans lack. Her platform changed from humorous sketches to videos calling for the dismantling of the dictatorship. 

On March 10, the Cuban police served Bensi’s mother, Caridad Silvente, with a summons to present herself at the police station the following day. They gave no reason why. Caridad Silvente filmed the encounter, which Bensi uploaded to her social media channels, saying, “I’m not afraid of them. They don’t intimidate me. And above all, they won’t silence me.”

The next day, Espinosa, Navarro, and others drove across the city to the Alamar police station in Havana for Silvente’s interrogation, praying and waiting for her outside. According to Bensi, Cuban state security tried to convince Silvente that her daughter was a mercenary, a homosexual, and that an outside actor paid her to post content. Police also charged Silvente with “exposing a government official” for filming the state officers the day before. They threatened her with five years of prison time, forbade her to leave the country, and put her under house arrest.

Two weeks later, authorities called Bensi to the police department, where they charged her with the same infraction as her mother and also placed her under house arrest. In a video detailing the police questioning to followers, she closed by saying, “No matter what happens, even though they want to hurt us, they want to do wrong to us, everything will be for our good. Amen.”

Anna continues to upload content despite being confined to her home, including calls to #freeel4ico and a previously filmed music video called “Mi Tierra,” a melancholy Latin folk ballad pleading for the healing of her homeland.

Further complicating the difficulties these Christians face is the Trump administration’s recent oil blockade of the country, which has weakened an already struggling country. Gas prices skyrocketed, trash piled up in the streets, failing public transportation systems left citizens stranded, and food spoiled in refrigerators due to rolling blackouts.

Just like their fellow Cubans, Espinosa, Bensi, and Navarro are struggling to obtain basic necessities—and in their cases, to continue uploading content.

For a day after Silvente’s interrogation, lack of cellphone connection prevented her and Bensi from communicating with the outside world. A week later, they experienced a 30-hour blackout. Though power and cell service outages are on the rise due to the oil blockade, the Cuban state is also known to intentionally cause blackouts “to prevent people from organizing or sharing evidence of human rights abuses,” according to Amnesty International.

On April 9, Bensi woke up to discover she was locked out of her WhatsApp account, the primary form of communication for many Cubans. Other Cubans speaking out against the government have experienced the same, including Espinosa and Medina’s wife, Doris Batista. Espinosa said in a post that he constantly finds himself without phone service and suspects Cuba’s state-run telecommunications company of trying “to prevent what I say from reaching far and wide.”

Despite the physical dangers, political challenges, and practical obstacles, Medina, Espinosa, Navarro, Bensi, and many other Cuban Christians refuse to stop speaking out. 

“I know even more surely that the truth doesn’t need mobile data to make its way,” Espinosa said at the end of the same post. “And when a child of God is blocked, the Lord himself often opens up paths in ways that no one can even begin to understand. I won’t stop speaking out about what I’ve seen and heard. My loyalty is to the Lord, not to men.”

Correction: An earlier version of this article misstated Iván Daniel Calás Navarro’s name.

Theology

Against the Casinofication of the Church

Columnist

The Atlantic’s McKay Coppins told me about problems that feel eerily similar to what I see in the church.

A roulette wheel
Christianity Today April 22, 2026
Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Image: Getty

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

Sometimes a guest says something that goes by in the moment but that I can’t stop thinking about later. Earlier this week, I recorded a conversation with McKay Coppins of The Atlantic about his essay on what it was like to spend a year doing online sports gambling. You can listen to our conversation next week on my podcast, but what kept me up at night had little to do with the question of betting and much to do with what Coppins calls “the casinofication of everything.” What he described sounds eerily familiar to the most un-casino-like setting of all—the church.

Coppins said part of the problem in American life is that the authority figures making decisions—from senators to parents—don’t really understand what gambling is now. Some of them think of it as lonely old women playing slot machines in casinos on the Las Vegas Strip or, more benignly, as a couple of coworkers betting $100 that the Timberwolves will beat the Nuggets. The latter example is one of the reasons professional sports owners believe online gambling is good for their business: People get even more invested in their teams’ wins and losses if they have, as the cliché goes, skin in the game.

The problem, Coppins notes, is that the algorithmic nature of online betting actually changes the game. He told me to imagine a sports bar full of people watching a game. They are sharing an experience as they cheer for their team or boo for the opponent. Even in loss, there’s community as the group collectively groans. That’s true even if the crowd is made up of fans of opposing teams. Their jeering over such rivalries is itself a kind of bonding.

But with the onset of online gambling, Coppins told me, the guy on the barstool is not really looking at those around him or even at the television overhead. He’s on his phone. And what he’s betting on isn’t typically about who wins and who loses or even about point spreads alone: His bets are on an almost-uncountable variety of small, random acts in the game. The sports bar might be full of people cheering for the same team, but they’re playing different games.

When Coppins describes the “casinofication” of everything, he points to the ways betting markets are now about, almost literally, everything. You can bet on whether a Venezuelan drug boat will be blown up between May 1 and May 10. You can bet on whether Tom Holland and Zendaya will split up in 2027. You can bet on whether famine will hit North Korea by winter. And on and on.

That doesn’t mean the gambler will care about those situations in and of themselves—people who bet against famine aren’t typically motivated to work on world hunger. It means the person will be invested in his or her own interests.

Casinofication breaks down community. If I’m playing my own secret, individual game, then I’m separated from the very thing the teams are meant to do—connect people in shared appreciation for the art of the game or in shared belonging to the same hometown. That’s why what seems to be a short-term win for a team’s owners is a long-term loss. It raises the apparent stakes while lowering the real ones. Corporations think betting will make young men care more about sports, but they’re actually severing them from the communities that would have made them care about sports for a lifetime.

Coppins writes in his essay about how his growing obsession with his gambling app brought out something in him he never expected: personal hatred. When a player he had bet on fumbled the ball, Coppins felt a visceral rage and then noticed that he was critical, from that point on, of everything the player did—the way he talked at the postgame press conference, even the way he walked up to the end zone. Coppins hated this player he had never met—not for the way his playing had disappointed the group of fans but for the way he had personally cost Coppins. He could see in his own psyche how his affections were being algorithmically reordered without his consent.

In that way, the individual replaces the community, and the individual is eroded too. After all, as Coppins and I discussed in our conversation, 11- to 14-year-old boys are seeing floods of ads and, more importantly, are allowed to win when they do play. Their losing is not in the companies’ interest at first. They want a bettor to experience the dopamine rush of winning—and winning really big—until the dopamine rush is the thing he’s chasing. Not the sport, not the team, not even money. He thinks that he’s a winner—that his knowledge or skill or even luck is better than other people’s—without ever knowing that behind all of that are some faceless guys in suits who don’t care about him or the team or the game.

Very few people (I hope) are betting on what praise songs they will sing at church this Sunday or how many weeks the sermon series on Philippians will go or how many infants will cry during the baby dedication. But that doesn’t mean we are safe from the casinofication around us. In fact, we are—all of us—in danger of having already accommodated to it.

Every culture assumes some kind of split between the individual and the community. The Bible does not. Israel starts with one man, Abraham, and becomes a multitude. The multitude narrows to a remnant, and the remnant narrows to one law-keeping man and then broadens out to a crowd no one can number. The church, specifically, creates both true individualism and true communitarianism. We are collectively “the body of Christ and individually members of it” (1 Cor. 12:27, ESV throughout). We have a common mission but individual giftings to accomplish it (vv. 1–11). We have a common ethic as a community, but we respect the consciences of individual persons among us (Rom. 14:1–23).

To press the metaphor, we win together and lose together—and both can bond us closer to Christ (8:17) and to one another (12:15). In many ways, we have different games and teams going on in our lives, but what ultimately binds us together is that we are playing the same game, with the same stakes and scoreboard.

We have always been tempted to forget our common goal. The New Testament is filled with stories of the church being confused about whether the “game” it’s playing is celebrity identification (1 Cor. 1:11–13) or ethnic tribalization (Gal. 2:11–14) or financial prosperity (Acts 8:9–24) or political captivity (Rev. 13:1–18). In every age, the church must be shaken out of that confusion.

The guy looking at his smartphone in the sports bar and checking his betting app isn’t really watching the game. The game is just a means to achieve what he really cares about—his bank balance or his self-image as a winner or the little adrenal rush that comes with it. There are always forces at work that want to do the same thing to us—with a much more ultimate game.

The gospel and the church become carriers for what we already care about on our own individual or tribal terms. When the gospel becomes a tool—for culture war, institutional survival, partisan politics, and personal brand—its relevance feels sharp and immediate. The things I already care about are being addressed. But the slow formation of intuitions, instincts, and affections is being hollowed out.

If the New Orleans Saints are just a vehicle for a gambling addiction, a fan can find a team that can do that better. If football itself is the same kind of vehicle, the addict will ultimately find a sport that can serve him more reliably. Eventually, he is no longer a sports fan—he’s an app fan.

Once a new generation sees the church as being about marketing products or voter mobilization or ethnic tribalization or anything else, people will find both the “I” of individual identity and the “we” of group identity in something other than the gospel of Jesus Christ. Having money or supporting a ministry or being a Republican or Democrat or demonizing and idealizing people in the “correct” categories—that becomes the thing. That becomes the game.

This mindset can work especially well with fear and anger, which can give the illusion of both a personal jolt of life and a cohesive group of “us versus them.” Our minds shift. We keep score by different metrics than those Jesus gave us. We think we are claiming the individual and the communal when we’re really losing both.

And all the while, neither approach to these concepts is true. It’s in somebody’s interest to get me playing his or her game. The house always wins.

The danger is there as long as it’s invisible. When we realize we are on a different field, we can remember that, as Paul put it, we are playing according to a different set of rules (2 Tim. 2:5). We can see that the stands are full of a different cloud of onlookers than those we can see (Heb. 12:1). We can recover a real “we” that doesn’t bypass but instead makes the “I.” And we can do it with the slow, boring, unglamorous work of being formed by churches that we didn’t pick for their algorithmic fit and that aren’t using us to do something else.

We can look up from whatever devices are holding us in thrall and love the game again. Is that hard in times like these? Yes. Will it be difficult for the church to counter casino culture with something that really matters? Of course. Can we do it? You bet your life.

Russell Moore is editor at large and columnist at Christianity Today as well as host of the weekly podcast The Russell Moore Show from CT Media.

News
Wire Story

The Religion Gender Gap Among the Young Is Disappearing

Women still dominate church pews, but studies find that devotion among Gen Z women has cooled to levels on par with Gen Z men.

Gen Z women are becoming less religious.
Christianity Today April 22, 2026
Photo by bojanstory / Getty

Women have long been the backbone of religion in America.

They are more likely than men to identify as religious, say faith is important in their lives, attend services, and pray. That’s especially true among older women, according to data from the Pew Research Center. 

But times are changing. And more young women seem to be giving up on God—or at least on organized religion. 

new report last week from the Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) found that 43 percent of adult women under 30 identify as “none”—those who claim no religious identity. That’s up from 29 percent in 2013.

PRRI found that unaffiliated young women outnumber unaffiliated men (35%). Overall, 39 percent of Americans under 30 identify as “none.”

The findings conflict with claims of a religious boom among young Americans.

“Looking at young adults, there is a shift happening, but it’s not among Gen Z men, as some suggest. Instead, young women’s declining religiosity has brought them on par with their male counterparts,” said Melissa Deckman, CEO of PRRI.

Key religious indicators—such as identifying with a religion or praying daily—have declined among adults of all ages over the last decade. But studies have also measured a shrinking religion gender gap among young people. Pew found that only 57 percent of young women and 58 percent of young men claim a religious identity—a virtual tie.   

Deckman said the data reflects political and social realities. Many young women, she said, aren’t interested in the kind of traditional gender roles that conservative religious groups are promoting.

“I think you’re running into this head-on collision, where a lot of younger women are just shedding religious labels because they don’t endorse the views of a lot of conservative and outspoken churches,” Deckman said.

Charissa Mikoski, an assistant professor at Hartford Institute for Religion Research, said that overall, women still make up about 60 percent of active congregation members. Mikoski is part of a team that studies trends in congregational life, rather than the general population. While young women—both millennials and Generation Z—attend services slightly less than men, they are still more likely than men to be part of a congregation.  

“In all of our data, women are still much more likely to be participating in congregations,” she said. 

Young people make up only about 14 percent of all church members, despite being about a quarter of the US population. But Mikoski noted that the percentage of young people who say they are attending more regularly outnumbers the percentage who say they are attending less often. 

And there’s no sign that religion in America will disappear anytime soon.

PRRI’s report, along with reports from Pew and other researchers, found that the rise of the unaffiliated—which has dominated religion headlines in recent decades—has plateaued. The percentage of Americans who claim no religion rose from 16 percent in 2007 to 31 percent in 2022, according to Pew, before settling at about 28 percent.

Although the share of the population that is unaffiliated will likely rise as older religious Americans die and are replaced by younger, less devout Americans, most surveys show that more than half of young Americans are religious.

Deckman said religious groups will persist but be smaller.

“I think the great irony is that we have a nation of people that are lonely—they’re looking for connection,” Deckman said. “And in some ways, you would think that religious bodies would be the ideal place to have that.”

PRRI’s report also showed stark differences in the religious makeup of the country’s two major political parties. Republicans remain overwhelmingly Christian—84 percent of Republicans identified as Christians, including 68 percent who were white Christians. Only 13 percent were “none.”

By contrast, the unaffiliated (34%) now outnumber white Christians (24%) among Democrats. Just over half (58%) of Democrats identify as Christian, while 8 percent identify with other faiths.

History

Attempts at Cultural Crossover

From Pat Robertson’s soap opera to creation science, CT reported evangelical efforts to go mainstream in 1982.

A CT magazine cover and an film still from Blade Runner.
Christianity Today April 22, 2026
Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty, CT Archives

CT greeted 1982 with a big profile of a televangelist trying break out of “the Christian ghetto.” The magazine reported that Pat Robertson’s Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN) was developing programming designed to attract nonreligious viewers. 

Posing a prime-time threat to ABC, CBS, and NBC is little more than a distant hope, but CBN’s momentum is unmistakable, attracting widespread notice in broadcast trade publications. By this month CBN will have nudged its way into the industry’s Nielsen ratings by gaining nationwide access to nearly 14 million households able to receive cable television programs. … 

By presenting a smorgasbord of shows with the whole family in mind, CBN is bucking a trend toward “narrow-casting”—a term for cable broadcasters and networks that opt for a single specialty such as all-news, all-sports, or R-rated movies. CBN’s leap of faith is a high-risk venture, and it has never succeeded before.

But, as Robertson sees it, the time is right. … CBN’s splashiest attempt to communicate a Christian alternative is “Another Life,” a soap opera that attracts 100,000 viewers in New York City alone, according to Arbitron, an industry rating service.

The daily half-hour drama stars a happy, intact Christian family whose members pray their way through difficulties.

Entertainment with overtly religious themes could please wide audiences—and even win best-picture at the Academy Awards in 1982. CT praised that year’s Oscar winner, Chariots of Fire

In conversation among many intelligent people, the mention of Jesus Christ often brings an awkward silence. In film, it is even worse. Attempts to grapple with truth, Scripture, or God are regularly greeted with hoots of derision. But there may be hope.

The British Chariots of Fire is a work of restraint and intensity that offers the Christian moviegoer a variety of admirable cinematic and real-life achievements. … 

In other hands, the film would easily have taken sides—after all, each man represented a certain different approach to life—but their spirit of competition is peripheral to the real drama. It is to the film makers’ credit that they centered on the internal struggles and aspirations of the pair. In so doing they created a work that allows these two people to be just that—two real people and not idealized figures in a calculated, contrived sports or religious story. It is this integrity that is the film’s transcending strength.

Other popular films were not so sympathetic to Christianity. CT reviewers worried one of the year’s biggest box-office hits, E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial, promoted a counterfeit of Christianity

Spiritual metaphors abound in E.T., a captivating tale of a seemingly timid, misshapen creature from outer space, and Elliott, the young boy with whom E.T. develops a psychical relationship after he is marooned on earth. E.T. is no ordinary fantasy, but a sophisticated production by Hollywood’s foremost director, Steven Spielberg. …

Spielberg intends for his audience to have a spiritual experience. Even the movie’s newspaper ad invites a direct comparison to Michelangelo’s creation scene—only the hand arching downward is not God’s, but E.T.’s.

The relationship of Elliott to E.T. is a “type” of the Christian’s relationship to Christ. In a touching scene, Elliott says to E.T., “I’ll believe in you all my life.” And we, too, want to place ourselves in E.T.’s hands and believe. As E.T. prepares to leave earth, he lifts his glowing finger to Elliot’s forehead and cryptically states, “I’ll be here.” A new Pentecost?

A review of the film Blade Runner was more positive, even though director Ridley Scott cut a significant Christian subplot when he adapted Philip K. Dick’s novel, Do Android’s Dream of Electric Sheep? 

The film is a chilling allegory about man’s relationship to God. But more disturbing is the fact that Deckard himself, unlike his targets, has no Maker to confront. … This isn’t a family film, and it’s not for the squeamish. But of all the summer’s releases, only Blade Runner is truly adult in its thoughtfulness and complexity. If you enjoy science fiction, by all means see this.

CT reported Christian publishers were trying to adapt a popular new exercise trend for evangelical audiences, faith-based versions of best-selling aerobic workout videos such as Jazzercise, Jane Fonda’s Workout Record, and fitness celebrity Richard Simmons’s Reach.

Word discussed the concept a year and a half ago, according to Director of Public Relations Walt Quinn. But, wary of adverse reaction, Word decided to put the project on hold. When the New Benson Company, a competitor of Word, Inc., discussed an aerobics project, similar concerns surfaced. 

“There were some questions within the company,” said Don Klein, Benson’s public relations director. “But enthusiasm began to build. There were those who had an ear for what was needed. And we became convinced that the idea was right for the time. I think that’s been proven by the fact that it has worked.” 

By “worked,” Klein means “sold.” Since the release of Aerobic Celebration in May, the Benson Company has moved 130,000 copies, which by any standards is respectable; by Christian standards it’s very respectable. The market: fitness-conscious women, ages 18 to 30.

In response to Benson’s success with Aerobics Celebration and the recent release of its sequel, Word, Inc., has unveiled Firm Believer, “a complete exercise program featuring today’s finest Christian music.” …

But as the Christian music machine turns out fitness products and as the religious public buys them, the questions of skeptics and critics persist: At what point does giving people what they want become crass commercialism? Does it cheapen sacred music to have it obscured with exercise instructions on the toning of thighs, abdomens, and buttocks? 

Keith Green, an established Christian music icon with a record of being critical of commercialization, died in a plane crash in July at age 28. The tragedy seemed to mark the end of the Jesus People era. 

For Keith Green—whether he was singing in concert or on his five albums, writing in the newsletter, or pastoring at Last Days—the message was “get right with God.” …

His stand against the commercialism of contemporary Christian music was unique and radical. He once told Contemporary Christian Music magazine, “The central reason there are record companies is for corporations to make money. Anybody who honestly believes that a record company is there as a service is grossly mistaken.” After making two strong-selling albums for Sparrow, Green had his contract suspended so he could put Matthew 10:8 (“Freely you have received, freely give”) into practice. …  

Green didn’t charge for his concerts either, and said, “I repent of ever having recorded one single song, and ever having played even one concert if my music and, more importantly, my life has not provoked you in godly jealousy to sell out completely to Jesus!”

CT told readers of another evangelical attempt at adaptation happening in Oregon: the country’s first Christian bank.

What separates this bank from the rest of the crowd is that it gives 10 percent of its profits to Christian schools and organizations. Furthermore, its 350 stockholders tithe their dividends, sending more money into Christian work. The idea has caught on, say bank officials, and not only has the bank attracted depositors from around the world, it has received a shower of press coverage. … 

The idea does appear to be catching. Similar banks are organizing in Wheaton, Illinois; Billings, Montana; and in the Los Angeles area.

The pace of cultural change seemed to be speeding up in 1982. Only a year after CT reported on churches adopting VCRs, the magazine announced more new technology was on the way.

Americans use computers at work, at play (with video games), and finally, irresistibly, at church.

In the church? Very much so, according to Jack Gunther, vice-president of Church Growth Data Services, one of the many rapidly proliferating firms that provide computer hardware and software (programs) for churches.

“The computer in the church is an idea whose time has come,” said Gunther, who formerly worked for IBM. “Five years from now virtually every church is going to have a computer.” The machine, Gunther and others predict, will soon be as commonplace in churches as typewriters and telephones. …

There are obvious applications, such as using the machines for financial record keeping. Less obvious—and requiring special programming—is the use of computers to help congregations grow.

For example, a church might have a computerized membership profile with categories such as the member’s name, address, and marital status when he joined the church, his health, talents, interests, and spiritual gifts. The pastor of a large church, unable to know each member personally, can use the computer to match persons of similar interest in a Bible study or arrange a block party for members living in one area.

Some Christians fought efforts to force change, as CT reported in “Bob Jones versus Everybody.” 

Bob Jones University in Greenville, South Carolina, citing a biblical injunction against mixing of races … still prohibits dating and marriage between races. …

The Bob Jones doctrine holds that joining of races contributes to “one-worldism,” which it says is man’s attempt to unite against God, and that God intended the races to remain separate when he dispersed the people at the Tower of Babel. …

Bob Jones III, the school’s president (his father and grandfather preceded him as president), testified in detail on the school’s beliefs during a federal trial in 1978.  

Evangelical scholars disagree with nearly every point Jones makes. … 

For the last 12 years, Bob Jones University has battled the Internal Revenue Service to retain its tax exemption, with the IRS contending the school cannot qualify as a charitable institution eligible for tax exemption because its practice violates public policy. 

Evangelist Billy Graham, meanwhile, was in the Soviet Union, preaching the gospel and warning about the dangers of nuclear war. CT defended its founder against what editors described as “a roar of disapproval.” 

He thought he could accomplish more through quiet diplomacy and public preaching of the gospel than by openly denouncing the Soviet government for lack of religious freedom. Was that price too great? Billy Graham thought not. We agree. …

Those of us who believe the gospel of Jesus Christ is the dynamite of God, able to blast away sin and the sinful structures of an unjust society, may indeed regret any slips and the unfortunate infelicities of unplanned spontaneous comments. But we rejoice at the opportunity to preach the gospel—actual and potential—with the hope that the power of the gospel can change the hearts of men, as well as the evil structures of even a Communist society.

Some evangelicals tried to get creation science taught in public schools. CT reported on a legal battle in Arkansas

In many public schools, evolution is taught explicitly as the rational alternative to the biblical teaching about creation held by uneducated fundamentalists!

All evangelicals resent this. It is a violation of their constitutional right to the free exercise of their religion. They will make laws to secure their rights, and they will battle them through the courts and beyond. Eventually they will win—if America is to remain a free nation.

But evangelicals are equally committed against any infringement of the religious rights of others. For conscience’s sake they support separation of church and state and reject the establishment of any particular religion, including their own.

CT asked theology professor Norman Geisler to make “a case for equal time.” Historian George Marsden opposed the legislation:

The law institutes a false choice. As evangelicals are well aware, there is a variety of views, even among conservative, Bible-believing Christians, relating the biblical and the scientific accounts of origins. … I am convinced that it is a great disservice to evangelical Christianity to identify it with one very narrow argument from science.

CT published a special issue on the topic in 1982 with four different authors taking different views and answering questions. An editorial established “guideposts for the current debate over origins.” 

There is no general agreement as to precisely what Scripture teaches about evolution. …

The principle for the evangelical Christian is clear: When the Bible speaks, he must stand firmly by what it says; but when the Bible is silent, he must be silent as to what he believes on biblical authority. 

Church Life

Will the Church Enter the Guys’ Group Chat?

Young men are looking for online presence. The church needs to offer more than weekly breakfasts.

Blue message bubbles and one gold glowing one.
Christianity Today April 22, 2026
Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye

Despite the loneliness, mistrust, and anger coursing through American social life, young men have at least one institution they can still rely on: the male group chat.

I am 23 years old, and I am in seven of them: one with my closest friends, a porch night scheduling chat, a music chat, a workout chat, a family chat, a fantasy football chat, and one more—my small group chat, where the guys from my Wednesday-night Bible study send prayer requests, memes, check-ins, and the occasional theological question. Each one serves a different function, but together they constitute something like a social ecosystem, the scaffolding of my relational life.

I’m not unusual in this. The group chat is shaping more than we think. And to be sure, not all of it is pretty. When a college student slides into a gambling addiction, it often starts in a sports chat. When a lonely boy tumbles into the abyss of conspiracy theories, he may do it surrounded (virtually, at least) by other lonely boys. When a young man gets radicalized, it often happens in the slow drift of the chat thread. 

But there’s another side of the group chat—one that headlines on digital isolation rarely capture. In my own life and the lives of many young men I know, the group chat has become a powerful force for binding us together. My small group chat, for example, has made me a better member of my small group, a more committed member of my church, and, most importantly, a more faithful follower of Christ. 

It hasn’t always carried this kind of weight. For six years, my small group’s thread was little more than a logistics hub. We started it as college freshmen primarily to coordinate where we were meeting for Bible study each week. For a long time, the notifications were purely utilitarian—address pins, time changes, and the occasional “see you there” thumbs-up.

But as our friendships deepened, our digital space matured with us. In the last year, the frequency has shifted from a weekly check-in to an almost-daily dialogue. Thus, on a typical Tuesday, the notifications might start around noon with a link to a podcast episode someone found encouraging, followed by a flurry of thumbs-up emojis and reactions. By 5 p.m., the tone might shift as someone asks for prayer before a high-stakes job interview.

But the value of the chat runs deeper still. A few months ago, the chat was a lifeline for me. My mom was waiting on the results of an MRI scan for a tumor, and the silence was heavy. I didn’t feel like I needed to wait until Wednesday to ask for support—I just sent a quick text to the guys. Within minutes, my phone was buzzing with prayers and private check-ins that stayed steady until the results arrived with good news. Cue the “praise God” texts. 

The digital thread captures these “middle spaces” of our lives—the majority of our lives—that a weekly meeting can’t reach. It allows us to be present for the Monday-morning anxieties and the Friday-afternoon wins, turning a structured program into a constant, lived-in brotherhood. The Wednesday-night program now feels more like a reunion, just picking up where we left off.

Throughout its history, Christ’s church has always brought men together, with Jesus teaching his disciples to care for and even to die for one another. This kind of self-sacrificial friendship remains radical in today’s world. Men’s ministries have long sought to foster friendships like that, and the traditions of early-morning breakfasts at diners and weekend retreats have borne good fruit in recent decades. Promise Keepers stadium rallies in the ’90s, too, drew hundreds of thousands of men to weep and pray together. These moments allowed men to show up at church in large numbers, confess things they’d never said out loud, and find brothers.

But for my generation, these mountaintop experiences aren’t enough. We live in a world of constant, fragmented noise, where the spiritual momentum of a weekend retreat often evaporates by the first Monday-morning commute. A Passion conference, a college retreat, or even a weekly Bible study can provide a powerful spark, but it rarely provides the daily heat necessary to survive a digital culture designed to isolate us. To reach young men today, to bind them together, the church needs more than these periodic pulses. It needs to enter the “middle spaces” of our lives. The church needs to enter the chat.

Growing communities like this is slower than hosting a one-time stadium rally or retreat, and it requires greater willingness to engage outside regularly scheduled meetings. It asks the pastor or layperson who leads it to model honesty, to stay in the room when it gets uncomfortable, and to check in midweek. Whether that happens over a thread of text messages, a shared workout, or a quick phone call on a commute, the goal is a faith that isn’t cordoned off to a Sunday morning.

Community growth also means creating spaces where men have permission to be honest about every part of life. In the anonymity of the internet—often behind the shield of a frog profile picture, or some other senseless meme—men feel free to voice their darkest anxieties, their political frustrations, or the conspiracy theories they’ve stumbled upon in the digital swamp. If the church doesn’t provide a place where men can speak those thoughts aloud without immediate condemnation, they will keep taking them to the corners of the web where they are never challenged. We need to be the kind of brothers who listen to unfiltered thoughts, stay in the room, and then point each other toward the truth.

Tightly knit communities are, of course, not new to the church’s imagination. Early Christians met in houses, often under threat, in intimate groups where everyone knew each other’s name (Acts 2:42–47). What made those early communities formative was precisely their smallness, their dailiness, and their shoulder-to-shoulder quality. The modern church must build communities that have the same texture: private, persistent, particular, and low on performance. Men are hungry for brothers who know them personally.

What the church can offer that no algorithm can is genuine presence, accountability, and a shared story bigger than any of its individual members. We need men who are on mission together, who know what they stand for, and who have chosen each other for the long work of discipleship. 

That is what the early church was. That is what the group chat, at its best, is trying to be.

Luke Simon is the codirector of student ministries at The Crossing in Columbia, Missouri, and an MDiv student at Covenant Theological Seminary. He has written on Gen Z, technology, masculinity, and the church. You can follow him on X.

Ideas

Just War Theory Is Supposed to Be Frustrating

Contributor

The venerable theological tradition makes war slower, riskier, costlier, and less efficient—and that’s the point.

Smoke billows from a fire next to Azadi Tower following strikes near Mehrabad International Airport in Tehran on March 7, 2026.

Smoke billows from a fire next to Azadi Tower following strikes near Mehrabad International Airport in Tehran on March 7, 2026.

Christianity Today April 22, 2026
Atta Kenare / Contributor / Getty

Once upon a time I was a pacifist, and some days I still am. Although I’m a theologian, which means it pays to pretend to know everything about everything, there are still some topics about which I remain uncertain. War is one.

Two factors called my pacifist confidence into question. The first was the weight of Christian tradition. No believer is an island unto himself, and discipleship is not a DIY project. So while the tradition can err, and the church has always had a pacifist strand, the burden of proof falls to the dissenter. The bulk of Christian writing on war is not pacifist, and that shouldn’t be cavalierly dismissed.

The second factor is related to the first: I actually read those writings. And when you take them seriously, not as the faithless baptism of pagan bloodlust but as an honest attempt to interpret the Scriptures for political practice, you walk away impressed. I certainly did. 

Just war theory is, roughly, the majority view of Christian teaching across the centuries about (1) the moral conditions that might justify a nation going to war and (2) how a nation might prosecute such a war with righteousness. It’s an extraordinary ethical and political achievement. There’s a reason that its wisdom has seeped into contemporary laws of war, both in America and elsewhere. These laws may be secular, but their theological roots run deep.

In recent weeks, the principles of just war theory have been raised for all to consider as politicians, pastors, laypeople, and members of the military debate the war in Iran. Even many supporters of this administration and of this war repudiated President Donald Trump’s reckless and immoral statement on April 7: “A whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again. I don’t want that to happen, but it probably will.” Such rhetoric, a casual threat of genocide, is beyond the pale.

Sometimes it’s hard to convince my students that Christian theology matters. But this month, as my Christian ethics class turned to exploring just war theory, all I had to do was point to the news.

Yet as much as this venerable tradition has shaped our thinking and laws, most believers aren’t conscious students of just war theory. Among those who are, my impression is that, for Protestants and Catholics alike, the balance of the debate has fallen against the idea that this war was justified by the theory’s standards. As much as it has been misused to approve unjust conflicts in the past, then, the theory still has teeth. It is not merely an academic artifact. And whether they know the theory’s terminology or not, American Christians are still capable of saying that while some wars might be justified, this one is not. 

At its best, therefore, just war theory gives Christians a moral and political toolkit for discernment, and the last two months have shown this toolkit at work. But set aside the particulars of the argument about Iran for a moment, if you can. I want to step back and draw our attention to a feature of the political debate above and beyond the intra-Christian debate.

Here’s what I mean. The Christian debate, when conducted by believers who are not pacifists, is about whether or not this conflict is justified according to the standards of just war theory. If the answer is no, the necessary conclusion—whatever else one thinks of the conflict and the oppressive regime in Tehran—is that the war shouldn’t have been started and ought to be brought to an end as soon as possible. In other words, the shared premise is that just war theory calls the shots.

The political debate is different. Since pressure mounted for the United States to strike Iran earlier this year, it’s been clear that many Americans who support the war don’t accept the principles of just war theory at all. They seem frustrated by its role in the debate, befuddled by Catholics and evangelicals raising concerns and proposing policies that would hamstring the president and the military.

In a recent piece at National Review, commentator Noah Rothman articulates this frustration with admirable openness:

the theological principles [of just war theory] may be beyond me, but those principles appear to be in tension with elementary best practices in statecraft. Surely, the American public would regard the lethargy apparently prescribed by dogma as unacceptable if that lethargy led to an Iran that could not be disarmed with the speed and efficacy that has so far typified this war. Righteous or not, asking any American president to observe that kind of passivity would be asking quite a lot.

Rothman seems surprised and alarmed to discover that just war theory is meant to make war slower, riskier, costlier, and less efficient. No nation, he supposes, could tolerate that, so Washington should prosecute its war without your precious principles, thank you very much.

I find this frankness deeply clarifying. It makes unmistakable both the “elementary best practices in statecraft” and the ineradicably Christian substance of just war theory. The former is about global strategy, national interest, and realpolitik. The latter is about the will of God for upright human action no matter the consequences

Following just war principles might well leave a nation less secure, for they are not designed to maximize security. They are designed to avoid evil even if good might come from it. The whole point of just war theory is to make war slower, riskier, costlier, and less efficient. Strategic advantage has no traction here.

Consider the question of a surprise strike. “Surprise is a substantial military asset,” Washington Post columnist George Will wrote last month. “If the Trump administration had briefed legislators in advance, could it have achieved the targeted killings crucial to its regime decapitation objective—an objective intended to economize violence?”

The context of these comments is the lack of both formal public debate and congressional authorization of the war. Will’s argument is that, had there been a long run-up to a formal declaration of war on Iran, the United States would have lost a key advantage. The possibility of a surgical strike decapitating key political and military Iranian leaders would have been lost.

Maybe, although the weeks of rumor and anticipation before bombs began dropping meant that the war itself was not a surprise, even if a particular strike was. Yet even if Will were right, he is working from a mistaken premise: namely, that the end justifies the means. It does not. 

Will self-describes as an “amiable, low-voltage atheist,” but no Christian can think this way. Questions of speed, efficiency, advantage, and “economize[d] violence” simply have no place in a Christian approach to war. If justice requires that we shoulder greater risk or cost in the prosecution of a war, then we have no other choice. Utilitarian calculations promise an end run around what we owe to God and neighbor, but this is a temptation we must resist. Just ends cannot excuse unjust means.

This is a vital principle of politics in issues well beyond war. “The structures and ceremonies of self-government certainly do take away some initiatives from one-man rule and impose burdens on the imperial presidency,” the Catholic writer Michael Brendan Dougherty observed in his response to Will, with more than a little irony. “That’s the point.”

Yes, involving the American people and our representatives in the process of democratic deliberation over going to war—or any policy proposal—is burdensome. Yes, it takes time. Yes, as a result, it is likely to lessen certain strategic advantages. So be it. This is a price worth paying, given the gravity of war and the importance of self-governance. It is exactly why declaring war is the prerogative of the nation’s representative body: to slow it down.

Beware the exhilaration of war, which perennially threatens to override our reason with its own seemingly irresistible logic. That is why just war theory exists: to help us think when thinking is the last thing we feel capable of doing. Its claims on us are not detached from reality. Rather, it is we who lose touch with reality in times of war.

It may feel unfair to have to negotiate an ancient theological theory designed to make war harder. But subjecting efficiency, lethality, and even victory to higher principles is precisely its purpose. It reminds us that even—especially—in wartime, God and God alone is our judge.

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.

News
Wire Story

Young, Educated, and Urban Pastors Are Most Likely to Use AI

A survey found denominational differences in pastors’ use of the technology, as well as widespread skepticism about its reliability.

Churchgoers attend a worship service created entirely by ChatGPT in Bavaria.

Churchgoers attend a worship service created entirely by ChatGPT in Bavaria.

Christianity Today April 21, 2026
Photo by Daniel Vogl / picture alliance via Getty Images

As the prevalence of artificial intelligence (AI) grows in the broader culture, some within the church are skeptical of downloading AI into the ministry.

Both US Protestant pastors and churchgoers have a mixed view of artificial intelligence, according to a Lifeway Research study. They aren’t completely opposed to it, but they have concerns about how AI is implemented and its potential influence on Christianity.

“Caution is an instinctive reaction to new things, and pastors and churchgoers share some concerns around AI,” said Scott McConnell, executive director of Lifeway Research. “The majority of younger churchgoers would welcome hearing biblical principles applied to AI in a sermon to help them shape their perspective on it.”

Less than half of US Protestant pastors say they are using AI, but fewer are actively avoiding or ignoring the technology.

One in 10 pastors (10%) say they are regular users of artificial intelligence, while a third (32%) are experimenting with it. Almost 1 in 6 (18%) say they are waiting to see better examples of how AI could help them.

On the other end of the AI adoption spectrum, close to 2 in 5 pastors are either intentionally avoiding it (18%) or simply ignoring artificial intelligence (20%).

“AI is embedded in many tools we use every day, so some pastors may be using AI technology without even knowing they are,” McConnell said. “Pastors’ use of AI for ministry reflects a typical spread of technology adoption with a few avid users and plenty testing it out in different ways.”

In general, younger pastors, those in urban settings, those with more formal education and those leading larger churches are more likely to be AI adopters.

Pastors ages 18 to 44 (40%) and those 45 to 54 (37%) are more likely than those 65 and older (23%) to say they are experimenting with AI. Meanwhile, those 65 and older (4%) are the least likely to say they are regular users of artificial intelligence.

Those at churches in urban areas are more likely than those in rural areas to say they are regular users of AI (11% compared to 5%), while those at rural churches are more likely than those at urban churches to say they are ignoring the technology (27% to 18%).

Pastors with a master’s (10%) or doctoral degree (14%) are more likely than those with no college degree (5%) to say they are regular users of AI. Those without a college degree (25%) are among the most likely to say they are ignoring it.

Denominationally, Lutherans and Baptists are the most skeptical of AI, while holiness pastors are among the most likely to be adopters. Lutherans and Baptists are among the most likely to say they are ignoring it (22% each) and intentionally avoiding it (24% and 20% respectively). Holiness pastors are among the most likely to say they are experimenting with AI (43%) and are regular users (18%).

Pastors of congregations with 250 or more in attendance are among the most likely to say they are experimenting with AI (43%) and are regular users (15%). Those at churches with fewer than 50 are the most likely to say they are ignoring the technology (28%).

Even with most pastors either being current users of artificial intelligence or open to it in the future, almost all US Protestant pastors have some clear concerns about implementing the technology in their work.

When presented with six potential issues with using AI tools in their ministry, most pastors are concerned about each.

More than 4 in 5 pastors say they’re worried AI-generated content must be edited, assuming it contains errors (84%). A similar percentage (81%) believe it is hard to ensure AI tools only use reliable sources. Three in 4 (76%) say biases may exist in the programming of how the AI makes its decisions.

Three in 5 (62%) worry AI users are not disclosing the technology as a collaborator in their work. Slightly fewer say they’re concerned AI-created content from other sources is plagiarism (59%); and God has always shared his Word through people, and AI isn’t a person (55%).

Few (4%) selected none of these or that they aren’t sure (1%).

“Pastors’ highest concerns are tied to how trustworthy AI’s information is, but the majority of pastors are also concerned with honesty in the use of AI content and potential weakening of personhood especially in handling God’s Word,” said McConnell.

Evangelical pastors are more likely than their mainline counterparts to raise concerns about God sharing his Word through people and AI not being a person (58% to 51%). Meanwhile, mainline clergy are more likely than evangelical pastors to worry about AI-created content from other sources being plagiarism (65% to 56%).

US Protestant churchgoers are split over AI and sermons. Pastors won’t find a consensus among churchgoers on using artificial intelligence to help with sermon preparation. More than 2 in 5 (44%) don’t see anything wrong with pastors using it in sermon prep, but 43% disagree, including 24% who do so strongly. Around 1 in 8 (13%) aren’t sure.

Those who attend less frequently, one to three times a month, are more likely than those who attend four times a month or more to support AI-assisted sermon prep (48% to 42%). Churchgoers without evangelical beliefs are also more likely than those with such beliefs to be supportive (49% to 40%).

Not only are churchgoers divided on hearing a sermon prepared with the help of AI, but they’re also divided on hearing a sermon about AI. While 42% would value a sermon about applying biblical principles to AI, 43% disagree, including 25% who strongly disagree. Almost 1 in 7 (15%) aren’t sure.

Younger churchgoers are most likely to find this beneficial. Those 18–29 (50%) and 30–49 (53%) are more likely than those 50–64 (38%) and 65 and older (33%) to say they would value hearing a sermon that taught how biblical principles can be applied to artificial intelligence.

“Churchgoers are evenly split on whether it is right or wrong to use AI in sermon preparation. While only a quarter strongly reject this use, more than 5 in 6 have some pause on whether pastors should have a free pass on its use. The caution may be from a desire to limit its use to certain activities or from not yet giving its morality much thought,” said McConnell.

US Protestant churchgoers find consensus in their AI concerns. Three in 5 (61%) say they’re concerned about the technology’s influence on Christianity. Fewer than 3 in 10 (28%) disagree, while 11% aren’t sure.

Churchgoers with evangelical beliefs are more likely than those without such beliefs to express concern (67% to 55%). Baptists (62%) and Presbyterian/Reformed churchgoers (64%) are more likely than Methodists (48%) to have those worries.

On the other end, men are more likely than women to disagree and say they aren’t concerned (31% v. 25%). Middle-aged churchgoers, those 30 to 49 (33%) and 50 to 64 (29%), are more likely than those 65 and older (23%) to disagree.

Additionally, those who attend one to three times a month are more likely than those who attend more frequently to say they don’t have concerns about AI’s influence on Christianity (31% to 26%).

“While both the availability and use of AI are spreading rapidly, several surveys have shown many Americans have concerns about it. Churchgoers are no exception as they think of its influence on Christianity,” said McConnell. “Just as every new technology requires some investigation to use it well, Christians have the opportunity to investigate AI’s uses biblically.”

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