The Current No. 1 Christian Artist Has No Soul

Kelsey Kramer McGinnis

AI-generated musician Solomon Ray has stirred a debate among listeners, drawing pushback from popular human singer Forrest Frank.

Solomon Ray’s Facebook page describes the musician as “AI Voice/Mississippi Soul.”

Facebook

According to his Spotify profile, Solomon Ray is a “Mississippi-made soul singer carrying a Southern soul revival into the present.” His most recent release, a Christmas EP called A Soulful Christmas, features tracks with titles like “Soul to the World” and “Jingle Bell Soul.”

Ray is a verified artist on the streaming platform, draws over 324,000 monthly listeners, and became the top artist on the iTunes top 100 Christian and gospel albums chart this week.

But Solomon Ray (at least, this Solomon Ray) is not a real person. Artificial intelligence crafted his persona, voice, performance style, and lyrics.

AI-generated music is no longer a laughline or niche tech interest. More listeners are encountering songs created by algorithms and machines, whether by choice or by accident.

Last week, an AI-generated song—“Walk My Walk” by Breaking Rust—topped Billboard’s Country Digital Song Sales chart and hit 3 million streams on Spotify. Music enthusiasts now worry whether their new favorite song or artist is actually real.

Spotify released a statement in September pledging stronger impersonation protection for artists, an improved “music spam filter,” and intensified scrutiny of “deceptive content.” But these policies still allow publicly anonymous creators to post AI-generated artist profiles and music.

When the AI-generated band The Velvet Sundown surfaced over the summer, fooling droves of listeners with its retro ’70s-flavored rock, streaming platforms did not roll out features to label the content as AI-generated. When it comes to distinguishing AI-generated music, listeners are on their own.

Meta, the parent company of Facebook and Instagram, expanded its AI content moderation policies last year, mandating that the content be labeled.

View this post on Instagram

A video posted to Solomon Ray’s Instagram account featuring a rendition of “Silent Night” shows a Black man wearing a gold cross necklace, maroon suit, and tan fedora singing in front of twinkling lights.

There are some hints of AI animation that viewers might miss. A small note at the bottom of the video designates it as “AI info.” When clicked, a pop-up states that the profile’s owner has added an AI label to the video and that “AI may have been used for a wide range of purposes, from photo retouching to generating entirely new content.”

One viewer of the music video commented, “Is your music AI?” Another wrote, “This is AI. The lyrics are beautiful but it feels so wrong coming from a thing without a soul.”

Earlier this week, a worship leader named Solomon Ray started getting texts from friends, asking about his new music and marveling at how quickly it was climbing the Christian charts. That Solomon Ray is a real person, who also recently released an album and a Christmas single.

“At first, I didn’t understand what was going on,” said Ray, who leads worship at Fresh Life Church in Kalispell, Montana. He also records music as “Solo Ray” and has worked as a freelance producer and session musician for worship artists like Phil Wickham, Elevation Worship, Chris Tomlin, and Pat Barrett.

“Some friends were texting and calling because they thought it was funny, others were reaching out because they thought it was really me.”

The sudden success of an AI-generated artist on the Christian charts has sparked an online conversation about the ethics and theology of computer-generated art. After Solomon Ray’s EP took the No. 1 spot on the iTunes chart, Forrest Frank (who also released a Christmas single last week) weighed in on social media.

“At minimum, AI does not have the Holy Spirit inside of it,” Frank said. “So I think that it’s really weird to be opening up your spirit to something that has no spirit.”

The real person behind the character of Solomon Ray is Christopher “Topher” Townsend, a conservative hip-hop artist involved with Veterans for Trump, who performed at a rally that coincided with the January 6 storming of the Capitol in 2021. Following the event, Townsend’s song, “The Patriot,” was removed from Spotify, and Instagram banned him from going live on the platform.

In a video posted to Instagram on November 19, Townsend called himself “the man behind the machine.” He disagreed with Frank’s claim that Solomon Ray’s music has “no spirit,” saying, “This is an extension of my creativity, so therefore to me it’s art. It’s definitely inspired by a Christian. It may not be performed by one, but I don’t know why that really matters in the end.”

Townsend said that God can use any vehicle to reach people, even AI, and accused Frank of doing “more gatekeeping” than “uplifting.”

The real Solomon Ray chimed in on Frank’s video. “Should Forrest and I reclaim Christmas from the robots?” he asked.

Ray said that the last week has been amusing but also a little disheartening. “It bums me out to see people get hoodwinked by AI,” he told CT.

As a musician and producer, Ray said he immediately realized that the other Solomon Ray was AI-generated when he listened to the music. But he knows that most listeners wouldn’t necessarily hear the tells.

“There’s something in the high end of the vocals that gives it away,” said Ray. “And the creative choices sound like AI. It’s so precise that it’s clear no creative choices are really being made.”

As a worship leader, Ray says that, in his view, AI-generated music will never offer what the church needs. “How much of your heart are you pouring into this? If you’re having AI generate it for you, the answer is zero. God wants costly worship.”

Long before AI, Christians have debated how much to bring machines into music and worship.

Christian traditions like the Church of Christ have historically objected to the use of mechanical musical instruments in congregational music. Churches with high-production contemporary worship have to navigate the use of tools like autotune and click tracks.

AI-generated Christian music introduces new facets of the debate that seem to have most to do with what the music is for. Townsend reflects a utilitarian view of Christian music: that it is a vehicle for the gospel above all else. Frank takes more seriously the “inspirational” potential of Christian music as a cultivator of transcendent encounters with God.

For Christian artists and industry insiders, the conversation about AI-generated music is also about community and the creative value of making music, which can be transformative and spiritually meaningful for the humans involved.

Historically, though, the Christian music industry and its fans have leaned toward a utilitarian view of Christian media. Historian Leah Payne wrote that CCM has always been “part business, part devotional activity, part religious instruction.” Perhaps AI-generated music is simply another technological advancement—like radio, television, or social media—to be harnessed for the dissemination of gospel-centered entertainment.

In his new book AI Goes to Church, Todd Korpi suggests that “the biggest threat to creation at the hands of AI is in how it continues to feed our appetite for consumption and progress.” AI-generated music is faster and easier to produce than a studio album that requires real musicians, songwriters, and audio engineers—the relational part of making music. Korpi cautions that the use of AI might “continue the trend of disconnection and preference for the convenience of disembodied interaction that has shaped the last decade.”

- More from Kelsey Kramer McGinnis

Billy Graham’s Grandson Stephan Tchividjian Sees the ‘Heart of God’ Reflected in Christianity Today

How CT is upholding its founder’s legacy.

Melissa Huff

Image from National Christian Foundation South Florida

“One of the greatest blessings I received growing up was a deep invitation to develop your own personal relationship with Jesus,” says Stephan Tchividjian, the eldest grandchild of Billy and Ruth Graham. “I really believe this narrative cascaded from my grandparents.”

As a boy growing up in a family of seven children, Stephan Tchividjian, whose mother, Virginia “Gigi” Graham Tchividjian, is the eldest daughter of the Grahams, was surrounded by loving adults who spoke openly about their faith and actively encouraged Stephan and his siblings to develop their own relationship with God—one that emphasized honesty and candor through prayer, listening to the Holy Spirit, and even expressing doubts.

Stephan doesn’t take this for granted.

Tracing his own faith journey, Stephan points to a memory of becoming a Christian at the age of five when his family was living in Switzerland. “I believe that God had been working in my heart all along, but it was at that moment as a little child praying, ‘Dear Jesus, come into my heart’ that God actually did begin that work, though I didn’t understand it yet.”

When he was a college student, Stephan began to wrestle with his faith, asking himself if he was a Christian only because of the influence of his well-known family.“If I’d been raised in a Muslim or Hindu home, would I have the same belief systems and loyalties to those forms of belief and faith? I asked myself,” he says. Ultimately, Stephan came to the conclusion that Christianity is true and that his faith in God was real and not dependent on his family’s legacy.

He is grateful for his family’s spiritual guidance, particularly the way his parents regularly implored him to “go and talk to the Lord about it”—an admonition he now views as both wise parenting and practical theology. “I remember as a teenager getting into arguments with my parents about my curfew, and they would say, ‘You and the Lord talk about it, and let’s see what he says. Whatever he says, we’ll go with it.’ I thought it was a good idea at the time. As I got a little older, I came to realize that God was always on their side,” he says with a chuckle.

Now Stephan reflects on the faithful influence of his parents and grandparents, remarking that it was their “consistency and authenticity” that made Christianity attractive to him growing up. As the eldest grandchild, Stephan looks back fondly on his relationship with Billy Graham, affectionately known as “Daddy Bill” by his grandchildren.

Looking back, Stephan is amazed at how generous and intentional Graham was with his time, particularly during the most demanding years of his ministry. Stephan says that even in the midst of his grandfather’s busy event schedule and high-profile persona, he was present for the milestones and important moments, including Stephan’s confirmation in the Lutheran Church as a boy and later his wedding, where he officiated. He also had a close relationship with his grandmother, Ruth, whom he describes as “down to earth.” “We would talk at least a couple of times a month on the phone just to check in,” he says.

In one of the sharpest and most enduring memories of his childhood, Stephan recalls a rare privilege of being behind the scenes during one of Billy Graham’s crusades in the 1970s when “America’s pastor” was already a household name. “Daddy Bill” invited each of his grandchildren who were a certain age to shadow him during a ministry engagement.

Although it was nearly five decades ago, Stephan still has vivid memories of joining Daddy Bill for a crusade in San Diego. At the age of 12 or 13, outfitted in “a little coat and tie,” Stephen recounts that visit: “I just followed him everywhere he went. If he went to a TV interview, if he went to meet the mayor, if he was meeting with his team. I’m this little kid in an adult world.” Stephan recollects with nostalgia eating “a little hamburger and fries” with his grandfather at the hotel and being included as the older men were debriefing after the evangelistic event.

Stephan will never forget Graham’s gesture of love during a debriefing session with his ministry team: “He looked at me and said, ‘Stephan, do you have anything to add?’ I didn’t think much about it at the time. I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself, but what remains with me was the fact that I was seen.”

“This gesture from my grandfather has reminded me to look out for those who may feel unseen and to extend the love of Christ. Simply put, the gospel is that God sees me.”

The characteristics of humility and authenticity that Stephan points out in Billy Graham are also ones he sees reflected in the current ministry of Christianity Today. Stephan wishes Graham were alive today and could still be an “elder statesman” of Christianity, a voice of reason in our increasingly divisive and polarized society.

Stephan bemoans the current state of the American church. “It’s embarrassing when you have Christians attacking Christians,” he says. “But I do believe that it is at this time that our voice as believers is so desperately needed. There’s a Scripture verse that says, Be ready always to give a reason for the hope that’s in you, and do it with gentleness and respect” (1 Pet. 3:15).

Today, Stephan believes that Christianity Today is “that voice of reason” that Billy Graham modeled. For those who have become disillusioned with the church, politics, and cultural divisiveness, he wants to be a person whom nonbelievers and those who are hurting approach because they see the hope of Christ in him and want to know how they can have it too. Stephan says, “I see Christianity Today as a voice of gospel hope, a source for stories and ideas that reflect the heart of God.”

Stephan also says, “I appreciate that CT’s stories regularly cause me to consider things that I hadn’t considered before or see things from an angle that perhaps I didn’t see before.” Stephan credits his experiences of growing up all over the world for instilling in him an appreciation for diverse perspectives within the church as well as cultivating empathy for those who may be outside the church, whether culturally or spiritually. “Our level of tolerance and love increasingly grows when we actually get to know the person rather than labeling them,” he says.

“CT is thought-provoking, but never at the expense of the character of God. CT is intellectually stimulating, but appeals to the emotional part of my heart and my deep longings. CT will push me just enough to make me think and feel like I’ve got to be engaged.”

Currently, Stephan serves as the Co-Founder and CEO of the National Christian Foundation of South Florida, where he is helping Christians think more deeply about how to steward their resources and invest in the work of God’s kingdom, not only with their money but with their time and talents as well. He is also an associate pastor at Calvary Chapel Fort Lauderdale and serves on a variety of for-profit and nonprofit boards. Stephan’s passion is for the bride of Christ to unite around the biblical mission to share the good news around the world, and he sees his and his wife Lisa’s annual financial support of Christianity Today as an extension of this calling.

Stephan believes that CT has held fast to the vision his grandfather had when the ministry was founded 68 years ago. “My grandfather was criticized often for taking certain positions, his embracing of the Catholic community and his embrace of the Civil Rights Movement, for example. There were quite a few times of courage when he said, ‘Now I’m going to do this, even when it may be misunderstood amongst fellow believers, because this is what God has called me to do.’” As Stephan compares and sums up CT’s calling, he adds, “We’re here to honor and glorify the heart of God.”

Melissa Huff is foundation relationships manager at Christianity Today.

News

Utah Flocks to Crusade Event at Campus Where Charlie Kirk Was Killed

Harvest Prude in Orem, Utah

Evangelicals take the stage for worship and altar calls in the Mormon-majority state.

"Hope for America" Harvest Crusade in Utah

Photo via Harvest

Jeb Jacobi wasn’t sure about Sunday night’s gathering.

The last time he attended a big campus event at Utah Valley University (UVU), he watched from ten feet away as a bullet took Charlie Kirk’s life. He can replay the chaotic aftermath—everyone running in different directions, parents shielding their children’s eyes.

Just two months later, thousands returned to the Orem, Utah, school for a crusade held in Kirk’s memory. Jacobi felt relieved it took place indoors, with metal detectors, uniformed officers, and campus security monitoring the crowds that filled the basketball stands.

As they sang along with worship leader Phil Wickham, “Oh God, the battle belongs to you,” the music’s triumphant tone stood in stark contrast to the horror Jacobi and many others there had witnessed on September 10.

“Sixty-seven days ago, tragedy struck just feet from where we are now,” said Jonathan Laurie, son of Harvest Christian Fellowship pastor and evangelist Greg Laurie. “I believe even before Charlie knew what happened, he was in the arms of his Savior.”

A second-year student and member of UVU’s Turning Point USA chapter, Jacobi wore a white T-shirt with the word FREEDOM, designed after the one Kirk wore during his campus visit.

“God kept me safe that day,” said Jacobi, who’s Catholic. His faith has grown in the wake of the tragedy, and he’s seen more students join TPUSA who are looking for a place to engage their beliefs and values.

Catholics and evangelical Protestants make up a tiny minority in Utah, where Latter-day Saints outnumber each more than tenfold. But at this “Hope for America” event, put on by Greg Laurie, they worshiped together, and evangelicals spoke of the potential for revival.

The evening opened with a tribute video of Kirk speaking about Christianity. In a front-row bleacher, one young man wore a shirt printed with one of Kirk’s X posts: “Jesus defeated death so you can live.” Another woman, a volunteer for the event, sported a white “47” hat and a shirt that said, “Make Heaven Crowded,” with Kirk’s name under it.

Greg Laurie paid homage to Kirk during his message, which otherwise focused on his personal testimony and urged attendees to commit to faith in Jesus.

“Despite this tragedy, God has done amazing things around our nation,” said Laurie, who also serves as a spiritual adviser to President Donald Trump. “It was like a wake-up call. All of you, for all of us, this is your moment tonight. This is your wake-up call tonight. Don’t let it slip by.”

The evangelist originally planned to bring his crusade to Utah in 2027 but expedited the timeline after Kirk’s assassination, planning the visit in mere weeks. Utah pastors asked Harvest to come sooner. Former governor Gary Herbert and US Rep. Mike Kennedy—both members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—sat in the front row.

Laurie invited attendees to profess faith in Christ as Wickham retook the stage to sing “O Come to the Altar.” A few hundred people left the bleachers to surround the stage. Volunteers met them with resources and a New Believer’s Bible. According to event organizers, over 2,100 people made professions of faith in person and online.

Though people came down for the gospel call, local faith leaders suggested that they may have responded by recommitting faith rather than converting, particularly among the LDS community.

Laurie later described the crowd as a mix of LDS church members, nonbelievers, and evangelicals. While he did not specifically address Mormonism in his remarks, his ministry does not consider the LDS church to be “biblically sound.” The night before the event, he met with evangelicals who minister among Latter-day Saints to pray for the crusade and learn about the spiritual norms in Utah.

One of those faith leaders was Gregory Johnson, a convert from the LDS church and cofounder of the ministry Standing Together. Johnson called the UVU crusade “the most successful, historic, largest evangelical outreach that I think Utah probably has ever seen.”

Dozens of evangelical congregations across the state partnered with Laurie to send groups to the UVU event, and 67 streamed it at their own churches.

“Jesus has opened the door for the gospel to be unapologetically preached in our backyard,” said Ken Krueger, who pastors The Mountain Church, an Assemblies of God congregation an hour away. “What we are seeing God do, and he will continue to do in this region, is the result of years, years of travailing with the Lord. Do not overlook our tribe. Do not overlook our land.”

Justin Banks, pastor of the Genesis Project in Provo, said that in Utah, pastors are used to big Christian artists skipping the state for ones with larger evangelical populations. So for him, the crusade was a huge encouragement.

“This is a miracle,” he said. “This doesn’t happen in Utah County unless God moves.”

He hopes the success of the event will encourage other Christian leaders to “stop flying over us.”

One young woman in a cross necklace, Megan Luna, came with two friends after hearing about the event from her church, Redemption Hill in Eagle Mountain. “I loved it,” she said. “I think a lot of saving happened here.”

Annie LeBaron, 20, said she came after attending Charlie’s memorial service.

“It’s the first time I ever saw those two Christian singers sing in person, and it changed my life,” she said, referring to Chris Tomlin and Wickham, who also performed at Kirk’s memorial service in September.

“There’s something about music and just praising and praying, things like that, that just touch the soul,” she said. “That’s why I came tonight. Because I want to continue to fill that fire in my soul.”

- More from Harvest Prude

Culture

Which Topics Are Off Limits at Your Dinner Table?

Christine Jeske

A Christian anthropologist explains why we should talk about hard things and how to do it.

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty

When I was a kid, holidays meant playing in my grandparents’ basement with my brother and cousins. We turned Grandma’s hats and polyester pants into costumes, pounded the cracked keys of an ancient piano, and marveled at Grandpa’s forgiveness after we jammed a Wiffle ball down a hole of his pool table.

But one day as we all played, my youngest cousin disappeared upstairs. A few minutes later, her mom called us into the kitchen. My aunt looked angry. She reprimanded us for being mean to our cousin and told us to be kinder.

As I puzzled over why my aunt was upset, I chalked it up to the fact that my cousin was younger than the rest of us. Years later, my cousin told me what she remembered of that day. When she went upstairs, she had tearfully asked her mom, “Why do I look different than the rest of the family?” My little cousin was trying to understand why she was the only Black child among a group of white cousins. But that wasn’t something our family talked about.

Years later, I learned my grandfather had so vehemently opposed my aunt’s marriage to a Black man that he had refused to attend the wedding or to allow my uncle into his home.

Many families try to tiptoe around sensitive topics—or ignore them altogether. In doing so, we avoid naming or solving the source of conflict and pain. And our silence communicates volumes.

As you gather for holidays this year—if you gather at all—your family might be skirting around conversations about politics, race, religion, depression, addiction, and myriad other touchy subjects. In these polarized and insular times, the number of risky topics seems to be ballooning. We’ve heard too many stories of family gatherings that end in shouting and tears, with relatives refusing to gather for the next holiday.

A poll conducted last Thanksgiving found that a third of Americans were uncomfortable at family gatherings due to political differences, and half of Americans had at least one estranged relative.

We are living in what author and journalist Jonathan Rauch calls an epistemic crisis—a breakdown in how our society decides what’s true and how to make collective decisions. We have lost the skills for understanding one another, but more than that, many of us have lost the will to try.

As holiday gatherings become a battleground of this larger epistemic crisis, many of us choose avoidance. While there may be times when letting a subject rest can be a step toward healing, we cannot build loving relationships without honesty.

But here’s some good news: Talking about sensitive topics is a learnable skill. According to sociologist Derisa Grant, many of the conversations people avoid are not inherently difficult. We make topics difficult by deeming them ineffable. As an anthropology professor, I traffic in difficult conversations. I teach people how to understand each other across differences, and that means talking about the whole gamut of tough topics—race, gender, sexuality, religion, immigration, politics, and more.

When I started teaching anthropology at Wheaton College ten years ago, my most challenging students were those who disengaged because they believed they already understood other people. Lately there’s a different challenge: Students disengage because they no longer believe it’s possible to understand others.

Several years ago, I began a research study to learn how individuals develop long-term commitments to the well-being of groups they consider different from their own. Specifically, I explored what it takes for white Christians to develop enduring practices that address racism against people of color.

I interviewed 30 nonwhite Christians about their experiences with race and asked them to suggest white individuals whom they saw as advocates for racial justice. I then interviewed 40 of those white Christians to study their practices. In my forthcoming book, Racial Justice for the Long Haul, I share what I learned about how to talk about difficult topics like race. I’ve come to believe that these kinds of conversations could help mend broken relationships and ultimately our society.

Conducting these interviews taught me that some conversations are like the table saw in my garage. Cutting wood without the proper training can cause serious injury. But add in some woodworking courses and safety gear, and it’s a different story. I’m ready when something around the house breaks, and I can make beautiful and functional pieces out of scraps of wood. Likewise, if we take the time to prepare ourselves, God can turn even the most challenging conversations into something beautiful.

What does that preparation entail? Here are three practices that I’ve seen work.

First, stop denying the bad. Christianity is not built on denialist optimism. We do not have a shallow hope that says, “Honesty is the best medicine” or “Time heals all wounds.” We hope in Christ, who met the bad face to face. We know that Christ is our peace, having broken down dividing walls of hostility (Eph. 2:14). We bring our dreaded subjects to Christ because “if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin” (1 John 1:7).

As I grew up in the 1980s, my family’s silence about race followed the trend among white communities at the time. We embraced colorblindness, pretending we could remain blissfully unaware of how the surrounding culture trains us in racism. We kept that silence even as racism ripped through our family.

When I left for college, my default method for dealing with racism was to avoid mentioning race. But race kept showing up at my door. I worked as a residence hall assistant, and one night I heard a tentative knock at my door. A first-year student who was Black asked me with tears streaming down her face why her white roommate acted as if she didn’t exist.

A few weeks later, in another room shared by a Black student and a white student, the white student’s parents placed a masking tape line down the center of the room. They shouted at the Black roommate loudly enough for the hallway to hear, “Don’t you dare cross over onto our daughter’s side.”

I had no idea where to begin, but I knew I couldn’t deny that something very wrong was pulling us apart.

That’s where the second practice for difficult conversations comes in: Ask questions. Learn the context behind people’s decisions. Rather than assuming they should make the same choices you make, ask about the circumstances or history that led to their choices. As I once heard another researcher say, “When you start to think, ‘Those people are so stupid,’ it’s time to do some more research.”

Doing that research can take many forms. One woman I met started questioning racial inequalities when she talked to her coworkers at a fruit farm. Later she worked with children in an under-resourced neighborhood, and she wondered about some of their habits. “They were eating Cheetos all day,” she noticed. Instead of jumping to blame their parents, she began to ask questions. Were their parents unable to afford vegetables? Did their long hours of work prevent them from cooking? Why did they seem stressed and sleep deprived? She called this season of life “asking a lot of why.”

Asking why can prepare us for difficult conversations, but God doesn’t promise that information alone will solve our disunity. We also need a third practice: radical grace.

Throughout my 70 interviews, grace and the related words forgiveness and mercy came up in more than half the conversations. Nearly all the white people I spoke with told stories about receiving blessings they didn’t deserve.

Grace happens when people recognize that a debt exists and when the person who is owed gives something freely to the debtor—not to coerce a response but to move toward a new way of relating to one another. This grace runs counter to strategies of avoidance or revenge.

Too often we settle for cheap imitations of grace by either ignoring the bad or demanding forgiveness. Grace isn’t meant to let people off the hook. It’s meant to lead us into honesty and love.

My research focused on the debts formed through racism—legacies of who was allowed to enter the US, who was denied, and who was forced to live here. I looked at our unevenly funded schools and our segregated neighborhoods and churches. These debts are not abstract and distant—they cut through our friendships, our families, and our congregations.

Preparing to engage with difficult relationships through radical grace involves actively pursuing wisdom by learning about each other. It means leaving defensiveness outside when we step across the threshold of a relative’s door for a holiday gathering. And it means extending love when our instincts pull us toward hate.

We must practice this radical grace within the body of Christ. When cancel culture reigns, we can make a countercultural choice. As one person I interviewed put it, “At the end of the day, I’m not going to throw you off the island, because that’s not an option.” As members of Christ’s universal church, we are part of a covenantal community. We belong to one another.

“The commitment to still love one another is not just a fuzzy feeling,” this church leader continued. “We have to figure it out. We have to stick to the hot mess … [and] it’s a sign of the kingdom when it is hot and messy. I’m not saying that toxic, abusive behavior should happen. But if we’re really engaging with each other, how could it be anything but a hot mess? Too often that’s when people leave. But that’s the moment right before when you might actually experience transformation.”

For me, “sticking with it” means allowing the lessons I learn as a Christian anthropologist to seep into my family conversations.

As I was forming my research into a book, I met up with my cousin at a botanical garden halfway between our homes. We talked about childhood memories, sharing stories we had never told each other about how race—and grace—shaped us.These days, our children are the ones playing together in the basement at holiday gatherings. We owe it to them to place honesty, courage, and radical grace at the center of our family.

- More from Christine Jeske

Ideas

Are the Public Schools Falling Apart?

Carrie McKean

Contributor

We need Christians to engage thoughtfully in local schools. That starts with understanding the problems.

Editor’s note: During the next few months, Carrie McKean is writing for CT a series about education, exploring nationwide challenges and trends that affect all of us through the lens of what she sees happening in her own community in Midland, Texas. Coming up first, after this intro: a frank and honest look at how untested, unproven, and ubiquitous technology platforms in the classroom have rapidly transformed education. As the series gets underway, Carrie invites you to join the conversation: Write to her at education@christianitytoday.com and share what you see in your communities, both glimmers of hope and causes for concern. —Marvin Olasky

Last month, on opening weekend at a new Bass Pro Shops store about 15 minutes from my home, a group of men started fighting, reportedly because one of them had taken too long in the bathroom. Viral videos that spread in the aftermath show at least five or six men throwing punches and pushing each other down underneath the mounted heads of bison and bears and other wild beasts.

In the videos, some bystanders scurry to get out of the brawlers’ way. Others pause to watch, pulling out their phones to film. One woman caught on camera enters the fray, screaming at the—as she calls them—“grown-ass men acting like idiots.”

“And you wonder why our schools are falling apart,” she shouts as they roll on the ground in front of her. “Y’all are the example that [we’re] setting.”

The schools are falling apart.

She says it as a statement of fact, and I can’t find anyone disputing her—not in the video and not in the commentary afterward and not among a single person I’ve talked to about the state of education, especially in public schools, over the last few years. If anything, our collective sense of alarm is rapidly snowballing. More and more of us feel the same frantic energy she embodies: Something is deeply wrong. The house is burning, the ship is sinking, the walls are crumbling—and our children and their futures are trapped inside.

The vibes match with the data. American eighth-graders’ reading skills have now reached a 30-year low. Harvard has a remedial math class. Financial Times is asking, “Have humans passed peak brain power?” and publishing startingly precipitous charts to illustrate their bleak answer.

Indeed, the only thing remarkable about the shouting woman’s commentary is that this acute ache she names, this fervent concern for schools and the children within them, is what’s at the top of her mind as she watches grown men exchange blows. But I don’t find it surprising. I feel the same anxious energy lurking just under the surface of almost every social interaction I have these days. Education is one of the hubs of our civic wagon wheel, the center point from which our collective life follows and to which all our social problems return. Her visceral reaction, both furious and desperate for help, names the pain we all live with: Where are the grownups who will act like adults and make things right by the kids instead of giving up, watching, or—worst of all—contributing to the destruction?

Something is wrong with education in America today. Like a piece of glass pierced by a bullet, its fracturing sends ripples of anxiety and concern in every direction and into every space, even showing up in the midst of a brawl at the shiny new Bass Pro Shops in Odessa, Texas—where it demonstrates, once again, that no amount of economic development, consumer distraction, or shiny new stuff can plaster over our deepest problems. My 13-year-old puts it a little differently, in the vernacular of the day: “Our generation is cooked.”

We may all agree that something is wrong with education in America today, especially in our large and unwieldy public school systems which serve around 75 percent of American children, but diagnosing the origins isn’t as simple as laying things out on a linear graph. There’s not just one point when everything started to go wrong. It’s hard to find a root cause and even harder to find effective solutions. Like broken glass, the problems in our education system look like a complex fracture pattern, where each point of stress is both an effect of past pressure and a cause of future shattering.

Are the problems in our schools caused by inadequate school funding or lackluster teacher training or overcrowding or standardized testing? Are they caused by forgetting phonics or giving everyone a trophy? Are they caused by poor curriculum or wokeness or behavioral problems or fractured families or overused technology or ineffective instructional methods or too little homework or too much homework or artificial intelligence or not enough recess or lowered academic standards or culture wars or social-emotional learning or lack of discipline or cell phones? The answer is yes.

Can we solve our schools’ problems by posting the Ten Commandments in every classroom? By restoring prayer in schools? Is there any path back to the good ol’ days of reading, writing, and arithmetic that properly prepares our children for a future we cannot fathom? Some of us select homeschools, microschools, charter schools, or private schools. These can all be excellent choices, yet still, as followers of Jesus who are commanded to have concern for the most vulnerable, we must reckon with a question: If that is our choice, what do we owe the children whose families can’t (or just don’t) find viable alternatives to crumbling public schools? Do we give up on them?

School has always been important to me. In my often-chaotic childhood, the tiny public school where I attended K–12 was my safe shelter and a sturdy tether to reality. My husband never loved books as much as I did, and his educational journey was more of a hybrid hodgepodge. He attended some church schools and spent several years homeschooling before graduating from the same public school where I had always attended. That’s where we met. Our daughters are in large public middle and high schools—my eldest daughter’s ninth grade class has more children than I had in my entire school district. Our children have seen things in their school hallways that I’ve never been exposed to in my sheltered life.

I’m not a teacher, but I am a concerned parent and an engaged citizen who wants all children to have access to the opportunities I want for my own. When it comes to my own kids, I know they’ll turn out all right. We’ll practice reading and find a math tutor when necessary, and I’ll email the principal or the superintendent or my school board members when I have concerns I can’t resolve at the campus level. And I am quick to celebrate the bright spots—like this year, when both my children are on campuses led by effective administrators and many passionate teachers. However, when things aren’t going well, I know how to navigate the system to try to meet my kids’ needs. But stopping with my own kids doesn’t sit well with my soul. My faith compels me to pursue the same for other children—the kids whose parents don’t speak English or the child whose single mom is a cashier at Walgreens till 10 p.m. each night.

So over the last several years, I’ve asked countless questions of educators, administrators, parents, and students in my attempt to understand why providing all children with access to high-quality educational opportunities seems utterly impossible these days. The more I learn, the more I picture a tangled snarl of yarn. When you pull on one end to untangle the knot, it tightens and twists somewhere else.

If I were dealing with a ball of yarn, I’d throw it away. But when it comes to our schools, giving up and feeling apathetic isn’t an option we Christians get to exercise. After all, we have a spiritual heritage that rightfully informed the radical idea that all children have value and potential worth cultivating, and we have a theology that teaches us to have persistent hope in the face of unlikely odds and apparent defeat.

Sadly, this heritage is not what Christians are known for in national educational conversations these days. We are known more for our abrasiveness than our love. In many cities, the loudest among us turned on the schools right down our own streets because of something we saw on the national news. This is wrong. We need more people who can set aside the endless cultural battles and take an honest look at what’s happening in their neighborhood schools, not in some other city’s schools across the country.

Whether or not we have kids in public schools, Christians should pay reasonable and thoughtful attention to all schools in the neighborhoods and communities where God has planted us. God commands his people to “seek the welfare” of our cities (Jer. 29:7, ESV). And the needs in our cities, whether Miami or Midland, are great: Our teachers are discouraged. Our administrators are weary. Our students are increasingly aware that everyone else thinks the whole system is broken (and if the adults don’t think it can be salvaged, why should they care?).

What’s needed where you live might be different from what’s needed in my community, but regardless, we have much to learn from one another. Together, let’s get honest about the mess we’ve made—and the mess we’ve inherited—and try to untangle some of the snarled knots that are hamstringing our children’s futures.

The schools may be falling apart, but let’s be the grownups who fix things.

- More from Carrie McKean

Church Life

Black Greek Life Faces a Christian Exodus

Alyssa Rhodes

Believers are denouncing historical fraternities and sororities that have been beacons of progress.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty, Wikimedia Commons

If you walk into a university—especially a historically Black one—this fall, you might see the steps and strolls of the Divine Nine.

From the pretty-in-pink Alpha Kappa Alpha to the purple-and-gold Omega Psi Phi, the nine Black fraternities and sororities can be found stomping, clapping, chanting, dancing, and singing to signify their unity. On the outskirts of many campuses, members volunteer at food pantries or participate in other types of community service.

Black Greek life has never been merely about parties, alcohol, and red plastic cups. Although it developed to include those things, its roots and ethos date to students who sought to foster deeper bonds as they navigated the harsh realities of systemic racism, including exclusion from Greek life and professional networks at predominantly white institutions.

Christians founded some Black Greek-letter organizations, and over time all of them became beacons of progress and a fixture of African American culture. Many students who pledged made their mark as prominent civil rights activists, authors, actors, and contemporary figures, such as comedian Steve Harvey, Baptist leader Boise Kimber, and former vice president Kamala Harris. Despite more recent criticisms of mission drift and elitism depicted in movies like Spike Lee’s School Daze, Greek life enjoyed widespread acceptance among those who loved Jesus and those who don’t care for him—that is, until now.

Over the past few years, the Divine Nine have become the subject of a robust debate among Black Christians about what it means to have loyalty to Christ today.

On TikTok, Instagram, or YouTube, members have been posting testimonies in which they denounce—and renounce—their partnership in what they claim to be “idolatry” and “ungodly covenants” with Greek life. The Washington Post previously reported that hundreds of videos have been posted, all drawing the ire of other members who view the exodus as misinformed and distracting from the good work these organizations do.

Critics and denouncers—including charismatic social media influencer Tiphani Montgomery—say that the vows (which the organizations don’t publicize but which are known by initiates) are idolatrous and demand a level of devotion that should only be reserved for God.

Some critics mention legitimate concerns about sin, like hazing or debauchery found across all Greek houses, including predominately white ones. They also highlight what they see as problematic symbols (the sphinx for Alpha Phi Alpha, the Roman goddess Minerva for Delta Sigma Theta) and what appear to be self-glorifying hymn lyrics (“Delta! With glowing heart we praise thee”).

If I had my wish, people would be talking about reforming concrete problems, like hazing, in these organizations or giving Christians a blueprint on how they can faithfully participate in historic and pluralistic institutions that have shaped our communities. But the back-and-forth can often become silly, panic-filled, and theologically loose, with some critics wrongly accusing members of jeopardizing their salvation or being morally compromised in some way because of their involvement.

The debate ratcheted up in recent weeks after gospel singer Travis Greene preached a sermon in which he mentioned that his involvement with a fraternity in college led to idolatry as well as “pride and perversion.”

Days later, rapper Lecrae posted a video discussing his own story of leaving a Black fraternity because the lifestyle did not mesh with following Jesus. At the same time, he counseled listeners to avoid throwing out the baby with the bathwater and instead to treat the issue as a matter of conscience and liberty (Rom. 14). Prominent pastor Eric Mason offered a similar take and told people to stop demonizing other Christians who disagree on the issue. Some Black church leaders have also done the same, though others have told people to get out of Greek life.

Though the drama can feel like just another online kerfuffle, it presents a legitimate challenge to a long-standing institution in the Black community and the role of us Christians within it. Throughout American history, the Black church and Black culture have often overlapped, creating deep bonds with cultural institutions that have fought for our communities more so than the broader American church.

I grew up with Black Greek parents, listening to their stories about pledging Alpha Kappa Alpha or Omega Psi Phi in college. My mother pledged at the now-defunct Bishop College with classmates who went on to become well-known pastors and ministry leaders. As a child, my earliest memories included her teaching me the Greek alphabet with the fun tune she had memorized. My father, meanwhile, often endured late nights of spontaneous meetings to support his fraternity.

My parents loved their organizations and faithfully served in our home church for over 30 years. I also wanted to join a sorority but never got the chance to pledge. During my freshman year in college, the president of the historically Black university I attended barred every Greek organization from recruiting new members after a student tragically died during a hazing ritual.

When I saw people fighting about Greek life years later, I was a bit torn. I agreed with arguments about excessive party lifestyles. Even if their claims were overblown, I could also see why many people didn’t like the shroud of secrecy that surrounded the oaths or felt uncomfortable with certain song lyrics or symbols.

But I was annoyed by strange and hyperbolic claims about covenants, rituals, and even Satan himself being the “father” of these organizations. One influencer went even further, saying many Christians involved in Greek life would die because of their association.

The entire ordeal sparked discussions about why, culturally, it seems everything inherently Black seems to get demonized. Members called on people to refrain from judging entire organizations and to show nuance by disentangling the good from the bad. But overnight, leaving a Black Greek letter organization had suddenly emerged as a mark of faithfulness.

On college campuses, Christian ministries are navigating how to provide counsel the right way.

At Howard University, campus pastor Cyril Chavis said students have approached him this fall to ask whether they should join Greek life. “There are more and more Christians that believe categorically it is a sin to join Black Greek letter organizations and there are no gray areas—it’s a black-and-white issue,” he said during an interview.

The subject has also been a hot topic within InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. Chelir Mule-Kivindyo, an associate national director for the organization’s Black Campus Ministries division, said leaders and staff members are working to put together materials that help students think through the issue, mainly because of all the bad theology they’re receiving—and regurgitating—from social media.

“For some people, they don’t need to go Greek. They are going to idolize it,” said Mule-Kivindyo, who is a member of Delta Sigma Theta. “But when it comes to losing your salvation, that’s not biblical. I don’t drink alcohol, because the Lord told me to stop, but that doesn’t mean every Christian should stop drinking alcohol.”

It’s true that maturity is knowing that God convicts us all of things differently and the application, including for Greek life, shouldn’t be pushed on everyone. But it’s also incumbent upon Christians to avoid being complacent about, or worse, complicit in pervasive problems.

Just this year, a student at Southern University died from an alleged off-campus hazing incident while pledging to join Omega Psi Phi. Wendy Johnson, a graduate of Spelman College who left Alpha Kappa Alpha in the early 2000s, told me there are also other issues that need to be confronted.

Johnson had high hopes when she initially went into sorority life. But she soon became concerned with the culture of exclusivity, favoritism, and status-seeking behavior that she said emanated from other members.

She continued to feel uneasy about it after graduating and seeing some women who showed “obsession” with joining a graduate chapter. Eventually, she sent an email to other members saying she did not want to be involved in the sorority.

“I represent Christ,” Johnson, who works as a doctor in New York, told me.

“I don’t want anyone to see me being a card-carrying sorority member and for that to somehow speak more loudly than me being a Christian,” she said. Wherever one lands on this issue, we can at least agree to that.

Alyssa Rhodes is a writer and content editor for RightNow Media and a writing contributor for the R.H. Boyd Publishing Company. She is a graduate of Dallas Theological Seminary and lives in Dallas, Texas.

- More from Alyssa Rhodes

Church Life

God Loves Our Middling Worship Music

Kelsey Kramer McGinnis

Songwriting might be the community-building project your church needs right now.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty

I am the oldest of 12 grandchildren on my mother’s side of the family. Naturally, I was the director. My grandparents’ house had a large brick fireplace—a perfect, potentially hazardous stage. The youngest cousins served as central casting. Every Christmas, we’d all scurry to the basement to plan our living-room performance.

After squabbling about roles, songs, and costumes for what seemed like hours, we emerged, calling all the adults to attention. We played bells and sang “Frosty the Snowman” and “Angels We Have Heard on High.” Depending on our commitment level, there might be a choreographed dance number or one-act play. Somewhere in a storage room, video recordings of our performances are gathering dust.

It’s always seemed obvious to me that families should create things—silly, corny, half-baked—together.

These days, I spend a lot of my time writing about music. I am not a songwriter or a performer; I’ve left my Christmas pageant days behind. But last year, I was invited to Nashville for a songwriting camp at Belmont University, part of the In Every Generation project focused on creating music for multigenerational congregations.

I showed up to speak at a workshop—not to put lyrics or notes on a page. So when the facilitator asked me to join a writing group, I felt a mixture of embarrassment and terror. Had I accidentally given someone the impression that I, the world’s most middling pianist and retired living-room performer, was a musician who belonged in a room with professionals? Not just any professionals—Nashville professionals.

I came away from that camp believing that collaborative songwriting might be one of the scariest things we can do together—also one of the most generative. In an age of highly produced, hyperpolished worship music production, this humble process requires vulnerability and laughter, deference and generosity, the relational connectedness so many of us crave in our atomized online world.

Of course, songwriting isn’t the only creative work that pushes us toward deeper community. But in the church in particular, it might be just what we need right now.

To prioritize local, congregational songwriting isn’t to wholly disregard the worship music industry and its producers of today’s most popular contemporary hits (think Elevation Worship, Brandon Lake, or Phil Wickham). Some of these songs—“How Great Is Our God,” “The Blessing”—have deeply formed countless believers. Historian Molly Worthen recently reflected on the surprising role of contemporary worship music in her own conversion: “the incongruity between smooth harmonies, uncomplicated lyrics, and the shock that comes if you pause to grapple with the words’ meaning.”

But this kind of professionalized worship often comes with expectations about production value and polish. Enter the worship-tech industries supporting the local churches who make this music on Sunday mornings. Platforms like MultiTracks and Loop Community, for example, offer congregations instrumental and vocal tracks to fill in parts that can’t be covered by their communities’ musicians.

Tools like these can make life a lot less stressful for overworked worship leaders trying to wrangle volunteers for weekly practice. Short one guitar player this week? A track can fill in that part. Drummer calls in sick on Saturday night? There’s a track for that.

These programs have made it possible for churches to have sophisticated music without rehearsal or musician recruitment. But what’s lost when it’s possible to have the product of communal music making without the process?

Church leaders and musicians who use contemporary worship music—and the latest tools to produce it in their contexts—are often techno-optimists. This cheery outlook is, in some ways, admirable. It resists the impulse to panic or descend into doom-and-gloom moralizing about modernity. On the other hand, though techno-optimists tend to talk a lot about what new tools afford, they may not anticipate what those tools—in-ear monitors, a click track, or live auto-tuning—might take away.

After all, making music together isn’t valuable solely because of a perfect final product. For the musicians on stage, there’s community building in the warm-ups, the tuning, the problem-solving. To plug in a choral track when there has been no rehearsal is to skip what makes choir worthwhile. And the congregation, even in an auditorium outfitted with the flashiest lighting rig, isn’t there to observe a performance but to participate in cocreation.

Congregational worship is inherently social. The decline of community singing in the US over the course of the 20th century and the shift to music enjoyment as an individualized, isolated experience have left us with the impression that music is something we consume, not something we make or do together.

Gen Z spends more money on live music events than millennials and Gen Xers do, and more broadly, live music is booming. But those stages are for a special few. My college students see music making as something best left to professionals, and hopelessly cringe when done poorly. Most of them don’t play an instrument and are convinced they’ve missed their chance—if they were going to be “musical” or “creative,” they would know it by now.

My sense is that, in many churches, a similar belief has taken root. In the techno-optimistic sprint toward contemporary worship music, seeker-sensitive churches have come to take production so seriously because they fear that the awkwardness of amateurism might cause the tenuous attendee to go elsewhere.

What if that thinking is wrong? What if it’s out of date? These days, we all carry constant access to stunning music in our pockets. The church could offer something different.

That’s not to say we should try to make Sunday-morning musical worship messier or more awkward on purpose. But reorienting a church’s musical culture toward grassroots songwriting and local eclecticism could be one sign of our upside-down kingdom. Production value might not be as impressive as radical antipolish.

By the end of the two-day In Every Generation camp, I had been part of four different writing groups. In each session, I watched my new acquaintances let musical and lyrical ideas flow with abandon, starting with the skeleton of a groove, experimenting with progressions and unexpected harmonies, tracing out vocal hooks bit by bit, and straining to find the right word for the end of a phrase. Sometimes an idea fell to the floor; sometimes a collaborator grabbed it and ran to start building a prechorus or bridge.

When I worked up the courage to make a suggestion, I began with apologetic, deferential phrases (“This might be nothing …”). But in those writing rooms, there was a noncompetitive generosity of spirit that, eventually, assuaged my fear of being judged for a bad idea—and I had many. I imagine artists who regularly collaborate like this must develop an aversion to snark and pretension. No one, not even the award-winning songwriters, insisted that their sense of direction was better than mine.

To outsiders like me, songwriting can seem like a forbidding, mystical process that requires a combination of divine inspiration and raw talent possessed by very few. In the church, we sometimes refer to writers of influential worship songs as “anointed.”

That mythology is a barrier that Christians like Joel Payne and Chris Juby of Resound Worship are trying to break down. Every year, the UK-based organization invites participants of all musical backgrounds to join their songwriting community and take on the “12 Song Challenge.”

On Resound’s latest EP, “All Our Voices” provides a model for allowing a congregation to cowrite a song in real time, contributing lines to a simple, repetitive chorus.

“These kinds of songs invite the leader into more of a facilitator role,” said Juby. “You find yourself leading the people, not the song.”

On the process of songwriting with inexperienced musicians, both leaders say that churches can teach the craft in the same way they teach people to lead a group in prayer. They talk about writing and sharing songs the way some talk about meal trains—as a low-stakes, tangible act of service.

“We can write songs that care for one another,” said Payne. That gave me pause. Can a song “care”?

At the In Every Generation camp, we spent one afternoon writing songs on prompts like “awaiting the birth of a baby,” “celebrating an anniversary,” and “sending students off to college.” We were writing music for particular moments in the life of a church community.

It had never occurred to me that a church could send off its college students with a song by and for that particular community—even if there were a few sideways smirks at the sentimentality of it all.

Not all writing sessions lead to tuneful, soul-stirring results. Songwriting is a skill that can be honed and strengthened; I couldn’t write “What a Beautiful Name.” But before God, I imagine, the differences in our skill levels are negligible. We are all children performing on the fireplace ledge.

Kelsey Kramer McGinnis is the worship correspondent for Christianity Today and the author of The Myth of Good Christian Parenting: How False Promises Betrayed a Generation of Evangelical Families, cowritten with Melissa Burt.

- More from Kelsey Kramer McGinnis

Theology

The Church Sexual Abuse Crisis Should Prepare Us for the Epstein Files

Russell Moore

Columnist

The path to justifying predatory behavior often follows the same seven steps. We can respond differently.

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty

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

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” a friend said to me, mentioning the latest news reports on the battle over the release of the files of Jeffrey Epstein. I responded, “I wish I could say the same.”

Now, in one sense, of course, none of us has seen anything quite like this. After all, Epstein is perhaps the most notorious sex trafficker in history, with allegations that he enabled the rape of girls in webs of influence of the most powerful men in the world. With Congress having voted Tuesday to release the Epstein files and sending the bill to President Donald Trump for his approval, we are only just now entering this era.

But in another sense, we should be prepared for it. The church sexual abuse crises of the past decade should have taught us something. When it comes to justifying the cover-up of or inaction toward the sexual predation of minors, we can anticipate how these conversations typically go.

I’ve seen a predictable set of seven steps play out in bad church or ministry responses to sex predators in their midst—a pattern we can see here and everywhere the veil is lifted on this kind of evil.

Step 1: This is not a problem. In a church context, we can always find those who don’t want to think an institution they love could be vulnerable to this kind of awful behavior. These are the people predators count on to empower them to keep doing what they do. Whenever the subject of abuse comes up, some of these people say, “We all know each other at our church. We’re like family.” Or, of a denomination or another bigger system, “We are protected from this by …” and then fill in that blank with things like “having bishops” or “not having bishops” or whatever.

We are, it seems, well past this step in the Epstein files debate.

Step 2: Yes, it’s a problem, but the other side is worse. In some cases, a church or ministry never proceeds past step 1, but when denial fails—usually because those calling out the issues are persistent—the next move is to export the problem. First, a constituency accepts a dark vision of human nature. They suggest that abuse happens everywhere and is just a part of the world in which we live. Often those who don’t want any more questions asked employ language of “pearl-clutching” and “moralizing.” Moral relativism disguises itself as realism.

Then, we usually hear the next stage of this step in the words “What about …?” to point out how awful the enemies are. Once people establish an agreement of the enemies’ failures, the “desperate times call for desperate measures” rationale for ignoring moral atrocities becomes much easier.

Step 3: Yes, it’s a problem, but it’s not as bad as it could be. On this, podcaster Megyn Kelly is a step in front of the crowd. Her argument was that, no matter what we find in the Epstein files, we should remember that technically he was an ephebophile who allegedly sexually preferred “barely legal” girls as young as 15. First of all, of course, minor girls are not “barely legal.” They’re not legal at all in the sense of being able to consent to their own rape and trafficking.

When accusations were made several years ago that former judge Roy Moore allegedly sexually assaulted minors, I had to respond live on television to one of his supporters who suggested that, even if this were proven to be true, Mary was probably a teenager and Joseph an old man. There are so many biblical and moral problems with such a defense that I struggled to know where to start.

Most people will not move to impugning the morality of the holy family, but often the strategy is the same: “Nobody is saying this is good, but here’s how it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.”

Step 4: Yes, it’s a problem, but the cause is too important. When, over a quarter century ago, a scandal emerged about former president Bill Clinton using his power over a White House intern to exploit her sexually, some feminist leaders were in a quandary because of their previous definitions of sexual harassment. Some of them immediately pivoted to saying, “Well, everybody thinks this was wrong, but …” and then discussed how important Clinton was for their cause of keeping abortion legal. Many on the right denounced this for the moral equivocation it was. In the fullness of time and in the more recent era, they would use the same strategy over and over again to great success.

Church sexual abuse scandals have operated much the same way. Those who pointed out severe systemic flaws that enabled the cover-up of abuse were sometimes told that their public criticism could lead to people not giving, which would lead to missionaries not being funded, which would lead people going to hell. “We can fix all this over time,” the argument goes, “but the cause is more important than a few bad situations.”

Step 5: The whistleblowers are the problem. In church or denominational settings, I’ve seen those who point out the problem—whether survivors or their advocates—maligned as being anti-church or importing some dangerous political or religious ideology from “the outside.” Rarely is this done immediately or publicly. The game of those who quiet the whistleblowers is to seek retribution against them—publicly enough that others will see and be warned but privately enough that by the time people hear of the retaliation, it can be waved away as an “old story.”

This is twinned closely with step 6.

Step 6: Stop asking if it’s a problem, or you’re not one of us. Those who want disclosure or reform—or who simply don’t want to support those who are involved in rape or other predatory behavior, even if it’s on “our side”—are shunned. Those remaining are then implicitly warned that, to stay in the fold, we need to resist being “distracted” by those who are “trying to divide us.” That’s a powerful incentive.

We are designed to want to belong, and it’s scary not to do so. That’s especially true when a person wants to be in a group and has ambitions to somehow lead it. The threat of exile hits at a level much deeper than just rationality or strategy; it can feel to the psyche like the exclusion of hell itself.

Some people intentionally sear their consciences so as not to face rejection. But other people don’t even notice themselves doing it. A part of them seems to “switch off” any thought about justice for victims. They can be safely inside at the low, low cost of one soul.

Step 7: This is not a problem. The typical pattern is then to end up where we started: This is not a problem. The end result, the strategy goes, is to have most of those inside the tent thinking, This again? How long until we move on? the next time it is brought up.

Those are the seven steps I’ve seen play out. But they are not inevitable. I’ve seen churches and ministries break this cycle, but it required much more than most people are willing to give. Thankfully, there’s an eighth step—one we haven’t seen yet, but we will. As the Nicene Creed puts it, Jesus “will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead.”

I don’t know what the Epstein files will reveal, if and when we ever see them. What I do know is that we can decide ahead of time how we will respond.

Russell Moore is editor at-large and columnist at Christianity Today and leads its Public Theology Project.

Christianity Today Appoints Dr. Nicole Martin as President & CEO

Dr. Martin has served at CT since 2023 as Chief Impact Officer and most recently Chief Operating Officer.

Dr. Nicole Massie Martin

Imiivo Studios

WHEATON, Ill., November 19, 2025—The Christianity Today Board of Directors has unanimously elected Dr. Nicole Massie Martin as its next President and CEO during its annual fall meeting. Dr. Martin has more than 25 years of nonprofit, academic, ministry leadership, and church engagement experience. She has served at CT since 2023 as Chief Impact Officer and most recently Chief Operating Officer.

With the help of the firm CarterBaldwin Executive Search, the CT Board of Directors chose Dr. Martin after an extensive five-month search that included a global pool of 130 candidates. The search committee unanimously recommended Dr. Martin to the full board, which affirmed her appointment to replace the previous President and CEO Timothy Dalrymple. Thomas Addington, who served as Interim President since May, will remain at CT as Chief Operating Officer.

Dr. Martin graduated magna cum laude from Vanderbilt University and worked as a business analyst for Deloitte. She earned a Master of Divinity degree at Princeton Theological Seminary and a Doctor of Ministry degree from Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, where she was also an Adjunct Professor of Ministry and Leadership Development.

Dr. Martin is the Founder and Executive Director of Soulfire International Ministries. She served at the American Bible Society as Chief Ministry Impact Officer, Senior Vice President, and Executive Director of Trauma Healing. She currently holds leadership positions on the boards of the National Association of Evangelicals, Fuller Theological Seminary, the Center for Christianity and Public Life, and PastorServe, a ministry that supports church leaders. She is also a member of the Salvation Army’s National Advisory Board.

Dr. Martin is a dynamic Bible teacher and author. Her published works include Nailing It: Why Successful Leadership Demands Suffering and Surrender; Made to Lead: Empowering Women for Ministry; and Leaning In, Letting Go: A Lenten Devotional. She lives in Baltimore and is married to her best friend, Dr. Mark Martin. They have two daughters.

“I, along with millions of Christians around the world, have deeply benefited from the impact of Christianity Today over the years,” said Dr. Martin. “Stepping into the position of leading this organization is a responsibility and calling I do not take lightly, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to steward this meaningful ministry. It is my desire to carry on Billy Graham’s vision at CT by serving the church through creative and redemptive storytelling, informative journalism from an evangelical Christian worldview, and resources and convenings that foster flourishing.”

Dr. Martin continued, “We have an important role to play in shining a light on the church’s gospel impact and on the ways it can strengthen its witness. We will elevate the wide-ranging, far-reaching stories and ideas of the kingdom of God in a way that unifies the church beyond ideological and political boundaries.”

Evangelist Billy Graham established Christianity Today as a magazine in 1956. It became a flagship publication for the American evangelical movement, equipping the church with news, commentary, and resources. Each month, CT reaches more than 4.5 million people around the globe across a variety of digital and print media.

Dr. Leighton Ford, former Associate Evangelist and Vice President of the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, said, “Christlike leadership is humble. It is also wise, and so with enthusiasm I applaud the selection of Dr. Nicole Martin to steward and guide the legacy of my brother-in-law Billy Graham.”

Dr. Ford continued, “When CT was founded 70 years ago, we were at a promising but uncharted season for the church and the gospel worldwide. Now again we are called, like Joshua, to ‘a way we have not gone before.’ We need a rare leader the likes of Dr. Martin who listens deeply to God’s word in Scripture and sensitively to God’s mission to the world. I believe that with biblically informed imagination she will magnify the truth and beauty and goodness of our Lord in a way that will unify his followers and point people to him.”

CT’s Executive Board Chairman, Bishop Claude Alexander, said, “The Christianity Today Board of Directors is excited and united in the selection of Dr. Nicole Martin as our next CEO. Through prayer and an extensive search process, she rose as the clear and compelling choice for this role. She brings unquestioned commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ and an unrivaled ability to promote and defend its claims effectively across various constituencies.”

“I am thrilled about Dr. Nicole Martin’s appointment to lead Christianity Today,” said Walter Kim, President of the National Association of Evangelicals and a member of the CT board and executive search committee. “Her leadership extends far beyond her impressive experience and deep understanding of the media’s influence. As a vital member of the National Association of Evangelicals’ executive committee, Dr. Martin compellingly exemplifies the qualities of Christian leadership our times demand—a profound love for God, unwavering commitment to the truth and grace of Jesus Christ, and a Spirit-led vision for ministry. She will be an extraordinary blessing to Christianity Today and to the global work of God’s kingdom.”

About Christianity Today

Reaching 35 million people across the world annually through acclaimed and award-winning digital and print media, Christianity Today elevates the stories and ideas of the kingdom of God in order to see the church more faithful to Christ and the world more drawn to him. Learn more at christianitytoday.com/about.

News

Church Attendance Drops Among Single Moms

Ericka Andersen

Women raising kids alone say worship can be a lifeline or a logistical burden.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty, Unsplash

Scripture repeatedly calls believers to care for the widow and the orphan. Yet as pews refill post-pandemic, one group remains strikingly absent: single mothers.

Recent Barna research reveals that only one in four single moms attends church weekly, the steepest drop among women in recent years. The finding raises an uncomfortable question: Are churches truly heeding the biblical command to care for the vulnerable in their midst?

When Joie Van Holstyn became a single mom of two boys through foster care and adoption in 2019, her church attendance quickly spiraled.

“It was really hard at first,” she said. “We had pretty rough attendance the first two years—it was so much work to get out of the house. And I just felt out of place as a single mom.”

For women like Van Holstyn, the barriers start with logistics—juggling work hours, transportation, and the chaos of getting kids ready alone. But the emotional weight can be heavier still. Many feel judged, pitied, or simply invisible in congregations that assume families include a husband.

A friend eventually confronted Van Holstyn about her sporadic attendance. Convicted, she committed to going every week, even when her children squirmed through the small rural church’s service.

“I just committed to going, and I hated it at first,” she said. “I didn’t learn anything because my kids were so busy and naughty. But I just kept going, and slowly I realized I enjoyed it more.”

Now six years into single motherhood, Van Holstyn says she’s found her rhythm—but wishes churches would be more proactive about providing childcare rather than waiting for participants to ask.

“I hate when they say, ‘If you need childcare, let us know,’” she said. “That makes me feel like a burden, so I don’t say anything.”

Her persistence makes her something of an exception among single moms, though.

In the US, 23 million kids grow up in single-parent homes, mostly with single moms who don’t attend church. Even well-intentioned congregations, experts say, often miss the mark in reaching them.

“Many of these women have experienced significant trauma,” said Michelle Donnelly, founder of Uncommon Valor, a ministry for relational healing after trauma. “They may resist asking for or receiving help, and that means even if you offer the best programming, they may not want to participate.”

Indeed, the programmatic mindset—offering a special event or class, then assuming participants will assimilate into existing ministries—often leaves women feeling unseen.

“There’s been a rise in one-time events for single moms,” said Jennifer Maggio, founder of the ministry The Life of a Single Mom, which partners with over 2,000 churches nationwide. “But churches assume those mothers are joining other ministries afterward. Most aren’t.”

Maggio knows this firsthand. Once a 19-year-old single mom of two on food stamps, she started her ministry in 2011 to fill a gap she herself had felt.

“When we began, I had to reassure pastors we weren’t advocating for creating more single-mother-led families,” she said. “That was the mindset back then.”

While she’s encouraged by growing interest, Maggio says the deeper challenge is consistency.

“Churches that establish long-term efforts—like a weekly Bible study or mentorship program—are the ones that see women discipled and connected,” Maggio said.

The category of single moms is not a monolith and includes divorced mothers, widows, teen moms, grandparents raising grandchildren, and single foster or adoptive parents like Van Holstyn.

Yet for many churches, “family ministry” still means nuclear family ministry. Sermons often center on the dynamics of marriage and parenting as a couple. Small groups are organized by life stage—young families, empty nesters, singles—leaving single moms feeling as if they belong nowhere.

“Grouping people by life circumstance can be isolating and disempowering,” Donnelly said.

Esther Vazquez, a mom of four from Ocala, Florida, put it plainly: “My children love going to church, and I go for God, not for people, but it’s hard to find community as a single mom.”

Churches often organize annual outreach events like clothing drives, guest speakers, or Mother’s Day brunches for single parents, but these gestures rarely lead to genuine belonging.

“The best groups I’ve been in have been multigenerational,” Donnelly said. “Different ages, stages, and life experiences together—that’s where healing happens.”

Barna’s data suggest why such environments are rare: Only 19 percent of Christians say their churches provide “opportunities for cross-generational interaction.” The rest remain siloed by age, marital status, or life stage.

Without intentional church structures to include nontraditional homes, single moms can feel subtly sidelined. And when divorce or separation is the reason for their singlehood, stigma can deepen that isolation.

Christine Moriarty Field, a divorced Christian writer, says many divorced women feel like “second-class members of the congregation” due to “unspoken judgment” that makes them feel “alienated and rejected, rather than loved and accepted.”

Sarah Cleveringa, a former single mom of four in Oregon who has since remarried, has felt both the sting and the grace.

“One thing that always feels constant,” she told me, “is needing to give the disclaimer that I didn’t destroy my previous marriage. People kind of expect to know: ‘Are you the homewrecker?’”

Even casual gossip can wound deeply, she added. “People feel entitled to know your story.”

Not every story ends in exclusion. When Kaeley Triller Harms became a single mom at 19, her church “basically saved me,” she said.

“They loved my babies, surrounded me with prayer, and two women adopted me—meeting with me weekly for intercessory prayer,” she recalled. “The men from my life group volunteered to go with me to custody exchanges with my abusive ex. Honestly, I’ve never felt so loved or supported in my life.”

These examples, though less common, reveal what’s possible when churches approach single mothers not as a category to manage but as relationships to nurture.

Donnelly noted that many single mothers fear judgment, but she said that often “there are wonderful people nearby who genuinely care—they just don’t always know what to do.”

Van Holstyn has felt that support.

“Once I stopped assuming that married moms and couples didn’t welcome me, I found great community,” she said. “I started making friends and got over myself. It does get easier.”

She’s learned that church, at its best, is less about sitting among people in the same life stage and more about fellowship across difference—being seen as a sister in Christ, not a project.

Families headed by single mothers will remain a large and growing part of American life. For churches, that reality is not a distraction from the gospel mission but an invitation to live it out.

As Donnelly put it, “Helping women find safe spaces to give and receive in the context of community is very healing and restorative.”

The biblical charge to care for the widow and the fatherless has never been theoretical. It’s practical, relational, and sometimes inconvenient. For churches, this kind of love looks like offering childcare, sharing meals, or simply sitting beside a woman who feels alone, again and again.

Churches that see single mothers not as a problem to solve but as a people to serve will embody what James called “pure religion.” In doing so, they’ll not only bring single moms back to church but also reveal the heart of Christ to the whole congregation.

- More from Ericka Andersen

EASTER SALE

Share

Share

Related

Share

Share

Related

Share

related

related

related

Share

Related

Share

recommended

recommended

Share

Related

Share

related

related

Share

Related

Share

related

recommended

related

recommended

Share

Related

Share

related

Share

Related

About Christianity Today

recommended

Share

Share

Related