News

What to Expect at This Year’s Church Conventions

SBC, LCMS, ACNA, CREC, and Global Methodist gatherings in 2026 will weigh issues including abuse investigations and sexual ethics.

Messengers raise their ballots to vote during a Southern Baptist Convention annual meeting on June 11, 2024, in Indianapolis.

Messengers raise their ballots to vote during a Southern Baptist Convention annual meeting on June 11, 2024, in Indianapolis.

Christianity Today March 20, 2026
Doug McSchooler / AP

Summer is the time for ecclesial gatherings. Between June and September, dozens of denominations representing millions of churchgoers will gather for fellowship, teaching, and conducting business. 

Here are some of the decisions CT is keeping an eye on this summer:

Anglican Church of North America

The ACNA will hold a Provincial Council June 15–19, in Tulsa. One item on its agenda: enacting changes regarding discipline and matters of misconduct. The proposed revisions to Title IV of the ACNA Constitution and Canons would expand that portion of the church law from 11 pages to 48. The revisions aim to provide greater transparency and clarify the investigation process, make it easier to submit a complaint against a bishop, and introduce processes so that not every complaint becomes an investigation.

Amendments to church law, called “canons,” are approved by the annual Provincial Council in June but do not take effect until they are ratified by the Provincial Assembly, which typically meets every five years.  

To make sure these disciplinary reforms can be implemented immediately, the bishops have called for a Provincial Assembly to meet virtually on June 25, one week after the scheduled Provincial Council, to ratify the changes. The ACNA recently acquitted a bishop of misconduct after he neglected to inform congregations that a lay leader in his diocese was accused of molesting a 9-year-old child. The ACNA’s archbishop Steve Wood is also accused of sexual harassment, bullying, and plagiarism and faces an ecclesiastical trial.

Christian Reformed Church

Synod 2026, the annual general assembly of the Christian Reformed Church in North America, will meet June 12–18 on the campus of Calvin University in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Last year’s synod requested that leaders develop and present a 10-year plan for church planting and revitalization. 

Calvin University’s board of trustees will also report to the 2026 synod on how it defines the indefinite exceptions it will grant to professors whose views are not in line with CRC teaching. In 2024, the CRC declared that church leaders, including professors at CRC-affiliated schools, must actively work to resolve their differences and cannot hold their gravamens—significant doctrinal differences with church teaching—indefinitely. 

Global Methodist Church

The GMC recently announced that the new denomination, founded in 2022, has surpassed 7,000 churches globally. Its annual gathering will take place August 30–September 5 in Johannesburg, South Africa. The conservative Methodist denomination formed after its churches dissented from the United Methodist Church over LGBTQ-related issues. Conservative congregations also sought a Wesleyan denomination with lighter, leaner infrastructure and an emphasis on grassroots accountability and ministry connections.

Since its inaugural gathering in 2024, interim bishops have led the GMC. One item on the docket for its 2026 general conference will be electing the denomination’s first full-time bishops. The new eight episcopal bishops will govern the denomination’s 50 annual conferences (regional bodies) around the world. 

A spokesperson for the GMC said the denomination will also establish clergy ordination standards that hold clergy to a high bar while allowing flexibility for global regions with less access to theological education. 

Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod

In 2019, the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod commissioned a task force to study issues of sexual orientation and gender identity. The group is ready to report its findings and recommendations: The Created Male and Female Task Force will present at the LCMS convention, which is held every three years. The 2026 gathering is July 18–23 in Phoenix. 

Southern Baptist Convention

The Southern Baptist Convention is preparing for its annual meeting, taking place June 9–10 in Orlando, Florida. Josh Powell, senior pastor of Taylors First Baptist Church in Taylors, South Carolina, is set to be nominated to serve as the SBC’s next president.

Powell might not be the only presidential nominee. Tampa-area pastor Willy Rice has announced his intention to seek the role too. In 2025, Rice offered a motion at the convention’s annual meeting to abolish the SBC’s Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission, a public policy organization that advocates for SBC worldviews in the public square. Some politically conservative Southern Baptists oppose the ERLC’s existence, taking issue with its past legal arguments in favor of religious liberty for all faiths rather than just in support of policies favoring Christianity.

The ERLC is currently led by interim president Gary Hollingsworth, after Brent Leatherwood stepped down from the role in July 2025, but the trustees recently announced they have trimmed their list of candidates to eight, with the goal of bringing a nominee to the annual meeting. They also recently published the group’s three commitments. “It is our sincere hope that as the ERLC endeavors to rebuild trust and relationships with churches, our equipping and advocacy ministries will bear eternal Gospel fruit,” the trustees said in a statement. 

Here are some other denominations that will meet this summer:

Assemblies of God

Church of God

National Baptist Convention

Christian Methodist Episcopal Church

Presbyterian Church in America

Progressive National Baptist Convention

News

Q&A: Why Pakistan and Afghanistan Are Fighting and How Christians There Survive

A conversation with human rights lawyer and former diplomat Knox Thames.

Members of the Pakistan Army on the Torkham Border of Afghanistan.

Members of the Pakistan Army on the Torkham Border of Afghanistan.

Christianity Today March 20, 2026
Muhammad Furqan Photography / Getty


On February 27, the Pakistani government declared open war on Afghanistan’s Taliban government. Massive air strikes have killed hundreds in the days since. To understand the political and religious components of the conflict, The Bulletin sat down with human rights lawyer and former diplomat Knox Thames. Here are edited excerpts from their conversation in episode 260.

How did this war between Pakistan and Afghanistan begin?

It’s deeply ironic for the Pakistanis to complain about terrorists coming out of Afghanistan, because while the US was there, Pakistanis were some of the biggest supporters for the Taliban and other extremists operating against what we were trying to establish—a democratic government that respected women and minority rights. Pakistan was the first country to celebrate the fall of the Afghan government and the return of the Taliban. It’s also tragic because these are two impoverished countries with many challenges. The fact that they’re trading bombs and not goods and services just means that the average Pakistani, the average Afghani, will continue to suffer.

Since the Taliban government has no international relations, Afghanistan has been pretty isolated, with Pakistan being its one outlet to the wider world. The Durand Line, where fighting has recently broken out, is a colonial border that was arbitrarily laid down amidst people groups that were once whole. There’s a historical fight over where the real border between these two countries is, and these skirmishes have been steadily escalating until now. 

Pakistan has nuclear weapons. They have a modern air force. They went toe to toe with India not too long ago, so there would be no competition, military to military. But as we learned the hard way, the Taliban and these terrorist groups that operate in Afghanistan don’t play by the same rules. It would be very easy for them to infiltrate Pakistan to set off explosions and suicide bombs in sensitive government locations. That could be a terrifying next phase of this conflict if cooler heads don’t prevail. 

Ramadan could be a tool to help deescalate. This is the most holy time of the year for Muslims, a faith that is shared on both sides of the border. There are Islamic leaders who are against this extreme violence, who promote peace. Will they be given a platform? Will they be allowed to preach a return to introspection and prayer? We hope for that rather than an escalation to broader conflict with missiles flying in every direction.


Is this conflict related to what we’re seeing right now in Iran, or is it entirely separate?

What’s playing out between Pakistan and Afghanistan is its own universe of history, overlapping ethnicities, and lines drawn by the British when they were the colonial power. Two common threads are, first, a radical terrorist community that operates out of all three countries and is willing to use extreme violence against those who think, pray, or believe differently than they do. And second, the government’s willingness to cozy up to some of those factions and use them as a way to project power in other countries like Pakistan does in India, like Afghanistan has done against the United States. That’s the through line.

The Taliban sees the world through a religious lens. Taliban means “a return to Islamic education.” That’s the framework, a very narrow application of sharia law. It’s how they decide to govern domestically and how they engage internationally.

Pakistan’s not too different. They are more secular, but there is a strong strain of Islamic extremism interwoven into government and laws that also commands how Pakistan engages at home and abroad. They’re two sides of the same coin, playing the same game with these nonstate actors, and both are paying a high price. 


You mention Ramadan. What is the religious landscape of Pakistan?

Pakistan is an incredibly diverse country of 250 million people. It’s overwhelmingly Islamic, but that belies a much greater diversity that’s intra-Islamic, majority Sunni, that breaks into different denominations or sects.

There’s a very large Shia Muslim community as well as a variety of heterodox groups like the Ahmadi community that view themselves as Islamic, but the Islamic establishment doesn’t. In addition, you have a Christian community, a Sikh community, and a Hindu community with an overlay of different ethnicities. Issues of religious persecution are a steady narrative in the daily lived experience of religious minorities in that country. 


You’ve written about a man named Shahbaz Bhatti. Why is he someone Christians should know?

Shahbaz Bhatti was a hero of the Christian faith and a Pakistani patriot. He was a friend of mine, and 15 years ago this month, he was killed by the Pakistani Taliban for speaking out against the country’s onerous blasphemy law. He was willing to give it all for the cause of religious freedom. He was courageous to speak up for his own persecuted Christian community, but also for persecuted Hindus, Sikhs, and others. 

Pakistan has the worst blasphemy law in the world. It empowers individuals to make a claim, a charge of blasphemy, which carries the death penalty. Once the charge is made by an individual, the police are then required to arrest the accused. That arrest begins a legal process that can take years. Right now, there are at least 400 people who are currently in detention under charges of blasphemy. There are actually more Muslims than non-Muslims in detention, because this law has no guide rails. 

Business competitors will levy accusations of blasphemy so that a competitor is in jail or on trial for his life. They can take your property, your home, your business. But it’s the minorities, the Christians, the Hindus, who are even more vulnerable because they don’t have the larger community to fall back on.

When there’s an allegation of blasphemy, usually a mob is riled up. Homes are burned down, churches are destroyed, the victim is arrested, and those who are leading the mob attacks are not. According to my research, Pakistan has more people detained for the crime of blasphemy than all other countries combined times three. It’s a cancer that’s eating away at the heart of that country. Because of the extreme actions terrorists will take to defend it, like murdering Bhatti and other government leaders, politicians are literally scared to death to touch it.

Pakistan’s parliament within this illiberal democracy does reserve seats for religious minorities, but cabinet-level positions are very rare. Bhatti had enough political savvy to make himself relevant to the ruling political party of the day. He brought tens of thousands of people into the streets to protest for equal rights, for no discrimination based on religion or background. President Zardari and his wife noticed this and started to invite him to ally with their political program and, eventually, brought him into government. It was an impressive political feat. 

Bhatti used that position to advocate for religious freedom, to advocate against the blasphemy law, to advocate against his own government’s policies from within the government at the cabinet level.

I remember driving through one of the nicest neighborhoods in Islamabad, and in the middle of it, along a drainage ditch, was a Christian village. That was the only land that they could afford to buy, living in tin shacks. Many Christians were originally Dalits during the colonial period and converted to Christianity, so there is racial discrimination as well as religious. 

While Bhatti was in government, he helped pass a law requiring that 5 percent of all government jobs be set aside for minorities. Because of these religious and ethnic discriminatory tendencies, minorities were left otherwise to sweep streets and clean sewers

Because of that advocacy, there are more Christians, more Hindus getting professional jobs so they can better themselves and their families. Pakistan’s a hard place for anybody, but particularly for Christians and other minorities. The discrimination, the violence, and the legal environment are just so oppressive. When Bhatti was killed 15 years ago, it was a great loss for the country. It was a great loss to the world of religious freedom advocacy. 


The US has worked in Nigeria to assist Christians who are under oppression. Do you see a similar response in Pakistan?

The first Trump administration, which I worked under, named Pakistan as a country of particular concern (CPC), the same designation that Mr. Trump recently announced for Nigeria. This was the first administration to ever do that. It was great and long overdue. I traveled to Islamabad to negotiate with the Pakistanis about how to get off that list of concerning countries. Sadly, the Biden administration didn’t pursue this issue in Pakistan or religious freedom in general.

What’s troubling about the second Trump administration is that when Secretary of State Marco Rubio met with Pakistani officials, he only wanted to talk about a rare earth minerals deal. No mention of persecution. There’s been no action toward the other 12 CPC countries that need to be redesignated either—China, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Burma, and others. These are missed opportunities to leverage US influence and this administration to get Pakistan to make these reforms. Unfortunately, I’m not seeing any desire to pick that up anytime soon. 


What concerns the Pakistani Christian diaspora as they look at what’s playing out in their country?

Many Pakistani Christians have chosen to flee to either Thailand or Sri Lanka, two places that they can go without a visa. But once they get there, they get stranded. There are large Pakistani Christian communities in both countries that are living on the margins of society, praying for the day that they could get resettled to Canada, to the United States, to Europe. 

They’re incredibly vulnerable. A whole generation of children are missing out on school opportunities, and they were already vulnerable in Pakistan. There’s not the threat of terrorists wanting to kill them, but there are a host of other concerns about trafficking and child exploitation that run rampant there.

When I meet with the Pakistani diaspora here in the States, that’s what they’re concerned about. They want the US to open up the doors again, to allow the resettlement of these persecuted minorities, even to assist in facilitating their transit to Canada. 

The church in Pakistan is one of the most beleaguered yet faithful I’ve ever seen, because of the environment they must navigate every day. When we talk about saving persecuted Christians, we need to be mindful of them.

When we talk about religious persecution, we of course remember our own, but we also must talk about it holistically. We as Christians stand up for anyone who’s being persecuted, Christian or not. We do this as a witness and testimony of God’s love but also because it helps the Christian minorities in these tough environments show that Christians care about everyone. We don’t segregate others or set them aside. 

In Afghanistan, the tiny church that exists operates underground. I hear rumors that they’re still there, but it’s one of the worst places in the world to be a convert because if that becomes known, it’s hard to get out. It’s instant death. We need to pray for peace in both countries because many innocent people are in harm’s way right now.

News

Turning ‘a Miracle’ into Long-Haul Help for the Homeless

A North Carolina nonprofit is thinking in decades, not days, about sustainable, affordable housing.

Photos of residents in their new apartments.
Christianity Today March 20, 2026
Illustration by Christianity Today / Images courtesy of Housing for New Hope

Cassandra Burnette never expected to find herself homeless.

A petite, 57-year-old African American woman who chatters to strangers like they’re old friends, Burnette was a manager at a Wendy’s when she lost her job. And though she’d lived and worked in Durham, North Carolina, for more than 20 years, she wasn’t able to find new work. 

Medical history—including neuropathy, chronic pain, and the effects of three past surgeries—complicated her job hunt and made manual labor difficult. “It burns so bad when I walk,” she told me, and the pain has only grown with age. “But I’m getting along.”

When she could no longer pay rent, Burnette was evicted. “I stayed with one of my friends for a while, and they helped,” she said, “and then I went to a shelter.” She spent three months at an emergency shelter run by Urban Ministries of Durham before a case manager there referred her to Housing for New Hope (HNH).

HNH is a local nonprofit focused on providing affordable, sustainable housing to Durham’s homeless population. Beginning with a shelter offering transitional housing for men and gradually expanding its programs and facilities, the organization has been a steady presence in the city since 1992. And there’s been no shortage of housing needs to fill.

Nationally, the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) reported in 2024, homelessness is the highest it’s been in two decades. And here in the Research Triangle—Durham as well as the nearby cities of Raleigh and Chapel Hill—15 years of a boom economy has spiked housing prices. The fair market rent for a two-bedroom unit in Durham County rose from $990 in 2018 to $1,711 in 2026, so high that someone earning minimum wage would need to work more than full-time just to afford rent. Unsurprisingly, homelessness has increased, and more than 40 percent of homeless people in Durham are part of families with children.

Housing for New Hope takes a long-term approach, said Russell Pierce, a bearded and bespectacled former pastor who serves as the organization’s executive director.

Pierce self-describes as a rambler, and my 15-minute conversation with him soon stretched to an hour. His enthusiasm for his work is unmistakable, as is his thoughtfulness. Pierce lights up whenever he considers an innovative way to help Durham’s homeless population.

“You can hear Matthew 25”—Jesus’ exhortation to feed, clothe, and visit those in need—“on a Sunday morning, and you can pretty much knock that whole list out by five o’clock before dinnertime,” Pierce told me. But for more durable work, he added, “I orient around Jesus’ ‘Nazareth manifesto’ in Luke 4. Coming to set the captive free and let the blind see—all those pieces are very long-haul. That is kingdom work in its truest sense.”

Rather than focusing on emergency shelter, then, HNH operates three apartment complexes for people earning less than 50 percent of the area’s median income. Residents can stay for up to two years. The nonprofit also operates two long-term supportive housing complexes for those who have been homeless for at least one year and have a disabling condition (usually a severe, persistent mental illness or substance abuse).

In February 2023, Pierce recalled, HNH had an opportunity to expand those services: Carver Creek, a senior living facility adjacent to an extant HNH property, went up for sale.

“There was some land behind us that wasn’t big enough to build on,” Pierce said. “Carver Creek had extra land that wasn’t big enough to build on. But if you put them together, we would have enough room to build another 45 to 50 units. We realized we could make a whole campus on this 11.5 acres.”

County officials were eager to facilitate the sale, which would allow current senior residents to continue living at Carver Creek at below-market rates. As the lead implementer for HUD-related grants dealing with homelessness in Durham, Housing for New Hope—which is about 50 percent government-funded—was already a known quantity. And the organization’s focus on long-term housing meshed with municipal goals too. 

“To be able to offer someone their own place, the dignity of their own door they can shut, a window?” said Ryan Smith, director of Durham Community Safety Department, at a city-hosted panel on homelessness last month, which Pierce moderated. “Those kinds of things can make a real difference.”

Durham’s County Commission and City Council each contributed $3 million to HNH to buy the Carver Creek property debt-free in August 2023. The process moved quickly—so quickly that Pierce calls it “a miracle.”

After the sale, private donors contributed to the refurbishment of the existing units and development of a new complex on the combined property. Though HNH is not church-affiliated, many of its most enthusiastic supporters are local churches. Four congregations have backed the nonprofit since the early 1990s, Pierce said, and remain among its largest supporters. In addition to financial donations, churches provide essentials kits for residents—which contain kitchen, bed, bath, cleaning, and hygiene supplies—as well as volunteers for events, landscaping, and other needs.

Refurbishment completed at Carver Creek includes updated flooring, lighting, and paint throughout the complex. “I’d like to say our changes are small, but mighty,” said Shanta Addison, HNH director of client services. “It’s a way to show current residents and our community partners how seriously we are taking this process and how much we value the community we serve,” she said, though “we still have a long way to go with upgrading the units.”

After the renovation is finished, Addison and Pierce told me, the next step is determining how to best make use of the additional lot space. Five acres of the combined property will remain a protected forest, but the other acreage could host dozens of new housing units.

“We have this opportunity before us,” Pierce told me. “Do we build up? Do we build tiny home neighborhoods on the site? Because we know that with 100–120 units, we can get more services onsite, and that dramatically increases the likelihood that residents will connect with those services.” Those services include job readiness training, health care assistance, and mental health support.

It’s been 13 months since Cassandra Burnette connected with HNH and moved into an apartment of her own at the organization’s Andover Apartments complex. On move-in day, she was delighted to find her new space already furnished and stocked with basic supplies. Since then, she said, HNH has been an excellent landlord, showing me a recently repaved parking lot as well as the cleanliness of the facility. Earlier that day, she said, an HNH staffer named Renee Holloway had personally driven her to a doctor’s appointment.

“Miss Renee got the van and took me this morning to do that. She’s really good. She’ll do anything for me,” Burnette smiled, saying she hopes HNH can continue its work. “They help you. They talk to you. They give you food and supplies when you need it. It’s wonderful. And the rent is low! You can’t get that treatment anywhere else. I love it here.”

News

From ‘O for a Thousand Tongues’ to ‘The Blessing’

The first Wesleyan hymnal in 30 years seeks to reflect the movement’s history and present.

An image of the hymnal.
Christianity Today March 19, 2026
David Walt / Seedbed

In 2019, the United Methodist Church (UMC) approved an exit plan for congregations that chose to disaffiliate from the denomination over its stance on sexuality and same-sex relationships. The subsequent schism led to the loss of 25 percent of its US congregations and the founding of the Global Methodist Church (GMC). Methodist churches that changed their affiliation to the GMC or other denominations have had to reestablish their congregational identities, and in some cases, purchase new hymnals.

Some UMC jurisdictions have directed disaffiliated churches to stop using UMC hymnals. While the UMC doesn’t seem to be enforcing that mandate, many of these churches are eager to find a new hymnal that preserves their Wesleyan roots and allows them to continue singing the songs of their tradition. One resource they are turning to in large numbers is the new ecumenical Wesleyan hymnal, Our Great Redeemer’s Praise.  

“In some cases, churches were forced to get a new hymnal,” said Powers, associate professor of worship at Asbury Theological Seminary and one of the collection’s editors. “But a new hymnal also helps solidify a new identity.”

Our Great Redeemer’s Praise is the first new print edition of an ecumenical Wesleyan hymnal in over 30 years. It is a production of Seedbed, a Wesleyan ministry resource publisher started by Asbury Seminary, which began developing the project in 2019. Copies of the book are now in the pews and seatbacks of churches in a variety of denominations that have roots in the Wesleyan tradition. Published in 2022, the hymnal has now been through five print runs. 

“Interest has far exceeded our expectations,” said Andrew Miller, director of publishing for Seedbed. “Hymnody isn’t dead.”

The majority of churches purchasing Our Great Redeemer’s Praise have left the UMC and joined the GMC. But churches across denominations are purchasing the hymnal; in the United States, the Wesleyan tradition encompasses Methodist denominations as well as the Church of the Nazarene and the Salvation Army. According to Seedbed, some nondenominational churches have purchased the hymnal as well, and individual consumers are purchasing copies for devotional use. 

Matt O’Reilly, lead pastor at Christ Church Birmingham in Alabama (which disaffiliated from the UMC in 2022 and is now part of the GMC), said that the decision to purchase Our Great Redeemer’s Praise for the church was driven in part by the disaffiliation, but also by the community’s commitment to hymnody. Christ Church has a traditional service and a contemporary service every Sunday morning; the traditional service usually sees more attendees (and is growing).

“In the Wesleyan tradition, hymn collections are major theological resources,” O’Reilly said. “In the early days, Methodists weren’t writing systematic theologies; they were writing sermon collections and hymn collections.” 

O’Reilly also said the new hymnal is supporting his church’s move away from screen dependency and toward more tactile, embodied practices in musical worship. “I think the church needs to be ahead of the curve in providing embodied experiences,” he said. “These days, when everything is digital, it’s not bad for us to have a book in hand.”

Seedbed and Asbury Seminary aren’t officially affiliated with either the UMC or the GMC, and Powers said the hymnal is intended for use by any Wesleyan church or community looking for an updated collection of congregational music. 

“The Methodist movement was about singing the faith,” the hymnal’s general editor Jonathan Powers told CT. “And hymnals are an important part of that tradition.” 

In the late 18th century, John and Charles Wesley’s Methodist movement was the catalyst for the widespread production and use of hymnals in England. The first Wesleyan hymnal, printed in 1780, bore the title A Collection of Hymns for the Use of the People Called Methodists. Understandably, it became more commonly known simply as “the large hymnal.” The first hymn in that first edition was “O, for a Thousand Tongues to Sing”—all 18 verses of it. 

The Wesleys, both Anglican ministers, led a revivalist movement within the church, and hymn-singing societies cropped up as followers began seeking opportunities to sing their faith in community, outside of formal liturgical services. 

These societies throughout England helped fertilize an industry, creating demand for more printed hymnals. Methodists, as the Wesleys’ followers came to be known, purchased hymnals for personal use, carrying them to and from society gatherings where they sang verses written by Charles Wesley (a prolific writer who constructed metered verses as a devotional practice) set to preexisting hymn tunes. Many of Charles Wesley’s hymns, such as “Christ the Lord is Risen Today” and “Jesus, Lover of My Soul,” have become beloved congregational songs across denominations in and outside of the Methodist tradition.

“We don’t want to serve just one denomination and tradition. We want [the hymnal] to be Wesleyan,” said Powers. 

To that end, Powers and his team surveyed leaders from churches across Wesleyan denominations, asking which hymns they considered significant to their history and identity and which ones ought to be left behind. 

Powers said respondents suggested omitting patriotic songs such as “America the Beautiful,” which he and the editorial team decided to follow. 

“Someone didn’t want ‘In Christ Alone’ to be included because of its Reformed theology and mention of ‘the wrath of God,’” Powers said. “We worked through that. It’s easy to forget that one of the first questions John Wesley would ask those who wanted to join his society was ‘Do you desire to flee the wrath to come?’” 

The success of Our Great Redeemer’s Praise, the Gettys’ recent Sing! hymnal,and other recently released boutique printed hymnals suggest that interest in singing from books might be growing in the US. Churches and individuals are buying new hymnals.

“It’s amazing to me that people are hungry for the hard-copy hymnal again. This isn’t a tradition that’s passing away,” said Julie Tennent, managing editor of Our Great Redeemer’s Praise. “When I would visit churches and start talking about the project, people’s eyes would light up.” 

There is a wealth of historic hymnody in the Wesleyan tradition, some of which hasn’t been reproduced in recent Wesleyan and Methodist hymnals. Our Great Redeemer’s Praise includes exactly 100 hymns written by Charles Wesley. Powers said that previous volumes have generally included 40 or so. 

“We have more of Welsey’s voice in there,” Powers said. “There is a lot of great music that has been forgotten or lost.” 

Powers mentioned the hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” as an example of one that hasn’t received the modern attention or reinvention of songs like “Amazing Grace” or “Come Thou Fount” but merits not just preservation but reintroduction to the church. 

“This is a canon of songs that represents who we are, and what we want to pass down to the church,” he said. 

That canon doesn’t just preserve the old; it also contains songs that impacted the church at the time of its compilation. Our Great Redeemer’s Praise does start with the traditional “O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing,” but it ends with “The Blessing,” a contemporary worship anthem that became globally popular during the pandemic

“Ending with ‘The Blessing’ felt like an important way to capture a moment in time,” Powers said. “The hymnal is thoroughly what we are now, and where we’ve come from.” 

Culture

Gospel Matriarch Lucie Campbell Looked To God

Her songs spoke to life’s uncertainties and God’s presence—and taught me how to hope.

A collage of Lucie Campbell, a song she wrote, and her hometown.
Christianity Today March 19, 2026
Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons, Hymnary.org, Memphis Music Hall of Fame

I grew up in a home where gospel music was always playing. My grandparents raised me in a small town outside Birmingham to the sound of The Caravans and Mighty Clouds of Joy. The music was like the smell of food in the kitchen or the sound of a television in another room. It was sometimes turned up, sometimes down, but the rich harmonies and fusion of the blues, jazz, and soul were never far away.

I didn’t appreciate gospel music enough as a kid. But as my relationship with God grew, I valued it more. It gave me words for experiences I was still learning to name. And I came to treasure that generations of songwriters had left behind words and sounds that captured not only the Christian life but also the experience of African American Christians as they wandered through the proverbial wilderness, where survival required the steady guidance of God. 

When we think about theology, we often think about preachers, scholars, or pastors. In the Black church tradition, however, theology has equally been carried through song. Gospel songwriters translate the truths of our faith into words we can remember long after sermons fade from memory. Preaching is good for explaining belief. But it is songs that have often declared the truth of God’s companionship in the face of harsh realities with no end in sight.

Few songwriters have put together words that communicate such truths as well as the late gospel giant Lucie Campbell did. I consider her one of the genre’s greats, and the feeling seems to have been shared by other gospel singers, like Mahalia Jackson, who took Campbell’s songs and transformed them into new arrangements. Horace Clarence Boyer, one of gospel’s foremost scholars, once said Miss Lucie, as Campbell was often known, was “perhaps the most significant Black church musician we’ve ever produced.”

Personally, I don’t remember the first time I heard Campbell’s words. Nor do I remember the first time I heard her famous song “Touch Me, Lord Jesus.” But the first version that stuck with me was recorded by the Angelic Gospel Singers, whose lead singer reminded me of my grandmother.

Over the years, I heard the song performed by choirs, soloists, and small gospel groups. Initially, I simply appreciated the piano music that accompanied it. But one Sunday morning, I paid more attention to the lyrics:

O bear me thro’ the current;

O’er the chilly Jordan,

O Lord, please lead me, my dear Savior

To my home above.

I often found that Campbell’s words were not abstract theology but a prayer shaped by real human need. Her songs did not avoid hardship. Instead, they spoke directly to the realities many African Americans faced—poverty, loneliness, exhaustion, and uncertainty—while insisting that God remained present in the middle of those realities.

Campbell herself was born in Duck Hill, Mississippi, in 1885. She was the youngest of nine children. Her father worked for the railroad, and her mother worked as a cook. When Campbell was a child, her father died in a railroad accident, leaving her mother to raise their children alone.

The circumstances of Campbell’s early life were not unusual for African Americans growing up in the rural South during the late 19th century. Life was often hard, but her story showed remarkable determination.

As a child, Campbell had an early talent for music. She wanted to play the piano. But because her mother could afford lessons only for Campbell’s older sister, Campbell simply listened and practiced on her own. She graduated high school as valedictorian at the age of 14 and later began a career in education.

Throughout her life, faith, education, and music were closely intertwined. As a teenager, she organized a choir that would eventually grow to a thousand members and sing at the National Baptist Convention. In her early thirties, she was elected music director for the convention and eventually became the first African American woman to publish a gospel hymn, called “Something Within.” She composed more than 100 other songs before she died in 1963.

In Campbell’s imagination, human need was often the place where Christ met his people. Life contains strong currents. There are moments when we feel as if we are being swept forward by circumstances we cannot control. There are seasons when the waters feel cold and uncertain.

Yet I found that her music does not end with those realities. It moves toward provision. In “Touch Me, Lord Jesus,” Campbell pleads with God to be fed “from Thy holy table, / Rain, rain bread from heaven, / Let my cup o’erflow.” In “I Am Not Blessed with Riches,” she writes we may be helpless, but Jesus can turn our night to day. He, after all, is her hope, joy, and comfort. She asks us, “Is he yours?”

When I listen to Campbell’s words now, I hear more than a beautiful gospel song. I hear a teacher of the church helping me remember what God has already done even when the present world feels uncertain. That may be why her music continues to resonate generations later. It beckons us to put our hope in God and still helps us find our way home.

Daylan Woodall is a pastor and religious studies professor whose work focuses on African American Christian history and the Black church. He writes the Substack newsletter Too Hip for the Room

Culture
Review

‘The Faithful’ Celebrates the Women of the Bible

The first episode—and a set visit in Italy—introduced a me to a thoughtful new drama about multidimensional women in Scripture.

Part of the set of The Faithful.

Part of the set of The Faithful.

Christianity Today March 19, 2026
Photo courtesy of Paul Marchbanks

Each year, I teach multiple sections of a course with the unwieldy catalog title The Bible as Literature and in Literature and the Arts. This interdisciplinary offering examines biblical figures, symbols, and principles in their textual and historical contexts, then considers the rhetorical impact of this material when it is woven into modern literary and visual art. When taught at public institutions by academics more convinced of the Bible’s literary merit than its truth value, this type of course can unsettle—even derail—young faith instead of fortifying it.

This outcome is far from inevitable. As hymns and poetic liturgy fill a sanctuary, adorning Scripture with meter and melody, so can faith-laced fiction and imagery swell the imagination with illustrations of the perennial contest between grace and rebellion.

In the hands of a religious skeptic or cynical instructor, a poem by Robert Browning that details a monk’s petty cruelty provides evidence of hypocrisy. The Christian professor, however, points out how tonal contradictions and hyperbole sabotage the first-person speaker’s arrogance: The poem spotlights integrity by framing the consequences of its absence. To the cynic, a Christological work by Catalan painter Salvador Dalí constitutes virtue signaling, a politically savvy cash grab in the wake of a Catholic dictator’s rise to power. For the educator convinced that divine action often eludes our attempts to dissect it (1 Cor 1:18–30), the possibility of God acting in Dalí’s life complicates any facile, scornful conclusions about his work.

Such heavenly intervention underpins the personal narrative of a filmmaker I met last fall during a visit to the Roman set of Fox Entertainment’s The Faithful, a miniseries releasing across the three Sundays preceding Easter. René Echevarria, the showrunner, entered Hollywood in the early ’90s as a screenwriter and editor for sci-fi favorite Star Trek: The Next Generation and quickly became an executive producer. Ever since, Echevarria has gravitated toward shows with equally fantastic premises, including Dark Angel, The 4400, Medium, and Carnival Row. Each show spin yarns about figures with extraordinary abilities whose powers both complicate life and provide it with new purpose.

This creative interest in supernatural possibilities found a new, life-giving channel mid-career when God unexpectedly obtruded into a stressful life sustained by a cigarette addiction Echevarria lacked the time and will to eliminate. Intrigued by the ashes on someone’s forehead one day at the studio, Echevarria wondered what this individual had given up for Lent and what, if he were still a practicing Catholic, he himself might relinquish. The answer arrived immediately, alongside the conviction that the nicotine addiction regularly waking him up in the middle of the night had too strong a hold ever to be shaken off.

And then he heard a voice say, Of course you can, and you will, and you’re going to do it right now.

Not only did Echevarria never smoke another cigarette, that moment also awakened a dormant faith which initially brought him back into the Catholic church, where he and the woman he soon married would baptize their three children. Later, they transferred membership to a small evangelical church outside Los Angeles and read the Bible in new, transformative ways.

Five years ago, Echevarria belatedly revealed his faith to his surprised agent and asked that they look for faith-based projects. The success of The Chosen and House of David had convinced Fox Entertainment to jump on the bandwagon, so it eagerly greenlighted Echevarria’s and Julie Weitz’s proposal for a show foregrounding the experience of women in the Bible.

Echevarria’s faith and avid research, Weitz’s Jewish education, feedback from Christianity Today’s Russell Moore, and assistance from Wendy Zierler (rabbi and professor of modern Jewish literature and feminist studies at Hebrew Union College) combined to create a show shaped by the biblical record and psychological realism. As Weitz puts it, they wanted the show to feel “true and legitimate, not heightened.” The sort of melodramatic excesses, extravagant sets, and military spectacle today’s audiences love are nowhere to be seen. Instead, into the huts and tents of ancient Bedouins, the show’s creators placed imperfect, God-fearing nomads whose faltering steps underscore the power of the one who draws them out of their homelands. The series opens with the story of Abram, Sarai, and Hagar.

During a press conference last month, I asked Echevarria a rather involved question. Noting that Hebrews lists Sarah as one of the storied faithful who “was enabled to bear children because she considered him faithful who had made the promise” (Heb 11:11), I pointed back to the events dramatized by his show which underscore Sarai’s lack of trust in God’s timing. These include feasible extrapolations from the scriptural account, including Sarai’s yelling at God and throwing vegetables from Abram’s altar when no pregnancy is forthcoming, her anger at Abram for not resisting more when she tells him to sleep with Hagar, and her frustration with Abram’s repeatedly uprooting them to move closer to Canaan. Did Echevarria intend to characterize faith, I asked, as an often tortured, complicated process, thereby making the faith of the show’s title appear accessible to struggling humans?

“Yes,” he enthusiastically rejoined. And Weitz elaborated: All three stories in the series consider women “grappling with faith on a human level.”

In the case of Sarai (Sarah), faith is vicarious for quite some time, with Abram (Abraham) serving as the divine proxy in whom she places her belief. Watching from a distance as Abram sacrifices at one homemade altar after another and lacking any revelatory encounters or dreams of her own, Sarai must trust that no delusions addle her husband’s brain. In the show, his romantic devotion to her makes such faith relatively easy. As Echevarria notes, Abram’s peers likely expected him to take another wife when Sarai failed to conceive, yet he refused to consider this option. (A second marriage in the Bible follows Sarah’s death.) Pushed into sleeping with Hagar, Abram acquiesces but maintains, “I have loved only one my whole life.”

Hagar’s experience differs profoundly from Sarai’s. According to Jewish Midrashim, Hagar was an Egyptian princess presented to Sarai as a handmaid by the Pharaoh anxious to get rid of her, an explanation for her presence in Abram’s tribe that the show adopts wholeheartedly. Her status as an ankh-wearing outsider and slave makes it unlikely any Jewish man will pursue her, and she appears to have few friends besides Sarai. Abram deigns to admit she’s beautiful the second time he sleeps with her, but he makes little effort to form an emotional connection. And Hagar demands none, at no point attempting to steal Abram’s affections. Despite her unenviable situation, Hagar proves even-tempered, particularly when compared with the vacillating Sarai.

One might contend that Hagar’s role as occasional narrator centers her own perspective and opinion—arguably the show’s most radical decision. In the screenwriters’ hands, Hagar comes across as kinder, gentler, and more pitiable than Sarai. The show interprets the idea that she “despise[d]” her mistress not because of the contempt Sarai names (Gen. 16:4–5) but because of an understandable desire to raise the child she carries in her womb. An angel of the Lord speaks to Hagar twice, as in the Bible (16:7–13; 21:17–18), and in the show’s conclusion she plays a surprising role that I will not divulge here.

Less surprising is the series’ production value, given the industry’s rush to meet the growing demand for quality Christian programming. Set visits in a quarry near Rome and back in the studio revealed the considerable research undergirding the design of period architecture, domestic goods, and costumes. I was particularly taken by a meticulously carved board game, an ingenious prop deserving mass production and a spot next to Wingspan and Catan on gaming displays.

While committed to never contradicting the biblical record outright, Echevarria and Weitz take expected liberties with the text. They include only events witnessed by the women, and the compact story line omits any mention of Abram’s nephew Lot. At the same time, Echevarria and Weitz invent several plausible moments in their quest to create relatable characters for a mixed audience. In the first two-episode story, these include Sarai’s and Hagar’s signing a clay tablet to formalize their surrogacy arrangement, Hagar’s recommending a grain-based peeing test for determining pregnancy, and Abram’s recounting tales about Noah and Nimrod to his tribe’s children in the manner of “the sagas.”

Teaching the Bible at a secular university has made one thing crystal clear to me. Unquestioned, prejudicial assumptions about biblical gender roles are one of the largest roadblocks for unchurched students wondering whether the Bible is more than a historical and literary artifact. If the first two episodes of this humanizing drama about multidimensional, relatable women prefigure the tenor of the next four, the show will realize the evangelical aim Echevarria repeatedly, joyfully articulated in our conversations: convincing a few skeptics to take their Bibles off the shelf.

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

News

Iranian Christian Freed Nine Months After Border Patrol Arrest

Video of agents arresting him and his wife in Los Angeles went viral, and their church has been praying for his freedom.

Pastor Ara Torosian filmed Border Patrol agents arresting Iranian members of his congregation.

Pastor Ara Torosian filmed Border Patrol agents arresting Iranian members of his congregation.

Christianity Today March 18, 2026
Ara Torosian

After nine months in immigration detention, Iranian Christian convert Reza was freed this week, his pastor Ara Torosian reported. Reza’s church kept track of his exact time in detention: 267 days. 

“We are so happy,” said Torosian, the pastor of the Farsi-speaking congregation Cornerstone West Los Angeles, in an interview with CT. But the pastor is concerned about other Iranian Christians, including in his own congregation, who remain in immigration detention.

Border Patrol agents detained Reza and his wife, Marjan, who are Christians and asylum seekers from Iran, on a Los Angeles sidewalk near their home in June of last year. Torosian captured the arrest on video, which went viral as Marjan had a panic attack and convulsed on the ground during the arrest. (CT withheld the couple’s full names to protect their safety and their family in Iran.) 

The couple had been part of Cornerstone West Los Angeles for about a year before their arrest.

Reza was in detention ever since in New Mexico. Marjan was released after 120 days in detention and was granted asylum, but two different judges were handling the couple’s cases.

Christian groups like Women of Welcome raised an outcry about the arrests because Iranian Christian converts from Islam face arrest, torture, and potential execution in Iran. Torosian said the government lawyer prosecuting the case against Reza did not seem to understand the threats Christian converts faced in their home country. Torosian said Iranian authorities had recently searched the home of Reza’s parents for Christian material but—because they are not Christians—found nothing. That underscored the threat Reza faced, Torosian argued.  

Reza’s church is now praying for other detained Iranian Christians in the US, including a fellow congregant. In addition, two Iranian Christians from a church in Texas are in detention and one is facing deportation orders but is appealing, according to World Relief’s Lauren Rasmussen. 

Reza and Marjan’s advocates said the couple had followed the legal procedures for asylum seekers. Prior to 2025, it was unusual for asylum seekers to be detained while their cases were pending.

In November, Reza was granted “CAT withholding” rather than asylum, which meant he faced a threat of torture in Iran but was subject to deportation to a third country. Reza could appeal the decision.

His lawyers then filed a habeas petition in federal court, which led to his release, said Torosian. 

The release comes as the US has all but ended admission for international refugees other than white South Africans. And now the US is at war with Iran, with the Department of Homeland Security warning of Iranian “sleeper cells” in the US.

This past Sunday, Torosian was two points into a six-point sermon on Luke when he felt called to end his sermon and have the congregation pray. Marjan prayed, along with another family with members in detention. They prayed for America, for Iran, and for detained Iranians, and people wept.

 “Usually my church is not an emotional church,” Torosian said. The next morning, Torosian heard from Reza’s lawyers. 

Upon news of his release, the church sent money to fly him from El Paso to Los Angeles. The church had already established a fund for Christian asylum seekers in need. Torosian said he told Reza he was proud of him for “being a light in that prison.” 

Torosian had promised Reza an Iranian meal on his release, which they scheduled for lunch together on Wednesday in Los Angeles. Torosian canceled his sermon on Sunday for the church to worship, praise God for Reza’s release, and celebrate the Iranian new year, Nowruz. 

“God did amazing things,” Torosian said.

Theology

Why John Perkins Stood (Almost) Alone

Columnist

The civil rights leader treated love of God and love for others as inseparable.

John Perkins
Christianity Today March 18, 2026
Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Image: Alli Rader

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

John Perkins died this week, and I can’t believe it.

When I say that, I don’t mean his death was a shock. He was in his 90s. I also don’t mean what we often say when someone we love and respect dies: “I just can’t believe he’s gone.” No, what I find hard to believe is that we were alive at the same time. That’s because Perkins seemed too large for this age.

Perkins seemed to be someone we should read about in history books, not someone we could know. Whenever I saw his face and name on the screen of my pulsing phone in an incoming call, I felt as if I were being contacted by George Whitefield or John Wesley or Martin Luther King Jr. Perkins seemed strange in this time in the world, and that’s because he is as close as we get in the present day to what people meant at one time when they said “martyr.”

He was no martyr the way the word’s been reduced and degraded. The psychological category of martyr complex did not fit him at all. He was a Black Mississippian of one generation, and I am a white Mississippian of another, and I could see what he was up to. He had left our home state, after all, and come back with a burden—to preach the gospel, to see lives changed, to stand up to white supremacy and the oppression of the poor, and to empower people to escape from poverty.

And he did that in the Mississippi of the 1960s—a race-nationalist police state that sought to make examples of everyone who, like Perkins, did not “know their place.” He was beaten, jailed, and hounded in every way possible, but he never yielded. Neither did he give up on what drove him to act in the first place. He never gave up on reconciliation.

After a certain point in the 1980s or 1990s, racial reconciliation became a phrase of deflection for many believers. Many American Christians, often white evangelicals, used reconciliation in reference to race as a way to signal, “We want multiethnic churches but only with white culture, except for an occasional gospel choir” or “We don’t want anyone to use racial slurs, but we also don’t want anyone looking at anything in the Bible that might sound like social justice.”  

Seeing this linguistic trick, some who rightly opposed racial inequality became suspicious of the very word reconciliation. Perkins never did. He would no sooner give up that concept than he would give up the word grace because some television evangelists had used it to excuse their latest sex scandals.

Perkins truly believed what Paul wrote:

All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. (2 Cor. 5:18–19, ESV throughout)

To those who wanted to honor civil rights and care for the poor but couch their concerns in vague generalities about “the divine,” Perkins thundered, “Jesus!”

And to those who wanted to keep the Jim Crow mentality, just substituting modern complaints for the language their grandparents would use, Perkins stood with the Bible: “Behold, the wages of the laborers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, are crying out against you, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord of hosts” (James 5:4).

Perkins combined preaching the gospel, registering people to vote, advocating for justice and civil rights, and starting neighborhood initiatives to give the poor hope—not only for the life to come but also for escaping poverty now. Yet he never gave up on reconciliation, even with those who hated him.

Perkins refused to treat the greatest commandment (“Love the Lord your God,” Matt. 22:37) and the second-greatest commandment (“Love your neighbor as yourself,” v. 39) as separate options on a multiple-choice quiz.

Some will blanch at the word martyr because it doesn’t seem to apply to someone who passes quietly at home, holding hands with his wife, in the tenth decade of life. Perkins’s death doesn’t seem to fit in the same category as the deaths of those who were burned at the stake or drowned in rivers or fed to lions for their faith. But the term martyr is rooted in the Greek word for witness, and that’s what Perkins was.

A witness, like Scripture itself, is a two-edged thing. Ezekiel saw the idolatries going on in the temple, and God said to him, “Son of man, have you seen what the elders of the house of Israel are doing in the dark, each in his room of pictures? For they say, ‘The Lord does not see us, the Lord has forsaken the land’” (Ezek. 8:12). A witness has seen something and bears witness to it.

In a time when the government has proposed removing language about, for instance, the murder of our fellow Mississippian Medgar Evers being motivated by racism, we need a witness to say, “These things happen in darkness but will not be hidden forever.”

But witness is not only an act of judgment. The Book of Hebrews gives us a series of examples of men and women who were “commended through their faith” (11:39). This commendation was not from other people—indeed, some of these Christians were sawn in two or exiled—but from God, because they “endured as seeing him who is invisible” (v. 27). These are not past-tense examples, the book reveals: “We are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses” (12:1). The language of a “cloud” here describes an overwhelming multitude—the kind of assembly Revelation refers to as a “multitude that no one could number” (7:9).

The cloud does not witness to itself but spurs us to “run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Heb. 12:1–2).

We could be tempted to think we are in a time of drought, without a cloud in the sky. But witnesses don’t just see something that’s already happened; they also look for something to come. And they sometimes get a glimpse: “Behold, a little cloud like a man’s hand is rising from the sea” (1 Kings 18:44).

Perkins stood with ideas and action and the kind of moral authority that can come only from testing those ideas with his life—standing for something true and loving something real. That’s the kind of witness Perkins was. And that’s what made him seem so strange in this juvenile, demoralized time.

John Perkins was alive. He still is. I believe it.

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

History

From a Galaxy Far, Far Away to Carol Stream, Illinois

CT tracked cultural changes while going through several of its own.

An image from Star Wars and a magazine cover from the CT archives.
Christianity Today March 18, 2026
Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty, CT Archives

In 1977, CT asked an evangelical theologian to visit “a galaxy far, far away” and review Star Wars. The Trinity Evangelical Divinity School professor was surprised by Star Wars—“the first work of genuine science fiction to become a film sensation”—and encouraged by its popularity.

The idea in the Star Wars plot is epic, the struggle of good and evil with religious overtones on a cosmic scale. The three male heroes—teen-ager Luke Skywalker, the hardened and yet somehow good-at-heart adventurer Han Solo, and the noble, mature warrior monk Ben (Obi-Wan) Kenobi—have many prototypes in both Greek and knightly epic. … 

To the simplicity of the plot—a tyrannical galactic empire threatens universal rule by terror and mass destruction—is added simplicity of heart. Luke is the pure young knight postulant, Kenobi the old, bruised, yet faithful warrior. And even Han Solo, who appears first as the experienced and cynical man of the universe, is transformed by his contact with the other two—and his admiration for the dynamic, sovereign, virtuous captive princess, Leia Organa—from a perfect knave into another perfect knight. …

A fair measure of the response to Star Wars must result from the fact that it presents, in exaggerated but unmistakably recognizable images, the clash of good and evil, youthful idealism, feminine beauty—and strength—mature manly virtue, and a romantic love-motif that is pure and self-sacrificial rather than carnal and self-seeking. Perhaps few of those who view Star Wars look or act much like Luke, Leia, or Ben Kenobi. But apparently millions—no doubt far more than filmmakers expected—admire them and want to think that there is room for them in the universe.

Another major cultural event happened that summer when Elvis Presley died at his home in Memphis at 42. One CT editor reflected on the moment:

As I grew up it seemed that my peers, male and female, were divided into two camps—those who followed Elvis and those who didn’t. But even those kids who weren’t full-fledged fans, and I was one of that group for a time, were affected by his music. 

He transformed the top forty from the leftovers of the big band and croon era into what we now know as rock. He took homegrown American music—rhythm and blues, the black sound, and gospel—and melded it into a new musical form. He paved the way for the Beatles, and nearly every major rock group today claims to have been heavily influenced by Elvis. It would be too much to say that he created a culture for teenagers, but he certainly epitomized it. Anyone who wants to understand rock music—a pivotal element in the generation gap—must understand Elvis. 

People nicknamed him “Elvis the Pelvis” because of his hard-driving beat and holy roller style movements, which he said he learned in his pentecostal church. But his real contribution was through the blues ballad. … When he sang gospel songs he put feeling into faith, and helped people hope despite a world of sorrows. Perhaps that’s why his gospel albums were his best sellers last month.

The year brought significant change to CT. The magazine relocated from its offices in Washington, DC, to Carol Stream, Illinois. Some readers criticized the move, worrying that CT was giving up its influence in the nation’s capital and retreating to an “evangelical ghetto,” safe in the suburbs. Editor in chief Harold Lindsell acknowledged the criticism with a playful note.

Our mailbag and our telephones have kept us busy discussing the pro’s and con’s of our move to Carol Stream, Illinois. … On issues like this there is always a division of the house—readers, editors, board members—but the board had to make the final decision and did. I’m writing this from Florida, which, at least in the wintertime, I prefer to both Chicago and Washington!

As part of the transition, founding editor Carl F. H. Henry submitted his final CT column

Christianity Today had not a single subscriber, not even an office, when God had led me in 1956 to accept the proffered editorship. On a beautiful California night my wife Helga and I drove, in silence and with clasped hands, to post the acceptance in the last outgoing mail. 

The magazine’s intended audience was clear. Sample issues went to Protestant clergymen of all affiliations, and then to intellectually alert lay leaders who, by keeping abreast of theological trends, might join in the battle for modern man’s wavering mind. … We were a sturdy team, welding evangelical links in a time when liberalism was unraveling and neo-orthodoxy was sounding increasingly discordant notes.

The magazine put a Black Christian on the cover for the first time that summer, promoting a 3,000-word interview with civil rights leader Jesse Jackson.

Q. Do you consider yourself an evangelical?
A. I consider myself an evangelical, but white evangelicals don’t. They shy away from me because of my social activism.

Q. Do you believe in the virgin birth of Jesus Christ?
A. Yes. It can’t be disproved. God is capable of all things. … 

Q. Do you believe in the bodily resurrection of Christ?
A. Well, you know, I do. If that tomb was guarded by military soldiers and they were not able to report that they were overthrown by some element and left, something happened. The disciples would not have lied to the point of each of them being destroyed through some violent death. They not only came back to protect themselves; they came back with enough convictions themselves to be crucified.

Q. Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?
A. Oh yes, I do. I don’t believe Jesus is the only son of God. I think God’s world is too big for that.

Jackson wasn’t the most controversial Black Christian that CT caught up with in 1977. That title belonged to Eldridge Cleaver, former leader of the Black Panthers and one-time advocate of violent revolution. He had a born-again experience while hiding from American authorities and considered himself—for the moment—an evangelical.

I am thrilled with the history of the black church and its stability. I feel awed by how magnificent it is. It would be easy to criticize it, but I don’t feel it would be helpful. … When I was in jail, one bishop of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church came to see me, and we had some good fellowship. But he was unique. He wasn’t from California. Other black ministers here wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole. Many white preachers, though, came to see me. … 

There are some Christians who need to be more concerned with encouraging new Christians, instead of putting banana peels under their feet. Some people don’t want to accept me into the family of the church. A white preacher, for instance, said I should go to jail even if I am innocent in order to set a good example. That threw me for a loop. A lot of people are going around with their own home-baked theologies.

The magazine continued to voice concern about abortion, calling on President Jimmy Carter to make it a priority to reduce the number of abortions and pass legislation protecting the rights of unborn children. CT also called on Christians to embrace adoption and encourage people to welcome children into their families. 

Here is the answer to the problem of unwanted babies, the alternative to the burgeoning abortion mills of our land! Tens of thousands of couples would gladly welcome these babies into their hearts and homes. … How much better to accept the consequences of pregnancy and then permit the babies to be welcomed into the hearts and homes of the childless! This may be “inconvenient,” but I believe it is the “Christian” way out of a difficult situation.

CT’s biggest concern in 1977 was the health of the American family. The magazine reported that the new president, Jimmy Carter, brought the issue to national attention

“I intend to construct an administration that will reverse trends we have seen toward a breakdown of the family in our country,” he said. 

The surprising thing is not that he spoke those words, but that he is following through on his pledge. In a recent interview he said that the integrity of the family ought to be a factor in almost every program his Administration puts forward. …

One Sunday while his wife was on a diplomatic visit to Latin America, Carter taught a Sunday-school lesson at First Baptist Church in Washington. In it he urged married persons to be faithful to their partners. Even, he added in words reminiscent of the prophet Hosea, when their partners are not faithful to them. 

CT asked Methodist theologian Will Willimon to explain why “Christian marriage has become a subversive activity,” and asked Campus Crusade staffer Phillip Yancey to share his research on marital minefields

I spent a year studying the first five years of marriage, the period when the divorce rate is highest. I began by interviewing nine couples who revealed to me the struggles of their first five years. … Unresolved conflicts oozed open. Often a session intended to gather helpful information for others turned into a plea for help.

Listening to them, I sometimes questioned the whole notion of marriage. We have placed greater demands on marriage now than in previous generations. Besides satisfying the need for asexual relationship, marriage is now being asked to supply needs for comradeship and partnership as well. Added to this is the weight of ideals our romanticizing culture excites in us. It’s no wonder many marriages cannot bear the strain. … 

The Bible at first reading seems to say little about marriage, but I found that God does show us what marriage requires and how we are to exercise the principles that build sound marriages. God himself embodies the ideal.

The magazine also noted a flurry of Christian books on sex and marriage in 1977. Evangelicals were beginning to focus on the family. 

Ideas

What Loving South Africa Taught Me About Patriotism

Attachment to another country didn’t diminish my affection for America. It showed me God’s love for all peoples.

A woman walking on a dirt road in Zingqolweni village in South Africa.

A woman walking on a dirt road in Zingqolweni village in South Africa.

Christianity Today March 18, 2026
Guillem Sartorio / Contributor / Getty

I’m not sure when I first knew I was in love with South Africa.

Perhaps it was the afternoon I stood in a wide field outside Durban, watching an entire village sing a bride down the aisle. Or perhaps it was later, in a Western Cape township church, where a pastor with a scarred leg preached forgiveness for the very people who had tried to break him. Or maybe it was beneath a Limpopo sunset that turned the sky gold.

I only know that somewhere between those moments, my affection deepened into something more complicated and costly.

In 2013, I arrived in a rural town in KwaZulu-Natal, preparing to welcome a team from New York City who would spend two weeks at an orphanage for children whose parents had died mostly because of AIDS. On the ground, my role was organizing the trip and juggling logistics, schedules, and the many details to keep everything running smoothly. Nokubonga, a young Zulu woman studying agriculture, was there for a different purpose: She was working on a fledgling farm project, a loving attempt to make the orphanage self-sustaining.

We shared a tiny cottage set apart from the children’s rows of homes—close enough to hear laughter drifting at night but far enough to feel like guests. Despite a 20-year age difference and an ocean between our cultures, we became fast friends. We shared humor, curiosity, and an appetite for conversations that ranged from politics to nail polish. When she invited me to her “white wedding” two years later, I was honored—and briefly horrified. Did this mean guests were supposed to wear white? In my Southern upbringing, wearing white to someone else’s wedding bordered on felony. I later learned that in South Africa, a “white wedding” distinguishes a Western-style ceremony from traditional African weddings.

Relieved, I climbed into a car with other guests and headed toward the ceremony. When we arrived, I stood in amazement. It felt as though an entire village had gathered. Hundreds of people spilled outward in color and motion: elaborate headdresses, gleaming fabrics, elders leaning on canes, children darting between chairs.

Then a charismatic emcee stepped into the aisle and began calling out in Zulu. The crowd sang, clapped, and rose to their feet. Women released that unmistakable ululation, a rolling, joyful lalalala sound that would have been shushed immediately at any American wedding I had attended. Noise was not disruption here but devotion.

Bridesmaids in turquoise danced down the aisle in synchronized rhythm. Groomsmen followed in sunglasses and playful choreography. When Nokubonga finally appeared, radiant and entirely in white, I cried.

I had traveled before, docking in unfamiliar ports and flying off the beaten path. But at this wedding I was a participant, and I was welcomed as someone who belonged. Standing in that field, swept up in music I didn’t understand and joy that required no translation, I felt something loosen inside me. The scene was unapologetically jubilant. Despite a complicated history, nothing could mute a celebration.

I would later understand that this was my first lesson: Joy here is defiance.

If the wedding taught me that joy can be defiant, Pastor Peter taught me that forgiveness can be as well.

The first time I heard him tell his story, we were sitting in a church sanctuary in the Nomzamo township outside the coastal city of Strand. Peter spoke gently, but the childhood he described was anything but gentle. He was 14 when he joined hundreds of Black schoolchildren protesting apartheid-era school conditions in Cape Town. Police encircled the crowd with barbed wire. Tear gas filled the air. Children scattered.

Peter ran for the fence and tried to climb it. His pant leg caught on the barbed wire, flipping him upside down. A policeman dragged him down, tearing flesh from his leg, which remained tangled in the wire. An older man collapsed dead on top of him, murdered, his blood spilling across Peter.

Rage took root in him, not only toward the system but also toward white people in general. For years, Peter drank alcohol to forget, threw stones at strangers, and witnessed violence nearly every day. Then a white missionary walked through his township. She returned again and again, handing out food parcels, tutoring children, and visiting poor families.

Peter’s certainty crumbled. He returned to school, worked long hours, and attended a church camp in college. There he prayed, and something unexpected happened. A sense of peace arrived, filling his being, giving him purpose.

“Once you’ve received grace,” he told me later, “it’s impossible to keep walking with hatred.”

The scar on his leg remains deep. So does the history behind it. But the church he planted in 2007 now feeds hundreds of locals weekly and educates children, all while Peter mentors younger pastors in his new role as bishop of the REACH-SA denomination (Reformed Evangelical Anglican Church of South Africa) across the Western Cape.

If I had learned from my friends that joy and forgiveness could be defiant, the land itself taught me something quieter: Beauty can soften what still aches.

In Limpopo, 89,000 acres of Bushveld unfolded around me, grassy plains stretching toward a horizon so vast that by night, it seemed to gather every star in the firmament.

Lions rested in the shade. Elephants moved with grave authority. Rhinos and giraffes crossed the dust with ancient patience. At sunset, the sky ignited, scorched gold, molten orange, before dissolving into a darkness so complete it felt almost primordial. One evening, a herd of wildebeests moved slowly across the last ribbon of light, their silhouettes etched in flame. I took photographs, knowing even then the pictures would fail. Some beauty resists capture. It must simply be received.

For a country marked by dispossession and contested land, the bush holds its own deeper truth. It belongs to everyone and no one. It existed before flags and will endure after them.

Since 2010, I have returned nearly every year—sometimes with teams, sometimes with friends, sometimes with just my husband—often staying for a month or more at a time. Through the years, the country stopped feeling like a destination and began to feel like a second home.

Attachment to another country enlarged my loyalties and my sense of shared humanity. For years, that attachment felt uncomplicated.

But relations between the United States and South Africa have grown tense in the past year. The US government froze foreign-assistance funding for the country and prioritized resettlement for white Afrikaners seeking to move to the United States, citing claims of persecution that many analysts and South African officials dispute. Leaders have traded accusations back and forth, and rhetoric has hardened on both sides.

Disagreement between nations is nothing new, and analysts disagreeing about claims of widespread persecution doesn’t discount very real, alarming instances of violence in South Africa. But hearing leaders in the United States, my own country, speak in these ways about a place I had come to love felt disorienting. South Africa is not perfect, but neither is my own country.

I am still an American, and I love my country deeply. But loving South Africa has changed the lens with which I see it. When we speak about another people, we must speak carefully, as if they were listening—because they are. We must refuse to caricature those we disagree with.

Nations are more than the policies, rhetoric, or viral arguments that dominate the news. They are lands steeped in beauty and history, filled with people like Nokubonga and Pastor Peter—and, well, me—everyday people on life’s journey, striving every day and possessing the dignity God has bestowed on us all.

I still cannot name the exact moment I fell in love with South Africa. What I do know is this: Loving another country sharpens your love for your own home. It deepens your gratitude and challenges you to want your country to be better. Seeing another place’s joys and struggles holds up a mirror, showing both what works and what can be improved, without diminishing the beauty of either.

True patriotism is caring enough to see your own country clearly—and to see God’s love for humanity in every other place as well.

Christina Ray Stanton was the short-term Missions Coordinator for Redeemer Presbyterian, NYC for over a decade, and is the founder of Loving All Nations.

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