Books

Is Protestantism Good?

Beth Felker Jones’s book charitably holds up its merits against other traditions.

The book cover on a red background.
Christianity Today November 25, 2025
Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty, IVP

In an age which often seems characterized by vitriol, division, and polarization among Christians, books such as Beth Felker Jones’s Why I Am Protestant offer a welcome respite and compelling counterexample to online shouting matches.

Jones’s book is the second publication in InterVarsity Press’s Ecumenical Dialogue series, which is slated to include three books by different theologians reflecting on their own faiths and traditions with an ecumenical slant. Matthew Levering’s contribution, Why I Am Roman Catholic, was published in 2024. An Eastern Orthodox perspective is forthcoming. In Jones’s contribution to the series, she argues that being a Protestant is both intellectually credible and spiritually sustaining in a world of theological diversity and Christian division.

In Jones’s volume, the reader is treated to a refreshingly positive argument for the riches of the Protestant tradition.

First and most crucially, Jones begins by focusing on “why I am a Christian.” Her description of gradual and grace-filled growth in the life of faith alone makes the book worth reading. As another theologian whose testimony is also of the “I-grew-up-in-a-Christian-home” variety, as Jones puts it, I was touched by her experience of a continual call into deeper relationship with Jesus Christ, alongside her growing conviction of God’s beauty and the joy of living out Jesus’ good news in Christian community. Jones’s testimony is both theologically rich and full of deep, personal conviction—a rare combination.

Beyond telling her own story, Jones’s book serves as a useful guide for ecumenical dialogue in two ways. First, Jones is a charitable reader of her own and of others’ traditions. She never succumbs to polemics, and most of her own arguments focus on the graces she has received within the Protestant tradition. She demonstrates this charity especially clearly in her emphasis on the value of “unity in diversity” (following Paul’s call in 1 Corinthians 12 to celebrate different gifts) within Protestantism and Christianity more broadly.

Jones’s charitable approach to theological difference provides an important model. Her gratitude does not hinder her from articulating intellectual and experiential challenges to Protestantism. Jones approaches these challenges—such as conflicting interpretations of Scripture, the continuing Protestant schism, and historical divergence from the early church—honestly.

Without dismissing them, she presents arguments as to how they might be overcome. For example, in considering the Protestant tendency to divide, Jones argues for a spiritual rather than an institutional reading of the church’s unity. Although she does not support continuing church divisions, she seeks spiritual unity, which she believes lies deeper than institutional divisions. In a similar way, she argues that finding a cohesive, orthodox reading of Scripture is feasible even among divergent theological arguments.

While Jones demonstrates charity, she also writes with clarity and intellectual rigor. One problematic trend in some of the 20th century’s ecumenical movements was abandoning clarity in favor of unity, underplaying or dismissing doctrinal differences. Jones refuses to look past core doctrinal disagreements between Christian traditions.

Second, the book is an important marker of current Protestant and Roman Catholic theological disagreements. As Jones rightly asserts, Luther’s critiques regarding salvation by works accurately described some Catholic theologians but were inaccurate regarding Catholic doctrine according to the Council of Trent. In present ecumenical dialogue, the Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification is generally understood to have settled this Protestant-Catholic division.

The questions Jones raises are more nuanced and ordinary: How do we read Scripture? What is the nature of the church? How do we understand how much of the church’s historical practices and structures are binding on contemporary Christians? Jones’s work illumines doctrinal differences, moving ecumenical discussion forward.

Nevertheless, I was left with a few questions. First, despite Jones’s emphasis on unity in diversity as a hallmark of Protestantism, I wonder whether Protestantism itself provides enough theological unity to justify the project. Would a better title perhaps have been “Why I Am Baptist” (or Presbyterian or Anglican)? If doctrinal differences within the Protestant tradition are significant enough to repeatedly divide church bodies, is it unified enough to constitute a whole?

On a more technical theological point, it does seem Jones leans too heavily on Augustine to support her own ecclesiology of grace. Jones helpfully highlights Augustine’s rejection of the Donatist claims to be the pure church as important for his ecclesiology. However, Augustine primarily condemned the Donatists because they have broken communion with the church Catholic not because of their puritanism. 

As Jones rightly points out, Augustine’s own reading of the controversy is focused on the essential nature of the institutional church as located in the communion of bishops in apostolic succession. Bishops, regardless of the role of the Bishop of Rome, seemed to have a more crucial theological role in the early church than Jones references. Is she reading Augustine against himself? Perhaps this question reflects some larger concerns (which Jones acknowledges) about Protestants arguing for an ecclesiological rather than Christological continuity with the church of the first four centuries.

In addition, although this goes beyond the scope of this project, I would have enjoyed hearing how to deal with division within Protestant churches. Why is it so hard to display charity toward people who share much of our own understanding of the nature of church or the authority of Scripture but differ on other issues? Jones draws heavily from various theories of Anglican ecclesiology.

Yet Jones’s hopeful perspective is particularly poignant given that one group of Anglican bishops called for a radical rupture of communion with others following the global Anglicans’ statement of October 16. Is the deepest challenge for Protestants talking with Roman Catholics, or is it Protestants learning how to better talk with each other?

Given that Jones’s book is part of an ecumenical series, both her book and Levering’s Why I Am Roman Catholic share an emphasis on spiritual growth, the importance of grace, and the impact of Scripture. Their points of common spiritual experience do not in and of themselves resolve the doctrinal differences between their traditions. However, they do present a compelling example of what Pope Francis called the “ecumenism of life”—one in which Jones and Levering call other Christians to walk. Jones’s most compelling call, however, is not to overcome differences with Catholics. Rather, her generous reading of the Protestant tradition provides a hopeful approach for Protestants to better figure out their own “ecumenism of life” together.

Elisabeth Rain Kincaid is director of the Institute for Faith and Learning at Baylor University, where she also serves as associate professor for ethics, faith, and culture at George W. Truett Theological Seminary. She is the author of Law from Below.

Church Life

Stay in Conversation with Dead Christians

A conversation with pastor and author, Nicholas McDonald, about Christian witness in a cynical age.

A collage of CS Lewis, Augustine, and books.
Christianity Today November 25, 2025
Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Unsplash, WikiMedia Commons

Nicholas McDonald, Assistant Pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Indianapolis, and author of The Light in Our Eyes: Rediscovering the Love, Beauty, and Freedom of Jesus in an Age of Disillusionment, sits down with Ashley Hales, CT’s editorial director for features, to discuss his book, spaces of beauty, and imaginative moves the church can make in a cynical age.



You wrote The Light in Our Eyes about the beauty of Jesus for disillusioned and cynical people. What was the felt need you saw?

Tens of millions of people have left the church, more than those that came to faith in the First Great Awakening, Second Great Awakening, and Billy Graham Crusades combined. Those aren’t just numbers; those are people I know.

My original approach was not very helpful: giving them apologetic answers to their questions. It’s not the first thing they needed, because I realized the first thing that they were looking for is a sense of hope, a sense of purpose. What they were seeing in the evangelical landscape around them was a lot of cynicism, despair, fear, insecurity, and anxiety. I started to change from giving apologetic answers to telling my story: I was disillusioned with my American evangelical upbringing but then found a lot of beauty, restoration, and freedom in the ancient historic gospel that we’ve been proclaiming for the last 2,000 years.

I left the church after college but continued to read the four Gospels of Jesus—and Augustine. I found Confessions very stirring. After Augustine, it was really going abroad outside of my context where, as an artist and filmmaker, I read C. S. Lewis’s Surprised by Joy. He speaks about a universal human longing for something we never had. That very much spoke to me, and I had never thought that these feelings I had when I encountered literature or music were somehow tied to Christianity. That was my first step back in the door.

Then it was really encountering a church in England that called itself evangelical but looked vastly different than anything I had experienced: It was high liturgy but also spoke about the importance of fair-trade items at the supermarket. Jesus cares about the created order.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it looks like to have an imagination primed to receive the gospel and how we make that plausible again. Can you connect this imaginative impulse and the need to renarrate the gospel for a cynical age?

Central to the book is the story of Zechariah. He’s a man I relate to; he’s very much a cynic. In the Anglican tradition, they pray Zechariah’s prayer from Luke 1 every day. In Zechariah’s muteness after he doesn’t believe the angel’s pronouncement about John, he has an opportunity to rethink and be quiet. In that silent, creative space, he must have thought, What is the story that God’s telling? How am I part of that story? What comes out of his mouth when his son, John, is born is this beautiful story of what God has been doing all throughout the world and how he’s getting to participate in that story.

When I think about being restoried, I think of Zachariah. We’re all telling ourselves a story. Most of us are telling ourselves either cynical stories or naive stories, but Jesus’ story is utterly real. It is the only story I’ve heard that gives me real, concrete hope for the future.

What would you say are the strongest barriers to not only believing Jesus’ story is true but living it?

I think the story that we tell in the American evangelical context is a cynical story. The story I grew up with was “We’re all sinners,” which is true. “Jesus died for our sins.” True. But then the story continues: “So that we could abandon this world, which is destined to burn away and get worse and worse, and we go somewhere else.” When people walk into the church, I always think of that verse in Peter when Peter says, “Always be prepared to give an answer.” I heard that part of the verse growing up as “Know the answers to the questions.” But the other half of the verse no one ever taught me was “for the hope that’s in you.”

I think people are walking away from a cynical presentation of the gospel, and that’s not what the historic church has taught the gospel is. The gospel is not a story of abandonment. It’s a story of healing and restoration of all things. The world has enough of anger, fear, and cynicism. The gospel offers something different.

We’re headed toward the end of the year, and a lot of us are thinking about inviting neighbors for a Christmas party or service. How can we stoke an imagination, in us and our neighbors, that inclines us toward this hope found in Jesus—rather than polarization, fear, or cynicism?

In all the themes you find in movies and in music around Christmas, if you trace all these sunbeams back to the sun, you’ll find the gospel somewhere. What is everybody longing for? We can start seeing seasons as being holy. Oftentimes, I think what people need is to feel the gospel and to see the gospel. So at our church, one way we do that is we really lean into our liturgical seasons.

We have this group of artists here at Redeemer, and they redecorate our sanctuary every few months depending on the liturgical season. Last year, when we were talking about Christmas and the Incarnation, I walked into the sanctuary, and there are wooden DNA helixes up, and there is a giant, kind of papier mâché, x-ray vision of a woman’s pregnant body, which is not something you’d necessarily see in a lot of church sanctuaries. It really made you stop and think, What are we doing here? I’ve known so many people who have left the church or have felt disillusion with the church step into that space at Redeemer and say, “I just felt like this is what I’ve needed. I’ve needed to be in this place.”


What is one concrete thing you do to keep yourself embedded in the story?

I try to stay in conversation with dead Christians. It’s easy to get caught in the moment that we’re in, which it just feels like we go from one cultural moment to the next, one Twitter storm to the next. Being able to step away from those things and read what my church fathers and mothers have said about what the faith is and what faithfulness looks like over the centuries is one of those things that can help you see beyond the moment.

Christianity is much bigger than this little blip on the screen. It’s old. It’s ancient. It’s not threatened. Jesus’ kingdom has been growing for the last 2,000 years.

Nicholas McDonald is author of The Light in our Eyes and assistant pastor at Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Indianapolis.

Ashley Hales is editorial director for features at Christianity Today.


Ideas

Christianity Is Not a Colonizer’s Religion

Following Jesus doesn’t require rejecting my family’s culture. God loves my latinidad.

Footprints in the sand.
Christianity Today November 25, 2025
The Washington Post / Contributor / Getty

My abuela is the saintliest person I know. I spent a large portion of my early childhood in her care, and if I remember anything from that time, it’s her prayers. 

She prayed while she cooked. She prayed while she cleaned or folded laundry. She prayed over my sister and me as she put us to bed, telling us Bible stories as if the characters were people we knew. She’d taught herself to read by studying Scripture, and she took Jesus at his word when he said a person should go to their closet to pray (Matt. 6:6). She kept a small stool in there to kneel in intercession for her family or for whatever other burdens she carried to the Lord. 

There’s a family legend about a time my grandpa sabotaged the car to keep her from going to church with the kids. My grandma prayed, got in the car, started it, and went anyway. She was—and is—a woman of faith.

From my earliest years, she taught me about Jesus and demonstrated what it meant to follow him even when it was hard. Our family isn’t perfect, of course, but my grandma remains my model of godliness. 

My grandmother is Mexican American, with skin the color of the earth. In my late teens, I hated being Mexican. Because of the slow drip of racial microaggressions, I’d become convinced it meant being a cholo (think: gangster), doing drugs, stealing—a criminal. But in 2008, as a young adult, I moved to Kansas City and joined a multicultural church where I met many Christ-loving, Holy Spirit-filled latinoamericano friends. 

I’d had a crisis of faith, followed by a return to faith through a powerful encounter with God, and these new friends reminded me of the faith I knew from my grandmother. They showed me I could love and follow Jesus, unashamed of my ancestry. The very best of Mexican culture, that which was already in step with the Spirit, could come through even as following Jesus pruned whatever was contrary to his life and teachings. 

But that wasn’t the end of my questions about the intersection of my faith and culture. I was newly devouring Scripture and discovering that its stories and teachings scrambled much of the politics and cultural assumptions I’d picked up in predominantly white Christian environments. But as I re-embraced latinidad, the cultural way of being I abandoned in my teen years, I started noticing the way many Christians around me spoke about Latin Americans. Some unbiblically insisted we’re more prone to sexual sin than white people, while others glossed over the atrocities of Spanish colonialism in Central and South America to observe that at least my ancestors got the gospel out of it.

By the time protests about race and policing in America broke out in the summer of 2020, I was tired. Being a theologically conservative Christian in the Midwest means I’m mostly surrounded by politically conservative people, and my own politics are further left. We shared one faith, but because of the cultural moment, it seemed like whatever I said about politics was easily dismissed as “critical race theory” or “wokeism.” I started thinking about moving to California. 

I began watching social media videos and academic lectures about decolonization. At first, it was exciting. Here, finally, I was finding people who were grappling unapologetically with the realities of colonialism and white supremacy in ways that resonated with me intellectually and emotionally. I was intrigued by the idea of disentangling my faith and culture from broad assumptions of Western or European cultural superiority, learning about history without glossing over colonial atrocity in the New World, and healing from internalized racism. 

But as I watched, I heard more and more people say something like, Christianity was forced on us by the colonizer, and you can’t decolonize and stay a Christian. The more I heard it, the more troubled I became. 

I was ready to throw out the colonial bathwater—and the tub and the soap too. Yet I could not abandon Jesus. I’d already had my crisis of faith. I’d already deconstructed and reconstructed. I’d already decided to follow Jesus after God came to me unexpectedly. But along with returning to my grandmother’s faith, I’d returned to her culture. I’d rejected the assumption I found among many white Christians, even if subconsciously held, that European colonial culture and its derivatives were superior to latinidad.

I was in turmoil. One particularly tumultuous Sunday morning, I sat with my eyes closed and my head against the pew in front of me at my Anglican church (the irony doesn’t escape me). I told God, “I don’t know how to do this.” And God answered with what may be the closest thing I’ve ever had to a vision. 

I saw myself on a beach, and Jesus walking toward me. As he drew closer, I noticed his skin was brown like my grandmother’s. Holding out his hand, he said, “Come, follow me.” I took his hand, and we hugged, tight like the hugs my uncles give me. In that moment, I knew Jesus was not calling me to reject my family’s culture. He loved my latinidad. He loved my roots, my ancestry. He was calling me to follow him as a Chicano.

That invitation is not unique to me. God fashioned each of us within a culture, and he says the same to all of us: “Come, follow me.” Certainly, because all Christians share the same Scriptures, the same church history, and the same Lord, we will have much in common across cultures. But our faith is not homogenizing. Jesus doesn’t ask us to abandon our home cultures but to submit them to his lordship.

When Jesus called his first disciples, he never asked them to stop being Jewish—yet their Jewishness would now be formed in Jesus. Likewise, as Gentile converts flowed into the early church, the apostle James, under the leadership of the Holy Spirit, determined that Jewish Christians “should not make it difficult for the Gentiles who are turning to God” by demanding cultural change that God did not require on top of conformation to God’s ethics (Acts 15:19–20). Jesus was meeting the Gentiles within their cultures, as Gentiles.

But just as those Gentile Christians had to leave behind idolatry, so Latin American Christians cannot bring into the kingdom of God brujería (witchcraft) or prayers to Santa Muertean Aztec leftover (idolatry of “St. Death”). But that does not mean we must leave everything behind. Every ethnicity and people group has been infected with sin, but Jesus is the healer of us all. God is the Father “from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name” (Eph. 3:14–15, emphasis mine). 

Decolonization still has its place in the pursuit of justice, but I want to be identified more by what I affirm—the gospel and the beauty of my culture—than by what I’m against. I think of the way Latin American cultures center the dinner table, representing the welcome of our community members and strangers alike. I think of the broadly indigenous understanding of humanity’s familial relationship with plants and animals, a way of life resonant with the moral view of Genesis 1 and 2. 

I think of my abuelita, who sang worship songs in Spanish, who prayed while she cooked rice and beans, who was never ashamed to be Mexican, and who demonstrated faith and faithfulness in a hard and contentious world. All this can be brought into allegiance to Jesus. 

And it will. In the end, when God has healed all our divisions through Jesus, he will bring “the glory and honor of the nations”—all nations—into the New Jerusalem (Rev. 21:26). We will all bring our cultural glories as offerings to our Father.

Joshua Bocanegra lives in Kansas City, Missouri. He serves with Estuaries, a ministry dedicated to discipling community leaders in a way that is rigorous, Spirit-filled, and holistically healthy.

News

Investigating the PR Campaigns Following the Israel-Hamas War

With media-influenced young evangelicals wavering, Jerusalem seeks a counter.

Pro-Palestine and Pro-Israel protests.
Christianity Today November 25, 2025
Edits by CT / Source Images: Getty

Summit Ministries president Jeff Myers has seen evangelical attitudes toward Israel shift over the three decades he has spent working with young adults. In the early years, the high school and college age students attending the Christian nonprofit’s worldview training conferences rarely mentioned Israel unless it was in the context of biblical prophecy.

Today, students have strong political opinions about the Jewish state.

“Young adults are not with you,” he told an Israeli intelligence officer over dinner during a trip to Israel three months after the Hamas attacks. “Not even young Christians.”

The American evangelical church has long supported Israel, with Jerry Falwell Sr. once saying the Bible Belt is Israel’s “safety belt.” Yet in recent years, polls reveal that the safety belt is fraying among evangelicals under 35. As pro-Palestinian groups work hard to widen the tear through influence campaigns, Israel is likewise seeking to put out a positive image to their once-reliable allies.

Arab countries with ties to Hamas, such as Qatar and Iran, have amplified anti-Israel news and headlines. Qatar is one of the foreign entities financing anti-Israel propaganda through its media site Al Jazeera. The publication repeats Hamas talking points while suppressing alternative perspectives. It refers to Hamas-led attacks as “resistance operations” rather than as terrorism.

Meanwhile, Israel is also spending $150 million USD worldwide on multiple projects to challenge competing narratives, in what some Israeli officials are calling the “eighth front” in the regional war.

In late September, the Israeli government hired a San Diego–based firm to launch a marketing campaign aimed at US evangelicals. According to a Foreign Agent Registration Act (FARA) filing, the $4.1 million campaign seeks to reach Christians in California, Arizona, Nevada, and Colorado by using “biblical arguments to highlight the importance of Israel and the Jewish people to Christians.”

A newly formed company, Show Faith by Works, will spearhead the initiative. The original FARA filing lists multiple avenues of outreach, including hiring Christian celebrities and launching “the largest Christian church geofencing campaign in US history.”

Geofencing is a marketing tool that creates an invisible “fence” around an area, identifies phones entering the zone, and sends ads or messages through apps, social media, or websites.

Chad Schnitger, founder of Show Faith by Works, said his organization has made significant changes to the project since the filing, focusing more on grassroots efforts and scrapping the proposed geofencing campaign, which received public backlash from secular and church groups. He said he regrets how the original FARA disclosure was handled, noting that the group’s lawyers recommended disclosure of all possible ideas, including those unlikely to be implemented.

“Our hope is to educate the Christian church and to equip them with the tools to think critically about the conflicts in the Middle East and about our ally Israel,” Schnitger said.

In general, support of Israel among US evangelicals has remained steady in the past four years, with about half saying they believe Jews are God’s chosen people, according to a recent survey by Infinity Concepts and Grey Matter. Yet among evangelicals under the age of 35, that percentage drops to 29.


This trend is reflected in the wider society: According to a recent Harvard poll, 60 percent of registered US voters aged 18–24 support Hamas over Israel, with half saying they believe Israel has committed genocide. Meanwhile, one-third of young adults deny Israel’s right to exist—more than three times the percentage among the general population, according to a 2024 Summit Ministries / RMG research poll.

Christian scholar and apologist Sean McDowell said the growing antagonism toward Israel matches what he’s observed on high school and college campuses he’s visited for speaking events. He believes the prevalence of anti-Israel voices on social media, mainstream media, and college campuses contributes to the trend.

“The university system, as far as I can tell, leans heavily against Israel and shapes many young minds,” McDowell said.

Alan Gover, an attorney with more than 50 years of experience working with US and international clients, said he believes Show Faith by Works’ FARA filing is legally compliant. “In principle, we are best off with disclosure, as was the case here, versus opacity, which surrounds the foreign financing of those who are well organized in opposition to Israel,” Gover said.

In 2020, the Department of Justice ordered Al Jazeera’s social media arm, AJ+, to register under FARA for engaging in political activities in the United States on behalf of Qatar. The DOJ order claims AJ+ invites audiences to question what constitutes terrorism, adopt a positive view of Iran, show support for the Palestinian cause, and question US support for Israel. It quotes a leading Qatar official’s statement that “the media represents an element of soft power for the State of Qatar.”

The notice affirmed Al Jazeera’s ability to continue producing “any content it chooses” after the FARA filing, noting that registration simply allows “the consumer to be fully informed regarding the foreign principles” behind the product. Al Jazeera has refused to comply with the mandate.

The Middle East Forum, a Philadelphia-based think tank that researches Middle East policy, is investigating nearly a dozen US financing networks with alleged “ties to dangerous foreign Islamist regimes,” including charities associated with the Amin family, which is linked to the Iranian government.

The family’s foundation has given money to multiple anti-Israel organizations, including Friends of Sabeel, Electronic Intifada, and the WESPAC Foundation, the fiscal sponsor for Students for Justice in Palestine. One SJP chapter depicted the Hamas attacks that murdered 1,200 people and took 251 people hostage as a prison break and a “necessary step.”

Last year, then-Director of National Intelligence Avril Haines warned of Iranian government actors providing logistical and financial support to anti-Israel protesters. Haines said it is “important to warn of foreign actors who seek to exploit our debate for their own purposes.”

Other organizations have less questionable ties to foreign money but promote similar narratives. The Anti-Defamation League, a New York–based nonprofit that combats antisemitism, has tracked more than 20 major anti-Israel campaigns since 2012 in dozens of cities across the United States. The initiatives include advertisements on billboards, buses, and subways portraying Israel as an illegitimate and hostile nation.

After taking a trip to Israel last year to meet with Israelis and Palestinians, Myers addressed his concerns about the propaganda war in a book titled Should Christians Support Israel? He argues that while some groups present themselves as pro-Palestinian, their real agenda is anti-Israel and includes efforts to boycott, divest from, and end free trade agreements with Israel.

Myers believes the propaganda campaign by pro-Hamas groups has been successful: “It’s easy to persuade people who already hold your fundamental beliefs.”

He has witnessed young adults becoming increasingly focused on victimization, even in their own lives, and has also noticed increased antisemitism. “The only group of people in 193 nations of the world that you can condemn, where everybody agrees, is the Jewish people,” he noted.

Myers identified two categories of anti-Israel beliefs among young evangelicals: progressives who hate Jews because of perceived colonialism and conservatives who claim Jews are behind a global conspiracy. “They might have a theology behind it, but they start with their politics and back their way into a theology,” he added.

Schnitger believes the Israeli-funded project will help Christians know more about Israel and its conflict with enemies “who explicitly call for the destruction of Israel and the murder of nearly all of its Jewish inhabitants.”

The team plans to file new FARA documents in the next few weeks outlining a finalized proposal for digital ads, church visits, conversations with young Christians on college campuses, educational materials for pastors, and a “mobile museum” with information about the October 7 terrorist attacks.

Myers believes that if the material helps Christians “develop a true biblical theology of Israel” and pushes against antisemitic beliefs, “it could be a good thing,” noting that young adults have a less comprehensive understanding of the Holocaust than older generations.

In his chapter about the propaganda war, Myers explains that he does not believe any allegations leveled against Israel should be “dismissed out of hand,” but rather encourages readers to “dig deep and ask difficult questions.”

He also encourages organizations to be transparent about their sources of funding: “I would be much more comfortable if people who are anti-Israel or pro-Israel, either one, be honest about where they’re receiving their funding.”

Culture

Don’t Follow the Yellow Brick Road

In “Wicked: For Good,” the citizens of Oz would rather scapegoat someone else than reckon with their own moral failings.

Ariana Grande as Glinda and Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba in Wicked For Good.

Ariana Grande as Glinda and Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba in Wicked For Good.

Christianity Today November 25, 2025
Giles Keyte / Universal Pictures

In last year’s review of director Jon Chu’s Wicked: Part One, I held that our tendency to demonize the enemy works just fine when the adversary is, well, the demonic. Spiritual warfare requires battle readiness—vigilant watchfulness for a deceiver who wishes to “steal and kill and destroy” (John 10:10). Recognizing Satan’s maneuvering, we don the armor of God (Eph. 6:10–17) and turn toward the One without whose strength victory remains impossible.

Directed at other people, however, the impulse to vilify often goes awry. How can we pray for those who abuse us (Luke 6:28) when we have already reduced them to their hostile words and actions? Rather than turning our swords into ploughshares, we follow our natural instinct and allow each new injury to pull our blades closer to the grindstone.

Of course, we’ve never needed others’ bad behavior to justify our own. As the first Wicked film reminded us, surface-level differences rooted in appearance or affect prove reason enough to isolate, malign, or persecute. Then, when our bigotry provokes anger, we use the reaction as an excuse for brutal retaliation.

Why do we fall back on such shallow judgments?

Perhaps because the shallows are so very comfortable compared with a deep end demanding effort and risk. Furiously paddling to keep our heads above water with our packed schedules and shrinking attention spans, we find neither time nor inclination to dive beneath the surface. That “deeps calls to deep” (Ps. 42:6–7) might provide solace when suffering drags us under. But few seek in the depths those perspectives that would complicate their easy assumptions.

These are the very depths into which an examined, faithful life calls the believer. The heart may seem unknowable because it is “deceitful above all things” (Jer. 17:9), but if “the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Sam. 16:7) should we not attempt the same? “Stop judging by mere appearances,” Jesus demands when healing someone on the Sabbath irritates the religious leaders (John 7:21–24). “Judge correctly.”

It’s a truism that most violence can be traced through anger back to fear. What, though, do we really dread? Wicked: For Good rightly suggests that what frightens us more than loss or physical harm is the evil deep within ourselves.

When Madame Morrible leads her fellow Ozians in a rousing chorus of “Every Day More Wicked,” accusing Elphaba of the very lies that she herself is perpetuating, she offers them a scapegoat. They don’t hate Elphaba because they have too little time to examine her history more closely—indeed, they find ample opportunity to sing, dance, and burn their enemy in effigy. They hate the one they gleefully call “the Wicked Witch” because it frees them from searching out any wickedness in themselves.

Instead of admitting that their support of Oz’s repressive regime allows normal citizens to kick back while chained, sentient animals build the Yellow Brick Road for them—an initiative Elphaba valiantly tries to disrupt—they project their selfishness onto the easy target provided by the government. They use someone else’s supposed dereliction to distract them from their own moral failings.

And, surprisingly, Elphaba lets them.

She is most definitely not evil incarnate, though she briefly toys with the idea of abandoning all goodness. Immediately after wondering in “No Good Deed Goes Unpunished” whether all moral action, looked at with “an ice-cold eye,” reveals a selfish hunger for attention, Elphaba declares she’ll never perform another virtuous deed. She reneges only moments later when she and Glinda wail in unison that they have been “changed for good” by knowing each other.

Elphaba’s choice to live with the label slapped on her by a hypocritical public ultimately owes more to disenchantment than idealism. In an earlier effort to encourage the talking animals to stay in Oz and fight corruption, she emphasized that Oz is an idea as much as a place. “There’s no place like home,” she sang, appropriating Dorothy’s famous shoe-clicking words for her own purposes. The logical fallacy of her argument notwithstanding (if Oz is as much an idea as a place, there’s no reason not to depart and recreate Oz elsewhere), this supposed principle is one she later betrays.

The idea Elphaba sacrifices everything to uphold is that Oz can only exist when resting on a lie. Viewers familiar with either The Wizard of Oz (1939) or the first Wicked know by this point that the Wizard is a charlatan, a master of legerdemain who has no magical skill. Discovering this secret shattered Elphaba’s faith in the last film, but in the sequel his cynicism begins to sound a lot like pragmatism. He may be a liar through and through, but he recognizes that “The truth is not a fact or reason. The truth is just what everyone agrees on.” And when it comes to choosing between hagiography or character assassination, “it’s all in which label is able to persist.”

Elphaba ultimately decides that Oz requires belief in her own infamy to maintain order. As she explains to Glinda, “They need someone to be wicked so you can be good.” Apparently, only with a clearly defined archenemy ready to carry the blame for anything that goes wrong can an inclusive society welcoming to animals and Munchkins alike be sustained.

The film’s central premise, telegraphed by its witty title, is nothing new. Fans of Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities or Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight will anticipate Elphaba’s destiny. In the final analysis, Wicked: For Good chooses not to jump the rails laid by its thematic predecessors, instead concurring with the Wizard who euphoniously reminds us, “Once they’ve swallowed sham and hokum / Facts and logic won’t unchoke ’em.”

If only there were Someone willing to draw us beneath the surface into saving, cleansing waters able to wash away all lies.

Paul Marchbanks is a professor of English at California Polytechnic State University. His YouTube channel is “Digging in the Dirt.”

Ideas

How To Practice Gratitude (Even When You Don’t Feel It)

Gratitude is more about action than feeling.

Christianity Today November 24, 2025
Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty

Excitedly one Christmas I ripped off a present’s wrapping paper. I hoped to see one of those video games you could get at Blockbuster in the ’90s, like Excitebike or Double Dragon—their very names promised adventure. Instead, the Nintendo game I opened was called Bible Adventures. The letdown was something awful. While I’m sure the historical Noah was pretty cool, playing him on Nintendo decidedly was not. I remember feeling so bad that I felt guilty for not wanting the game. But I decided to try it. It still wasn’t exactly fun, but I played. Although I never came to love it, I grew grateful that my parents tried to buy a game that would please my siblings and me.

We like to think of gratitude as an overflowing feeling directed at others—an outpouring of love and warmth. But sometimes warmth doesn’t come. Even still, another’s kindness deservesour gratitude. What are we to do when we don’t feelgrateful but know we ought to be? Is gratitude duty or an emotional response?

We must often practice and embody gratitude before we feel and experience it in our hearts. The key is choosing to practicegratitude as a habit, not an emotional state. Gratitude may come spontaneously, but more often, it is a habit, choice, and action in response to what we know to be true.

The Bible speaks about the importance of thanksgiving, emphasizing the actionof giving thanks rather than the emotionof gratitude. For example, 1 Thessalonians 5:16–18 reads, “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” Notice it doesn’t say, “Feel thankful in all circumstances.” The command is “Give thanks in all circumstances,” even when your parents give you the wrong video game.

Similarly, Paul writes to the Philippians, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (4:6–7). Prayer must include thanksgiving alongside requests. The implication is that in seeking the peace of God, we must first acknowledge God’s blessing. This, again, is action, not necessarily feeling.

Because of the influence of expressive individualism, we tend to believe that what is real and authentic is what we deeply feel, what comes from inside us intuitively. Expressive individualism is the belief that we establish our identity only when we look deep inside ourselves, discover something, and express it authentically to the world. This modern ideology inclines us to trust our inward senses over external sources. In this model, what is most real is what comes from deep inside us, what we discover about ourselves. So if we discover that we are grateful, then we are grateful.

But if we do not feel grateful, then the best we can do is try to persuade ourselves to feel that way and hope it works. As Christians, we can recognize that what’s objectively real and authentic is that we owe God and others gratitude, whether or not we feel it. It’s only a question of how we will act on that gratitude.

Once you begin thinking about gratitude as an action and then secondarily as an emotion, a whole world of thankfulness opens up. If you sit and wait to be thankful for the blessings God has given you, you may never feel grateful. Like nine-year-old me, you may even feel guilty for not feeling thankful. Or you may grow bitter over the blessings you have received. It is only when you accept that you have been blessed and choose to act on that objective reality in response to a generous God that you are freed from bondage to your emotions.

Our emotions are the currency of our social media feeds, as companies target ads that play upon our vulnerabilities. Algorithms remind us of our inadequacy, comparing our lives to others. Billboards invite us to indulge ourselves. The world affirms our passions and confirms our discontentment. The world whispers in our ear that whatever we have, we have earned ourselves, and we deserve more, infinitely more. It tells us that whatever good blessings God has given us are insufficient, paltry things that cannot sustain us. It is our birthright to have our desires fulfilled.

For each of us, some of God’s gifts will feel like the Bible Adventures video game that Christmas morning: out of place, disappointing, and hard to accept. It may be our jobs, our homes, our marriages, our friends or lack of friends, our bodies, our minds, our finances, or our very lives.

But whatever the situation, our obligation is to be grateful. There are three steps we can take to form a habit of gratitude instead of waiting for the feeling. First, we can pray, “Lord, you have blessed me with more than I can imagine. Help me to recognize those gifts, even when I don’t feel thankful. Teach me to love them as you meant for me to love them.”

Second, we can humbly look for blessings. Humility is key, because if we are not humble, we may overlook the good gifts God has given us and assume they are our own works. When we start looking for blessings, we rightly recognize our dependence upon God, and thankfulness can become a more natural outcome.

Third, we can speakand perform gestures of gratitude to God and others. Once we have identified a blessing, an act of kindness, or a gift from God or a neighbor, our natural response should be to speak words of gratitude, write the person a note, smile, or give a hug. Maybe our feelings will be there; maybe they won’t. It is no matter. The goodness of giving and sharing the love of God in thanksgiving remains whether or not we feel it.

Our God, who honors the humble, will give us the ability to be grateful if we practice these habits. You may not feel gratitude all at once. You may never feel it as much as you’d like. But you can choose to act out gratitude with your life. I never came to love Bible Adventures. It’s not a good game. But I acted out gratitude to my mother and father by loving them. And whether or not I feel it, it is good.

O. Alan Noble is associate professor of English at Oklahoma Baptist University and author of three books: On Getting Out of Bed: The Burden and Gift of Living, You Are Not Your Own: Belonging to God in an Inhuman World, and Disruptive Witness: Speaking Truth in a Distracted Age.

News

Kenyan Churches Tackle Superstitions Against Disabilities

Lack of resources and false teaching makes life difficult for people with mobility issues.

A wheelchair.
Christianity Today November 24, 2025
Edits by CT / Source Image: Getty

Stephen Kitsao lost his ability to walk at age 11 when he suffered a spinal injury from a fall out of a coconut tree. Kitsao couldn’t afford a wheelchair, so his father carried him to school every day in a tomato crate fastened to the back of his bicycle.

“Every new day began the same way—in the crate, in my father’s arms, with both of us pretending it was normal,” said Kitsao, who is now 31. His school in Kilifi County on the coast of Kenya lent him a wheelchair donated by a charity to use during the day, but he couldn’t use it for the 40-minute trek home. Kitsao didn’t get an electric wheelchair until he entered college.

Superstition also plagued his life. As he grew up, others in the community shunned him, fearing that if they got close, they would get life-threatening diseases or end up in a wheelchair too. In May 2022, a mob, including the pastor of an unregistered local church called Watumishi (Swahili for “servants”), stormed Kitsao’s home. They accused his father of practicing witchcraft, claiming it resulted in Kitsao’s paralysis and another child born with an illness.

The crowd threw stones at the house and at then 28-year-old Kitsao’s father. Kitsao’s 12-year-old sister, Eunice Masha, tried to shield their father with her body. By the time the mob left, they had destroyed Kitsao’s home, left his sister with permanent scars, and stoned his father to death. The police arrested seven people but released all but one due to lack of sufficient evidence.

Kitsao, now a youth leader at Mkunguni Light of God Church, a Pentecostal church in Nairobi said the incident caused him to question God, wondering in anger and confusion why God allowed his father to be killed. Yet Kitsao has leaned on his faith in his lowest moments: “I was helped to understand that God is all-knowing and that he was going to be with me.”

For years, cultural beliefs about disabilities as a curse from God or a sign of bad luck, coupled with poor health care infrastructure in the country, have left Kenyans with disabilities at risk of mistreatment and without adequate medical care. Today, the government—and Christian churches and ministries—are trying to change that.

In January, Kenya updated its disability laws to better prevent the abuse of those with disabilities and increase access to public spaces, adding stiffer penalties for violations. Kenya’s Constitution and the 2025 Persons with Disabilities Act guarantee accessibility in public spaces and transportation.

Still, rights on paper don’t always translate to daily life.

Kitsao told CT people with wheelchairs face discrimination in transportation. His commute to classes at Kenyatta University in Nairobi, Kenya, takes him at least twice as long as it would take a regular commuter. Drivers must carry Kitsao onto the bus and properly secure his wheelchair. Some don’t want the hassle.

“Minibuses pass me by, one after another, and the few that stop often demand double fare for me and my wheelchair,” Kitsao said. He usually gets to the bus stop two hours early to compensate.

Once Kitsao tried to get a ride to a job interview, but vehicle after vehicle passed as drivers refused to take him: “By the time one finally agreed, I arrived—late, tired, and humiliated before I’d even stepped into the room.”

Landing a job as a person living with a disability is equally challenging. Since 2003, Kenyan disability law has required public institutions to reserve at least 5 percent of their jobs for people with disabilities, and mandates accessibility standards in housing and public infrastructure.

In 2022, only a third of institutions had an employee with a disability, and few public institutions bother to hold open the mandated number of positions for them.

Kitsao said many companies also lack wheelchair ramps and accessible bathrooms. He recalls working for three months at a TV station where the security guard and a friend had to carry him to his desk every day because the building had no ramp: “It was demeaning.”

Kenyans like Kitsao also struggle to get and maintain wheelchairs.

Christian ministries such as Joni and Friends and Christian Aid Ministries provide Kenyans with free mobility devices through outreach programs, alleviating some of the need. But the few wheelchairs available for purchase in Kenya can be too expensive or poorly sized for the user. If organizations that donate devices don’t provide service support, many wheelchairs break down within months.

“It’s a half solution,” said Kenneth Gichohi, an assistive-technology innovator from Nairobi.

Gichohi explained that although wheelchairs qualify for tax exemptions, few buyers know that, so they often pay inflated prices. An electric wheelchair can cost between 150,000 and 300,000 Kenyan shillings (about $1,200–2,300 USD), up to a third of the average yearly income in Kenya. Since Kenya doesn’t have service centers to repair these devices, Gichohi said fixing them is nearly impossible: “We need a radical shift in how this space is managed.”

Some churches, recognizing the need to service wheelchairs, now conduct follow-ups for the maintenance of donated mobility devices.

Churches are finding other ways to integrate congregants with disabilities. Some have begun to modify their facilities—installing ramps, wider aisles, and wheelchair-accessible restrooms. Some congregations now include disability ministries, offering job training, free medical camps, or spaces for fellowship.  

The nondenominational Nairobi Chapel’s disability ministry doesn’t stop at distributing wheelchairs or widening doorways. Enzi—which means “treasured”—also provides special needs classes for children, bimonthly parent support meetings, and sign language interpretation in one service each week. Leaders teach about disabilities in sermons and Sunday school lessons, even using disability-themed coloring worksheets for its children’s programs.

When Kitsao joined Mkunguni Light of God at age 20, leaders installed a ramp and welcomed him as part of the congregation. “I’m grateful that the church sees me beyond my disability and they preach true doctrines,” Kitsao said.

Because many Kenyans—including Christians—believe witchcraft or punishments from God cause disabilities, some nonprofits, such as Kupenda for the Children, hold workshops to train pastors to confront these stigmas in the culture and the church.

For Kitsao, correcting false teaching about disability is personal; the pastor and the unregistered church group that murdered his father still operate today.

“I can’t harbor resentment toward all churches because of them,” he said. “But I carry some bitterness for that specific group. They’re still out there preaching.”

News
Wire Story

UK Breaks Ground on Massive Monument to Answered Prayers

After years of planning and fundraising, the roadside landmark shaped like a Möbius loop will represent a million Christian petitions, brick by brick.

A white structure loops over a hilly landscape with people walking around.

An artistic rendering of the Eternal Wall of Answered Prayer, which will be constructed near Birmingham, England.

Christianity Today November 24, 2025
Courtesy image / RNS

Richard Gamble’s passion for Jesus has always been outsize. Twenty years ago, he had a vision from God to drag a 9-foot wooden cross for 77 miles during Holy Week leading up to Easter.

After that grueling marathon in 2004 came a bigger, bolder vision: Build a wall that tells a million stories of how God has answered prayer.

Last week, Gamble, 56, broke ground on that vision—a 168-foot-tall architectural landmark that is expected to be one of the largest Christian monuments in England, if not the world. (Christ the Redeemer, the iconic statue of Jesus in Rio de Janeiro, is 98 feet.)

Planned to open to the public in 2028, The Eternal Wall of Answered Prayer, with a price tag of 45 million pounds (or $59 million), will not, however, feature any familiar Christian icons such a cross, a fish, a lamb, or a representation of Jesus. Instead, it will consist of a giant white Möbius strip stretching nearly the size of a football field, upon which a million small rectangular bricks will be overlaid, each with a digitally linked story of answered prayer accessible on a mobile app.

“We live in a country where Christianity has been pretty much put on mute,” Gamble said in an interview at the Eternal Wall offices near the construction site last week. “To build something that big and unashamedly Christian, I don’t think anybody had the faith that it was going to happen.”

To Gamble, the groundbreaking is itself the result of 21 years of fervent prayer. A one-time software developer, church planter, and former chaplain to the Leicester City Football Club, Gamble became a Christian after a visit to a charismatic church at age 20. It immediately changed his life. He quit drinking and gambling and enrolled in a Bible college. After several years in ministry, he decided he wasn’t cut out to be a pastor.

But he never gave up on his deep Christian convictions. In a country where only 21 percent of people say they pray daily, Gamble wanted to find a way to communicate what he felt to be God’s active role in people’s lives.

The way he tells it, God answered his prayers in stages. Among the first signs was when a woman came up to him after a presentation at a 2015 conference at Redding, California’s Bethel Church, and said, “God wants you to know he’s got some heavenly land for you.”  

The exact plot of land, which someone on his prayer team back in England identified—another sign—was given to him by Andrew Edmiston, the son of Lord Robert Edmiston, a British billionaire businessman who established the charity Christian Vision and happened to own the land. Andrew Edmiston also had a vision for a Christian monument in the United Kingdom, Gamble said, and the family company’s contribution to the project now totals more than 30 million pounds. About 22,000 individuals have also contributed to the project, Gamble said.

A bearded man in his 50s stands besides a red model shaped like a Möbius strip.Yonat Shimron / RNS
British Christian Richard Gamble came up with the idea for the Eternal Wall of Answered Prayer.

The Eternal Wall of Answered Prayer will sit just off the M6 motorway on the outskirts of Birmingham. The M6 is the longest highway in the UK, running from the Midlands to the border of Scotland. The location was important to Gamble because the monument will be visible from six miles away and, he hopes, will pique the interest of thousands of drivers and passengers each day.

What they see, however, will be a most unconventional design. Gamble wanted something new and novel, a piece of art. He put his idea before the Royal Institute of British Architects, which held a global competition for the design in 2016. A total of 133 entries from 28 countries were received, and a UK firm with a Möbius strip design was selected.

That design was approved by the North Warwickshire Borough Council in 2020, another sign of answered prayer for Gamble. Mathew Guest, a professor of the sociology of religion at Durham University who researches evangelicals in the UK, said the design’s neutrality probably helped.

“Having religious symbolism in the UK beyond the traditional architecture of churches can be very controversial,” Guest said. “In a polarized world where there’s a lot of religious tensions between religious groups, it can be perceived as a potential provocation. And I wonder whether that’s partly the reason for building it in this way.”

Christianity has been declining for years across the UK. A recent Pew study found that between 2010 and 2020, the Christian share of the UK’s population fell to just under half—49 percent. During that same time, the share of the religiously unaffiliated increased to 40 percent.

Independent evangelical churches, including charismatic and Pentecostal groups, may be the one segment of Christianity that is thriving in the UK, Guest said. Gamble and his family attend Chroma Church, an evangelical congregation in Leicester.

For several years now, Gamble and his team of 10 full-time staff have been combing through stories of answered prayers, beginning with the Bible. The idea is to gather a million testimonies of answered prayer, in writing or video. Those testimonies, 500 words each or three minutes of video, describe a time when Jesus answered prayers—for healing, for a job, for recovery from addiction, for reconciliation, for the birth of a child. Only Christian prayers will be included.

Each story will form part of a database digitally loaded on a single brick, the size of a business card on the monument. Visitors to the site will be able to download an app that identifies their location and read, listen to or watch the stories on their phone.

Gamble allows that not all prayers are answered with a yes. Sometimes the answer is “wait,” and sometimes the answer is “no.” The important thing, he believes, is the conversation with Jesus. He knows not everyone visiting the site will be convinced, but he’s hoping to provoke people to have an encounter with Jesus.

“It’s like this secret world in the UK that nobody knows that God is alive and answering prayer,” Gamble said. “Nobody talks about it.”

He’s banking on a monument— far removed from a church, which so few attend nowadays—being the catalyst that motivates people to seek out faith.

“If somebody comes and looks at it and goes, ‘Great piece of architecture, but a load of rubbish,’ that’s a win because they have taken themselves out of a secular environment and considered elements of the Christian message,” he said. 

Videos

Mastering Masculinity

Jason Wilson’s rite of passage combines martial arts, emotional stability, and lessons from the Bible.

Christianity Today November 21, 2025

Six years ago, Jason Wilson taught men how to cry. These days, he’s also training boys to fight—not just on the outside but from within.

Wilson teaches young men martial arts and emotional stability at The Cave of Adullam Transformational Training Academy in Detroit. Editorial director Sho Baraka visited the ministry, where he saw a man who carried compassion in a brawny frame integrate contemplation with lessons from jujitsu and the Bible.

In this video from Christianity Today’s Big Tent Initiative, Baraka interviews Wilson about masculinity, emotional incarceration, and the meaning of being a “comprehensive man.” Baraka also talks to participants in Wilson’s emotional-stability training, which aims to help young men survive this predatory world and, more importantly, themselves.

Church Life

What Do a 103-Year-Old Theologian’s Prayers Sound Like?

Jim Houston’s scholarship centered on communion with God. His life in a Canadian care home continues to reflect this pursuit.

A photo of Jim Houston
Christianity Today November 21, 2025
Sandra Leung / Yaletown Photography

Today is Jim Houston’s 103rd birthday. When I visited him last month, he sat in a plush armchair and fiddled with his MacBook as pale sunlight streamed in from a set of windows beside him. Loose sheets of paper bearing his cursive handwriting spilled haphazardly from a short stack of books on his desk.

Even in his Vancouver care home, the centenarian theologian gave off a professorial air. His theological writing career has exceeded most people’s lifespans. From age 99 to 100, Houston posted on his blog dispatches from his hospital bed. Last year, at 102, he coauthored A Vision for the Aging Christian.

“What does it feel like to be turning 103?” I asked. Houston answered as if it was obvious: “Well, I’m very grateful to God, of course.”

Generations of evangelicals in Canada know Houston as the founding president of Regent College in Vancouver. He moved there from the University of Oxford, where he had regularly studied the Bible with C. S. Lewis. Houston published an array of books on Christian spirituality, and as the years went by, his ministry included a focus on caretaking and aging, with the opening of the James Houston Center for Faith and Successful Aging. 

Houston has married his theological interests with hands-on experience. For most of his life, that meant offering spiritual care for students and colleagues. But in his later years, his ministry takes place in the rooms and halls of a bright, spacious care home in Vancouver. 

Houston’s private room lies in one corner of the building, his armchair and desk situated next to his bed and a walker. Illustrations of Psalm 23 and a kid’s painting hang on his walls, while a bookshelf displays pictures of family and a framed image of Russian painter Andrei Rublev’s Trinity

Every morning, he eats breakfast with other residents in a communal dining space but takes his other meals privately as he prefers to read, write, and speak with his visitors. He also shares daily devotions with fellow seniors.

Residents or their families, many of whom aren’t Christian, seek him out when they want “someone spiritual” to pray for them, particularly as they near the end, his daughter Lydele said. 

“I have opportunity to speak words of hope and kindness to a community who daily and more poignantly face death,” he wrote in his latest book.  

James Macintosh Houston—Jim to most —was born in Edinburgh on November 21, 1922. He grew up in Spain, where his parents served as Brethren missionaries for the first seven years of his life. Then he moved back to Scotland, where he almost died of diphtheria. His memoir reveals that as a teenager, he struggled with low self-esteem.

After scoring a fellowship to Oxford, Houston studied geography and later lectured on cultural and historical geography in 1947 when the university was short-staffed after World War II. While at Oxford, he met his wife, Rita, and got married in 1953.

A young Jim Houston. Courtesy of Claire Taylor.

He had a mystical encounter with God in the early 1960s in Winnipeg, after attending an Urbana conference in the US, when he woke up in the middle of the night to a bright light at the foot of his bed. “Lord, what do you want me to do?” he asked. 

Six years later, he received his answer: Leave Oxford for Canada. 

The Houstons had planted their roots in Oxford, welcoming children as Houston became bursar of Hertford College. Yet Houston felt a steady pull toward establishing a school that would offer theological training for laypeople in Vancouver. This came about after he read a 1965 article by local businessman John Cochrane that proposed establishing a graduate Brethren school on the campus of the University of British Columbia (UBC), one that would be open to believers from all Christian traditions.

In 1970, Houston became the fledgling school’s founding president, modeling Regent’s evangelical ethos after Cambridge’s Tyndale House. Houston brought in other notable evangelicals, such as British New Testament scholar F. F. Bruce and Peruvian scholar Samuel Escobar, to Regent’s summer school program. Houston also taught, offering courses exploring Christian classics and traditions of Christian spirituality. In 1978, he stepped down as president and became Regent’s chancellor and professor of spiritual theology. He also cofounded the C. S. Lewis Institute in Washington, DC. 

Fellow theologians have recognized and lauded Houston’s holistic perspective on the Christian life. “Throughout his adult life Jim has combated compartmental living in the interest of his concern that Christians be ‘alive to God’ in every sphere of thought and action,” his longtime friends and colleagues J. I. Packer and Loren Wilkinson wrote in a festschrift commemorating Houston’s 70th birthday. Houston’s life and teaching is “a constant reminder to us all that discipleship means to love God with one’s whole being,” Gordon Fee also wrote in an essay for the same book. 

Regent graduate Rosie Perera first met Houston in a course entitled The Christian Mind. She found him esoteric at first: “He spoke as if his students already had a grounding in philosophy that I definitely didn’t possess.” But Perera grew to understand and appreciate his teaching. She also got to know Houston as a spiritual mentor. Students would seek him out for spiritual direction and end up in tears, the retired software engineer said. 

“I was one who sat in the guest chair in his office and poured out my own struggles,” she said. “He asked me about my relationship with my father, and indeed he glimpsed things I had been only vaguely aware of.” 

Perera also caught a firsthand glimpse of Houston’s love for the written word. In the late ’90s, she went to Houston’s home to help him get online: 

He had heard it was important but had no idea what it might be good for—only that he didn’t want to miss the wave of the future. He already had email, so it wasn’t hard to set up a browser and show him the basics.

“So what can I do with it?” he asked. “Can I check the stock market?” I showed him how. “What else?” “Well, you can buy books,” I said, and introduced him to Amazon.com. He immediately wanted to create an account and enter his credit card number. He was like a kid in a candy shop, delighted as he clicked and ordered this book and then that one. I left that day realizing that I might have changed his life more than he had ever changed mine.

The Houstons regarded hospitality as equally important as theological study, hosting countless students in their home every Sunday afternoon. One of these students was Suzanne Taylor, who taught nursing at UBC and decided to enroll in courses at Regent. Houston began mentoring her, and she often spent time with him and Rita at their home for tea and soup. 

For six years, Taylor’s husband, Robert, a retired UBC professor of surgery, has been going to a Vancouver men’s prayer breakfast group, which Houston has been a part of for half a century. “As I came to know the men, from varied professional and business backgrounds, I realized that many of them, if not most, were also there because of encounters with Jim during their lives,” he said. 

Houston is now unable to attend the group meetings, but members of the prayer group often visit him. When he first moved into the care home, where Rita lived until her death in 2014, he had up to 17 visitors in a day. 

Perera also visits Houston every few months. “His mind wanders more now, and his hearing loss makes real dialogue difficult, but he knows who I am and is glad to see me,” she said. 

Houston is remarkably healthy for his age, with no health conditions apart from mobility issues and tiring easily. Four years ago, he had a bad fall and was bedridden for a month, thinking he would die soon. But he got up and began walking again at 99, according to Lydele. 

Three years ago, Houston’s family threw a big bash at a local golf course to celebrate his 100th birthday. Some flew in from as far away as Ireland. His nine grandkids put up a skit and read a poem for him. His cake was shaped like a stack of his favorite books. 

Houston’s 103rd birthday plans are a bit quieter. Last weekend, he celebrated with friends from Rita’s Bible study, and he will have lunch at his daughter Penny’s home. Lydele plans to take him to church—First Baptist in downtown Vancouver—on Sunday for the first time in months. 

Communion with God still shapes much of Houston’s life and thought. When I asked, “What will you say to Jesus when you get to meet him?” Houston responded with a chuckle, “When I meet him? Oh, we’re in communication just now. I won’t need to do that then. You see, we have no idea what we’ll do in glory.” 

And when I asked if there is anything else he wants to share with CT readers, Houston said without missing a beat, “Prayer is not [just about] saying prayers. Prayer is without ceasing. … Our Lord is the best friend you could ever have.”

Houston showed me the psalm he has chosen to exhibit at his memorial: Psalm 1, which hangs in a wooden frame across from his desk. The words of the psalm are in calligraphy alongside an image of a leafy tree with its roots stretching down, a depiction of how “those enriched roots multiply great fruits,” Houston said. The psalm reminds him that he wants to be a righteous man, to be “right-related to the God who inspired Moses to [write] the Ten Commandments.” 

I asked if I could pray for him. Instead, he took out a small bottle of anointing oil and dabbed it on my forehead, asking me to smell it. This is frankincense, he said, and then prayed, “Dear Lord, may you anoint my dear sister so that she knows what future mission she’s due for you. So guide her and bless her, and may you be her best friend. Amen.” 

He closed our time together by singing aloud, in a tremulous yet clear voice, the words of a hymn: “May the mind of Christ our Savior / Live in me from day to day.”

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