News

Atlanta Pastor Apologizes for Remarks Blaming Police Killings on Disobedience

Christianity Today April 25, 2025
Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Screenshots of Youtube

A prominent Black pastor in Atlanta has apologized for remarks in a recent sermon about instructions for obeying government authority, saying he should have used “more nuance” when providing lessons from his own encounter with law enforcement and blaming some police killings on disobedience.

“Without a doubt, I understand the framing I used about Black children and their relationship with police was and is harmful. I know that Black people have been killed by the police when being both compliant and noncompliant,” Philip Anthony Mitchell wrote in an Instagram post last week. Mitchell pastors 2819 Church, a growing multiethnic congregation with a large following among Black evangelicals.

His response comes after a flurry of online criticism from some fellow Black Christians and internet personalities, who said his April 13 sermon discounted the history of Black people who were killed by police despite following orders. The backlash was picked up in Black publications, such as The Root and Atlanta Black Star. However, some social media users also came to Mitchell’s defense, saying his comments were biblical, though unpopular. During the sermon, some in his congregation cheered along.

In recent years, several high-profile police shootings of Black people have sparked protests for racial justice and national conversations about biases in policing. Many pastors have used those moments to speak out against racism and advocate for reconciliation. And while Black Christians don’t take issue with the Bible’s teachings on authority, many are wary of a narrative that implies deaths would have been avoided with greater compliance.

Mitchell waded into the topic of race in policing while preaching on a passage in the Book of Matthew that details how the Pharisees and the Herodians worked to trap Jesus by asking him whether it was lawful to pay taxes to Caesar (22:15–22). Jesus responded by asking for a coin and questioned them about whose image was on it, to which they replied, “Caesar’s.” Afterward, Jesus instructed them to “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s” (v. 21)

In the passage, Mitchell said, Christ was laying down the principles of submitting to earthly authorities and teaching that Christians should be “model citizens” under any government. He listed some contemporary examples of how to do that, such as paying taxes and complying with parking ordinances. Later in his sermon, he got into the subject of policing, saying that while there are “bad cops out there,” not “every killing of a Black man was because of a bad cop.”

“Some of that is because we have not taught our children to … be obedient to authority,” Mitchell said during the sermon, which was posted on the church’s YouTube page. In another clip circulated online, Mitchell said, “Stop blaming white cops for the killing of Black kids. Instead, teach your Black children to be obedient to authority.”

In a video posted online, UrbanLogia Ministries founder Damon Richardson said that though he found no fault with Mitchell’s explanation of the biblical text, he was troubled with how the pastor attempted to relate it to the conversation of policing in America.

Richardson said the sermon should have provided information on the long, tense history between the Black community and law enforcement, including warranted mistrust bred out of over-policing. Mitchell, he said, should have balanced his comments with “an honest conversation that offers prophetic rebuke and critique to law enforcement.”

During his sermon, Mitchell did not speak about specific cases highlighted in the media. Instead, he recounted an incident that took place while he was a 15-year-old living in Queens, New York.

One day, Mitchell said, he was walking down a street in Queens when he locked eyes with an officer who was driving in a police car. The officer, whom he described as Italian, then got out of the car, grabbed him in the neck, and smashed him against a brick wall. Mitchell said the officer then pointed a gun at his neck and dared him to “say something.” At that moment, he said, he heard the voice of his mother, who frequently told him to obey authority and “stop getting into trouble with the police.”

“In that moment, I got to decide what will be stronger: my ego or my submission,” he said.

In his apology statement, Mitchell noted the passage he preached presents an opportunity “to examine our relationship with governments and authoritative figures who we may personally oppose, yet have to comply with.” At the same time, he said, his framing of the encounter he had with the officer as a teen “was not helpful and should have been done differently and with more nuance.”

“I have a responsibility to my local congregation, our Digital Disciples, and all the people watching me expecting to see an example of what true discipleship of Christ looks like,” the statement said. “That includes acknowledging when you have made a misstep or been wrong. Due to the size of my platform, I am learning that my words carry more weight and influence than I even sometimes can fathom or acknowledge.”

In the past, Mitchell has garnered attention by publicly criticizing other ministers who he says have spewed “theological garbage.” The things he’s lambasted include talk that a church-aided cannabis business could help drive membership among Black men, an idea floated in 2022 by pastor Jamal Bryant of Atlanta.

Last Friday, Mitchell’s own apology received support on Instagram from prominent Black Christian influencers, including podcast host Megan Ashley and writer and poet Preston Perry, who has attended the church with his wife, Jackie Hill Perry.

The worship musician Eddie James also applauded Mitchell, saying that though he understood what the pastor was trying to communicate, he also saw how it could be taken by others.

“Unfortunately, there are abuses from authorities that have hurt so many,” James wrote. “How you are handling this moment demonstrates the heart of a pastor.”

News

The Mental Health Crisis Ministers Struggle to Talk About

Their own.

Middle age white man with head down in the pews
Christianity Today April 25, 2025
dlewis33 / Getty Images

Nicholas Davis thanks God he’s still alive. 

That wasn’t his plan. 

He was a young man serving as senior pastor at a Presbyterian church in Southern California. And he was drowning in anxiety, depression, and thoughts of suicide. What started as a mundane case of overwork or maybe burnout became something much more dangerous. 

“It was a very busy season,” Davis told Christianity Today, “kind of taking on too much and not realizing that I was in the midst of too much.”

He had never struggled with mental health growing up. In 2015, though, it just felt as if his mind was shutting down and his body was overwhelmed with an impossible weight. He barely slept for weeks. But it eventually subsided. 

Then, in 2019, life at the Presbyterian Church in America was very busy, and it happened again. 

“I bit off way too much and kind of hit a wall,” he said. “I had never had a panic attack before, so I thought it was a heart attack.” 

Still, he didn’t seek help from a psychiatrist. He has his wife, Gina, to thank for eventually getting him help. She was, at first, just hoping that he could be prescribed something to help him sleep and that a little regular rest would alleviate the anxiety. So she made an appointment and made him go. While talking to the doctor, Davis mentioned he had had thoughts about ending his life. 

Following protocol, the psychiatrist admitted Davis for care. Today, Davis is glad he did.

Davis went through various forms of treatment and is thankful to now be in a healthy place. He has since left ministry and is teaching, but he has a heart for those who are in ministry and struggling.

Nearly one out of five senior pastors at Protestant churches report that they have contemplated self-harm or suicide in the past year, according to a 2024 Barna study. Most downplay it, saying the thoughts are fleeting (8%) or not especially severe (9%), but nonetheless acknowledge the thoughts are there. 

Many American pastors are quietly grappling with mental health struggles. Nearly half—47 percent—report feeling lonely or isolated. A majority self-report feelings of depression. And 65 percent say they’re not talking to a therapist, counselor, spiritual advisor, or mentor. 

“Pastoring can feel like you are responsible for everything and control nothing,” said Barna CEO David Kinnaman. “It’s a particularly challenging kind of job description. … They’re constantly trying to push a rock up a hill, in some ways.”

Barna’s research indicates that pastors’ mental health has gotten worse in recent years. The COVID-19 pandemic was one obvious cause of stress and isolation. People in ministry also talk about the struggle of seeing political polarization come into their churches. Growing awareness of abuse also leads to increased suspicion of people in leadership, which can make the job of being a leader that much more difficult. 

Being a pastor is also just a hard job. Anxieties amp up. Stresses build. Emergencies accumulate. 

Michael Chiles, founder of Abide Leader Care, said most pastors don’t talk about the pressures of the job and don’t seek help “until they get to a place where everything is crumbling.” 

Early red flags include overwhelming stress, feelings of isolation, and marriage problems. But many deftly ignore them.

When Chiles started Abide Leader Care about a decade ago in Austin, Texas, he wanted to figure out how to make it easier for ministers to seek help. He is a pastor himself, so the ministers who come to him don’t have to explain the dynamics of ministry. And the first consultation doesn’t cost anything, so concerns about cost can be deferred to a later date. 

“We want to remove the most common barriers,” Chiles said. “Once they start sharing what’s going on and bringing it into the open and bringing it to the light, they start to feel the healing start.”

Abide Leader Care now has counselors in 21 states. Online counseling is also available and can be a good option for many people, Chiles said. 

Care for Pastors, located in Florida, works with ministers across the US. Ron and Rodetta Cook are former church planters who founded the practice in 2004 after “multiple painful situations causing hurts so deep” that they considered quitting. 

Ron Cook said he realized through his own experience the acute need for pastors to be able to be vulnerable.

He has noticed that many pastors come in unsure whether they really need counseling. But then they also describe feeling hopeless. 

“They just give and give and give until there’s nothing left to give,” he told CT. “Pastors put unrealistic expectations on themselves and allow church leaders to quite often put those unrealistic expectations on them.”

Many are dealing with burnout, compassion fatigue, and decision fatigue. Church divisions have made things worse. He encourages churches to send their ministers to counseling for preventative care instead of waiting until their mental health is bad. 

Too many churches, he said, ignore all the warning signs until their pastors leave the churches or leave ministry altogether. 

Mary Hulst, Calvin University chaplain, tries to teach future ministers to work on their mental health and spiritual well-being before there is a problem. She talks to students about navigating conflict, managing expectations, and taking practical steps to take care of themselves. Regular exercise is too often ignored. Pastors often imagine they should be able to go long stretches without moving their bodies, getting adequate sleep, or eating healthy meals. 

She emphasizes the need for good spiritual practices and recommends regular spiritual retreats and sabbaths. 

“We need rest. We need renewal. And we’re only as good as our own health,” Hulst said. “In the ideal world, you build these rhythms into your life so that you don’t get to the point of crisis.”

Getting ministers to take of themselves can be a real challenge, though. And getting them to recognize that they’re having mental health crises can be incredibly difficult too. 

Sometimes even pastors having panic attacks and thinking about suicide still believe it might be better just not to tell anyone.

“It’s not an admission of weakness. It’s an admission of strength to say, ‘I know myself well enough to know I’m not as well as I can be, and I want to get healthy,’” Hulst said. “That’s a beautiful thing to acknowledge.”

Ideas

How to Live in the ‘Negative World’

Gospel centrality seeks to draw people into the kingdom—as an alternative to drawing lines in the sand.

A church surrounded by circles that are cutout.
Christianity Today April 24, 2025
Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons

For many Christians in America, author Aaron Renn’s “negative world” hypothesis sums up their experience of living in a culture hostile to Christianity. Even if recent trends like surging Bible sales, a possible slowdown in Christianity’s decline, and a few celebrity conversions indicate that it is not all bad news, there is an enduring feeling of a culture less open to Christianity.

In a negative world, Renn’s call to believers is to find “a different approach from the strategies of the past.” This has led some within evangelicalism to draw lines in the sand. Like certain plants that turn inward when affected by blight in cold weather, surviving in a strange and distorted form, there is a danger that Renn’s posture to the cool winds of the negative world could lead to insularity.

I want to advocate an alternative, which draws on the historical riches of God’s community and Word. Pastor Tim Keller called such a posture “gospel centrality,” which he embodied through his ministry at Redeemer Presbyterian Church, where I now serve as senior pastor at its downtown location.

Gospel centrality is an approach as old as the early church, which blossomed in some of the harshest cultural climates of church history not by turning in but by turning out. It requires Spirit-filled hope alongside clear gospel convictions—an approach that works in every world, positive, neutral, or negative. And it’s an approach that I continue to see bearing fruit in New York City today.

Gospel centrality advocates a particular mode of gospel engagement. Renn and others have criticized this approach as “triangulation” or “third-wayism,” saying that Keller’s middle-of-the-road approach to tribal partisanship may have worked in a neutral world but is no longer fitting for a negative one. Renn proposes instead that evangelicals should “have a firm resolve as to what they believe to be true and then have the courage to speak it clearly.”

Amen to resolve, amen to (gospel-centered) courage, and amen to truth. However, the gospel is not just the truth—it’s the message of the one who is “full of grace and truth” (John 1:14).

Merely proclaiming truth without extending grace leads to moralism. Various cultural thought leaders like Jordan Peterson, for example, who claim to be “culturally Christian,” are great at proclaiming truth.

But cultural Christianity is not to be confused with the transformative gospel of Jesus Christ.

Proclaiming grace and truth is the approach that gospel-centered churches hold to. It is the approach that Keller articulated in response to Renn’s (and others’) critique in 2022. It is a posture found in Scripture (1 Cor. 1:18–25) and championed by Augustine and Abraham Kuyper. It is the age-old conviction that all of our deepest questions find their resolution in Christ.

In gospel centrality, Jesus first confronts us with the truth (that Renn rightly wants us to proclaim). Then Jesus comforts us with grace (which seems lacking from Renn’s approach), with forgiveness, and with the acceptance available through his death.

Finally, Jesus shows how this confrontation and comfort is uniquely resolved in his life, death, and resurrection. First, by his living a perfect life of grace and truth. Second, by his dying for our lies and our lack of truthful living so that we might both realize the seriousness of our sin and the grace of God’s salvation.

Grace without truth tends toward relativism. Truth without grace may be provocative but quickly sours into condemnatory moralism and excludes those who fall on the wrong side of the line.

But the uniquely compelling grace and truth of Jesus Christ has the resilience to stand against culture’s untruths and beckons those who have turned away to return to God.

D. A. Carson similarly articulated the central importance of the gospel when he wrote that it “ought to shape everything we do in the local church, all of our ethics, all of our priorities.” Only then can gospel renewal start to happen.

In his book Life in the Negative World, Renn lists the proclamation of the gospel as one of his aims—and when he and I spoke recently, it was clear that he cares about seeing people come to know Christ. But the gospel does not seem central to his priorities in the way Carson describes.

Instead, the three-world framework of positive, neutral, and negative seems primarily concerned about the church’s standing in culture. Renn’s arguments thus orbit around critiquing “wokeism” and the triumvirate of race, gender, and sex rather than centering how people are responding to the gospel.

Renn pinpoints the shift from a neutral to a negative world in 2014 with the rise of wokeism. However, sociologists of religion present an alternate view, arguing that spiritual attitudes shifted much earlier, back in the late 20th century. As Robert Wuthnow wrote in 1998, reflecting on the previous decades, “The transformation of American spirituality poses new challenges for the public life of the nation as well as for individual lives.”

Ethical shifts in race, gender, and sex are certainly significant. I engage with these issues frequently from the pulpit myself, because the gospel does too. But the gospel is not just one concern among many for the church. It is the central concern and the transforming power that makes all things new.

Gospel centrality shapes not just the mode of our engagement but also the character of our engagement.

One of the strongest parts of Renn’s book is its emphasis on the importance of obedience to Christ, in both its clear-sighted call to personal obedience—recognizing that this may be particularly difficult when it comes to sex and gender issues—and its insistence on the support of the church community to make this possible.

However, obeying Christ and his gospel is more than just living out certain challenging ethical stances in culturally hot areas. It is also a call to faith that goes deep and changes our hearts in the formation of our characters.

Unsurprisingly, secular thinkers are realizing the benefits of a Christian ethic, particularly in contrast to the broken promises of secularism.

Consider journalist Louise Perry’s bestselling book The Case Against the Sexual Revolution, where she advocates for the Christian sexual ethic. Think of the voices coming out of Silicon Valley arguing for the Christian philosophical framework when engaging with technology. Observe the increasing number of people who, like Elon Musk and even the New Atheist Richard Dawkins, call themselves “cultural Christians.”

But being culturally or ethically Christian is not the goal of gospel centrality. The Pharisees were equally hot on a call to be moral. And like the throng of those calling for an end to winsomeness or “third-wayism” today, the Pharisees also urged a more strident approach.

Jesus repeatedly rebuked them for their lack of mercy, compassion, and love, because an emphasis on truth without a corresponding emphasis on grace dangerously leads to self-righteousness, hypocrisy, and fear.

The world does not need more anxious presences shouting across the divide, even if the words they are shouting may be true. The culture at large is hungry for a different character in our approach.

In my context in New York City, we recently hosted a course designed for those investigating or doubting Christianity. The overwhelming feedback from attendees was how much they appreciated not only the proclamation of the gospel’s grace and truth but also the character of the course’s environment as a whole, which relies on patient and gracious conversations with Christians.

This aligns with a 2022 Barna report that describes the top six values that Gen Z is searching for in evangelism: judgment-free listening, mutual understanding, calm and natural conversation, words matched by action, healthy disagreement, and safe relationship.

Of note is how much these values overlap with the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Gal. 5:22–23).

It is faith, hope, and love, after all, that will remain (1 Cor. 13:13). For all his talk about the negative world, Renn himself has wondered if it may already be changing, perhaps even coming to an end. Whether this is the case or not, what will never change is the gospel and its call to godliness.

Gospel centrality—that which confronts and comforts us, holds grace and truth together, and transforms us to be more like Christ—is still, as ever, compelling and attractive to a generation hungry for conviction. That’s because it is God’s work, not ours.

Whether we continue in this current negative cultural mode or enter one that becomes more receptive to Christianity, our posture should be the same as it has been since the beginning. Such an evergreen approach has led to renewal throughout the church’s long history. May the Lord do so again.

Pete Nicholas is senior pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church Downtown in New York City and author of A Place For God: Timeless Questions for Our Modern Times, Five Things to Pray for Your City, and Virtually Human: Flourishing in a Digital World. Pete is married to Rebecca, a surgeon, and they have two boys.

Ideas

The Bible and the Tariffs Debate

Staff Editor

Abraham Kuyper argued for tariffs with thin theological support. A later thinker, Frederick Nymeyer, mounted a vehement biblical critique.

Two suspended shipping containers, but one of them is a Bible.
Christianity Today April 24, 2025
Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty, Pexels

This spring has been a season of chaos where trade policy is concerned. Earlier this month, President Donald Trump levied dramatic new tariffs on US imports, including those from allied countries, only to make a jarring reversal a mere 13 hours after they went into effect. For now, most new tariffs are in a 90-day pause, except for a sky-high rate on goods from China, which seems likely to come down soon following weeks of market volatility.

Caught in the middle of this uncertainty is the global economy, countless businesses, and consumers who will pay higher prices for a wide range of items, including necessities like food and clothing. This is likely to be painful for everyone, but especially for lower-income households that spend a larger proportion of their income on critical supplies.

For Christians, the value and wisdom of tariffs can’t be settled by a simple appeal to Scripture, as some ethical questions can. But Christian thinkers have grappled with this issue in prior eras of protectionism. The Dutch thinker and statesman Abraham Kuyper staked out a pro-tariffs position around the turn of the 20th century, and decades later, his stance came under fire from Frederick Nymeyer, a Calvinist businessman from Illinois who advocated for free trade. 

Neither man was a trained economist, and both argued from the Bible and their political contexts alike. But where Kuyper largely presented a pragmatic, economic case, Nymeyer argued that tariffs violate well-established biblical principles of justice and honesty.

Born in 1837, Kuyper was a pastor in the national Dutch Reformed Church before he retired from his post in 1874 to join the Dutch parliament. Over the course of his life, he edited a daily newspaper; founded a university, a denomination, and a political party; and eventually led his country as prime minister between 1901 and 1905. Kuyper is most known, though, for pioneering the theology and cultural engagement of Neo-Calvinism, which encouraged Christians to transform realms like politics and labor without confusing those things with the church.  

Kuyper’s views on tariffs were formed in a world significantly different from ours. The Dutch economy experienced a decline—and limited growth—in the first half of the 19th century. By the second half, when Kuyper came into public life, the country was beginning to industrialize. Coupled with construction of roads and railways, industry helped achieve steady economic growth. Official data indicates only a third of the Dutch population still worked in agriculture around 1900, while the rest took jobs in other services or industries, such as textiles. 

By the time Kuyper entered the political scene in 1874, debates about the merits of free trade were widespread across Europe, with the continent toggling between protectionist and more open trade policies. Kuyper primarily engaged with the issue as a politician. And in booklets, newspaper editorials, and at least one book, he praised protectionism, which he—like many politicians now as then—saw as a method of promoting worker interests, funding social programs, and creating better jobs for ordinary people. 

One of the most robust defenses of his views came in the second volume of his book Antirevolutionaire Staatkunde (Anti-Revolutionary Politics), in which Kuyper bemoaned an outflow of Dutch workers into better-off Germany. He blamed this pattern on his country’s trade policies and posited that more tariffs would spur home-grown manufacturing, allowing Dutch workers to stay in the Netherlands. Kuyper also criticized the idea that the Netherlands would have to rely on other countries, like Germany, for necessities.

Kuyper built his arguments with statistics and appeals to secular authorities, including other protectionist writers. Joost Hengstmengel, a university lecturer in the Netherlands, told me that insofar as Kuyper made theological arguments, he primarily used the universal economy doctrine, which says God divided gifts “at the creation of the world, forcing the nations to specialize in certain industries.” And “in order to maintain this division of nations and labor, Kuyper argued, tariffs are necessary.” 

That connection between God’s creation purposes and tariff policy seems strained—and Kuyper seems to have wanted a more extensive Christian position. He bemoaned that he was not an economist and that his Anti-Revolutionary Party “had not produced technical economists whose views were grounded in a Reformed world and lifeview,” Jordan J. Ballor, coeditor of a 12-volume compilation of Kuyper’s work, said in an email interview.

And part of Kuyper’s opposition to free trade appears to have stemmed from the less noble motive of negative partisanship. Free trade’s “greatest champions in the Netherlands of his day were also radical secularists and anti-Christian ideologues,” Ballor said, which meant being “for or against free trade had more baggage than simple trade policy.” 

Decades after Kuyper’s death, Nymeyer challenged his case for tariffs and argued that protectionism was “unscriptural and unsound.” A protégé of libertarian economist Ludwig von Mises and a Calvinist himself, the Illinois businessman believed Kuyper’s way of seeing the world centered communities and institutions to the detriment of the individual and, when it came to tariffs, divided at least some individuals along industrial or national lines.

In a 1956 entry of his periodical Progressive Calvinism, for example, Nymeyer tackled Kuyper’s argument that free trade would lead to higher unemployment for sawmill employees due to a flood of finished goods flowing into the Netherlands. Even if new tariffs on products (in this case, lumber) could protect some jobs, Nymeyer said, such policies would also raise the price for the consumer. In this, he charged, Kuyper did not “recoil from hurting other people in the Netherlands for the sawmill employees”—not to mention sawmill employees in other countries who would see demand for their work fall. “What virtuous morality,” Nymeyer asked, “is there in helping one man at the expense of another”?

“In plain language, Kuyper has scales for morality with two sets of weights; one set of weights for Dutchmen; another set of weights for Swedes (foreigners),” Nymeyer wrote. “Somewhere in Scripture there is a very unfavorable comment on the morality of different sets of weights (Deut. 25:13-16; Proverbs 20:10 and 23.)” The Scriptures Nymeyer cited are concerned with dishonesty, though fairness is a clear theme too.

But for all Nymeyer’s certainty on the subject, Scripture doesn’t prescribe a Christian position on tariffs. It does extoll wisdom (Prov. 4:7), foresight (Prov. 22:3), impartiality (Lev. 19:15), prudent use of resources (Prov. 6:6–8), and care for the poor (Deut. 15:4). Christians have debated trade policy before and will again in the future, and we can at least expect these virtues of each other—if not our leaders.

Haleluya Hadero is the Black church editor at Christianity Today.

News

Trump Task Force Hears Out Christians Who Challenged Biden Administration

An evangelical litigator and the provost of Liberty University spoke at the kickoff meeting to address claims of anti-Christian bias in the federal government.

Officials sit in tables in an office with a Justice Department emblem and US flag.

US Attorney General Pam Bondi speaks with the Task Force for Eradicating Anti-Christian Bias at the Department of Justice headquarters in Washington, DC.

Christianity Today April 23, 2025
Oliver Contreras / AFP via Getty Images

The Justice Department lent a listening ear on Tuesday to conservative Christians with stories of investigations, fines, and bitter clashes with the Biden administration.

A task force established by President Donald Trump to address anti-Christian bias in the federal government met for the first time—gathering Attorney General Pamela Bondi, Faith Office leaders Paula White-Cain and Jennifer Korn, and several members of Trump’s cabinet to discuss previous cases of Christian discrimination in their agencies.

The meeting follows department-level directives issued this month urging State and Veterans Affairs employees to report instances of bias against Christians or policies seen as hostile to Christian views.

The task force heard a defense of a suburban Washington, DC, church that faced Internal Revenue Service (IRS) review over a sermon favoring Trump as a candidate. The Johnson Amendment, a provision in the federal tax code, currently bars tax-exempt nonprofits from endorsing politicians.

Michael Farris, the former head of the Christian legal group Alliance Defending Freedom (ADF), said his church, Cornerstone Chapel, “had been investigated and punished by the IRS for our (outstanding and courageous) pastor Gary Hamrick’s 2020 election sermon.”

Farris also serves as counsel for the National Religious Broadcasters and named Cornerstone’s case in the group’s 2024 lawsuit against the IRS over the Johnson Amendment.

Currently the prohibition on political endorsements doesn’t get consistently enforced; pastors have even violated the ban deliberately en masse as a demonstration of free speech. A congressional bill introduced last month proposes allowing nonprofits to make campaign statements if they come in the “ordinary course of carrying out its tax exempt purpose.”

Liberty University provost Scott Hicks spoke against record-high Education Department fines issued against the two biggest Christian colleges in the country: Liberty and Grand Canyon University. Neither case directly involved the schools’ Christian convictions, but each maintained that it received unfair treatment from the Biden administration.

The Education Department fined Liberty $14 million last year over campus safety violations in its response to sexual assault. The amount was triple the highest previous fine for such violations, issued to Michigan State University due to Larry Nassar’s abuse of student gymnasts.

“Many of the department’s methodologies, findings, and calculations in the report were drastically different from their historic treatment of other universities,” Liberty said in a statement at the time. “Liberty disagrees with this unfair treatment.”

Grand Canyon, based in Phoenix, faced a $37.7 million fine in 2023 for misrepresenting the cost of graduate programs. The university sued and accused several federal agencies of “extreme government overreach in what we believe is an attempt to harm a university to which individuals in these agencies are ideologically opposed.”

A Wall Street Journal editorial surmised the regulatory oversight might be from progressive regulators who don’t like to see enrollment on the rise at a conservative Christian school.

The examples of anti-Christian bias evoked by the task force and Trump administration officials mostly come from conservative Protestants and Catholics who say they experience discrimination for expressing their faith, as well as their views on topics like LGBTQ issues and abortion.

According to a Pew Research Center survey conducted during Trump’s previous term, Americans on the political right are over twice as likely (70%) as those on the left (32%) to say evangelical Christians are subject to discrimination.

“I have chaired meetings in the past where the top Christian litigators shared our most outrageous cases and where we were making plans to fight back,” Farris wrote on Facebook Tuesday. “Today’s meeting had that same spirit but with one major difference. These people actually run our government and were swiftly [taking] the kind of action that for a long time Christians have believed were demanded by justice. I was amazed and encouraged deeply in my soul.”

The White House Faith Office, now specifically tasked with addressing anti-Christian bias, has developed what some Christians see as a narrower network of church and ministry leaders who align with Trump.

Critics worry that the initiatives overstate the threat of Christian persecution over religious liberty overall. The Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty expressed concerns that the task force “could be weaponized to enforce a theological conformity that will harm everyone’s religious freedom, including those of Christians.”

After the meeting, the Faith Office director, Korn, pledged to “protect all faiths” and “have government protect Christians, not punish them.”

Earlier this year, current ADF president and CEO Kristen Waggoner applauded Trump’s executive order to address anti-Christian bias and called out “the Biden administration’s deliberate targeting of Christian beliefs through discriminatory policies,” referencing cases “from foster parents barred from providing loving homes to children in need due to their faith, to targeted overregulation of ministries and the weaponization of the FACE Act against pro-life advocates.”

Cabinet members brought up some of those examples at the meeting as they shared further complaints, including religious objections to the COVID-19 vaccine mandate, treatment of Christian homeschoolers in foreign service, and challenges to classroom instruction around gender.

Theology

A US Evangelical Considers Pope Francis

Columnist

The pope was tricky to categorize and at times theologically confusing. Yet I couldn’t help but admire him.

Pope Francis in a crowd.
Christianity Today April 23, 2025
Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty

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

With the death of Pope Francis this week, my thoughts went in many directions, but one of them was the memory of my humiliation at the front door of his house.

Invited by the pope to speak at the Vatican on an evangelical view of marriage and fidelity, I arrived in Rome jetlagged and exhausted, having just finished teaching at a Southern Baptist seminary on Martin Luther’s view of conscience.

Going through security at the Vatican, I handed the Swiss Guard what I thought was my passport, pulling it absentmindedly out of my pocket, from the same suit I had worn back home. After a moment or two of his puzzled expression, I realized that I had given him a pocket-sized copy of Luther’s 95 Theses.

An archbishop there with me said, “Just don’t nail it to the door and you should be fine.”

As I wrote shortly afterward for the National Review:

I wondered which of my grandparents would be more ashamed of me: my Roman Catholic grandmother, for my ushering the tumult of the 16th century right there to the pope’s door; my Baptist-preacher grandfather, for entering the Vatican at all; or all of my grandparents together—evangelicals and Catholics alike—for my violation of Southern manners.

The pope, of course, never knew about the awkwardness of my entrance—and my Catholic friends in line with me, far from offended, joked with me about it for years. But even if the pope had known about it, he probably would have waved it off. Martin Luther is not as dangerous as he used to be, and one might wonder whether that’s a good development or a bad one.

Perhaps one of the reasons for better relations between Catholics and evangelicals is that both have changed for the better.

Apart from the writings of “integralists,” mostly in ivory towers, the Catholic church has revised its previously authoritarian views of human rights, religious freedom, and the relationship between church and state, as well as its conclusions about the eternal destiny of “separated brethren.”

Evangelicals—for the most part—no longer think of the pope as the “antichrist” or of the Roman church as the “whore of Babylon” from the Book of Revelation.

But better relations might be a sign of something else—of the ways a secularized Western culture has affected all of us, to the degree that we no longer feel the existential weight of the arguments that once led to reformations and counter-reformations, inquisitions and uprisings.

Those are not minor matters, after all. The books of Romans and Galatians are all about what it means to say that God justifies the ungodly—what could be more important? And if the Roman church is right that Jesus’ promise to build the church “upon this rock” (Matt. 16:18) is about a Petrine office continuing from then until now, then what follower of Jesus could ignore that?

Probably some degree of both factors are at work. But probably, also, both Roman Catholics and evangelical Protestants have, over the centuries, learned to take their doctrines more seriously, not less.

A Roman Catholic who believes that the Eucharist is the real presence of Christ would find that beautiful enough to attest to itself—with no thought of torturing a detractor or withholding the Bible from the laity.

An evangelical Protestant might believe in justification by faith alone—in the right sense of “alone”—strongly enough to believe that one is justified by faith in Christ, not by one’s doctrinal formulation of justification by faith.

For Catholics, Pope Francis was (and is) a kind of Rorschach test of where one thought the church should go in this century after Vatican II, after the world-shaping influence of Pope John Paul II. Pope Francis was, after all, a polarizing figure precisely in the ways he didn’t polarize.

He wanted divorced and remarried Catholics to have access to the Eucharist. He supported gay civil unions and the baptism of transgender people. He expressed his hope that hell was empty. He actively opposed the Latin Mass movement and emphasized the long-standing Catholic social teaching on the treatment of migrants and refugees and on the protection of the environment.

But Francis was no “progressive” in the ways that word is typically defined. Even as he wanted to expand roles for women in the church, he opposed women’s ordination. Despite his “Who am I to judge?” rhetoric on sexuality, he believed and taught the historic Christian sexual ethic restricting sexual union to the married, and he defined marriage as the lifelong union of a man and a woman.

He was pro-life on abortion (as well as on the death penalty and euthanasia and surrogacy), speaking out about the evil of seeing human beings as “disposable.” He opposed what he called “gender ideology”—warning that “canceling” difference when it comes to the creation categories of male and female would ultimately mean canceling humanity.

It was hard, then, for the world or the church to fit Francis into an ideological niche of traditionalist versus progressive, much less into American red versus blue. In the end, that leaves any observer of Francis to make a choice—either to shoehorn him into one tribe or another, and thus to valorize or villainize him, or to see him not as a set of ideas but as a man.

And in that sense, who cannot admire the simplicity and humility of this man, especially at this moment?

The pope exasperated me theologically when he told a little boy that his atheist father would be in heaven because he had been a “good father.” But at the same time, I teared up with admiration to see him hug that little boy—grieving the loss of his dad and fearing what must seem like an eternal orphanhood.

I would differ from the pope on some of the ways he would talk about the implications of “accompaniment” (though as a Protestant, I would have to say, “Who am I to judge?”) and the boundaries of the Lord’s Table. But can we not all affirm that seeing the church as a field hospital is no doubt rooted in Jesus, who told us, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick” (Luke 5:31, ESV throughout)?

One can acknowledge that some of Pope Francis’ statements on matters of sexual morality could be confusing at times while still seeing that he recognized what far too many of us ignore—the double standard of people who call out sinners in the flesh while ignoring those with more “angelicity,” as he put it, who “dress themselves in another guise: pride, hatred, falsehood, fraud, abuse of power.”

The specific applications of his impulse need not be replicated by evangelicals or other Christians for us to see that the impulse itself—toward mercy and grace—is one we ignore at the peril of our own witness.

Pope Francis made mistakes. So did his namesake, Francis of Assisi, and so did the apostle Peter, whose legacy he sought to fill. So did every human being except one (and let’s not get into a debate about Mary right now). So will you, and so do I.

As we look back on the life Pope Francis, though, can we not hope that when we do err, by God’s grace, we might do so while aspiring to mercy rather than to vengeance?

Even those of us without a pope, even those of us with our pockets full of protestations, can agree to that.

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

Inkwell

The Good Life Cannot Be Optimized

Secular monks on the precipice of burnout

Inkwell April 23, 2025
Mount Desert Island, Maine by Jervis McEntee

YEARS AGO, I used to walk my old neighborhood in Charlotte, listening to podcasts as I paced beneath a towering canopy of willow oaks. At the time, one of my go-to’s was The Tim Ferriss Show, a popular podcast where host Tim Ferriss deconstructs world-class performers, extracting the tactics, tools, and routines normies like me can use. As I listened to episodes with titles like Tony Robbins on Morning Routines, Peak Performance, and Mastering Money or How to 10x Your Results, One Tiny Tweak at a Time, I hardly ever looked up to notice the trees.

Eventually, I did notice something rather odd in the show’s introduction. Over thunderous, electronic beats, I heard familiar clips from various films that together, embody the ethos of the show. “At this altitude, I can run flat out for a half a mile before my hands start shaking,” says Matt Damon as the trained assassin Jason Bourne, a nod to the show’s emphasis on peak physical performance. But the clip that stood out to me featured the voice of Arnold Schwarzenegger in the 1991 action classic Terminator 2: Judgment Day: “I’m a cybernetic organism. Living tissue over metal endoskeleton.”

In the film, the Terminator is a machine with human-like skin designed for one thing only: destroying its target. Undoubtedly, there is some tongue in cheek on Ferriss’s part to include a clip like this in his podcast introduction. But after listening to numerous episodes, I couldn’t help but get the sense that there was more truth in it than one would expect. A certain kind of ruthless efficiency—a “machine-like” approach to everything—seemed central to Ferriss’s vision of the Good Life.


WE ARE LIVING in the Age of the Machine, which Paul Kingsnorth defines as “the nexus of power, wealth, ideology, and technology” that has emerged to “replace nature with technology, and to rebuild the world in purely human shape, the better to fulfill the most ancient human dream: to become gods.”

We have not only embraced the way of the Machine, we have chosen to become machines ourselves. Consider how often we say we need to “recharge,” as if we were iPhones running low on battery. Or when we say we are “hardwired” for something. Our language is the canary in the coalmine: It seems we have concluded that to thrive in a Machine society, one must become a machine.

IN 2020, practical philosopher Andrew Taggert wrote an essay in First Things about the rise of what he called “secular monks.” According to Taggert, these educated, wealthy, urban men “embrace a secular ‘immanent frame,’ ascetic self-possession, and a stringent version of human agency.”

Above all, they commit to work—to working on themselves and on the world—as the key to salvation. Practitioners submit themselves to ever more rigorous, monitored forms of ascetic self-control: among them, cold showers, intermittent fasting, data-driven health optimization, and meditation boot camps.

Perhaps you have never gone full “monk mode,” eschewing hot showers for ice baths and grande lattes for shots of wheatgrass. (Lord knows I haven’t.) But it’s clear to me that their ethos has deeply embedded itself in our lives and cultural psyche. You do not have to be a young man plunging himself into a tub of ice daily to suffer from chronic self-improvement.

As Taggert outlines in his essay, the ideological river secular monks swim in is made up of several different streams: the pursuit of preparation (control), the pursuit of optionality (freedom), the pursuit of creativity (power), and above all, the pursuit of optimization (perfection). He summarizes their worldview:

“As human agents, we should divide our actions into means and ends, and if we’re good optimizers, we will discover and use the most effective means by which we can satisfy those ends. This defines human existence as [Tim] Ferriss sees it: an endless game of self-one-upsmanship.” While our methods may not be quite as extreme as these monks’ liturgies, I believe we have become just as obsessed with optimization.

Case in point: several years ago I started noticing an interesting trend. In conversation after conversation with friends and coworkers, I heard the same line: “I can’t remember the last time I read any fiction.”

This statement bewildered me to no end. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Eventually, it dawned on me: In a self-improvement culture, there is no room for art. There is only room for things which have an explicit, utilitarian purpose. Literature, art, poetry, films—these have no practical value in and of themselves. So why read a novel when you can learn ten principles from a self-help book?


IN THE INTRODUCTION to his book Culture Care: Reconnecting with Beauty for Our Common Life, artist Makoto Fujimura picks up on this very idea:

The assumption behind utilitarian pragmatism is that human endeavors are only deemed worthwhile if they are useful to the whole, whether that be a company, family or community. In such a world, those who are disabled, those who are oppressed, or those who are without voice are seen as ‘useless’ and disposable. We have a disposable culture that has made usefulness the sole measure of value. This metric declares that the arts are useless. No—the reverse is true. The arts are completely indispensable precisely because they are useless in the utilitarian sense.

When productivity becomes our highest ideal, we eliminate everything from our lives that isn’t deemed “useful” or “practical.” So we stop reading novels and poems (why bother?). Instead, we listen to nonfiction audiobooks (it’s more efficient that way) about “supercharging our productivity” while jogging, driving to work, or washing the dishes.

This never-ending project of self-optimization means we live on the precipice of burnout. We can’t even remember the last time we marveled at a sunset, stuck our nose in a flower, gazed in wonder at a painting, or laid our hands on the giant bole of a willow oak and lost ourselves in its sprawling canopy. We have not simply lost our humanity—we have opted to become mere “living tissue over metal endoskeleton.”


UNDERNEATH OUR CULTURE’S quasi-religious pursuit of optimization is the desire for perfection, which has its roots in a deep awareness of our brokenness. We are not the men and women we aspire to be. But the secular monk’s quest for perfection does not find Jesus of Nazareth nor his teaching of self-giving love for God and neighbor at its core. Nor do most of our efforts at personal growth. Unsurprisingly, self remains central to our project of self-improvement.

Like the secular monks, we desire to live without limits. To become impervious to decay, death, and the terrifying chaos of life. To “impact” the world through the indomitable force of our work. In short, we want to be superheroes. No wonder most tech innovations coming out of Silicon Valley market themselves as “superpowers.” It’s what we think we want most.

But there’s one small problem. “It’s increasingly clear,” writes Andy Crouch, “that superpowers come at a cost. Every exercise of superpowers involves a trade: You have to leave part of yourself behind.” In our relentless quest to optimize our lives and acquire as many “superpowers” as possible, we become less human. Less real.


IN ONE SENSE, a novel is indeed “useless.” There is no obvious practical value to it. The same is true for other art forms. You do not walk away from a Rembrandt painting, a Terrence Malick film, or a Mary Oliver poem with five practical action steps for how to get more done in less time.

Living in the Machine can sometimes feel small, tedious, and tawdry. Beauty cuts through our rationalistic, materialistic mindset and helps us reclaim the wonder we were made for. In his book An Experiment in Criticism, C.S. Lewis writes about the life-changing power of reading great fiction:

…the first reading of some literary work is often, to the literary, an experience so momentous that only experiences of love, religion, or bereavement can furnish a standard of comparison. Their whole consciousness is changed. They have become what they were not before.

Indeed, how can we be the same after sculling down the river with Ratty and Mole or trudging up Mt. Doom with Frodo and Sam? After scouring the seas with Captain Ahab or putting on a Christmas play with the March sisters? After wandering the Kentucky hillsides with Jayber Crow or burying our faces in Aslan’s mane alongside Lucy and Susan?

Great literature does something to us we can barely understand or even imagine. As Lewis says, it sparks an “enlargement of our being.” It opens up a landscape both within and without.


YOU WILL NOT FIND any of the works I just referenced in the self help section of a bookstore. And yet I consider them integral to the formation of my spiritual imagination. This is why art’s “uselessness” is the very thing that makes it indispensable: It teaches us how to be human again. Great stories remind us that we are more than just our outputs—grades, careers, successes, bank accounts, or possessions. They shake us awake from our rat-race way of living.

The Machine “wires” us to think and live in “-er” terms—i.e. better, faster, easier, more, etc. But the life we desire cannot be found by embracing the way of the Machine. We cannot “hack” our way to the Good Life nor optimize our way to flourishing. To the Machine, art simply “does not compute.” It doesn’t make logical sense. But great and “useless” art punches a hole in the industrial cage the Machine has built around our souls. And through this hole, the light of another world and way of being comes streaming in.

Mark Casper is a writer who has been published in Mockingbird and Short Fiction Break. He writes towards the life we long for through the lens of literature, poetry, art, film, and theology on his Substack, The Kingswood.

News

Tunisia Church Tries to Hold Steady

The spiritual descendants of Tertullian face pressure.

Two young Tunisian women walk in the traditionally decorated narrow streets of Tunis.
Christianity Today April 23, 2025
SOPA Images / Getty

Almost 15 years ago, Tunisian calls for democracy reverberated throughout the Middle East and North Africa, toppling dictators and empowering citizens with new liberties.

Last week, a Tunisian court sentenced to prison nearly 40 political, media, and business leaders perceived to be threats, some receiving sentences up to 66 years.

Still, on a typical Sunday at Église Réformée de Tunisie (ERT, Reformed Church of Tunisia), 120 or so congregants walkpast a block of French-colonial-style apartments, turninto a courtyard adorned with bougainvillea, and enterthe sanctuary.

They have a variety of backgrounds. One was an astrologer who read the Bible and had his whole cosmology turned upside down. He asked to be baptized and now leads the liturgy at ERT’s services. Another attendee learned about Christianity online, told his mother, and faced her disappointment. Several years later, she had a dream in which Jesus came to her and told her to read the Bible. She woke up, did, and professed faith in Christ. Another is a young Tunisian woman who rejected Islam and became a Communist but felt compelled to seek a better purpose. She was recently baptized.

But most of the worshipers at the 143-year-old church are from sub-Saharan Africa and came to Tunis for college, or they are passing through the capital on their way to Europe. Sunday services also include a handful of American and Canadian expats.

Some Tunisians view Christianity as a foreign force, counter to the Tunisian way of life. That’s ironic, because Christians lived in what is now Tunisia within decades after the first Easter, although the gospel’s exact journey has not been confirmed.

The early Christian apologist Tertullian, born in Carthage in 160, established core church doctrines that inspired the martyr Cyprian and later Augustine, a bishop in neighboring Hippo (modern-day Annaba, Algeria). A strong Christian presence continued until the Muslim conquest in North Africa in the seventh century reduced the Christian population to a small minority that persists today.   

Tunisians then lived under numerous empires before the French took over in the late 19th century. After gaining independence in 1956, Tunisia was initially more tolerant toward religious minorities than many of its neighbors were, even protecting the freedom of religion in its constitution.

For the first decades of the post-independence period, a liberal expression of Islam coexisted with Christianity. But in 1987, Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali took power and sought to tightly control all minority movements that could threaten his power.

On December 17, 2010, a young, demoralized man staggered angrily into a local government office in central Tunisia. He doused himself in paint thinner and lit a match. Incensed by Ben Ali’s decades-long authoritarian rule, Mohamed Bouazizi chose this gruesome final act of protest out of desperation for a freedom he believed impossible to attain.

Yet his death sparked the Arab Spring protests that unseated Ben Ali and raged in various forms throughout the Middle East and North Africa for 15 years.

The movement ignited civil wars in Libya, Yemen, and Syria; spurred the removal of dictators in three of the North African countries; and launched an initially promising political transformation in Tunisia. In 2014, the country organized its first free and fair elections and had a Nobel Peace Prize–winning transition followed by subsequent peaceful transfers of power. Many believed Tunisia would go the same way.

A reworking of the constitution, though, centralized power in the executive. The president is both the head of public prosecution and the sole figure capable of dismissing any judge on relatively limitless grounds.

The constitution includes language directing the state to protect Islam and guarantee its preeminence. One constitutional expert concluded that the government “is founding a religious state.”

Anti-immigration sentiment in the country has further complicated the lives of many Tunisian Christians. About 16,500 black, sub-Saharan refugees and migrants have registered with the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, though many have entered the North African nation without registering.

In 2023, authorities rounded up 1,200 black Africans, destroyed their property, and, allegedly, physically and sexually assaulted the migrants before expelling them at the Libyan border. 

Anyone who speaks out against the government increasingly risks prosecution. Decree-Law 54 is ostensibly a cybercrime law prohibiting speech that spreads false information, but the definition of what that is remains vague and subjective. Several recently-sentenced political opponents were arrested under the law, now weaponized to stifle dissent, hamstring lawyers, and punish antigovernment comments by journalists and others.

ERT and other churches in Tunisia try to make sure that new converts don’t believe their faith will automatically make life easier. As Augustine, who spent much of his ministry in Carthage, once wrote, God’s grace is meant “to help good people, not to escape their sufferings, but to bear them with a stout heart, with a fortitude that finds its strength in faith.” 

Luke Waggoner is an international political and governance consultant.

This article has been shortened at the urging of Tunisian Christians. 

Ideas

The Male Malaise

Rapid economic and social shifts have undermined traditional ideas of manhood. At the Cross we find a better vision—and more.

A collage of images of dejected men with an image of Christ in the middle.
Christianity Today April 23, 2025
Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Pexels, Wikimedia Commons

Most cultures worldwide, anthropologist David Gilmore wrote in Manhood in the Making, have generally defined manhood around three capacities: the abilities to provide, protect, and procreate. For generations, the United States was no exception. Becoming a husband and father, along with serving as the primary breadwinner, has traditionally been the path prescribed to American men for achieving this sense of manhood.

However, economic and social shifts over the past 50 years have led many to question this traditional view, especially the capacity to provide. The transition to a high-skill, service-oriented economy requiring greater training and education has particularly disadvantaged men—especially those who, in another time, would’ve earned a living through manual labor. The proportion of men dropping out of the labor force continues to rise, and many of those with jobs suffer stagnant wages. Meanwhile, the education gap between the sexes has widened, with women now earning the majority of college degrees each year.

Sometimes when this issue is raised, there is an impulse to dismiss it: Why don’t men try harder? Or why don’t they simply get rid of their outdated view of manhood? That attitude is a mistake. The male instinct to provide is not just a social construct; it is fundamentally rooted in how males are wired. 

As Brookings Institution scholar Richard Reeves argued in Of Boys and Men, the erosion of the provider role has profoundly impacted men’s perception of their value and place in society. Men who do not see themselves as providers, especially financially, are more likely to detach not only from the labor force but also from society as a whole. Why? Because men who feel they don’t measure up as financial providers often view themselves as inadequate or may be seen by others as societal liabilities. 

Even men who do provide financially may still feel inadequate, though, if they are unprepared to meet new social expectations. Either way, too many men are left feeling worthless, aimless, disillusioned, and disenfranchised—an issue we cannot overlook.

The church can’t overhaul the whole economy or make it easier to measure up to the wider society’s expectations. But we can offer a vision of manhood sufficient for navigating the changes and complexities of our era. As Christians, we are blessed that God provides us with a clear vision of manhood, one that transcends different times and cultures and is far beyond anything we could invent to meet this moment.

This vision is not dependent on changing economic, social, or cultural realities. Nor is it solely linked to the roles of husband, father, and financial provider. Though these are all good things, as Tim Keller explains in his book Every Good Endeavor, they cannot be ultimate things. Our identity as men can’t be solely and ultimately anchored in our capacity to perform or achieve in these areas. That will lead to a fragile self-worth that falls apart when we encounter changes and challenges.

This vision is also not a call to deconstruct manhood altogether or a call for each man to invent his own definition. As Gilmore explains, manhood needs to be taught. Without guidance, men may feel lost or, worse, develop dysfunctional models of manhood that are harmful to society.

The central image of God’s vision of manhood is the Cross. At the Cross, Christ provides men with a clear, unambiguous, and enduring vision of being a man—one that remains relevant despite the societal changes around us. Paul makes this clear in Ephesians 5:25–33, where he discusses the relationship between husbands and wives, admonishing Christian men in Ephesus to love their wives the way “Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” In other words, Paul suggests that if you want to know what a real man looks like, look to the Cross, where Christ laid down his life for humanity.

This is a challenging call to selflessness, to following Jesus by willingly laying down our lives for those we love. Here, Paul calls husbands to prioritize their wives’ interests above their own, and in Philippians 2:3–4, he broadens that to all relationships: “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.” 

Selflessness does not equate to weakness or timidity. On the contrary, Ephesians 5 calls for men to demonstrate strength and leadership in their marriages. However, being the “head” in marriage (v. 23) is not just any kind of leadership. Instead, God’s vision of manhood emphasizes gaining influence through self-sacrifice and using our strength to care for those we love, just as we would care for ourselves.

Whether married or not, men are made for selfless leadership. It gives meaning and purpose to our masculinity. Instead of reducing manhood to economic utility and financial provision, selfless leadership calls us to provide our whole selves—mind, soul, and body—for those we love, just as Christ did. I believe this call has the power, with God’s help, to awaken the hearts of disillusioned men by giving them a motivation and purpose worth living and dying for: the welfare of those entrusted to their care.

Of course, no man can fully live up to the vision of selfless leadership exemplified in Christ at the Cross. This is true no matter how hard we try. Furthermore, simply understanding this biblical vision of manhood is not enough to address our culture’s male malaise. As the church, we must go a step further. 

The Cross is not just where we find God’s vision for manhood. It is also where God shapes us into the men we are called to be. At the Cross, we confront the sobering duality of our humanity. On the one hand, we are confronted with a clear view of our depravity, weakness, and inadequacy as men. We are so flawed that we cannot save ourselves. We cannot provide for our own souls, let alone those of others. We are completely dependent on God to send his Son to accomplish what we cannot. 

On the other hand, the Cross reveals how unconditionally loved and valuable we are to God. Our weakness does not diminish his love. Despite our inadequacy, we are so valuable to him that Jesus willingly suffered the consequences we deserved, allowing us to gain the hope of “being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit” (2 Cor. 3:18). 

The Cross is the only place where a man can be inadequate and valuable at the same time. Only here can he encounter the power of God’s redeeming grace, a power that enables him to see his true worth and identity and transforms him into the man God calls him to be. 

In that sense, the ultimate solution to the male malaise is the same as it has always been: We must preach the gospel to our men. The gospel must be more than a message we recite; it must be where we anchor our very identity and value as men. The Bible must be more than a book we read to find a moral code; it must be where we go to encounter God’s grace until it transforms us into selfless leaders. And most importantly, Christ must not merely be our example in manhood. He must be our Savior.

Domonic D. Purviance is a writer, men’s ministry leader, and finance and economics expert. He cofounded King Culture, a nonprofit organization that equips men to reflect the selfless leadership of Christ.

News

A Christian Medical School Opens for the First Time in 40 Years

The Nashville program joins a growing movement to teach future doctors a “whole person” model of health care.

The first medical students at Belmont University's Frist College of Medicine participate in a pediatric clinic.

The first medical students at Belmont University's Frist College of Medicine participate in a pediatric clinic.

Christianity Today April 23, 2025
Matt Willoughby / Courtesy of Belmont University

For the first time in more than 40 years, a new Christian medical school granting MD degrees has opened its doors in the US.

A class of 50 students is finishing its inaugural school year now at Belmont University’s Thomas F. Frist, Jr. College of Medicine. That’s 50 future doctors who could be reinforcements for a workforce facing severe shortages.

“I call them the fabulous 50,” said Tanu Rana, a microbiologist and immunologist on the new faculty. “I love them dearly, and I’ve really enjoyed every second with them.”

It’s a diverse 50: The first class includes veterans, farm kids, and speakers of 24 different languages.

A new medical school in general is rare, let alone a Christian school. Belmont’s is the first MD-granting school of any kind to open in Tennessee in 50 years.

“It’s been extremely hard,” said Anderson Spickard, the school’s dean and a veteran internal medicine doctor. He came to the startup school from Vanderbilt University School of Medicine, where he was a faculty member for 27 years. “There’s tension at every turn.”

Oral Roberts University, which opened a medical school in 1981, appears to be the most recent Christian MD-granting institution to open. It closed in 1990 under millions in debt.

Belmont’s medical school has a clinical and advisory partnership with HCA Healthcare, a mammoth health system based in Nashville and founded by members of the Frist family. The school’s new facility, abutting the Belmont campus, is a $180 million columned edifice with labs, cozy study rooms, and a mock hospital ward for simulations.

Peter Huwe, who was teaching at Mercer University School of Medicine before joining the Belmont medical school faculty, said he had dreamed of being able to teach medicine from a Christian standpoint.

When he started looking into teaching at the Belmont medical school, “I could look around and see, ‘Oh yeah, this is going to work. They’ve got the pieces in place,’” he said. He is now a biochemistry professor at the school.

The school emphasizes servant leadership in doctors, a phrase faculty used several times in interviews, and whole person care.

Whole person care is a compassionate health care model for doctors to build relationships with patients and take social, spiritual, emotional, and behavioral factors into account in treatment. In education focused on whole person care, doctors learn to listen to patients and have empathetic conversations on difficult subjects—like terminal diagnoses.

Loma Linda University School of Medicine, a Christian medical school outside of Los Angeles, has for more than a century taught the “whole person care” model that Belmont is now undertaking.

More national medical organizations are recommending that US physicians, especially in primary care, shift toward that whole-person model. Another new, nonreligious medical school opening later this year will be focused on whole-person care.

Students entering medical school now are also more attuned to the whole-person approach, said Huwe, with their sensitivity to mental health and a person’s community context.

“It’s not as big of a leap for this cohort of students,” he said.

The cadaver lab at the school is unique in that it has an anteroom where students pause for 15 minutes of prayer and reflection before going in. “Fearfully and wonderfully made,” from Psalm 139:14, is printed on the wall outside.

While the school is open to anyone no matter their faith, the school’s leadership emphasizes that the school is rooted in Christ and his example. Faculty pray and have devotions together. They want to train doctors “having that humility to recognize that we’re broken,” said Huwe.

In the lobby of the main new building adjoining Belmont’s campus in Nashville hangs a seal for the new school. At its center is the Rod of Asclepius, a staff with a snake from Greek mythology that is associated with medicine. Spickard said that also references John 3:14, where Jesus says, “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up.” The verse refers to his death on the cross, which in turn references the story in Numbers 21:4–9 where sick Israelites who looked on a snake would live.

“The snakes remind us that we’re facing evil here—the machinery, if nothing else, of what’s making that patient sick,” said Spickard. “But if we look at the snake without the cross, we get overwhelmed to face evil on our own.”

On the seal, the staff is planted in water, referencing Psalm 1 (“like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season”). And leaves and fruit grow around the staff, representing Revelation 22, the tree of life with fruit for the “healing of the nations.”

“Christ said that he took evil down with him and buried evil once and for all,” said Spickard. It reminds him as a doctor that he’s not the hero bringing lifesaving care to everyone. “We’re planted in that stream of water.”

Until becoming a dean and hanging up his stethoscope, Spickard was one of the few modern-day doctors still doing house calls. That allowed him to do whole person care; he was often tending a patient in a bedroom, washing his hands in a family bathroom, sometimes walking into a house that the family hadn’t had time to clean.

He wants students to understand that house-call feeling: that entering patients’ lives is high stakes and vulnerable.

Spickard’s agreement to join the new school came at a time of personal vulnerability. He had just learned his son was dying of cancer; he was a dad in the ICU (intensive care unit) watching doctors he had trained over 27 years at Vanderbilt care for his son. It was a raw time to be contemplating a new medical school formed around whole person care and the example of Christ.

Shortly after his son’s death, his own dad died. Initially a faculty member, he was asked by the school’s board at that time to become the dean. He said yes but told them, “You have a wounded dean.” 

“The chair of the board said, ‘That’s the best kind,’” said Spickard.

Then he stepped into all the challenges of a new medical school. A big hurdle is winning accreditation, which the Frist school did in 2023 from the Liaison Committee on Medical Education, the body that oversees all MD programs in the US.

Another challenge is that a standalone startup like the Frist school must find partner institutions for clinical rotations since Belmont does not have its own teaching hospital. Vanderbilt University School of Medicine, for example, has Vanderbilt University Medical Center, where students rotate.

But the school’s partnership with HCA Healthcare means that students will do rotations at HCA-affiliated facilities in Nashville.

Already, the first-year students have also done rotations at Siloam Health, a longtime Christian nonprofit health clinic in Nashville that serves refugees, immigrants, and other low-income residents who are uninsured. The clinic has been doing whole person care for more than 30 years, and Vanderbilt medical students rotate there as well.

On the wall in the lobby at Siloam is printed the story of Jesus healing a blind man in John 9, where he tells the man to wash in the pool of Siloam and the man regains his sight. Back in the offices where doctors see patients are hanging quilted flags from all the patients’ countries, like Cameroon and the Dominican Republic.

The clinic’s leadership wants to show the students “we can do excellent, charitable whole person care. It does exist,” said Katie Richards, Siloam’s CEO.

The Frist school encourages students to work in rural health and global health and has a scholarship for those who intend to be rural physicians. Rana, the microbiologist, leads a global health elective at the school, through which students will visit Korea and India.

Some of the members of the first class are already planning to work in rural communities.  

The medical school also has an unusual department: health systems science, which teaches students how to interact with systems of medicine so they can help patients figure out paying for care and navigating options—an essential skill if doctors want to help patients as whole people.

Whole person care teaches doctors to be good listeners of their patients, Spickard said, but doctors should also be “listeners” of the health care system.

“We don’t want you to think of the health care system as something you need to be vaccinated against, to go out and tolerate,” said Spickard about his students. “But be agents of hope within it.”

This article has been updated to clarify that the medical school’s partnership with HCA Healthcare is not financial.

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