Why Charlie Kirk Landed with Young Men Like Me

He didn’t hedge or soften his positions to broaden appeal; he underlined them.

Charlie Kirk debating with students at The Cambridge Union on May 19, 2025.

Nordin Catic / Contributor / Getty

When Charlie Kirk was assassinated, the images spread quickly: candlelight vigils across the country. Young men in polos and cross necklaces stood shoulder to shoulder, heads bowed. People carried signs with messages like “We are all Charlie.”

To many in the press, Kirk was a partisan provocateur, a combative media personality. But the mourning revealed something harder to dismiss. It showed that for a generation of young men—myself included—he was more than a pundit. He had become a figure to reckon with. For Christians in particular, he was an example of what it looks like to hold unpopular social views with conviction and to speak openly about saving faith in Jesus Christ.

Even Gavin Newsom admitted Kirk’s influence. In a 2025 interview, the progressive governor of California, known for his sharp clashes with conservatives on everything from abortion to speech, let slip that his teenage son was a fan of Kirk. It startled people. How could the son of one of the nation’s most prominent liberals look up to the right’s most polarizing voice? But in truth, it shouldn’t have been surprising.

For years, Kirk commanded attention. His clips ricocheted across TikTok and X, igniting arguments in group chats and dorm hallways. By early 2025, his personal YouTube account had more than 3 million followers, his podcast regularly broke into Spotify’s top political shows, and his TikTok clips pulled millions of views each month. Turning Point USA, the organization he founded, now spans more than 3,500 schools with over 2,000 active student groups (with reports pointing to a surge in membership after his death).

You didn’t have to be a supporter to watch him. Many weren’t. But you paid attention because he made himself impossible to ignore. By the time of his death, he wasn’t just a political commentator. He was a cultural symbol.

The question worth asking is why. Why did so many young men—conservative, contrarian, or just curious—lean in when Kirk spoke? The easy explanation is politics. Gen Z men are trending more conservative than Gen Z women, and the gap is widening. According to Pew Research Center, 52 percent of Gen Z men lean Republican, compared to just 37 percent of Gen Z women. But numbers alone don’t explain the connection. I think there’s more.

For one, Kirk embodied free speech. My generation grew up in an environment where speech carried real social risk. Say the wrong thing, ask the wrong question, or invite the wrong guest, and the consequences could be swift. That atmosphere bred caution. But it also bred hunger—for something different, something less sanitized. A 2019 study of college campuses found that 71 percent of Zoomer men saw protecting free speech as more important than fostering inclusivity, compared to only 46 percent of Gen Z women. Less safety, more sparring.

Kirk leaned hard into that instinct. His signature format was simple: sit beneath a banner that read “Prove me wrong” and let the argument play out in public. He sparred on race, gender, religion, and politics—sometimes sharp, sometimes sloppy, but always open. Critics called his views offensive, even dangerous, especially on transgender athletes, progressive sex education, or activist orthodoxy. But for many of us, the outrage itself only confirmed a deeper problem: Raising certain questions was considered off-limits. Kirk refused to play by those rules. He dramatized free speech as a live contest of ideas, and whether or not you agreed with him, he forced you to engage.

He also embodied conviction. He didn’t hedge or soften his positions to broaden appeal; he underlined them. Traditional marriage. Pro-life advocacy. America’s Christian roots. Rejection of critical race theory and gender ideology. These were not the positions of someone watching the polls. They were unpopular in many circles, and he knew it, but he held them anyway. At a time when public figures pivot with every headline, that steadiness stood out. Even those who disagreed with him often admitted the appeal of clarity. In an age of curated ambiguity and corporate moral posturing, it was refreshing to hear someone speak with his chest.

He also offered agency. Social psychologist Jonathan Haidt has described agency as a core drive, especially for young men—the need to feel they can act in the world, not just comment on it. That need has only sharpened in a culture where nearly every conversation is framed around global crises too big for one person to solve. Climate change, systemic injustice, broken politics—the scale is paralyzing. The constant demand to “fix the world” leaves many young men exhausted, convinced before they even start that they’d fail.

Kirk’s countermessage was a bit more doable: Get married. Have children. Plant yourself in a church. Take responsibility for something close to you, something that lasts. In an age where many delay adulthood and treat responsibility as optional, he called young men into permanence.

And in his later years, Kirk grounded his call in faith, speaking more directly about Christ. He quoted Scripture on stage, not just in churches but at political rallies. He talked about sin, salvation, judgment, and grace. He told crowds that the chaos in America wouldn’t be healed by winning elections or flipping the Supreme Court but by repentance and renewal. He urged young men not just to vote but to pray, not just to build households but to anchor them in the gospel.

In another era, this kind of talk might have sounded like a liability—too religious, too moralistic, too much of a distraction from the “real” issues. But not now. Gen Z men aren’t turned off by faith; many are drawn to it. Perhaps this is part of the reason why, the Sunday after his death, there were anecdotes of an uptick in church attendance.

We are coming of age in a world saturated with content and starved of meaning, a world fluent in therapy speak but hesitant to name truth, goodness, or sin. In that context, hearing someone talk about eternal things feels different. Serious. Like they actually believe it.

And maybe that’s what made Kirk stand out the most. So many young men today are soaked in online irony, where everything is mocked, so nothing has to be believed. It’s a posture that breeds isolation, keeps lives on pause, and, in its darkest form, produces instability—even assassins.

This is the ultimate divide in America: not political or demographic but existential. The divide between a boy who hides on a roof and a man who stands in the square. The divide between frogs and fathers, nihilists and believers.

Whatever you thought of him—provocateur, preacher, politician—Charlie Kirk believed. He believed in ideas worth debating, truths worth standing for, a Savior worth praising. And though his voice has been silenced, the longing that made us listen has not. Charlie Kirk is gone, but what my generation longs for remains.

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

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Inkwell

So You Want to Write a Book

Rachel Joy Welcher

An acquisitions editor gives advice to aspiring writers on the platform dilemma.

"Royal Straight Flush and Five Dollar Bill" by American School

My friend Joy, for the good of her soul, stays off social media. She decided long ago that it wasn’t helpful, and has lived in blissful ignorance of many fleeting trends, online arguments, and Instagram reels about which homemade snacks she should be feeding her children.

Instead, she listens to thoughtful podcasts, has conversations in person with real friends, reads luxuriously long books, and enjoys not knowing all the ways that Elon Musk has derailed what was formerly known as Twitter.

Joy is also a lovely writer. She cares about shaping language to explore the beauty of creation, the depth of human connection, and the intricacies of grief.

She wants to write a book.

I am an acquisitions editor. Finding authors is what I do.

You probably already see the dilemma. One of the first pieces of advice that hopeful book writers hear is “You must develop a platform.” So I must decide: Do I invite my friend—the one with the rare self-discipline to buck cultural trends in order to suck the marrow of life—to get back online, the very place she saw was hurting her soul?

Another writer shared that he got off social media so he would spend less time on his phone and more time being present with his children. Do I encourage him to redownload the very apps that stole his focus from the happy chatter of his daughter, that made it difficult to look up when his son said, “Dad, watch this”?

I wish I could tell you that selling Christian books is all about good writing and thoughtful content by devoted saints. I want to assure you that you don’t have to put your name after an @ sign in order to secure a book contract and share your words. I want to tell you that the Eugene Petersons and Henri Nouwens of our day would find it exceedingly easy to find an agent and publisher. I want to, but I can’t.

At the same time, publishers are noticing that followers on social media don’t always equal book sales. Just because someone watches your short video reels or reads snippets of your essays here and there doesn’t mean they want to read an entire book by you. Maybe they don’t want to read an entire book at all!

In some ways, what sells and doesn’t sell is inexplicable; dependent on the right time, the right place, even the right title and cover. It’s a guessing game. An educated guessing game, but a game all the same.

What does all this mean for the writer with remarkable ability, whose practical theology cuts to the bone and reads like poetry, but who hasn’t spent time online, booked speaking gigs, or tried to go viral on YouTube?

What about the older, wiser mother or father of the faith who has a book burning inside them but doesn’t know how to create an Instagram post? Do they have a chance at being published? Will we ever get to read them?

If we do, it will be by the efforts of not only writers, agents, marketers, and publishers but also of readers. Readers must demand the good, the true, and the beautiful and show their demand by purchasing such books, regardless of how famous the author is.

While I cannot predict the future of Christian publishing, I can give you some of the advice I give to other good writers with small (or nonexistent) platforms who want to write a book:

1. Give your readers a place to find you.

I recently spoke with a book agent—a true legend in the industry—who suggested that aspiring writers should “consider one channel or platform to explore and communicate in, an avenue that naturally allows [them] to speak about their work and [begin] building relational equity.”

Instead of turning your nose up at the idea of a platform, consider your readers. Consider the ways that building a platform could actually be a form of hospitality, where you intentionally invite them into a space where they can read your work, hear your thoughts, and engage with your ideas.

Another book agent I interviewed wisely noted that some worry that “if I go down this path, I’ll be making an idol in my own image.” She continued, “They let that hesitation keep them from engaging at all. But how will a reader ever find their book if they’re not willing to talk about their message?” Her concluding advice was: “If your message matters to you, don’t wait for a book to share it.”

The truth is, most writers are introverted. We would rather maintain some degree of mystery and prefer the idea of writing in the woods under candlelight to a raucous event where we sit at the center. But I suggest that we consider the humility and kindness it takes to put ourselves out there, thinking of creative ways to invite readers to find our work and hopefully be blessed by our words.

You don’t have to get on every social media platform, book a speaking tour, or start your own podcast for readers to find you. If it’s not a natural fit, it will be obvious. Of course, if it’s between your well-being and yet another social media app, choose your well-being every single time.

Finding the right place to share your voice is a little like picking out the best office chair. We all have different aches and pains, aesthetic leanings, and different heights. Pick the chair that you’re most comfortable in.

2. Write in and out of season.

I’ll tell you a secret: there are acquisitions editors spying out good writing all the time, especially from people who haven’t been “discovered” yet. Whether you’re actively writing a book or working on a pitch, the key task is to keep writing. Keep reading. Keep living.

I wrote for years without being published. I was published in Christian magazines for years without ever being paid. I wrote and wrote, and the discipline of it shaped me. It prepared me. When the time came, I was approached to write a book rather than seeking out a deal myself.

The author Hunter S. Thompson is said to have typed out every word of The Great Gatsby just to feel what it was like to write at that level. Every time you read, you are making yourself a student of writing. Reading is never a waste of time for the writer, and writing is never a waste—even if it stays in a folder on your laptop for eternity.

The writers I love most are the ones who write for the joy of it—who try their hand at poetry one day just because—and are not simply sharing an essay or poem to promote a book. They genuinely care about their craft beyond the money it might make them. You can see that in what they choose to write and share over the years. If you are truly a writer, you will write before and after, even without ever receiving the coveted book deal.

One acquisitions editor told me that his advice for writers is to “write what brings you joy, and if it brings you fame, so be it.” My favorite writing projects have been the ones that didn’t fit into any typical publishing mold but pushed me, giving me the chance to develop my voice, my craft, and even my theology. If we are always writing to be published, we won’t take the risks necessary to grow as writers.

3. Encourage other writers.

When my very first book—a chapbook of angsty poems entitled Blue Tarp—was published back in 2016 by a small but wonderful press, endorsements were still a thing. I remember taking a deep breath and pressing “send” on some Facebook and Twitter messages, asking some of my favorite writers if they would read the book and write a blurb. To my surprise, many wrote back and said yes!

Ever since then, I do my best to say yes when someone asks me to read their book and consider an endorsement (since having babies, I’ve had to break that streak). There is much beauty in building a community of writers who genuinely celebrate one another and are not merely motivated by their own success.

You might be surprised to discover how many of your favorite Christian authors—your heroes of the faith—are not actually bestsellers, and they certainly aren’t rich. Whereas some newer authors, with the triple-threat of winsome writing, engaging content, and social media know-how, are the ones who sell enough copies for a down payment on a house.

Because of this discrepancy, I have a dream of asking some of these new and trending authors to consider how they might use their platforms to amplify the voices of their mentors and of writers who have words we need but whose names we do not yet know.

I love platforms (like Substack) that make it easy to tag others, share their work, and uplift their voices. We are never too old, too famous, or too far along in our writing careers to read someone else’s blog post and share it, noting, “This is worth your time.”

We never arrive as writers, reaching a point where we don’t need community, feedback, or editing. There is always room to grow, and we do our best growing together.

4. Pray through it.

Finally, my best advice to you faithful writers out there, bent over laptops or wrangling pen and paper, is to pray. Don’t assume that your writing aspirations are somehow separate from your spiritual life or that God isn’t involved because it’s not directly related to your local church ministry. If God cares about the sparrow that falls from the tree, how much more does he care for us in every way, including our dreams, goals, and the ways we hope to use our gifts?

“My greatest hope,” one book agent told me, is that we get to publish “thoughtful, well-written, timeless books.” God is watering these seeds that we scatter late at night, in the early morning, and in the tired afternoon, over cups of cold coffee.

Of course, we may not see a vast harvest field—we may only behold one small blade of grass. But let it grow and let Psalm 90 be our prayer: “May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us—yes, establish the work of our hands” (v. 17).

This may be your season to write in the dark. This may be your season to lift up the voice of another. Maybe this is the season to put your words forth and trust that the Holy Spirit will carry them exactly where they need to go.

I hope you get to read Joy’s book one day.

Rachel Joy Welcher is the author of three collections of poetry, Talking Back to Purity Culture, and a forthcoming children’s book. She studied at the University of St. Andrews and now works as an acquisitions editor for Baker Books. You can check out more of her work at her Substack.

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Pastors

What Has Publishing to Do with the Church?

Michael McEwen

Christian publishing, done well, gives pastors a partner in the long work of spiritual formation.

Javier Zayas / Getty

Paul the missionary. Paul the tentmaker. Paul the evangelist. Paul the apologist. Paul the teacher. Paul the mentor. Paul the church planter. Paul the theologian.

But what about Paul the writer?

Paul’s 13 New Testament epistles share many similarities in their nature, scope, and function. These theological letters invite and empower the church—God’s new people—to be fundamentally transformed in both being and action.

Meant to be delivered by a messenger, each of these epistles was written on papyri—bound, tied, carried, opened, read, and heard. Paul may have used the wages from his tent making to purchase papyri and ink. With these ordinary tools in hand, he set out to equip, encourage, and, when necessary, reprimand the church.

Even a beginning Greek student can quickly surmise that Paul was a thoughtful wordsmith in his day, at times even seeming to coin some new Greek words. He curated and crafted his writing to press the ultimacy of the gospel on the dozens of young churches in the first decades after Jesus’ death and resurrection.

In my reflections on Paul’s writings to these churches and in respect to my role as publisher of a Christian imprint, I’m convinced Paul offers a model for Christian publishing. We can call this the Pauline paradigm, which includes the following:

Paul drew on cultural forms of writing: prose, poetry, hymns, and early church confessions. In short, he borrowed several rhetorical practices and tools of his day.
He was familiar with common cultural narratives, even quoting pagan literature to connect with his readers.
He was extraordinarily familiar with the Hebrew Bible.
He used his letters to intentionally shape and form both individuals and churches.

Unlike any modern writing, Paul’s words bear the unique authority of the Spirit’s inspiration. That authority gives his letters a quality that transcends all human publishing capabilities. Yet the principles above offer a kind of literary foundation, or Pauline paradigm, that can shape and define the ethos of Christian publishing: biblically grounded, culturally engaged, and passionately committed to spiritual formation.

Every Christian publication, from academic monographs to popular devotionals, should be rigorously faithful to the Scriptures—not by merely tacking on references but by allowing the biblical narrative and theology to shape both the medium and the message. At B&H Academic, we’re currently developing a liturgical project, aptly named Creator to Crown: A Christ-Centered Catechism—designed to guide readers in worship and reflection, from Genesis to Revelation. The project combines written and visual elements to invite wonder, meditation, and prayer, offering an example of how medium and message can work together to form the reader’s imagination.

To be culturally engaged means publishers cannot retreat into an insular bubble. They must enter the conversation with today’s prevailing cultural stories and intellectual currents. As Kevin Vanhoozer relates, “To make disciples is to teach people how to keep the faith. One keeps faith by following Jesus’ words rather than merely knowing faith’s content.” Just as Paul borrowed rhetorical tools and quoted pagan poets to communicate the gospel effectively, so should Christian publishing answer the world’s questions with distinctly Christian perspectives spoken in ways that are accessible and relevant to readers.

To be passionately committed to spiritual formation means the ultimate aim of every publication is to move beyond mere information transfer or business success. Paul’s letters sought to transform individuals and churches. In the same way, publishers should desire to see their readers grow in Christlikeness, deepen their communion with God, and be equipped for faithful living and ministry. This vision should drive every decision, from acquisitions to author care to cover design.

But what has publishing to do with the church?

In the second century, the theologian Tertullian raised a cultural question to the church when he asked, “What indeed has Athens to do with Jerusalem?” He was drawing both a distinction and a connection. If I could bend his quote for today, I would say, What has publishing to do with the church? Or more pointedly, What have Nashville, Grand Rapids, or Downers Grove to do with the church? Each of these publishing hubs has played a prominent role in equipping the church through books.

As a bivocational pastor of a small, rural church in West Tennessee, I’m never surprised by how books often fill a gap where pastoral discipleship feels thin. They become ministerial mentors for leaders and laypeople who may lack direct guidance within their own congregations. For our adult Sunday School class at Hickory Grove, I regularly use books as a tool to extend discipleship and care throughout the week. These resources nurture, nourish, and strengthen both individuals and the wider church in their spiritual growth.

Christian books invite us deeper into the biblical texts while also linking us to other believers. They have the remarkable ability to bridge what French philosopher Paul Ricœur called the “hermeneutical gap”—that space between the biblical world and our own. Books have a way of transporting us into new—or even eschatological—worlds.

Telos, treasures, and testaments

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matt. 6:21). These words of Jesus come from his Sermon on the Mount, where he answers a deep question: What does it mean to be the people of God?

To be God’s people, Jesus implies, is to treasure the things that cannot be destroyed or stolen. When God himself is our treasure, our hearts—the deepest core of our identities and desires—enter into communion with him.

We have a word for this connection between goals and aims: telos. A telos is more than a goal; it’s an ultimate end that draws us toward itself, shaping our lives around its transcending purpose. In Every Member Matters, Josh Wredberg and Matt Capps describe the church as a building, a family, and a body—and the Bible is the divine plotline that guides our life together toward the final feast with the Father, Son, and Spirit.

Christian publishing may pursue many aims—and often does. But its most profound witness is to craft books that do more than merely inform. The best books invite this living building, family, and body into an intimate experience with Scripture and a deeper union with Christ.

Christian publishing can and does pursue many aims. But its most profound witness is to craft books that do more than merely inform—books that invite readers into an intimate experience with Scripture and foster a deeper union with Christ.

Books are not lifeless texts. At their best, they become living testaments, helping us relentlessly strive toward the ultimate telos of knowing Christ, our incomparable treasure.

Devin Maddox, publisher at B&H Publishing Group, often uses an insightful metaphor: “Books are missionaries.” Missionaries are emissaries, or assigned representatives, speaking for a king or kingdom. They are not the king, but they testify on his behalf. In this way, when churches receive resources commissioned by Christian publishers, they are equipped and encouraged for formation into the image and likeness of Christ.

Like Paul’s own literary writings, today’s books can function as ministerial tools—means through which God invites his people to take up their crosses and live out Christ’s transformative reign.

May we, then, recover something of that ancient, burning compulsion Augustine felt when he heard the simple chant from a few children on the other side of a wall: Tolle, lege (“Take up and read”).

Augustine’s journey toward solace and salvation in Christ began with that call and the book he opened. Let ours do the same—and may pastors be the ones who hand the book across the table.

Pastor, I invite you to put good words in your people’s hands. Guide them to read slowly and thoughtfully. Whether it’s a letter from Paul, a line from Augustine, or a paragraph from a missionary’s memoir, books still shape the saints like few other things can.

They don’t disciple in place of the church, but they come alongside her, echoing the voice of the Shepherd, reinforcing the gospel truth that is preached each Lord’s day.

So take up and read. And help your people do the same.

Michael McEwen is publisher for B&H Academic and pastor of Hickory Grove Baptist Church in Trenton, Tennessee.

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Theology

When Violence Is the Vibe

Russell Moore

Columnist

In the wake of Charlie Kirk’s death, if we bite and devour each other, we will be consumed by each other.

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty

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

After the shocking assassination of Turning Point USA founder Charlie Kirk, I described the violence not merely as immoral and un-American but also as satanic. A friend objected to that word. I stand by it—and here’s why.

The Bible explicitly defines murder as the way of the Devil (1 John 3:10–12). But when it comes to political violence in particular, satanic is the only word I know that can describe the combination of calculated self-idolatry with senseless self-sabotage.

When a health-care executive was murdered, some, mostly on the left, cheered and wrote songs and memes of devotion about the alleged killer. When a former speaker of the House’s husband was attacked with a hammer, some, mostly on the right, laughed and castigated the victim.

Now here we are, at the end of a summer in which we’ve seen the murders of some of the highest elected officials in Minnesota, as well as the murder—on video before the eyes of countless watchers—of one of the most recognizable political activists in the country.

For some of us, this brings a sense of foreboding that goes beyond the deaths of these human beings made in the image of God. It portends a country seemingly on the brink of something unspeakably dark.

On one level, this push toward violence seems coldly intentional. Over the past week, many have cited Amanda Ripley’s apt designation of “conflict entrepreneurs,” those in whose interest it is to tip disagreement over into what Ripley calls “high conflict.” We are in an atmosphere charged with revenge—to the point of having algorithms and online subcultures whose entire business model is to activate the most primal depths of the limbic system.

Within a Christian vision of reality, the ways that our fallenness can be exploited should be of no surprise, including the fact that we are vulnerable to invisible forces that take advantage of our brokenness and propel our own destruction. Even the most convinced materialist must at least recognize the analogy behind what the apostle Paul called “the prince of the power of the air,” who drives people along invisibly by appealing to what is already in them—the passions and desires of the flesh and of the mind (Eph. 2:2–3).

Some of the conflict entrepreneurs actually want civil war—and sell it to a people so deadened by affluence and spiritual alienation that the feeling of hate is the closest imitation they can find to life and purpose. Some of them want an enemy to blame that’s big enough to justify the crushing of their enemies. And many know that, in this sort of global moment, the thirst for retribution sells.

This would seem to have a logic to it. What could seem more reasonable, from the standpoint of evolutionary survival and tribal loyalty, than to say that one would fight for one’s friend to the point of shedding the blood of one’s enemies?

At Caesarea Philippi, the apostle Peter believed just that when he said, “Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you,” after he learned what Jesus’ enemies would do to the Christ, the Son of the living God. And Jesus responded, “Get behind me, Satan!” (Matt. 16:23, ESV throughout).

When Peter would later enact his previous vow by attacking the one coming to arrest Jesus, our Lord spoke not only to the immorality of the attempt but to its senselessness: “Put your sword back into its place. For all who take the sword will perish by the sword” (26:52). Jesus spoke there to the kind of high conflict of which Paul later warned the church at Galatia: “If you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another” (Gal. 5:15).

Political violence is morally wrong. No authority is granted the rightness of vigilantism. That’s true of people with whom one agrees as well as of those with whom one strongly disagrees.

But political violence is also self-defeating. History has proven this over and over. Hate gives way to hate, retribution to more retribution. If one believes a cause to be furthered by murder and terror, then whether that cause is good or evil, it will harm itself in the process.

In that way, political violence is satanic. After all, Scripture tells us that spiritual beings opposed to the ways of God know the outcome of history as well as, or better than, any human religion or philosophy—and they shudder before it (James 2:19). And yet the same Scriptures tell us that the Devil rages all the more “because he knows that his time is short” (Rev. 12:12).

Evil—even cold, rationalistic evil—is crazed and self-destructive. It relies on the kind of passion that is driven by jealousy, selfish ambition, and disorder—the kind of “wisdom” our Lord’s brother described as earthly, unspiritual, and, yes, demonic (James 3:15–16).

We are in great danger here. When we surrender the question of how for merely the question of what we want and who we support, violence is no longer unthinkable but instead inevitable. And after a while, we are conformed to that pattern of being. We start to accept it as normal.

We must not. Wherever you are on the political spectrum, you will be pulled at some time or other to think the stakes are so high, the enemies so irredeemable, that moral norms must yield to animalistic cruelty and revenge, even to the point of shedding blood.

When that moment comes to your mind, there is only one thing to say: “Get behind me, Satan.”

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

Church Life

How Indian Christian Families are Tackling Gen Z Loneliness

Divya Chirayath

Couples involved in student ministries are welcoming young people into their homes and lives.

Bible study and fellowship at Sunil and Gladlyn's home.

Image courtesy of Gladlyn Deboret Suthakar.

When Gracy David first moved to the city of Jaipur in India’s Rajasthan state for an architecture internship nine years ago, the then-23-year-old was nervous.

It was her first time living away from her family and paying for her own rent and food with her small stipend. She didn’t know many people in the city and, beyond her work, had no plans in the evenings or weekends.

Yet through the Union of Evangelical Students of India (UESI), three Christian families in Jaipur welcomed her into their homes, giving her a “soft landing into adulting,” David recalled. They picked her up to attend church and invited her to Sunday lunches.

One couple hosted Bible study for about 15 to 20 college students and young professionals every Saturday. After the study, the young people would hang out late into the evening, and the couple even invited them to stay overnight, David said. One room in their home was always reserved for guests or anyone new to the city. The couple, who had two sons in middle school, celebrated each Bible-study member’s birthday with a homemade cake, and David and her friends had an open invitation to come over to cook, talk, or sing.

“I was never hard-hit by loneliness thanks to the open homes that welcomed me,” said David, whose parents also opened their home to students when she was young.

UESI, which is affiliated with the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students, was founded in 1948 as a professor in Tamil Nadu started opening up his home to students for prayer and Bible studies to deepen their faith. As UESI grew, the concept of “open homes” became a core part of the ministry; married couples provided mentorship, discipleship, and a home away from home for students and new grads. The program is also a channel through which the ministry is combating loneliness among young people, a growing issue as a 2021 survey found that 4 in 10 urban Indians felt lonely most of the time.

Yet for the families that decide to participate in open homes, it’s not always an easy sacrifice. In recent years, demanding jobs, a growing generation gap, and busy students have led to a decrease in the number of open homes. Still, some couples, like C. S. and Shyla Mahind, who have hosted an open home in Bengaluru for the past two decades, believe it’s a worthwhile sacrifice.

“An open home lets you get to the point of talking to people at a very deep level, at a heart-to-heart level. It allows a person to open up, lower their guards, and feel acceptance,” C. S. said. “More importantly, in an open home, [students] have the opportunity to verify the authenticity of the claims made by the host.”

Although evangelicals make up less than 2 percent of India’s population, UESI operates in almost every state in India and holds Bible-study fellowships in and around college campuses. Today, it serves about 13,000 students and young professionals, according to a report from UESI’s annual general meeting.

On a recent April night at the South Bengaluru home of Sunil Joy and Gladlyn Deboret Suthakar, seven college students settled down on the couch, rug, and dining chairs for the week’s Bible study. One student led a lively discussion on Romans 1 before the group gathered to eat a homemade dinner of egg curry, rice, and dal (Indian lentil curry).

Sometimes students will stay as late as 3 a.m. to have deep conversations about their faith, the couple said. Other times a student will come alone for a one-on-one conversation about emotional struggles. Joy said that on average the couple spends about two to three days a week ministering to students and currently mentors four of them.

Joy and Suthakar started opening up their home last year after they got married. Suthakar joined UESI in college while Joy got involved as a new grad. The two met through their UESI mentors and, after they married, decided they wanted to provide the same care and environment for the next generation of students.

As a new host family, they receive training from more experienced couples on how to mentor students. At times, juggling work and student ministry can get challenging, as Joy works as a software engineer and Suthakar is a doctor. When Suthakar had to take an exam, she took a two-month break from the ministry. They still kept their home open for students to visit individually, and other families in the area volunteered to host Bible studies.

Joy and Suthakar also noted that they have had to consciously set boundaries to prevent the ministry from consuming their marriage.

“Sometimes our conversations become entirely about students and ministry and camps. Then we consciously decide to speak about other things,” Suthakar said. “Having these kinds of boundaries within our conversations and during the time we spend together has been helpful.”

Elsewhere in Bengaluru, Shyla and C. S. said they first decided to host an open home in 2005 because they believed it was a way to obey the biblical commands to welcome the stranger and to make disciples. C. S., who joined UESI while in college, introduced his wife to the ministry. While in the beginning Shyla didn’t know how to host and engage with students, she now loves seeing them grow.

Shyla remembers when a young woman, a seeker from another faith, moved to Bengaluru for college and struggled with loneliness during weekends.

“Friday evening to Sunday evening was the most difficult period for her because her roommates would go out with their boyfriends [and] come back with stories of fancy dates and expensive gifts,” Shyla recalled. So she invited the student to stay at their house on weekends. For a whole year, the student would spend the weekend with their family, attending church with them on Sundays before she went back to college on Monday morning. The student ended up becoming a strong Christian and now has her own family.

“At that time, if I had avoided [opening my home to her], thinking every weekend was too much, I don’t know where she would have been,” Shyla said.

C. S. noted that while an Open Home doesn’t mean the couple is available 24-7, it’s “an attitude that says, ‘When there’s a problem, my doors are open.’” By building trust with the students, the couple can create an “atmosphere that will give young people the freedom to reach out without hesitation,” he added.

Another time, Shyla received a call from a young woman who was in tears. She had gotten drunk and had a one-night stand, and she wanted to see Shyla. Shyla invited her to their home immediately to counsel her and comfort her. “In such situations, I cannot say, ‘Oh it’s a weekday; I don’t have the time,’” Shyla said.

Yet the couple also faced challenges with the demands of an open home when their son was young. Most students were free on Saturdays, but that was also the time the family could spend together. So during the week, Shyla made an effort to take her son on walks and spend extra time with him. Still, he struggled.

“At one point in his teenage years, he even said that he wanted nothing to do with his parents’ God because they were so sold-out for students,” said Shyla. Now, with their son an adult, his parents say he loves his childhood and claims the renunciation was part of his teenage rebellion. Yet Shyla stresses the need for families hosting open homes to prioritize their kids.

They also had to set strict boundaries, especially as college girls would come and sometimes stay overnight in their house. Shyla made sure there was no touching or long interactions between her then-teenage son and the college students and that the women dressed modestly in the home.

Hosting an open home also comes with financial costs. At times, C. S. and Shyla have loaned students money for college fees or chipped in for medical emergencies. The couple had to budget their own household expenses more tightly so they could help students out.

“When you walk alongside a person’s spiritual journey, there may be financial struggles on the way,” C. S. said. “You cannot say that ‘I’ll be there only for spiritual things and nothing else.’”

Theophilus John Thota, a staff member of UESI, noted that with rising living costs and more households where both spouses work long hours, setting up open homes in big cities is becoming increasingly difficult. Some young people are also less willing to open up to older couples, as they fear being judged or exposed to gossip. Students are also becoming busier and less available, Suthakar noted. With more and more Indian universities adopting rigorous schedules and frequent exams, students have little time to attend Bible studies and camps, including discipleship or leadership trainings that take place in couples’ homes.

Sometimes, only one student shows up for Bible study at Joy and Suthakar’s home. “It’s disappointing at times, but we know that not all students are always interested, and we try to reach out to them and understand any hindrances they may be facing,” said Joy.

For David, the open-home experience in Jaipur exposed her to a less-legalistic Christian environment than the church she grew up in. The open home in Jaipur was also a space where she could discuss more controversial topics like homosexuality and dating, which her church back in Indore never touched on.

A few months ago, David got married, and now she and her husband plan to open up their own home. Having grown up in an open home and then having experienced the warmth of open homes in Jaipur, David always imagined continuing the tradition after marriage.

“When I met my husband for the first time, for about an hour I only spoke about open homes and how I’d like to have one after getting married,” David said.

- More from Divya Chirayath

Books

Review

An Unpersuasive Plea for Christians to Swing Left

Matthew Loftus

Phil Christman’s apology for progressive politics ignores points of natural affinity with conservatives.

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty, Eerdmans

One of the less interesting but increasingly common attacks one hears in Christian institutions is that some person or group is trying to “smuggle” liberalism or leftism into the church. Those targeted this way might claim to be bona fide evangelicals who believe the Bible. But critics suspect they’re merely mouthing the right words so they can sneak their Trojan horse of radical Marxism inside the gates of your church.

No one can make this accusation against Phil Christman’s new book Why Christians Should Be Leftists. It says right in the title that he’s not advocating a third way or just trying to make conservative Christians better listeners. Christman, an English professor who has worked extensively in the prison system, genuinely wants Christians to be political leftists.

I am, in some ways, part of the target audience for this book. At the very least, I am deeply sympathetic to what Christman wants: I have a half-finished document from 2019 sitting in my drafts folder entitled “Why Christian Conservatives Should Be Leftists and Leftists Should Be Conservative Christians.” Which makes it all the more disappointing to find that Christman hasn’t given the average right-leaning Christian any especially compelling arguments for swinging left.

Why Christians Should Be Leftists begins with Christman’s own story of coming to reject many of the political assumptions of his evangelical youth. He describes a transformative encounter with the Sermon on the Mount that forced him to acknowledge the value of each person created in God’s image. This realization, in turn, forced him to reconsider any economic or political arrangement that would exploit a person’s labor or judge that person by his or her earning potential.

Christman’s account of this moral awakening, along with later chapters expounding on the political implications of Jesus’ teachings, are the most compelling parts of the book. His convictions in this vein are worth celebrating and emulating—all people, even our most-hated political enemies, deserve a legal and social order that honors their inherent worth as human beings. However, it feels as if these later portions should have come earlier, helping to establish common ground with readers by describing the biblical basis for the author’s political principles. Instead, he jumps right into the more contentious bits.

Part of the problem with those contentious bits is that Christman doesn’t explicitly define the entire program he wants readers to subscribe to—or even prioritize. The closest he gets to defining the “leftism” he advocates comes in the second chapter, when he enumerates a set of specific practices and principles. As he argues, Christianity entails

massive redistribution of wealth (either through alms or taxes), the right of marginalized communities and exploited nations to self-defense, a much-lessened emphasis on punishment-for-its-own-sake and on revenge and a much greater emphasis on harm reduction in our systems of punishment, an abhorrence of war, and an avoidance of the hoarding of wealth and power.

Much of the book focuses on his first and last point, about the concentration of wealth and power in society and the ways it ought to be redistributed. There are some compelling arguments here—namely, that the wealthy and powerful will always be tempted to exploit the weak and poor to acquire more wealth and power. Christman rightly observes that there are no abstract and scientific laws of economics that somehow supersede our moral obligations to one another. The temptation to treat people like machines has existed for a very long time, and every political system requires strong restraints against exploiting people like property.

Beyond this, though, Why Christians Should Be Leftists never distinguishes between primary, secondary, and tertiary issues. The author knows quite well that conservative Christians will be squeamish about certain cultural issues, but the book heavily implies that a good leftist will adopt the standard liberal or left-wing perspective on issues like abortion, same-sex marriage, and gender identity.

Abortion, for example, gets only one long footnote, despite the role of pro-life convictions in keeping Christians aligned with the Republican Party. To many Christians, abortion is the ultimate legally sanctioned instance of treating people like property. Christman claims that “bans don’t work” (although evidence exists that they can, including recent research from scholars at Johns Hopkins University, who concluded that a Texas ban increased the number of births in the state). Even setting that debate aside, pro-life Christians generally retain a strong moral notion that governments looking out for people created in God’s image should extend that same solicitude to unborn children.

Christman argues that the best way to reduce abortions is “a very strong social safety net for new parents.” This is neither a new argument nor one that yields a settled consensus. It fits naturally, though, alongside a broader argument that building a more generous welfare state promotes the formation of strong families.

Numerous conservatives, however marginal they might be within current power structures, have advanced such arguments. Yet Christman doesn’t acknowledge any of this. Where do the Christian democratic parties of Europe, which have linked cultural conservatism and aggressive welfare policies for decades, fit into the picture? The book doesn’t say.

Similarly, there are many topics of public debate where the leftist concern for poor people being exploited points toward natural alliances with conservatives. The lure of legal euthanasia in Canada pressures the poorest citizens to end their lives. Unrestricted gambling is immiserating vulnerable families. Universally accessible porn is inculcating vicious misogyny against women and girls.

On such matters, any leftist should be able to tell a conservative neighbor, “Hey! We’re on the same side, and we want the government to intervene.” Christman misses an opportunity by ignoring these possibilities. (He also includes a handful of whoppers, like his claim that “the infant mortality rate for Black children in the United States is at positively premodern levels.” In fact, the infant mortality rate for Black Americans is about 10.8 per 1,000 live births, twice the rate for white children but still consistent with trends across America back in the mid-1980s.)

Ultimately, though, the biggest flaw with Why Christians Should Be Leftists is that it will do little to change minds among most right-leaning Christians.

I won’t fault the book for not being a dense work of political theology, although omitting John Calvin’s statement from his commentary on Psalm 82—that political rulers “are appointed to be the guardians of the poor”—feels like another missed opportunity. But other gaps are less defensible. One critical issue—the distinction between private charity and government aid that historic Christian leftists like Dorothy Day would have vigorously emphasized—receives just one footnote. Another—immigration—barely registers on the book’s discussion of global justice. The uncomfortable political reality is that unlimited immigration will undermine even the most robust welfare system. Many countries with generous social safety nets have found themselves reckoning with this tension in recent years.

Over the past few decades, extreme poverty and child mortality have decreased dramatically across the world even while wealth and power have remained concentrated in the hands of a few. This suggests that free markets can accomplish a great deal of good, even without countervailing government policies designed to reduce income inequality. But Christman betrays little awareness of these patterns. In general, he simply makes little effort to argue from biblical principles to concrete policies or even the general direction of leftism.

As a result, I struggle to think of any non-leftist Christian who would benefit from reading this book. Christman excels when thinking theologically about what it means for human beings to be created and loved by God. But then he simply assumes that readers, having contemplated these truths, will embrace leftist politics as a matter of course.

There are many Christians, like me, who wouldn’t mind paying higher taxes to help fund a more vigorous welfare state, even as we maintain strong convictions about abortion, marriage, and euthanasia. Unfortunately, we are still waiting for a book that might convince our left-skeptical friends to join us.

Matthew Loftus lives with his family in Kenya, where he teaches and practices family medicine at a mission hospital. His book Resisting Therapy Culture: The Dangers of Pop Psychology and How the Church Can Respond is forthcoming from InterVarsity Press.

- More from Matthew Loftus

News

Judge Blocks Texas’ Campus Speech Cutoff After Student Ministry Lawsuit

Phoebe S. Gibson

District court: “The First Amendment does not have a bedtime of 10:00 p.m.”

The University of Texas at Dallas in Richardson, Texas.

Mak Studio / Getty Images

Key Updates

September 16, 2025

Texas Student Ministry Sues over Law Cutting Off Free Speech at 10 p.m.

A federal judge has halted enforcement of a new Texas law that restricts when students can engage in “expressive conduct” on university grounds.

Weeks after a campus ministry at the University of Texas Dallas and other student groups in the University of Texas system sued over the law, claiming it violated free speech, district judge David Alan Ezra issued a preliminary injunction.

The law didn’t allow students to take part in First Amendment–protected speech or activities between 10 p.m. and 8 a.m. and barred guest speakers, amplified sound, and drum-playing leading up to finals week. Leaders with the Fellowship of Christian University Students worried about implications for evangelism, evening worship, and other activities.

Ezra wrote in the court order on Tuesday,

The First Amendment does not have a bedtime of 10:00 p.m. The burden is on the government to prove that its actions are narrowly tailored to achieve a compelling governmental interest. It has not done so.

September 16, 2025

New restrictions on campus speech in Texas have spurred a lawsuit from a coalition of student groups, including a Dallas ministry concerned about the impact on Bible studies, worship nights, and evangelism on campus.

The Campus Protection Act bans First Amendment–protected speech or expressive conduct between 10 p.m. and 8 a.m. and prohibits using amplified sound, playing drums, or inviting guest speakers during the last two weeks of the semester.

In the wake of Charlie Kirk’s death, Texas lawmakers will meet to reexamine free speech protections at universities, including the implications of the new law, which passed last session and went into effect September 1.

Although legislators drafted the law in response to last year’s pro-Palestine protests as a means of “ensuring safety, order, and respect,” per the bill’s sponsor, it simultaneously impacts outreach by organizations such as the Fellowship of Christian University Students (FOCUS).

“It does matter that we as a ministry can meet students where they’re at when they need it,” said Juke Matthews, a FOCUS council chair at The University of Texas at Dallas. Someone could be going “through it at 10 p.m. at night, and as somebody who wants to look like Jesus, I want to be able to meet them or talk to them at that time and help them walk through things.”

State officials announced Friday that they formed two legislative committees in honor of Kirk, who was killed at a college event in Utah last week. According to the officials, the committees will also monitor “the climate of discourse and freedom of speech on campus” in light of the recently enacted Campus Protection Act and make recommendations for future policy decisions.

On September 3, FOCUS—alongside The Retrograde student newspaper, Young Americans for Liberty, the Texas Society of Unconventional Drummers, and Strings Attached—filed suit against The University of Texas system, which encompasses nine university campuses across the state, including in Arlington, Austin, Dallas, El Paso, San Antonio, and Tyler.

The student groups are represented by the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE), a nonpartisan free speech advocacy group.

“Early morning prayer meetings on campus, for example, are now prohibited by law,” the lawsuit contends. “Students best beware of donning a political t-shirt during the wrong hours. And they must think twice before inviting a pre-graduation speaker, holding a campus open-mic night to unwind before finals, or even discussing the wrong topic—or discussing almost anything—in their dorms after dark.”

The Campus Protection Act walks back previous legislation that strengthened free speech on public college campuses in Texas and “casts a long censorial shadow,” according to the complaint. FIRE attorney Adam Steinbaugh argues that administrators can prevent disruptive conduct without issuing such broad restrictions.

The university system declined to comment to local media, citing pending litigation, and has not responded to an updated request for comment.

The act’s rollout this month corresponds with heightened scrutiny around free expression in state schools, with a Texas A&M professor fired over gender-identity lessons in a literature course, a Texas Tech University student arrested at a campus vigil for Kirk, and officials poised to discipline dozens of teachers and professors over social media responses around the conservative figure.

In The Chronicle of Higher Education, Yale Law School professor Keith E. Whittington referred to “the assassination that broke campus free speech” and wrote that the outcry over Kirk’s death “kicked into overdrive the interest of colleges in punishing members of the campus community for politically inflammatory speech.”

J-Stop Media

UT-Dallas student Juke Matthews (second from right) leads the university’s chapter of FOCUS.

At UT Dallas, a campus lecture hall turns into a sanctuary of sorts each Friday during the semester for FOCUS’s large group gathering called The Grove. With string lights, a curated worship playlist, live music, and Bible teaching delivered by a campus pastor, The Grove is where FOCUS invites students to learn about God and connect with one another.

The gathering concludes around 9 p.m., but Matthews said it’s not uncommon for cries of “encore” to ring out after the music ends or for fellowship to linger on into the night.

Whether they head to the Taco Bell Cantina on campus to grab a late-night snack or stay after the worship service to talk, students can’t count on campus ministry outreach ending at a time the law demands.

Much of evangelism is relational, “and that’s often how we see Jesus go about it,” said Matthews, a senior.

“He’s building friendships with people and getting to know them, meeting them where they’re at. In the same way, we try to meet people on campus and get to know them, share our stories with one another, and invite them into our ministry to experience community. Not having that time period where we can have those expressive activities, I think it is just going to be very harmful to that,” he said.

A few of the late-night chats Matthews has been a part of stemmed from the sermons preached at The Grove, often “to address what someone’s feeling then and there.” In his experience, these conversations can take anywhere from an hour to two—or on rare occasions they go as late as 2 a.m.

FOCUS leaders also worry the law could stymie the ministry of its campus pastors. As it stands, the Campus Protection Act limits expressive activity to students and employees only, reversing a previous version of the law that protected First Amendment rights of “any person” in the common outdoor areas of public Texas universities.

Campus pastors—employed by FOCUS, not the university—facilitate and support ministry events, from teaching at The Grove each week to helping student leaders plan small group Bible studies and even leading Bible studies themselves.

As the semester winds down, the support of campus pastors is more important than ever as students prepare for exams and “have less time to give to the ministry,” Matthews said. Large group meetings, study nights, and worship nights “would be just be out of the question those last two weeks,” he added.

While meeting off campus is an option, it can be logistically challenging since many students live on campus and some don’t drive or have vehicles.

“Throughout the Bible, we see a lot of people who are in much more dangerous and hard areas to evangelize. God still wants to do that effort. Regardless of what happens with this law, I do trust that God will be with us as a ministry and the other ministries at UTD,” Matthews said. “But I also think it’s important that we as an organization step up and try to fight for our rights.”

- More from Phoebe S. Gibson

Church Life

‘Make the Truth Interesting to Hear, Even Enjoyable’

Interview by Divya Chirayath

Robert Clements doesn’t shy away from his Christian faith in his newspaper column. Yet Indian readers keep coming back for more.

Image courtesy of Bob Clements

In the past 30 years, Robert Clements’ daily column, Bob’s Banter, has appeared in more than 60 newspapers and magazines, most of them in India but also in countries like the UK, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, and the United Arab Emirates. His articles, which are translated into Hindi, Urdu, and Punjabi, reach an estimated 6 million people.

In a country where only 2 percent of the population is Christian, Clements sees his work as a calling, as he uses his writing both to point people to God and to call out injustices against Christians in India. Using satire and humor to engage readers, Clements comments on everything from politics to relationships to faith.

Today, the 70-year-old Indian writer isn’t slowing down as he continues Bob’s Banter, teaches writing, gives motivational speeches, and writes books and musicals. Three of his books will be published soon.

Christianity Today spoke to Clements, who lives in Mumbai with his wife, about what it means to be a Christian writer in India, what his message is for aspiring writers, and how the everyday momentsinspire his columns. This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

How did you get into writing?

I’ve always been passionate about words. I wrote my first little novel when I was 12, and around that time I had the thrill of being published. Through my college years, I supported myself by writing and selling nearly 80 radio plays.

Later I started a successful business in civil contracting. It was good work, but writing never left me. With the encouragement of my wife, Lata—who is a doctor—I eventually stepped away from the business and moved into full-time writing more than 30 years ago.

The skills I had honed in business—persistence, negotiation, and learning not to take no for an answer—helped me navigate the publishing world and approach editors. My first column found a home in The Times of India, and from there, the journey gathered momentum. Looking back, I see now that this was more than just a career shift; it was a calling. God had given me a gift with words, and he opened doors for me to use them—not just to make a living but to speak truth, bring hope, and point people to him.

You grew up in a Christian home. At what point did your faith become real to you?

It happened not in a church pew but while facing the hard realities of business. After completing my master’s in English, I boarded a train from Chennai to Mumbai with only 500 rupees [$6 USD] in my pocket. I was young, ambitious, and determined to make a mark. But Mumbai, with its relentless pace and cutthroat competition, quickly stripped me of illusions. There were days when I wasn’t sure how I’d pay rent or even afford the next meal.

It was in those moments of uncertainty that I found God—not as a distant idea but as a living presence. In the loneliness of a rented room, in the worry of unpaid bills, I discovered a God who cared about me personally, who provided in ways I couldn’t explain, and who became more real than the challenges I faced.

My wife also had a childlike faith. Together we learned to bring everything—finances, decisions, family, work—before him in prayer. Time after time, we saw him answer in ways that left us humbled.

But Christianity is more than answered prayers—it is salvation itself. The simple but life-changing truth is that because Jesus died for my sins, I now have fellowship with God. I am his child, and he guides me. That is the message I carry in my writing and speaking: It isn’t complicated. It isn’t about rituals. It’s about accepting what Christ has already done and living in the reality of his presence.

What was your column, Bob’s Banter, like when you started it 1993?

Because of my initial experience writing plays, most of my earlier writing took on a conversational tone. To keep readers engaged, the columns consisted of banter between two characters. The name Bob’s Banter stuck, although my writing today includes spiritual or motivational articles as well as political satire. I try to see whether I can take the serious issues of politics, society, and faith and write about them with a smile. For instance, recently I read a newspaper headline about how Indians are treating AI chatbots as their personal doctor and turned it into a piece about how Indian politicians similarly prescribe ill-informed remedies for people’s problems.

To my joy, readers embraced it. Some said they laughed, then cried; others said they were offended but still couldn’t stop reading. That, I thought, was the perfect mix.

You’ve written more than 7,000 pieces over your writing career. How do you come up with fresh ideas for your columns and articles?

Everywhere. Imagination is a gift God has blessed me with, and it allows me to see columns in the most ordinary of moments. One day it may be a crying baby reaching out for a ball—that became one of my recent columns. Another day, it may be a politician stretching the truth. Sometimes the spark is a line from Scripture; other times it’s a conversation with my wife over morning coffee.

I often tell people that life writes my columns for me—I simply put them on paper. The world is full of stories waiting to be told, lessons waiting to be drawn out. A writer’s task is to notice them, to listen carefully to both the world and to God’s gentle whispers within it.

In the classes I teach for aspiring writers, I call this the “looking out of the window” technique. You look out of a window, take in whatever you see—whether it’s a tree, a bird, or a passing stranger—and train yourself to imagine a story around it. Over time, that practice sharpens not just creativity but also attentiveness to life itself.

One of my favorite examples came from watching a stray dog sleeping outside my gate. As I watched it, I began to reflect on loyalty, belonging, and the way society treats its weakest. By the time I finished writing the article, it had turned into a full-fledged column on compassion, which struck a chord with readers across the country.

And often humor sneaks in too. I’ve found that satire disarms people—it makes them laugh even as it makes them think. A baby grasping for a ball can become a lesson on perseverance; a politician’s “elastic truths” can become a joke that leaves readers both chuckling and pondering. That’s the joy of writing for me: to take the everyday and show that hidden inside is a story, sometimes serious, sometimes funny, but always pointing to something larger than itself.

How did you find your voice as a writer? Do you have any advice for aspiring writers on finding their voice?

My voice as a writer has evolved over the years. Initially I leaned heavily on satire—it was sharp, funny, and often biting. But with time I realized that writing is not only about pointing out what’s wrong but also about showing a way forward.

When I began writing with solutions in mind, my style became gentler, more persuasive. Satire still plays a central role in my columns, yet truth has been my guiding principle, and that conviction has kept me steady even when writing in difficult contexts.

For example, I’ve had a Sunday column running for more than 15 years in a newspaper based in Nagpur, the headquarters of India’s Hindu-nationalist group Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, or RSS. Many of those columns contain strong pro-Christian views. At times I’ve received hateful comments, but more often I get notes of appreciation. The fact that they’ve continued running my writing all these years tells me that truth, when expressed fairly, can find its way into even the hardest places.

My advice to aspiring writers is simple: Writing is a gift from God. With that gift comes a choice. Do you want to be popular, or do you want to be respected for telling the truth? If you choose truth, then learn to wield it with precision. Don’t bludgeon your opponents—cut carefully, like a surgeon, so that your words heal even as they correct. Be fair. Develop arguments that can win people over, not just rally those who already agree with you. And always write in a way that even those who don’t enjoy reading will still find themselves drawn in.

How do you incorporate your Christian faith into your writing?

I don’t force Scripture into my writing; I let it seep in. My faith is not a separate compartment of my life. It’s the lens through which I see everything: politics, society, family, even cricket. If God is central to my life, then naturally he will appear in my words.

It’s a little like seasoning food—you don’t always see the salt, but you taste it. In the same way, I believe Scripture should be used gently in writing. Don’t throw the Bible at readers, but weave it in so that they glimpse truth for themselves. That’s when it becomes an invitation rather than an argument.

I also believe Christians in India need to be intentional about mixing with people of other faiths. Too often we live in a “ghetto”—we know how to speak to our own, and then we use the same language when addressing others. But that isn’t the way it works. To communicate effectively, we must meet people where they are, respect their perspective, and share our experiences honestly.

At the same time, we should never be ashamed of speaking about our faith. In today’s India, where Christians face suspicion and attacks, it is important to explain to our fellow citizens that their fears are unfounded—that someone becoming a Christian does not mean they have changed their loyalty to another country. We remain fully Indian even as we worship differently.

What are the biggest hurdles you’ve faced as a Christian writer in India?

In India, writing openly about faith can invite ridicule, suspicion, or even censorship. There’s also the temptation to dilute your convictions, to make your words more “acceptable.” For me, the way through has been to write on different topics and in varying styles each day. I don’t aim for a knockout blow by quoting long passages of Scripture. Instead, I slip in a slice of truth—just enough for readers to taste it, recognize it, and perhaps hunger for more.

Ironically, some of the hardest hurdles I’ve faced have not come from editors of other faiths but from Christian editors themselves. I remember clearly two incidents—one in a major newspaper, another in a magazine—where my column was removed. Not debated, not questioned, but simply taken out. Why? I believe it was because those editors were embarrassed by their own faith. That was painful but also revealing.

But here’s the wonder of it: When that editor pulled my column, I submitted my writing to a bigger newspaper, and my writing reached an even greater audience. God was at work behind the scenes, opening bigger doors than I could have imagined. What looked like rejection became redirection. And that’s been the story of my journey as a Christian writer—hurdles are real, but they are never final. They are simply the backdrop against which God shows his hand more clearly.

What advice would you give an up-and-coming Christian writer, especially in India?

Be wise. Don’t assume that the words you use from the pulpit or to a Christian gathering will work the same way outside that space. Context matters. Don’t put down another religion. Instead, let your writing be so fair, truthful, bold, and courageous that people will want to know more about you—and ultimately about the God you believe in.

It’s a slow process, but in a land where truth is often wanting, your voice will eventually be heard. Practice not only through writing but also through speaking. When you learn to communicate effectively to an audience who may not share your faith, those same skills will make your writing more persuasive. Look at everyday situations and problems, and offer solutions grounded in biblical truth—but do it in a way that is not preachy. Make the truth interesting to hear, even enjoyable. Humor, when used well, can be a powerful bridge.

Discipline matters too. Write daily. Read widely. Observe keenly. And never underestimate the power of prayer—pray before you send your article to a publisher, asking that your words be used for God’s purpose. Don’t chase trends; chase truth. Don’t write to please; write to pierce.

And remember this: Writing is not about showing off your vocabulary. It’s about showing up with honesty. In a country like India, where truth is often muffled, your words can become a megaphone for justice, compassion, and hope. Use it well.

- More from Divya Chirayath

Theology

The Way We Debate Atonement Is a Mess

Brad East

Contributor

A case study in how Christians talk about theology, featuring a recent dustup over penal substitutionary atonement.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons

This is an article about penal substitutionary atonement, or PSA. I’d like to attempt the herculean feat of discussing PSA without slander, rancor, or resort to a straw man. I leave it to you, dear reader, to judge whether I succeed.

Speaking of impossible tasks, I’m also going to avoid adjudicating the merits and demerits of PSA itself. I’ll discuss arguments for and against it, but I’m not going to tell you where you should land. Rather, I’m mostly going to talk about how we talk about PSA. Scholars call this “second-order discourse.” Normies call it “meta.” Either way, my concern is not the doctrine per se, but rather the way Christians discuss it with one another—or perhaps I should say, the ways we fail to do so.

With me so far? Good. Let’s get started.

Last month, there was a dustup online about a recent book that purports to be the final nail in the coffin of PSA. I have nothing to say about that book, because I haven’t read it. For my purposes, its publication was only the latest in a long line of confrontations between two groups.

One consists of those who believe that PSA is, at a minimum, a crucial component of the Christian gospel. For some of them, in fact, PSA is the heart of the gospel itself.

Let’s call folks in this first group pro-PSA. Typically, though not always, they are Reformed Protestants and evangelicals, a recognizable mix of academic, pastoral, and lay writers, speakers, and ordinary believers who care deeply about the integrity of Christian faith, doctrine, and preaching.

The second group I’ll call anti-PSA. Adherents in this case are united less by what they share than by what they reject. They include non-Reformed evangelicals, exvangelicals, mainline Protestants, biblical scholars, and members of high-liturgical traditions like Anglicanism, Eastern Orthodoxy, and Roman Catholicism.

Like their backgrounds, the reasons for this second group’s opposition to PSA are diverse. Some believe that it is unbiblical; others that it is a historical novelty; others still that it is specific to Calvinism, a departure from patristic and medieval doctrine, or just bad theology. Above all, they share the conviction—sometimes intellectual, just as often emotional, a visceral gut feeling—that PSA is bad for people to believe.

Why might it be bad to believe? There are two main answers, one vertical and one horizontal. On the vertical side, some say PSA proposes a distorted picture of God. The argument is that the doctrine presents God as a vindictive and bloodthirsty monarch who cannot forgive—whose anger cannot be mollified—until retributive violence is enacted. Such a deity, in effect, hates us until his wrath is satisfied (and maybe still hates us then), the blood sacrifice of an innocent victim converting his wrath into love.

When anti-PSA rhetoric is turned up to 11, people designate this “divine child abuse.” In this telling, the Father must vent his anger upon his own Son, raining down unspeakable cosmic punishment until every last drop of blood is paid for sin. Only then do grace and mercy become available to the guilty.

On the horizontal side, some say PSA is bad because it distorts human relationships. Whether in the family, the city, or the church, justice becomes retributive and punitive all the way down. Transgressors get what’s coming to them, justice is indistinguishable from vengeance, and the forces of law and order imitate Almighty God by forswearing mercy and executing punishment to the last farthing. Parental and church discipline become unsparing. Guilt, shame, and public punishment are integrated within and inseparable from every level of society, informing responses to everything from childish errors to grave evils.

Now, before we ask what the pro-PSA have to say for themselves, it’s worth pausing to make two observations. First, whatever the merits of the anti-PSA case, it is very rarely marked by making a steel man of the opposing position—or even truly engaging it. That is to say, anti-PSA advocates often are not talking to their pro-PSA brothers and sisters in Christ. They are talking about and at them. Too often what they are pointing to, mocking, and shouting at is a straw man.

In short, sophisticated theological supporters of PSA are highly unlikely to agree with an anti-PSA summary of their views (high school encounters with Jonathan Edwards notwithstanding). In any debate, Christians talking past one another like this is a problem.

Second, much is made in anti-PSA arguments of the doctrine’s perceived impact. Often—not always—the reasons proposed for rejecting it are consequentialist, which means they are not so much about whether it is true or rooted in biblical teaching as whether its purported downstream effects are desirable.

This is always the weakest way to argue over Christian doctrine. Why? Because the truths of the gospel can always be abused. As the ancient maxim has it, abusus non tollit usum: Abuse does not invalidate proper use. The fact, for example, that some pastors use the faith to benefit themselves financially does not render the faith false; it just means that anything, no matter how good, can be twisted to evil ends.

We should not doubt that PSA may be and sometimes has been put to bad ends, leading to misshapen views of God or shame-filled faith. Yet this does not and cannot obviate the experience of those for whom PSA has produced just the opposite. Nor can we decide the matter by simply weighing positive and negative experiences against each other. That’s just not how Christian theology works. The matter is the thing itself, and the question is whether it’s true. That question, in turn, is answered by turning to Holy Scripture.

So consider now what the pro-PSA would say in reply to their opponents—not the straw man but the genuine article.

First, the Son who suffers divine wrath is himself God in the flesh. There is no division or separation between Father and Son, for together with the Spirit they are one God: one nature, one essence, one will. It is, according to PSA, the one will of the one triune God for the eternal Son of the heavenly Father to assume human nature in order to suffer the justice due sinners, that they might receive his perfect righteousness as a pure, unmerited gift.

Second, the mission of the incarnate Son is not a last-ditch effort to divert the unloving rage of a God who otherwise eternally wishes to smite us. The Father sends the Son in the power of the Spirit precisely in order to save us—and to save us, in Paul’s words, “while we were yet sinners” and “enemies” of God (Rom. 5:8, 10, RSV throughout). Which is to say, to save us when we did not deserve it. The Son does not transform the Father’s disposition from malice to mercy. Jesus’ very presence among us is a revelation of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit’s united, sovereign, and invincible mercy toward sinners from everlasting to everlasting.

Third, PSA is a particular combination of elements in the biblical witness that no one can deny. These elements include justice, wrath, transgression, guilt, debt, punishment, and exchange. At their best, advocates of PSA believe the doctrine integrates these biblical elements into a single vision of God’s saving work in Christ that complements, rather than excludes, other orthodox descriptions of the atonement. PSA thus seeks to comprehend God’s multiple roles in relation to us: not only father, brother, and friend but also creator, king, and judge.

The upshot: As lawbreakers, fallen humanity merits punishment in the divine law court. This punishment is God’s own wrath against sin, which is the failure to render God the obedience and worship he is due as Creator. But precisely because he loves us and “desires all people to be saved” (1 Tim. 2:4, ESV), God provides what he demands before we could even think to ask for it. In a word, he provides himself.

The Lord puts himself in our stead, living the fully human life we failed to live. What is due us he takes upon himself: wrath, curse, punishment, and death. What is due him he gives to us: life, freedom, sonship, and righteousness. “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21).

This is the “substitution” in PSA, or what Martin Luther liked to call “this fortunate exchange” whereby Christ “took upon Himself our sinful person and granted us His innocent and victorious Person.” Before Luther a similar understanding was proposed by Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury in the late 11th century, who used the language of “satisfaction” to describe what Christ, as the God-man, does in our place, for our sake. He assumed all that we are in order to give us all that he is. In doing so he satisfied the perfect justice of God once for all—a marvelous substitution and unspeakable gift.

Now, having done my best to represent PSA according to its best lights, it seems only fair to do the same for its critics—to continue on in order to model the mode of theological debate I’m aiming to promote. Because while my sketch of anti-PSA objections above is accurate, it remains incomplete. Let me bolster the case with additional criticisms without letting go of the commitment to fraternal charity.

First, consider the difference between the subtleties of academic theology and the practicalities of the pulpit. Far too often the way pastors preach and speak about PSA resembles the straw man I outlined earlier. God sounds vindictive; Father and Son appear opposed; wrath overshadows love; mercy seems secondary rather than primary. PSA may not be wrong, but some pro-PSA pastors are on the hook for sloppy preaching.

Second, anti-PSA Christians are right to object to the way some in the pro-PSA camp treat the doctrine as synonymous with the gospel. This is both unhelpful and outlandish. At its worst, it calls into question the very salvation of any believer who doubts or even downplays PSA.

It also brings us to the third and most significant observation, which is that PSA really is a historical and doctrinal innovation. By “innovation” I do not mean that it has no precedent in Christian history before the Reformation, nor do I mean that its newness means it’s wrong. What I mean is that any honest study of church history must admit that the particular formulation of penal substitutionary atonement that came to birth with Luther and Calvin is genuinely new. So is the doctrinal centrality accorded it by the traditions these Reformers founded.

The theological mainstream of patristic and medieval writing on the atonement differs from PSA in important respects. It is an uncodified mix of (1) Christus Victor, whereby Christ destroys death by his own perfectly faithful death and resurrection from the grave; (2) a miraculous exchange of natures, so that the sheer fact of the Incarnation heals our sin-sick selves through the union of divinity and humanity in Jesus; and (3) deification or theosis, which proclaims that God became human that we might become divine.

To be sure, there are bits and pieces of language and concepts in these older works that resemble or intersect with PSA. But these are largely the flotsam and jetsam of other, far more popular and influential theological formulations of the atonement. Moreover, pro-PSA folks tend to oversell the obviousness of doctrine, claiming it to be Paul’s own direct teaching, the “clear” message of the New Testament.

Neither of these claims is necessary for PSA to be true, any more than the apostles had to recite the Nicene Creed for it to be faithful to their teaching. The formulation and articulation of doctrine takes time, and there is no reason to suppose the atonement is simpler to understand than the Trinity, which likewise took centuries to develop into the form we now take for granted.

The Bible speaks in many ways about God’s saving work in Christ, and PSA is one fitting, venerable, and spiritually powerful way of putting the scriptural pieces together. It is, in other words, a perfectly reasonable proposal for how to understand biblical teaching—even if one isn’t persuaded by it. After all, Luther and Calvin were razor-sharp exegetes. Perhaps they saw, for almost the first time, something no one else before them had quite seen. “When the Spirit of truth comes,” Jesus taught, “he will guide you into all the truth” (John 16:13).

At the same time, the fact that for centuries almost no Christians taught what we now recognize as PSA makes it implausible that this is the one clear atonement teaching of the New Testament. And this brings me back to my larger interest in talking about how we talk about PSA.

Theology is an ongoing conversation about how best to speak the gospel. It is, therefore, a perpetual debate until the Lord’s return. The problem is not disagreement. The problem is Christian critics and advocates talking past each other. The problem, in a word, is rhetorical points counting more than fairness, clarity, or mutual respect between groups of fellow believers.

When we debate theology, we are speaking of and with sisters and brothers who understand and explain our common Lord’s life, death, and resurrection in modestly different ways than we do. We can differ with respect. Even better, we can differ with mutual understanding. When we argue, we can do it as disciples of Christ—even if we walk away agreeing to disagree.

Brad East is an associate professor of theology at Abilene Christian University. He is the author of four books, including The Church: A Guide to the People of God and Letters to a Future Saint.

- More from Brad East

Books

Review

Jesus Uses Money to Diagnose Our Spiritual Bankruptcy

Michael J. Rhodes

A new book immerses us in the strange, subversive logic of his financial parables.

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty, Baker Academic

When students in my Old Testament courses contrast the allegedly messy world of the first testament with the allegedly simple, straightforward teachings of Jesus, I know for sure they haven’t read the New Testament lately. When we read the Gospels, not least Jesus’ parables, we discover him saying all sorts of bizarre, borderline offensive things.

Keith Bodner is here to help relieve our confusion. His new book, Exploring the Financial Parables of Jesus: The Economy of Grace and the Generosity of God, gives a tour of God’s “economy of grace” by focusing on “parables with a financial edge.” Indeed, Bodner suggests these parables provide “an excellent point of entry into the larger biblical story.”

Along the way, as Bodner invites us to learn from the parables, he also offers guidance on immersing ourselves in them as readers. The book thus inspires readers to engage a genre of biblical literature Bodner playfully dubs the “TikTok of the New Testament,” while equipping them with tools to engage it well.

Exploring the Financial Parables of Jesus is both extremely accessible and delightful to read. Bodner, a religious studies professor at Crandall University in New Brunswick, Canada, displays a winning passion for good illustrations.

At various points, he likens the plot twists in parables to the endings of M. Night Shyamalan films, reframes the parable of the unjust steward (Luke 16:1–13) as the story of “an Oil Baron and an Embezzler,” and describes the Pharisee’s proud prayer—“God, I thank you that I am not like other people” (18:11)—as an instance of “virtue signaling.” Employing both wit and remarkable clarity, Bodner achieves his goal of writing a book that will captivate readers interested in the Bible but unfamiliar with the prevailing jargon in academic biblical studies.

At the same time, his simple presentations offer a sophisticated literary approach to the parables. Bodner slows us down, allowing us to feel the power of a story as it unfolds and consider the questions it raises along the way. For instance, Bodner’s interpretation of the parable of the vineyard workers (Matt. 20:1–16) pauses to ask why the owner keeps coming to the market where the unhired workers are throughout the day. Surely he doesn’t really need more workers once the evening rolls around. As the end of the parable confirms, the owner’s actions flow from his lavish generosity rather than any economic calculus.

Bodner’s story-sensitive approach also involves reading these parables alongside one another and with close attention to their immediate context. Doing so reveals hidden depths. Consider, for instance, the way Bodner reads the praying tax collector (Luke 18:9–14) alongside the story of the Prodigal Son. His reflections on the prodigal’s painful journey back to the father become a window for imagining what it costs a despised tax collector to take his own journey to the temple. Perhaps that journey to the temple, too, is a journey of repentance.

In addition, Bodner points out that the picture of a tax collector pleading for mercy in the temple raises questions about what happens next. “Should such a figure decide to start following Jesus,” he writes, “an immediate shift in priorities would need to take place. … At the end of the parable, the unlikely figure goes home justified but nonetheless has more work to do” on the road to “becoming a shareholder in the kingdom of God (or using the imagery in Luke 9:23, a “cross carrier).”

Such attention to the story allows the parables to become genuinely subversive. “Perhaps,” Bodner notes, “we’re all spiritually bankrupt, and, like the tax collector, we’ve sold out to the empire in various ways.” That means there’s more work for us to do as well.

The most surprising—and, for someone in my line of work, delightful—aspect of the book was how often Bodner pointed out rich allusions to the Old Testament in the parables. Reading the parable of the unjust steward alongside the story of the wicked King Ahab’s (faithful) steward Obadiah helps us see how both stories nudge us to costly acts of creative discipleship in response to God’s reign. And we learn something about the Bible’s expansive conception of neighbor relations, says Bodner, when we read the Good Samaritan parable as a “deliberate echo” of 2 Chronicles 28, another story about unexpected kindness extended across unlikely boundaries.

In line with his book’s subtitle, Bodner regularly reminds us that all these parables invite us to enter God’s “economy of grace.” His study attends to patterns of these parables “immersing” us in the “experience of forgiveness.” That is one of the primary gifts of the book; Bodner demonstrates that parables drawn from economic life invite us to reflect more deeply on God’s economy of salvation.

But I confess that, at times, I thought the economic and material aspects of that economy of grace deserved more emphasis.

For instance, when Bodner analyzes the parable of the rich fool (Luke 12:13–21), he suggests that Jesus’ words about being “rich toward God” refer to building up “relational capital.” That’s not all wrong, but I worry that readers prone to overspiritualizing Jesus’ teachings may miss his relentless emphasis on economic practices within the life of discipleship. When Jesus presents the kind of wealth many modern readers take for granted as a danger to genuine faithfulness, we shouldn’t downplay the plain meaning of his warnings.

To take another example: While Bodner’s treatment of the parable of the unjust steward is outstanding, I wish he had given more attention to Jesus’ admonition to “use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings” (16:9) That line seems to suggest something beyond an invitation, in Bodner’s words, to “live with wisdom and operate according to the economy of grace.” Perhaps Jesus is calling us, more specifically, to invest money in building a new kind of community.

This is not to say that Bodner ignores the financial implications of parable-shaped discipleship. Far from it! He acknowledges, for instance, that the Samaritan’s costly care for the injured man is a “tangible sign of the economy of grace,” because he undertakes it “with no chance of any return.” But again, I thought such themes merited more attention, given the emphasis on economic ethics in the Gospels.

In a similar vein, I suspect Bodner could have strengthened the book with more sustained reflection on the economic world of Jesus and his audience. In my experience, many Americans read the Gospels from a largely middle-class perspective. A great many people in Jesus’ day were barely scraping by, if not already slowly dying due to desperate poverty. By reminding readers of that background fact, Bodner might add more depth to his discussion of economic themes.

Consider, for instance, the way predatory debt wreaked havoc in the lives of Jesus’ listeners. Highlighting this dynamic would only enhance Bodner’s treatment of the parables about debt forgiveness. It might also underscore the connection between forgiveness of sins and the countercultural call upon disciples to give freely, without expectation of return.

At the same time, that background might also require further discussion of how Jesus’ audience would hear stories about, for instance, the “master” in the parable of the talents (Matt. 25:14–30). Bodner’s depiction of that master is fairly rosy; others have suggested that, to Jesus’ average listener, he would have sounded like the consummate exploiter. Even if Bodner disagrees with that line of thought, acknowledging the underlying complexity would strengthen his argument.

Nevertheless, part of the power of the book lies in the simple way it welcomes readers into the strange, subversive world of Jesus’ parables, and Bodner makes no claim to offer a comprehensive treatment of the parables he tackles. Exploring the Financial Parables of Jesus offers preachers, teachers, small-group leaders, and everyday Bible readers an outstanding window into this world, and the hope of being transformed by their journeys there. May the Lord use Bodner’s book to welcome all who read it into the everlasting riches of God’s glorious “economy of grace.”

Michael J. Rhodes is a lecturer in Old Testament at Carey Baptist College in New Zealand. He is the author of Just Discipleship: Biblical Justice in an Unjust World.

- More from Michael J. Rhodes

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