The Silent Jesus Movie That Became a Blockbuster

‘The King of Kings’ put artsy visual techniques to exalted effect. It’s just been rereleased.

H.B. Warner as Jesus in King of Kings.

Courtesy of Flicker Alley

Jesus of Nazareth is trending. The fifth season of The Chosen—the first multi-season series about Christ and the disciples—is about to drop on Prime Video. The King of Kings—a Korean animated feature released in the US via Angel Studios—is now streaming on video on demand after grossing $66 million in theaters. Mel Gibson is gearing up to shoot his sequel to The Passion of the Christ in Rome’s Cinecittà Studios this summer. And Terrence Malick is in post-production on The Way of the Wind, which features Jesus as a main character. (Alas, Martin Scorsese’s The Life of Jesus, an adaptation of Shūsaku Endō’s biblical novel, has been postponed indefinitely.)

The popularity of Christ as a screen subject is a matter of record—according to Guinness World Records, he is the fourth-most-portrayed character in film (behind the Devil, Santa Claus, and the Grim Reaper!). What is less understood is that all these representations are descendants of the first mainstream Hollywood retelling of Jesus’ life and ministry: the 1927 silent epic The King of Kings. The domestic Blu-ray debut of Cecil B. DeMille’s seminal blockbuster provides a convenient opportunity to revisit the defining Jesus film of the 20th century.

Before movies could talk, Jesus attracted the attention of some of the world’s most successful film artists. Alice Guy—the first woman to direct a movie—refashioned the Passion play into a series of striking tableaux for her 1906 production, The Birth, the Life and the Death of Christ. A decade later, D. W. Griffith dramatized the persecution and death of Jesus as one of four parallel story lines in his magnum opus Intolerance.

Introducing Jesus to a new generation of moviegoers was a task Cecil B. DeMille undertook with the utmost sincerity. The autocratic 46-year-old director had risen to the top of Hollywood after a series of sophisticated boudoir comedies, the popularity of which led to the formation of his own production company. His 1923 drama The Ten Commandments represented his first foray into biblical adaptation, though it is properly understood as a modern melodrama featuring an extended prologue about Moses and the Egyptians.

DeMille showed interest in an adaptation of the Genesis flood narrative but abandoned the idea once he learned that Warner Bros. was preparing Noah’s Ark, a production that would soon become notorious for the accidental deaths of three extras during the shooting of the climax. Presented with the idea of fashioning a large-scale retelling of the life of Christ, DeMille turned to his trusted scenarist Jeanie MacPherson to develop what he hoped would be, in his own words, “the greatest love story ever told.”

In separate biographies, writers Robert S. Birchard and Scott Eyman each recount, in amusing detail, the making of The King of Kings. From the start, DeMille’s goal wasn’t merely to entertain the masses but to educate them. (The opening title card explicitly situates the film within the context of the Great Commission.) He took pains to present the gospel narrative in a way that would not offend sensitive viewers and was especially careful in his depiction of the Jews, laying the blame for Christ’s death on certain individuals—namely Judas and Caiaphas—rather than an entire people group.

DeMille was also acutely aware that poor behavior from his cast and crew during production could translate into a public relations nightmare, and he strictly forbade foul language, blasphemy, and smoking on set.

For the title role, DeMille chose H. B. Warner, an English-born actor whose stage and screen career had been waning. (Contemporary viewers might know him best as Mr. Gower, the pharmacist who slaps young George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life.) At 50 years old, he was certainly among the most mature of all onscreen Christs. Fine-boned with warm, interrogating eyes, Warner exudes a graceful physicality, and while his movement comes across as stylized and theatrical, he still looks “right” for the role. DeMille was fully aware that this performance would be taken as the definitive screen portrait for a generation. “The visual impression of Jesus is going to be planted in the minds of people by the man who plays Jesus in this picture,” he said.

Filming lasted several months—the crucifixion scene alone took two weeks, wrapping on Christmas Eve—and cost a reported $2 million, though the budget was likely inflated, with funds diverted to keep DeMille’s flagging studio afloat. But the movie became the third-most-popular release of 1927—behind Wings (the first Oscar winner for Best Picture) and The Jazz Singer (the film that ushered in “talkies”). Despite DeMille’s attempts to circumvent charges of antisemitism in his depiction of the Pharisees, the Jewish press objected to the portrayal of Caiaphas as a money-grubbing Christ killer, which led Paramount to re-edit the film for general release. (Both versions are available today.)

To watch The King of Kings in 2025 is to appreciate that silent film has a language and syntax of its own. Jesus’ first appearance, his face gradually coming into focus as a young girl’s sight is restored to her, is an exercise in radical subjectivity that puts the viewer on the receiving end of a miracle. The addition of spoken dialogue—if it were technically feasible at the time—would have been a distraction, shattering this delicate reveal.

The sequence is followed shortly after by a scene in which Mary Magdalene is cleansed of her demons, each personified as one of the seven deadly sins and rendered ghostly through double exposure. Such bold stylistic choices demonstrate the primacy of visual storytelling and give credence to critic Susan Sontag’s observation that “with the coming of sound, the image making lost much of its brilliance and poetry.”

In the 1920s, as more light-sensitive panchromatic film stock became available, “soft style” cinematography began to change the look of films. Throughout The King of Kings, Christ is depicted as a being of light, emphasized by the translucent glow that emanates from his snow-white tunic. Taking John 8:12 literally, his skin seems to emit a supernatural radiance, and the bright band of light that appears around his face and head—achieved by a photographic effect called, appropriately enough, a halo—turns him into a living fresco.

If the very nature of film depends upon light, what better subject than the Light of the World? In The King of Kings, the beauty of Christ and the beauty of silent film meet on an exalted plane of cinema art.

Ironically, DeMille’s intensely pictorial rendering of the Gospels has the effect of making the plot—the actual scene-by-scene progression of the story—feel heavy and plodding, which explains why the film could be a tough sell for the distracted contemporary viewer. The Chosen relies as much on dialogue as DeMille’s film does on visuals, and is therefore much friendlier, more digestible, to a modern audience.

For its time, however, The King of Kings was considered quite modern. As Stephenson Humphries-Brooks notes in his survey Cinematic Savior, DeMille’s Jesus is directly addressing the sins and excesses of a decadent America still in the thrall of the Jazz Age. The final image—in which the risen Christ, ascending into heaven, hovers over a modern industrial skyline—bends time and space to remind viewers that the Lord is as present in the here and now as he was in ancient Judea.

Nearly a century has passed since The King of Kings premiered at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. What will audiences make of it nearly a century later? Flicker Alley’s new Blu-ray release, which showcases a recent restoration by Blackhawk Films, a new score by Robert Israel, and a host of bonus material, calls for a fresh assessment. The luxurious two-color Technicolor sequences have been burnished to a brilliant finish. (The Resurrection alone is apt to widen a few eyes with its lustrous red and green hues.) It supplies yet more evidence—as if any more were needed—that art can sometimes take us, as Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn put it in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech, into a realm “beyond words.”

Nathaniel Bell manages the internship program and teaches film history for the Snyder School of Cinema & Media Arts at Biola University. He lives in Whittier, California, with his wife and three sons.

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Culture

Teach Us to Number Our 18 Summers

Kristy Etheridge

As a mom, I found pressure—and then freedom—in counting the years with my children.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: Pexels

Fireflies played hide-and-seek at the edge of the woods as my three best friends and I prepared to spend the night in a small blue tent under the stars. It was late August, and we were celebrating my 12th birthday at my house in the suburbs of Philadelphia, where cornfields and dairy farms surrounded hilly residential roads like mine.

A photo from that night shows four smiling, sunburned faces glowing in the lantern light. I have bangs and braces, and I’m sporting denim overalls with a fuchsia T-shirt, matching pink socks, and white Keds. My friends and I were thrilled to be camping out “all by ourselves” (a stone’s throw from my parents’ open window).

Earlier that evening, after a hike through the woods, each one of us had been inexplicably pelted with something like warm raindrops, despite clear skies. As we tried to puzzle our way through the mystery, my mom casually mentioned the little brown bats fluttering overhead, knowing the slightest insinuation would be enough.

“Ugh, it’s bat pee!” we screamed, running for cover. I still laugh when I think about discovering my dad’s dark silhouette in the upstairs window. He always was a great shot with a water pistol. The warm water really clinched the deal.

Looking back on a childhood full of happy summer memories, that August night stands out as one of the most joyful. It wasn’t elaborate or expensive. It would not have been Instagram-worthy. And the best parts were unplanned.

Why, then, do I find myself fighting the urge to meticulously craft an unforgettable summer for my own children? And why is my focus so often diverted to travel websites, theme-park reels, and listicles like “137 Ways to Have an EPIC Summer with Your Kids”?

I’ve been a Christian my whole life. I know that nothing in this world will ultimately satisfy me or my children. But I’m continually sidetracked by a desire to be their maker of memories and facilitator of fun—as if my God-given title of mother isn’t enough.

A Motherly article originally published in 2018 offers some insight into the parenting zeitgeist. The headline and deck read, “We only have 18 summers together with our kids. But I’m determined to make the most of it.” A young mom describes how her heart sank when she realized that the clock is ticking. She resolves to squeeze in as much summer fun as possible before her toddler grows up.

An accompanying Facebook video has received millions of views. It’s one of countless “18 summers” posts that pop up every year. At their best, these posts are meant to encourage parents to savor their little ones’ childhood. At their worst, they prey on our emotions, inciting guilt, anxiety, and a willingness to click on whatever product or experience promises to assuage the panic. If you’re thinking, Get off social media, I’m with you. But you don’t have to be on Instagram to feel the pressure. It’s in the air.

I stood next to the concrete sandbox last week, chatting with a group of moms while my toddler coated herself in dirty Brooklyn playground sand. One friend told me she dreads the ubiquitous question “What are you doing this summer?” She worries she hasn’t planned enough activities for her kids. She’s not alone.

Many parents and children are battling anxiety already. For most of us, the idea of counting summers is just one more unwelcome source of pressure. It would be easy to reject the whole concept, to dismiss it as another example of the monetization of childhood.

At the same time, I think the “18 summers” narrative can go deeper than dollar signs. “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom,” Psalm 90:12 tells us. Perhaps adding up summers is a way of acknowledging not just the brevity of childhood but also the impermanence of our own lives. For followers of Christ, this can unleash a sense of freedom where our culture sees fear.

As I pondered the nine summers I’ve experienced with my son and the three I’ve had with my daughter, a few takeaways surfaced. I hope to tuck them away in my travel bag between the sunscreen and bug spray as my family prepares for another season of long, hot days and short, muggy nights.

First, I can’t plan my way to peace. And believe me, I’ve tried.

Seven years ago, when my husband and I left the suburbs of Charlotte to move to New York City with our two-year-old, I devoured blog posts with curated lists of kid-friendly parks, cafés, and museums. Soon I was dragging our jogging stroller down steep flights of subway stairs and pushing our son across the five boroughs from Monday to Friday.

At the time, I wouldn’t have admitted that I was lonely. Unsure of myself as a new parent in an intimidating city, I responded by filling every minute with activity. Meanwhile, my connection with God faded into the background like the hazy Manhattan skyline. Sure, we went to church each Sunday, but when Monday arrived, the daily grind of freelance work, potty training, and chasing the perfect outing crowded my waking hours.

I researched, planned, and scheduled. Tomorrow I will go to the zoo, carry a backpack full of 3.2-ounce applesauce pouches, and make wonderful memories with my kid. Enter the Book of James: “Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes” (4:14).

These days, I enjoy large swaths of unscheduled, unhurried time with my kids. I still love a good outing, but I’m far more likely to choose rest over exhaustion.

A certain amount of summertime planning is of course necessary. My husband and I are both juggling careers and family life. But control is an illusion. We can’t even bank on 18 summers. I hope we have that much time and more as a family, but my job is to trust God one day at a time. That helps take the pressure off.

Second, I wholeheartedly resist the urge to compare my life with anyone else’s. That’s easier said than done, especially for millennial moms like me and young Gen Z parents. I’ve seen “18 summers” used to hawk everything from luxury vacations to $800 electric balance bikes for toddlers. Those particular temptations don’t grab me, but I still battle envy when friends head to summer homes or embark on cross-country adventures. I’ve spent beyond our budget to book short getaways, telling myself we deserve to escape the city for a little while.

Vacations can be wonderful opportunities to rest, rejuvenate, and reconnect as a family. But if I’m living for the next vacation, I’ve slid into idol territory and need to search my heart for the source of discontentment.

We all know that social media is a highlight reel and often a place to show off. I can quickly find myself along for the ride on another family’s vacation, a bit creepy at best and covetous at worst.

I asked Trillia Newbell, an author and Christian mom of two teenagers, how she handles the summertime comparison game. Her advice for parents of little ones is this: “Take the pressure and the burden that you are feeling and cast it on the Lord. And ignore the voices that aren’t helpful.”

And she added, “Encourage one another” (1 Thess. 5:11). I can get so caught up in the pressures of parenting that I forget to build others up. Trillia reminded me that the mom who appears to have it all together is fighting internal battles just like the rest of us.

Speaking of battles—my third takeaway is the most intense. As I count my summers, I must remember that time is not my enemy. But I do have a very real adversary.

In their book Risen Motherhood, Emily Jensen and Laura Wifler describe the cosmic battle between good and evil in terms every parent can understand.

It’s a bit like being downstairs quietly washing dishes … while upstairs the kids are in a Nerf gun battle. … We feel like time is quietly passing, but in reality, an epic war is raging right over our heads. Only the sounds of furniture bouncing and ceiling joists shaking cause us to look up with wonder.

The whole of the Bible makes it clear that “we do not wrestle against flesh and blood” but against “cosmic powers” and “spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Eph. 6:12, ESV). Jesus warned against Satan’s lies and healed the demon possessed. But invisible cosmic battles can feel unreal in the midst of the everyday chaos of parenting.

“We see the light fixture shake and sense that something is wrong,” the authors of Risen Motherhood write. “The echoes of concern stir our souls, causing us to second-guess our reality. But Satan makes every effort to distract us, conceal the real battle, and lead us off course.”

When I treat time as my enemy and ignore the real battle, I’m tempted to cram as many experiences as possible into these short years with my children. Regret is the ultimate dirty word. Heaven forbid that I regret not booking that vacation, signing up for that camp, recording that vertical video.

As the cares of the world pull me down, distracting me from what’s truly important, my heavenly Father looks on me with mercy, compassion, and unfathomable love. I don’t have to perform to earn his favor. I just have to love God and those he has placed in my life and teach my children the truth that will set them free.

“Mama, will you sing?” my sweet boy asks me from the top bunk as I lay below, next to his little sister. I’m exhausted, but I sing until they fall asleep. Most nights, “Amazing Grace” is part of the lineup. I love the final verse:

When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
bright shining as the sun,
we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
than when we’d first begun.

Eighteen summers will be gone in the blink of an eye. Perhaps someday I’ll wish I could transport myself back to the bunk bed in our small apartment. But I’ve put my hope in Christ, and because of him, I don’t have to fear the passing of time or my own mortality.

Bring on the summertime, the campouts, the bat pee. It will all go by too fast. But the clock is ticking toward a new beginning—a reality far more joyful than the most perfect summer.

Kristy Etheridge is an editor at Christianity Today.

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Books

Review

Godly Homes Need More Than Godly Routines

Simona Gorton

Phylicia Masonheimer is right: Household disciplines can encourage faithfulness. But they can also encourage idolatry.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty

If you, like me, do not yet own a shiny robot from Elon Musk, you probably do your own dishes, vacuum your own floors, and tackle your personal Everest of laundry. In Every Home a Foundation: Experiencing God Through Your Everyday Routines, Phylicia Masonheimer helps cast a grander vision for the endless counter wiping and meal prepping that can bury us in mundanity.

As Masonheimer describes it, our work in the home is not simply a list of drudgeries that prevent us from undertaking work of real eternal significance. Her book invites us to pursue household labor as a practice of faithful stewardship, ruling over it rather than being ruled by it.

Masonheimer is the founder and CEO of the ministry Every Woman a Theologian. She hosts the Verity podcast, as well as a conference of the same name. She has authored several dozen booklets on various topics ranging from purity culture to the end times, plus a few full-length titles. She lives with her three children and husband on a farm in rural Michigan.

Every Home a Foundation is divided into two parts: “A Theology of Home” sets the framework for how our homes shapes our lives as believers, and “A Liturgy of Home” explores homemaking systems and strategies.

In the opening pages, Masonheimer tells her story of becoming a stay-at-home mom after a decade of extensive work-related travel. Amid the culture shock of this transition, she came to realize that her identity had been wrapped up in productivity. Vanity, desire for recognition, and the influence of social media had caused her to see home as an impediment to a fulfilled life rather than a pathway to it. “Idolatry of work cannot coexist with a strong theology of home,” she candidly writes.

The truth that changed everything was a biblical theology of home. As Masonheimer describes it, this theology “teaches us God’s desire for and purpose within the places we live. … [It] is simply God’s perspective and heart for how His children experience homelife.”

Masonheimer starts where the idea of home was born: in the Garden of Eden. God placed Adam and Eve in the garden to rule and keep it. But this home was tainted by the Fall, and its inhabitants were banished from God’s presence. God then called Israel to be his special people and to live in fellowship with him. But once again disobedience brought about eventual exile.

Interestingly, Masonheimer makes no mention of the tabernacle or temple, where God’s presence specially dwelt and where he met with his people. Instead, she writes, the revelation of God’s character “was communicated to families in their homes—not in church buildings—as they lived, worked, and worshiped together.” This comment appears misleading since divine revelation happened almost exclusively in gathered assemblies, as with the giving of the law at Mount Sinai, regular rituals of temple worship, and prophetic declarations.

Masonheimer goes on to trace the history of home “coming out of the medieval era.” But these sections neglect any reference to the Reformation, which dignified ostensibly secular forms of work, including homemaking, through the concept of the priesthood of all believers.

From here, Masonheimer turns to the consequences of the Industrial Revolution. This social shift disrupted patterns of investment across generations in the skilled art of keeping a home and taught women to seek emancipation through professional labor. Over time, the art of keeping a home shrunk down to the drudgery of keeping human beings fed and clothed as efficiently as possible. Today, we often view it merely as a place to recharge before rushing back into “real life.”

How can we restore the glory of homemaking in a culture that often demeans it? As Masonheimer is quick to point out, this won’t happen merely by jumping on the “tradwife” bandwagon. The crucial task, she argues, is relearning the truth that our homes aren’t primarily our own: God has entrusted them to us so we might use them for his kingdom’s sake.

“By seeing our home rhythms as an act of service,” Masonheimer writes, “we move outside ourselves to a selfless point of view. … I’m not just cooking dinner; I’m giving my time to those in need of food. The work of the home is an act of love for our closest neighbors: those who live within our walls.” By contrast, discontentment shows distrust in God and handicaps our ability to care for the home he provides. “Stewardship grows diligence, patience, and a grateful heart, she writes. “Loving the home you have is an act of defiance against discontent.”

Here, Masonheimer sounds an important note: The home lies at the headwaters of effective ministry. Through it, we minister not only to those around us but also to ourselves. “We resent the repetitive nature of it,” she admits.

But what if the repetition is exactly what we need? We despise the dirtiness of it, but what if this selflessness is the shaping of our character? We hate that it is unseen and uncelebrated, but what if this hiddenness is teaching us humility? … If all work matters to God, and God Himself is a worker, it follows that the simple tasks of our everyday life matter to Him.

In affirming this truth, Masonheimer strikes back at one byproduct of our modern secular age: its habit of hiving off God and religion from almost all of our actual living. This mindset pervades many Christian homes, which can easily resemble secular ones except for the occasional trip to church. But the God of the Bible, as Creator and Redeemer, cannot be held within such bounds. He is never absent from even the smallest details of our lives.

Only by refusing this artificial compartmentalizing of the sacred and the ordinary, Masonheimer argues, can we learn to recognize God’s presence in the work, often outwardly unfulfilling, that upholds our homes. This leads her to recommend home-based “liturgies” that can restore a sense of sacred purpose and meaning. Liturgy, as she defines it, “is a physical action leading to communion with God,” and “through liturgies of the home, we experience a deeper intimacy with God because these daily acts are a form of worship.” As she emphasizes, “liturgy is not something trapped within a church building; it is the pattern, the expected trajectory, of Christian life.”

This is clearly true in one sense. As the Reformers affirmed, all of life is lived coram Deo, or before the face of God. Yet this understanding of liturgy also tempts Masonheimer, at times, to downplay the church more than she should. At one point, she writes that reclaiming the dignity of homemaking “doesn’t begin in a church building; it begins with the rhythms of faith at home.”

She repeats this juxtaposition elsewhere, saying that spiritual discipline “does not begin in a church building or a Bible study group.” In her desire to extend Christian practice beyond Sundays and church buildings, Masonheimer risks dulling the vibrant reality of the church itself.

Though present everywhere, God chooses to meet with his people in a unique way when they gather in his name (Matt. 18:20). Most fundamentally, our callings flow from our identity as the set-apart people of God who sit under the authority of his Word. Seen in this light, the identity of any Christian family shines brightest within the gathered people of God, not in contrast to it.

The goal of the Christian home is raising up a new generation of worshipers. In this vision, our homes are outposts of this kingdom, but only the church itself is built with the living stones of faithful servants. Christ is not the cornerstone of “every beautiful thing we build,” as Masonheimer claims, but of the church, which God is building with blood-bought believers (Heb. 9:11–28).

In fairness, Masonheimer clearly affirms the church as an antidote to Western individualism. She gives readers an appealing tour of the church calendar, showing how families can mark days, weeks, and months by celebrating the history of redemption. But her appeal to church tradition, though welcome, can obscure the centrality of regular Sunday worship in marking what she calls “the sacred nature of time.”

Masonheimer’s emphasis on home routines occasionally leads her book in other questionable directions. To take one example, this emphasis can elevate matters of outward discipline and order above the posture of our hearts.

To Masonheimer, discipline is hardly a dirty word. By embracing and cultivating it, she argues, we establish something beautiful and, by God’s grace, eternal. She describes regular habits of Bible study, meditation, and prayer as bringing renewed vitality to our work, relationships, and physical health.

“When we live without boundaries,” Masonheimer writes, “we constantly experience the unwanted consequences of our actions. … Undisciplined people experience the most bondage—bondage to stress, overwhelm, fear, and chaos.” But setting such boundaries will accomplish nothing without an underlying change of heart. In fact, Jesus pointed to self-righteousness, not lack of discipline, as the most enslaving spiritual position (Luke 18:9–14; Matt. 19:16–22; Luke 5:31–32).

A disorganized home might mask disorder at a deeper level, but an outwardly organized home can be equally disordered. Masonheimer writes skillfully to those unaccustomed to exercising practical dominion in their homes. Yet structure and routines can easily become idolatry, especially to the task-oriented.

Christianity’s claim is not that better systems and routines can solve our sin but that only Jesus and his forgiveness can effect lasting transformation in our hearts and homes. If our goal is faithfulness to Christ rather than fruitfulness of our own making, we must guard against building household structure simply to feed idols of control or measurable success.

More concerning than Masonheimer’s approach to household discipline, however, is her occasional mishandling of Scripture and biblical principles. In one instance, she distills Christianity to Romans 12:21 (“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good”), which misses Jesus’ atoning work for sin. Similarly, her list of the “lasting values of the Christian faith”—which includes “compassion,” “benevolence,” “generosity,” “forgiveness,” and “hospitality”—could easily be equated with simple moralism.

Though the Bible dignifies all ordinary work, Masonheimer sometimes writes in a way that elevates it far beyond scriptural warrant. “The spiritually disciplined home life is, in itself, freedom,” she writes in one place. Elsewhere, citing Psalm 51:12, she claims that “repeated tasks, when understood through a lens of sacred purpose, restore to us the joy of our salvation,” an outrageous promise given that this passage concerns David pleading with God for divine forgiveness after his adultery with Bathsheba.

At one point, Masonheimer grants that “cleaning a home is not sacramental” in the sense of mediating God’s presence. A later passage, however, appears to describe housework as a channel of special revelation: “These daily tasks are not in the way but are the way to truly knowing God’s love, brought down in humble form to the ‘manger’ of the mundane.”

God has promised that his Word will not return void (Isa. 55:11). To which Masonheimer boldly adds, “Your effort to break the chain of unhealthy home rhythms and unsafe home cultures will never return void, and God is your cheerleader every step of the way.” Yet God gives no such guarantee to our own flawed labors, insisting instead that “unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain” (Ps. 127:1).

Every Home a Foundation is deeply personal. Masonheimer fills her pages with stories, memories, poetry, and home rhythms. The book achieves a seamless blend of the landscape, history, understanding, and personality that make her life and her spiritual guidance appealing to many.

At times, however, the book can slip too readily into the mode of modern “influencer” culture. The sheer volume of autobiographical stories and details can communicate the first part of Paul’s instruction in 1 Corinthians 11:1 (“Follow my example”) while downplaying the second (“as I follow the example of Christ”).

Home matters to God, and it should matter to us. Masonheimer has crafted a compelling argument to that effect, even if it sometimes strikes confusing notes. Every Home a Foundation affords a valuable glimpse into her life, from her own perspective at a particular moment in time. At the end of the day, however, we are all responsible for living out the truths of God’s Word among communities of fellow believers. With their help, we can trace furrows of faithfulness in the fields given by God, in whose sacred presence we live out every moment of our ordinary lives.

Simona Gorton is a writer living with her husband and three children in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. She is the author of Mothering Against Futility: Balancing Meaning and Mundanity in the Fear of the Lord.

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News

Fighting for Nigeria’s Pro-life Soul

Emmanuel Nwachukwu

A Christian doctor pushes back against efforts to make abortion legal.

NurPhoto / Contributor / Getty

A teenage girl sat hunched on a chair in a small, sterile consulting room at Umaru Shehu Specialist Hospital in Maiduguri, Nigeria. Her hands trembled as tears streamed down her face. Her eyes were red and swollen. Words tumbled out as she pleaded with the doctor, explaining her fears of an unplanned pregnancy and a future she felt unprepared for.

During the first three years of gynecologist Dr. Shiktira Kwari’s practice, several other women approached her with the same request: Please perform an abortion.

“I always use that opportunity to talk to them about God’s plan for our lives and what the implication of their action [aborting the baby] is going to be,” Kwari said. “I always let them know that I have a moral and a personal belief against termination of pregnancy. I cannot offer them [an abortion], and I cannot also refer them to where they can get one.”

Kwari’s Christian faith influences not only her personal life but also how she conducts her medical practice. In addition to refusing to offer abortions, she counsels the teens and married women she cares for at Asokoro District Hospital Abuja.

“The number of women approaching me now has reduced drastically because they already know my stance,” she said.

But Kwari said she’s concerned about the efforts of pro-choice organizations to create more cultural acceptance and access to abortion in Nigeria. She believes pro-choice efforts have intensified with the rise of social media. Both Nigerian and international feminists have become more assertive with claims that Nigeria’s laws restricting abortion are against women’s rights.

In Nigeria, abortion is illegal except in cases when it may save the woman’s life, such as an ectopic pregnancy or eclampsia. Morally, though, Kwari doesn’t count those situations as abortions.

“Ectopic pregnancy is also life-threatening. … If you don’t do the surgery and remove the baby wherever it has implanted, that woman is going to die,” Kwari said. “So I cannot say, ‘Oh, I’m a Christian, I cannot do this,’ and then I’ll watch the woman die. So in situations like that, of course, we intervene. And that is acceptable by law.”

The law allows sentences of up to 14 years in prison for performing an illegal abortion and up to seven years for seeking one. Still, abortions are common, and the law is enforced inconsistently. Between 1.8 and 2.7 million women and girls seek abortions every year, often through unregistered abortion clinics. While cases of women charged with procuring an abortion are hard to find, authorities did recently charge a doctor and family member for giving a 10-year-old girl an abortion to cover up her sexual assault.

For years, International Planned Parenthood Federation affiliates and other pro-choice organizations have tried to influence changes to Nigeria’s abortion policies. Their efforts include influencing the nation’s health ministers to favor abortion rights.

In December 2024, Catholic activists with CitizenGO Africa protested efforts by Nigerian health ministers Mukhtar Yawale Muhammad and Osagie Ehanire to revise the penal code to allow more abortions. The activists criticized foreign nonprofits such as Ipas Nigeria Health Foundation for pressuring the Nigerian government to relax abortion laws. They also started a petition to expel International Planned Parenthood from Nigeria.

International nonprofits provide most of the financial support for efforts to legalize abortion in Nigeria. Last week, the Gates Foundation committed to spending most of $200 billion over 20 years on “Africa’s future,” including international family planning efforts. Marie Stopes International—an organization known for promoting abortion rights in Africa—received $30 million per year from USAID before a Mexico City Policy–based funding cut in 2017. International Planned Parenthood also lost funding during the cuts.

“These NGOS come with something that we need—like drugs, vaccines, family planning methods—but then underneath, of course, they have another motive,” Kwari said.

Efforts to legalize abortion have gained more traction after Women at Risk International launched the first “March for No Tolerance” in Lagos State in 2019 to campaign against sexual violence and support legal abortions.

In June 2022, the Lagos State government bowed to pressure and released a 40-page policy guidance document to “to provide safe and lawful abortion services within the ambit of the law.” Opposition from Protestant and Catholic leaders and laypeople resulted in the policy’s suspension within a few days. Pro-choice activists have continued to call for Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu to reverse the suspension. They argue for “safe termination of pregnancy,” seeing themselves as opposing “powerful religious beliefs.”

Nigeria doesn’t have a cohesive pro-life movement—the Catholic church and individual Christians drive most efforts to keep abortion illegal.

“Nigerians, we are very religious people. We won’t want to be seen as outrightly in support of abortion,” Kwari said.

Pro-choice advocates use deaths from back-alley abortion and childbearing complications as reasons to legalize abortion. But one 2018 study concluded that abortion laws in Nigeria do not impact where women choose to go for abortions. Most maternal deaths result from treatable complications such as severe bleeding, infections, or eclampsia. And while complications from illegal abortions account for an estimated 6,000 women’s deaths each year—about 10 percent of Nigeria’s high maternal death rate—this number is down from 20,000 deaths in 2002.

Legalizing abortion also wouldn’t solve the country’s poor doctor-to-patient ratio. Nigeria has about one doctor for every 4,000–5,000 patients—well below the World Health Organization’s recommended one doctor for every 600 patients.

Kwari, like other Christians in Nigeria, has argued that liberalizing abortion laws would open the door to moral decay and worsen rather than reduce teen pregnancies, sexually transmitted infections, and drug abuse. Though Nigerian Christians tend to oppose abortion in cases of rape, church-run organizations advocate for stopping rape in the country and helping victims heal after assault.

“Abortion always leaves a scar,” she said. “It often leads to deeper vices until one is completely destroyed.”

To address issues such as teen pregnancy and STIs, Kwari uses the Health Week—a program common in Nigerian churches to educate members about topics such as disease prevention and maternal health—to present biblical teaching about abstinence and premarital sex.

Kwari told CT that a culture of life must begin in the church and family. She encourages Christian families to talk openly about premarital sex. These conversations can help counter peer pressure and social media influences that drive early sexual activity and abortion, she said.

“Children must be able to talk to their parents about everything and confide in them,” she said. “It is very dangerous for children to be left to discover this on their own.”

Once, a woman in church confided in Kwari that she had missed her period and was having marital difficulties. When a pregnancy test confirmed that she was pregnant, the woman cried and pled Kwari for an abortion. Kwari encouraged her to keep the baby and rely on God. While not everyone takes Kwari’s advice, this woman did—she moved to her parents’ house, gave birth, and later reunited with her husband. When Kwari met her again few months later, “She was joyful and committed to her child.”

Kwari attributed this to divine intervention.

“God’s Word is the most powerful truth we have,” she said, “so I’m really grateful to God that we still have that opportunity to use his Word.”

- More from Emmanuel Nwachukwu

Culture

The Religious Roots of Hoosier Hysteria

Paul Emory Putz

Indiana’s storied basketball tradition was built on equality and faith—but only for some.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: Getty, WikiMedia Commons

It was nearing midnight in Indianapolis on May 31. At the Gainbridge Fieldhouse, home of the Indiana Pacers, thousands of fans decked in yellow filled the stands. They were basking in the glow of securing an Eastern Conference championship, anticipating the team’s first trip to the NBA finals in 25 years.

As Pacers coach Rick Carlisle took the microphone to address the crowd, he knew what fans wanted to hear.

“In 49 states, it’s just basketball,” Carlisle began, “but this is Indiana!”

Carlisle pumped his fist, and the crowd roared.

This is Indiana.

It was the affirmation of a story that Indiana residents tell about who they are and what they value. That identity, Carlisle understood, revolved around the state’s relationship with the sport bringing them together that night.

For more than a century, those caught up in the state’s “Hoosier hysteria” have experienced basketball as a medium to explore questions of identity and belonging; of meaning and purpose; of what defines a place, a home, and a community in a rapidly changing world. The answers to those questions and the origins of Indiana’s basketball obsession—like the sport itself—are closely intertwined with Christianity.

Basketball began in 1891 as a solution to a problem: how to get young men interested in the church.

The game’s founder, James Naismith, was part of a movement scholars call “Muscular Christianity.” A seminary-trained Presbyterian, he was driven by a desire to “win men for the master through the gym.” Naismith created basketball believing it could capture the attention of young men while helping them build Christian character along the way. In just the next year, the game made its way to Indiana, introduced through the YMCA’s Christian leaders and networks.

Fast-forward more than 30 years to 1925.

That March, 15,000 people crowded inside the Exposition Building in Indianapolis to watch 16 high school basketball teams compete in the state tournament, already in its 14th year. Sitting courtside was Naismith himself, invited as a guest of honor in recognition of Indiana’s unique affinity for the sport. “The possibilities of basketball as seen there were a revelation to me,” he marveled afterward.

In three decades, his game had moved beyond its YMCA origins and into the life of communities across the country—with no state more devoted than Indiana.

Indiana’s geography aided its basketball explosion. The state’s small size, flat land, and advanced system of roads made travel easier for players, fans, and statewide newspapers that covered each season with flair. A high school state tournament, created in 1911, gave schools across Indiana’s rural landscape a chance to win glory for their communities.

But those facts alone don’t explain Indiana’s unique relationship with the sport. For the game to move from an enjoyable physical activity to a source of communal identity, it needed to become enmeshed with the cultural narratives embraced by Indiana’s residents.

Christian institutions and ideas from the game’s founding played a key role in this—especially with the team that put Indiana basketball on the national map: the Franklin “Wonder Five.”

Franklin, a town of just under 5,000 people in 1920 located 25 miles south of Indianapolis, exemplified popular notions of small-town America: mostly white, mostly Protestant, rooted in Midwest values of individual initiative, self-discipline, and traditional morality that gave America its strength.

From 1920 to 1922, the Franklin high school team, coached by Ernest “Griz” Wagner and led by star Robert “Fuzzy” Vandivier, ascended to basketball dominance, winning the state tournament three straight years. These two men fanned the flames of Hoosier hysteria while fulfilling the promises of Muscular Christianity. Wagner, a Methodist Sunday school teacher, first developed his coaching chops through the Holy Grail youth basketball league, formed in the 1910s by the town’s Protestant churches.

“He has taught the gospel in Sunday School and lived it in the gymnasium,” a journalist later wrote.

Franklin’s starting five learned the game in that church league, competing for the Presbyterian, Methodist, Baptist, and Disciples of Christ teams.

Their storybook journey did not stop at high school. In 1922, Wagner became the basketball coach at Franklin College, a local Baptist school, and the core members of his team followed him. For the next two years, Franklin College lost just one game while defeating larger schools like Purdue, Illinois, Wisconsin, and Notre Dame. By 1926, when the Wonder Five laced up their shoes for the final time, Indiana was well established as a preeminent basketball location.

“Basketball is in our blood, our life, our soul,” an Indianapolis sportswriter told the Franklin players. “The state looks upon you not as a great five representing Franklin high school and Franklin college but as the very soul of Hoosier athletics.”

The compatibility between basketball and church—highlighted by Franklin’s Wonder Five—was part of the cultural allure of the sport in Indiana.

In Middletown, the 1929 classic sociological study of Muncie, Indiana, scholars Robert and Helen Lynd described a scene that played out when the Muncie Central Bearcats competed in the state tourney. A group of fans who could not make the trip to watch in person gathered at the Muncie High School auditorium, where score updates were announced throughout the night.

“A minister conducted the meeting, opening it with prayer,” the Lynds explained, “and as the tension grew during the game, a senior class officer prayed, ‘Oh, God, we must win. Jesus, wilt thou help us!’”

Later in the book, the Lynds discussed a local pastor who had been asked by one of his congregants if it was right to pray for the Bearcats to win. The fan had prayed for victory, but the team still lost, and he began to doubt God.

“I believe that prayer should be used only in cases where a moral or spiritual issue is at stake,” the pastor advised. “God could favor the weaker team, but that would be unsportsmanlike of God.”

Indiana’s pastors and leaders could not control the sport’s meaning, but they could participate in the public phenomenon it created. They could celebrate and lament the local team’s fortunes. They could present basketball players as exemplars of Christian character—as with Franklin’s Wonder Five, who were praised for their “clean play and good sportsmanship.”

They could also see the sport as a cultural text where, in the rhythms of everyday life, they could ask and explore difficult questions about God and his work in the world.

Basketball offered something else for both the churches and the people of Indiana: the promise of opportunity. The sport was presented as a uniquely democratic enterprise, where every town and village, no matter its size, had a shot to win it all.

Yet it also offered a standard by which the community could be judged. Because the spirit of democracy did not extend to everyone.

In 1923, the year after the Wonder Five won their third-straight high school title, one of the largest crowds in Franklin’s history gathered in the high school gymnasium. They were there to hear a representative of the Ku Klux Klan make his pitch.

Standing behind a table on which an open Bible lay atop an American flag, the speaker told the crowd that the country belonged to native-born white Protestants. He encouraged them to band together against threats posed to their way of life by Catholics, Jews, and African Americans.

Over the next few years, that message resonated with many of the state’s residents. True, there were dissenters, like H. R. MacMillan, a Baptist pastor in Franklin who denounced the klan’s “doctrine of hate.” But the KKK briefly achieved a remarkable degree of influence in Indiana, winning statewide elections in 1924 and extending its power all the way to the governor’s mansion.

The klan’s message resonated in part because an assumed white Protestant superiority was already built into the culture of Indiana, including in the state’s favorite sport. While individual athletes of different races and religions could compete on some public-school teams, until the 1940s, Catholic schools were not included in the state basketball tournament. Nor were the Black schools, like Crispus Attucks in Indianapolis, built in 1927.

The state’s white Protestant residents did not seem to recognize the discrepancy between the democratic ideals they proclaimed on the basketball court and the structure of their society. In Middletown, the Lynds presented basketball gyms as places where political and social divisions could be set aside. “North Side and South Side, Catholic and Kluxer, banker and machinist,” the Lynds wrote, “their one shout is ‘Eat ’em, beat ’em, Bearcats!’”

Year after year, however, those on the margins—like Henry L. Herod, a Black church leader in Indianapolis—pointed out the state’s hypocrisy and asked for full inclusion in the life of their state. The Black community used basketball as a source of meaning for themselves and also to challenge those who sanctioned the status quo.

A 1932 issue of the Indianapolis Recorder,the state’s leading Black newspaper, included side-by-side editorials, one on the hope offered by “our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” and the other criticizing the “deliberate failure” by leaders of “Hoosierlands basketball” to include Crispus Attucks in the state tournament.

Efforts like this did not immediately yield results, but over time they began to open hearts and minds. Basketball provided Indiana with a shared cultural text through which those outside the state’s dominant white Protestant culture could call on their neighbors to enlarge their vision of who belonged.

In 1939, The Indianapolis Star, the state’s largest newspaper, organized an annual fan-voting contest of top high school players. With 48,000 votes, nearly 20,000 more than the runner-up, the first “Mr. Basketball” award went to George Crowe, a Black center from Franklin High School. He was coached by the star of the Wonder Five, Vandivier.

In 2025, Indiana’s basketball identity continues to shift and evolve even as it remains rooted in history and nostalgia.

The small-town ideal, represented by Hoosiers, the classic movie depicting the 1954 state championship team from tiny Milan, remains powerful. But the team that won the state title the next year also has its rightful acclaim: Crispus Attucks, led by future NBA Hall of Famer Oscar Robertson.

Pacers star Tyrese Haliburton is a Christian who has highlighted the significance of the Bible and team chapel in his life and participates in the traditional antagonizing of the East Coast, big-city New York Knicks. He’s led the Pacers to a 2–1 NBA Finals advantage over the Oklahoma City Thunder, with game 4 taking place Friday in Indianapolis.

Women have also long participated in Indiana’s basketball story. The first recorded game of women’s hoops in the state took place in 1899. Today, the WNBA’s Indiana Fever franchise features Caitlin Clark, a Catholic from Iowa and arguably the most popular athlete in America.

These benchmarks can be overstated. What happens on the basketball court can be used to obscure injustices or to distort our priorities just as much it can lead us down the path of righteousness.

The origins of Indiana basketball should remind Christians of the opportunities we have to participate in and shape the life of our communities through sports—and to consider whether we are living up to the values we celebrate.

- More from Paul Emory Putz

News

SBC Proposals to Abolish ERLC, Amend Constitution Don’t Pass

Kate Shellnutt in Dallas

After the Southern Baptist annual meeting, some messengers are still holding out for change.

Southern Baptists held their annual meeting in Dallas this week.

Richard W. Rodriguez / Associated Press

Southern Baptists didn’t enact major reforms at their annual meeting this week.

They didn’t vote to shut down their long-standing public policy arm, the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission (ERLC). They didn’t go ahead with a constitutional amendment barring churches with women as pastors. They didn’t adopt sweeping new requirements for financial transparency.

Even with some of the same issues coming up year after year and a significant number of people calling for the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) to take action, the thousands of blue and yellow paper ballots across a giant convention hall in downtown Dallas didn’t add up to much change this time.

The SBC prides itself on cooperation across differences, so leaders say just being able to work through the proposals without too much antagonism can feel like a win.

“I think it shows the strength of our gospel unity that we can really talk about these things and it not turn into a brawl,” said North Carolina pastor and SBC president Clint Pressley, who presided over the two-day meeting in Dallas with a half smile and slick Southern accent.

But the outcomes mean some Southern Baptists are leaving with lingering questions and a sense of unfinished business.

This was the fourth year in a row that the convention challenged the ERLC and the first time that Southern Baptists got concrete numbers showing how many have lost confidence in the entity, which critics claim is no longer aligned with churches’ political interests.

More than 40 percent of those voting on Wednesday were ready to shut it down.

Courtesy of the SBC

“I do feel like there is some misalignment between some Southern Baptists and the ERLC and that needs to be addressed,” said Dean Inserra, a pastor in Florida, during a panel on Monday night.

The sense of rift dates back at least to President Donald Trump’s first campaign and includes the ERLC’s advocacy on immigration, guns, abortion, and other topics over the years. The most vocal critics, including those with ties to the American Reformer–affiliated Center for Baptist Leadership, have reiterated calls for current president Brent Leatherwood to step down.

The chair of the ERLC’s board, Scott Foshie, said that the trustees “hear the voices of those who have concerns” and that they are committed to listening to “both those who support and those who question” their work.

Richard Land, a previous president who led the ERLC for 25 years, had urged the convention to continue to support the entity given the openness Christians have enjoyed under the Trump administration. “We have more opportunity right now to influence public policy at our nation’s capital than we have in my lifetime,” he said.

Most of the crowd at the annual meeting supported the amendment requiring only men serve “as any kind of pastor,” seeing it as a better way than just the faith statement to lay out requirements for affiliated churches. As in 2024, a majority voted in favor, but it didn’t reach the two-thirds threshold required.

Advocates for the measure—put forth by Austin, Texas, pastor Juan Sanchez—wondered what could be done next.

“The executive committee needs to do some work to build trust among our churches regarding our complementarian convictions,” wrote Adam Blosser, a pastor in Virginia and blogger for SBC Voices, adding that Southern Baptists “want doctrinal clarity.”

Courtesy of the SBC

Ahead of the vote, Executive Committee president Jeff Iorg—who inherited ongoing abuse lawsuits when he stepped into the role last year—warned the convention that adding the amendment requiring male pastors puts the SBC at greater risk of retaliatory lawsuits.

In a current lawsuit, judges wouldn’t grant the SBC an ecclesiastical abstention, which allows churches to settle their own doctrinal disputes, and Iorg suggested the criteria’s place in the constitution rather than the faith statement was a factor.

Denny Burk, a biblical studies professor at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and a pastor in Louisville, Kentucky, was among those who pushed back.

“The platform argued that if our constitution clarifies that the office of pastor is limited to men as qualified by Scripture, then we would be at risk of being sued for defamation,” Burk wrote. “And yet, our constitution already says that cooperating churches must closely identify with our beliefs about pastors. Why would we be in more jeopardy for making it clearer?”

The convention has continued to navigate the fallout of its sexual abuse investigation, and Baptists approved without debate $3 million of budgeted giving to go toward its legal fees.

This is the first time Southern Baptists have appropriated giving dollars for the fees—up until now, the denomination’s Executive Committee has pulled from reserves. Before presenting to the convention, Iorg told the committee the allocation represented around 30 cents for ever $1,000 in tithes at SBC churches.

Other than discussing the ongoing costs of the lawsuits, Iorg emphasized the committee’s role developing training and resources around abuse. He didn’t mention the lapsed plans for a database of credibly accused predators.

Both divides around Trump and the abuse response have put more scrutiny on the SBC over the past several years. But the calls for reform largely haven’t advanced at the annual meeting, indicating that that those debating the issues online and demanding change may not be representative of the 10,000 voting messengers who show up at the annual meeting.

Or the smaller numbers that end up participating in a given vote.

Southern Baptists remind messengers to “be in the room” for major motions. The ERLC vote happened ahead of lunch on Wednesday, but the amendment vote on male-only pastors fell around 3 p.m., just a couple hours before the end of the meeting.

The levels of support for the amendment this year (61% in favor and 39% against) are roughly the same as in 2024 but represent thousands fewer messengers: 5,600 cast a ballot in Dallas compared to over 8,000 the year before.

Coming out of this year’s meeting, Georgia pastor Griffin Gulledge said he sees that “what Southern Baptists are excited about”—where they take the most eager stands and see the fewest divides—“is missions and ministry.”

Meanwhile, he said, “We are willing to endure talk of reform but can’t agree on what that reform is.”

- More from Kate Shellnutt

Ideas

Don’t Hector People About Having Kids

Alan Noble

Contributor

Young people who feel anxious and conflicted about marriage and family need a positive example, not a lecture.

Illustration by Abigail Erickson / Source Images: Getty

One of the perennial challenges of older generations is providing guidance to younger generations without becoming bitter old scolds. One of the perennial challenges of younger generations is retaining their agency while being open to the wisdom of their elders.

And perhaps no conversations are more sensitive in these intragenerational dialogues than those concerning marriage and childbearing. Whether elders are warning against the losses of ease and freedom that come with settling down or asking when they can expect grandchildren, the pressure to get it right can be intense.

For Christians, added pressures come from Scripture and tradition. The Bible clearly teaches that “he who finds a wife finds a good thing” (Prov. 18:22, ESV throughout) and that “children are a heritage from the Lord” (Ps. 127:3). And in many evangelical churches, young people feel a certain expectation to marry young and have children promptly. But at the same time, the world—and often fellow Christians too—pressures young people to be autonomous individuals. Maximize your liberties, they’re told. Trim your responsibilities and pursue pleasures and success.

Facing these competing demands, it’s no wonder that many young people feel anxious, confused, and conflicted about their futures, particularly where family is concerned.

Older generations shouldn’t stop offering guidance in the form of deliberate discipleship and mentorship. But at least as vital is offering a vision for the good life in the contemporary world. Young people need to see healthy families. They need a tangible, accessible model to copy in their own lives. They need to learn firsthand that faithfulness and commitment are a joy, not a loss.

This need is urgent, because there’s reason to think younger generations are abandoning the basic institution of society: the family. Birth and marriage rates in America are both in decline, and a recent Pew study showed that American teenagers value career, friendship, and wealth over marriage and children. In fact, they deemed having a lot of money nearly twice as important as having kids.

It’s possible these teenagers’ goals were deformed by the economic and social anxieties of the COVID-19 pandemic. It’s also possible that they’ve simply been inspired by an expressive individualist culture that prizes personal pleasure over anything else. But whatever their motivations, this intense focus on material success over family should be troubling to the church.

Scripture’s many warnings about the dangers of wealth make chasing it a deeply fraught goal for our lives. And while it’s possible to turn marriage and children into an idol as well, love for spouse and children is not described, like love of money, as “a root of all kinds of evil” (1 Tim. 6:10).

Cultivating close friendships and finding an enjoyable career are better pursuits. But for so many young people to rank these above marriage and children also suggests a certain preoccupation with self-actualization. Friends (in our culture) do not make the same lifelong demands that a spouse or child makes, and making career the top priority turns it into a vehicle for personal fulfillment rather than a calling in service to God and others, including family.

Put together, the message reflected in this attention to money, friends, and career over family is the message of our modern world: It’s your job to find meaning, purpose, justification, and pleasure in this life. No one else can do it for you, so do whatever it takes!

If, like me, you find this philosophy deeply unsettling and unchristian, you may be tempted to respond by pointing out its incompatibility with Scripture or even its internal inconsistency. You might want to highlight how this view of life offers hope of existential justification and satisfaction only to forever keep it just out of reach.

Those arguments are correct and might persuade some. But I don’t think they’re what most Christian young people primarily need.

I suspect they already understand at an intellectual level that belonging to God precludes certain lifestyles, such as prioritizing money. What they struggle to grasp is what it looks like to live a temperate life in a consumerist culture or a humble life in a careerist culture or a committed life in an inconstant culture. It is our responsibility as older Christians to build that vision with our lives.

You may not recognize this, but you have tremendous influence upon those around you just by virtue of existing in this world. People are watching you to see how you react to adversity, how you resist temptation, how you repent and apologize, how you humble yourself, and how you love others—in short, how you “love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind” and “love your neighbor as yourself” (Matt. 22:37, 39).

And people are almost always confined to what they can imagine is possible. If a generation’s imagination is populated by examples of terrible marriages, they will struggle to believe that marriage can be a gift from God. If they’re never invited into a family’s home—perhaps your home—to see what a healthy, normal family looks like, they may doubt such families exist. It is within community with other believers that we are exposed to the possibility of the joys of marriage and children.

These joys do not exclude the hardships, of course. I’m not advocating a program of propaganda wherein we trick young people into thinking that marriage and parenthood are simple, painless fun. Our modeling must be realistic about the struggles of communicating in marriage; the difficulties of parenting in hyper-individualist, isolating communities; and the daily, mundane sacrifices that this life requires. Asking a young person into your home to see what life is like with your family does not mean hiding all the messes your children make or, even worse, hiding your children. It means opening the door to show what family life is really like so that it becomes an imaginable good.

Modeling the close friendships that young people want must be part of this as well. Young people are right to want these relationships but often have been wrongly told that marriage and children will make friendships impossible to maintain. A widely read 2023 story at New York magazine, for instance, dubbed children “adorable little detonators” of adult friendships.

That does happen—but it’s not inevitable. What young people need to see are examples of people with families who have good, healthy, close friendships. As parents, we do not have to become insular and neglect our friends. If everything is sacrificed for our children, it communicates to onlookers and to children themselves that choosing family means giving up on friends.

This is a false dichotomy. Yes, it can be hard to cultivate friendship in our time. Everyone is busy and distracted, and our work creeps into ever more of our lives. But young people are right to desire to keep close friendships, because friendship is one of the sweetest gifts God has given us. Those of us who are further along in adulthood can demonstrate—for ourselves and for those watching us—that the intentionality required to create and sustain those friendships while married with children is achievable.

With all this in mind, I think we need to do two things. First, we must look at our marriages and families and recognize that our actions in those relationships affect more than our immediate loved ones. They affect our entire communities. This is a good thing, but it is an awesome responsibility. Take it seriously.

Second, we need to invite people in our communities into our lives to see the good of marriage and family. This must be a deliberate choice as isolation becomes the norm, and it makes a pointed counternarrative to the world.

It may be tempting to look at the priorities of the young and hector them for failing to recognize the value of marriage and family that God has so honored in creation and Scripture. This would be a mistake. What young people need is not a lecture but an example. They need to see godly, healthy families living out our faith in community, over time, and with authenticity, not hiding our struggles but honestly striving to honor God in all that we do.

They need to see families where the parents are faithful to each other, respect each other, serve each other, and enjoy each other. Families where the children are nurtured, loved, and educated into the fear and admonition of the Lord. And, even as the world promotes the empty freedom of radical individualism, families animated by the joys of friendship, community, and committed service to each other.

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

- More from Alan Noble

Culture

Worship Music Made with ‘Bubba in Mind’

Kelsey Kramer McGinnis

Barstool conversion rock from artists like Jelly Roll is masculine, country, and faith flavored. Why is it so popular right now?

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Getty

When Christian musician Brandon Lake and country–hip-hop artist Jelly Roll performed “Hard Fought Hallelujah” for 75,000 people at a country music festival in April, they stood in front of an LED backdrop, a row of arched “windows” flanking a huge backlit cross.

Before the performance, Jelly Roll told the crowd, “I know that I fall short of the glory of God all the time … but man, I’ve got a heart for God, y’all.” Lake followed up: “Don’t y’all think this is what heaven is going to be like?” Afterward, the two artists posted a collaborative video of the performance to Instagram with the caption, “Bringing church to @stagecoach.”

These days, it does seem like Jelly Roll—a tattooed, bearded performer who fuses Southern rock, country, and hip-hop influences and makes his personal history with drugs and the criminal justice system a central part of his persona—is trying to take his fans to church. Or rather, he’s trying to “bring church” to the places they hang out: bars, festivals, gyms, YouTube.

Jelly Roll has become the leading figure in this wave of what one could call barstool conversion rock: faith-flavored, hopecore, God-finds-us-at-the-bottom-of-a-bottle pop rock recorded by popular male artists. The genre (if we can call it that) is noticeably present on the Billboard Hot 100 and platforms like TikTok, where Alex Warren’s “Ordinary” has been used in nearly half a million videos.

Barstool conversion rock is masculine, vaguely Christian, and at least a little bit country. It sits in a web of crisscrossing cultural threads, including conservative politics, party culture, and evangelicalism. Of the music in this category, it’s too imprecise to say it’s a vibe not a sound, but it does seem like vibes are just as important as shared musical characteristics (of which there are many, even if they aren’t entirely consistent).

“Hard Fought Hallelujah” typifies the trend; it’s a bluesy, country rock arena anthem that showcases both artists’ capacity for gruff belting and worshipful delivery. The opening line of the chorus, “I’ll bring my hard-fought, heartfelt / Been-through-hell hallelujah,” is a triptych that captures the aggression, earnest devotion, and rescued-at-rock-bottom message this music tends to convey.

Jelly Roll’s other recent singles have a similar energy. He teamed up with Alex Warren on “Bloodline” (“The storm keeps on raging, but don’t you forget / God’s not done with you yet”). The chorus of the song “Amen,” a duet with Black country star Shaboozey, ends with the plea “Somebody say a prayer for me / All I’m asking for is a little mercy, amen.”

Another notable hit is Thomas Rhett’s “Bar Named Jesus,” a down-tempo country ballad, about “a bar named Jesus / Where the light stays on / And there’s no such thing as too far gone” (not to be confused with Rhett’s song “Beer With Jesus,” released in 2012).

Sometimes barstool conversion rock drifts toward pop, exemplified by another Christian music darling of the moment, Forrest Frank, whose song “Your Way’s Better” currently sits at No. 63 on the Billboard Hot 100. Even though he’s known for beats-driven pop and hip-hop fusion, Frank recently collaborated with Rhett on the song “Nothing Else,” which hit No. 4 on the Hot Country chart.

While proximity to country music—in either sound or aesthetics—is a key characteristic of barstool conversion rock, genre loyalty doesn’t seem to be all that important to these artists. Over the past few months, Jelly Roll has performed with Eminem and Nickelback. Brandon Lake recently posted a video on Instagram listing the five genres listeners can expect to hear on his forthcoming album, King of Hearts: country, gospel, rap, pop, and rock.

Perhaps genre is disappearing as an organizing force for artists and audiences in the music industry, overtaken by persona. Listeners no longer see themselves as committed members of a scene; instead, they identify with the artists themselves more intensely than ever in the age of influencer culture. The perception of shared values and worldview is more important than an artist’s bona fides in a particular musical niche.

Genre may be less of an audience organizer these days, but the industry still markets artists to particular demographics—and by seeking entry into the country market, artists still indicate something about their worldview. In Nashville, both the country and Christian music industries have long signaled to white conservatives that they share foundational values like faith, family, and patriotism. Many Christian artists—including Michael W. Smith, Sandi Patty, and Carman—have aligned themselves publicly with conservative political figures and causes since the Reagan administration. Remember the ferocious reaction from fans after The Chicks’ 2003 comments about George W. Bush?

With the success of Beyonce’s Cowboy Carter, Shaboozey’s “A Bar Song (Tipsy),” and Lil Nas X’s “Old Town Road,” the country music world has changed substantially during the past decade. That change has sparked backlash and spawned internal divisions that seem to be polarizing fans and artists alike. One commentator recently suggested that, in an ideologically divided industry, country artists are increasingly having to choose between “reparative multiracialism” or “reactionary whiteness.”

Though Christian and country music share a geographic center, that doesn’t necessarily mean there are neat and tidy conclusions to draw about the shared values of their audiences. But it does seem that the cultural identity and aesthetic preferences of white country music and Christian music audiences are coalescing in reaction to political and social forces.

Last year, veteran rock band Skillet, who have successfully reshaped their brand across 30 years of active recording and performing, released the song “All That Matters,” a patriotic rock ode to “faith,” “family,” and “freedom.” The video features frontman John Cooper sporting a cowboy hat, which stands in stark contrast with the band’s early Nirvana-adjacent Christian alt-rock. In 2024, Skillet was the fourth most-streamed Christian artist in the world, and their popularity is growing, particularly with young, male listeners.

The idea that we should listen to music made by artists who share our worldview is, arguably, the animating force behind the Christian music industry. Christian music fans have long vetted performers’ morality, beliefs, and life choices. There was a time when Lake would have faced fierce backlash from fans over recording a hit and performing at a secular festival with someone who says he smokes pot to stay sober.

But both Lake and Frank have framed their high-profile collaborations and crossover successes as evangelistic endeavors, leaning into the narrative that “Christian music is taking over.” For former worship pastor Lake, going country is a means of going “seeker-sensitive.” In a recent interview, he said that he wished more worship leaders would program Sunday morning worship music keeping in mind “Bubba”—the guy who sits in the back and doesn’t know what “Holy, holy, holy” means.

Barstool conversion rock invites fans to a self-reflective spirituality that is decidedly nonjudgemental, even irreverent, prompting audiences to pray without asking them to put down the beer in their hand. This bid for attention from the spiritually open could easily land as a ham-fisted attempt to make Christianity seem hip.

But Jelly Roll doesn’t seem to be mixing references to drugs and drinking with faith to posture as the cool Christian uncle. In 2024, he testified before Congress about the fentanyl epidemic, and he often uses his platform to talk about addiction and the dangers of hard drugs.

In an era of male loneliness, this music also foregrounds friendship and camaraderie. Sons of Sunday—the Christian supergroup that includes Lake, Steven Furtick, Chris Brown, Chandler Moore, Pat Barrett, and Leeland Mooring—releases videos of recording sessions that show the men sharing moments of silliness, hype, and reverence. In the music video for “Bloodline,” Jelly Roll, Alex Warren, and a crew of extras stage a goofy singalong in costume in what is supposed to look like a medieval tavern. It’s a self-consciously hokey conceit that swirls social drinking with back-slapping, hugs, and male bonding.

In the midst of near-constant commentary on the mental health of young men, Jelly Roll and Sons of Sunday are tapping into the search for a sustainable vision of masculinity. And unlike the hyper-individualized stoicism and optimization culture on offer in much of the manosphere, this musical cohort seems to be suggesting, “Find God, and find other people too.”

In many ways, music is the perfect vehicle for this message, because singing and writing songs with other people is inherently vulnerable, even for seasoned artists. While the content produced to market this music is carefully curated, it matters that it’s been shaped to display earnest soul-searching in the context of male friendship.

And while some Christians would object to the idea of “bringing church” to a festival or bar on the grounds that the church is the people and not a performance, it does seem like artists like Lake and Jelly Roll are making a sincere case for community.

Barstool conversion rock’s presence on the charts isn’t a sign that Christian music is suddenly “taking over.” Religious language and themes are fixtures of American popular music. It’s worth pointing out that Kanye West and Chance the Rapper have also made Christian music in recent years; country stars like Luke Bryan, Randy Travis, and Dolly Parton have long recorded religious tracks. But barstool conversion rock is meeting a social and political moment with a message and aesthetic geared toward conservative-leaning men. It’s seeker-sensitive, faith-flavored music for the spiritually curious and possibly inebriated. It’s worship music for “Bubba.”

Kelsey Kramer McGinnis is the worship correspondent for Christianity Today.

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Help Wanted at Christian Camps

Adam MacInnis

Summer experience can be transformative, but many programs find themselves short-staffed.

Anderson Schmig / Unsplash

Chef Lance Nitahara can show you how to cook an egg perfectly four different ways, or the best use for nine different varieties of rice, or how to whip up 21 meals for several hundred kids spending a week at a summer camp.

That last one is an unusual challenge in the world of America’s top chefs, but the Culinary Institute of America instructor and Chopped champion knows what he’s talking about. He spent three years as the executive chef at a large Christian camp and conference center in the Adirondack Mountains. He learned a lot about cooking and teaching cooking—and some more important lessons too.

Like the true meaning of the gospel.

“Camp was a stepping stone to take me where God needed me to be,” Nitahara told Christianity Today. “My theology changed over the course of the three years that I worked there.”

Children across America flock to Christian camps every summer. They play games, sing songs, make friends, grow, learn, and deepen their faith. The experience can be transformative. Gregg Hunter, president and CEO of the Christian Camp and Conference Association (CCCA), which represents more than 800 camps nationwide, had an encounter with God at camp when he was 17.

“That changed me forever,” he said. “I’m grateful for the ministry of camp.”

Those experiences are only possible, though, if the camps have enough staff to run. This year, as camps across the country prepared for the summer season, many struggled to find enough workers.

Hunter said the problem is not new but seems to have gotten worse since the COVID-19 pandemic. Although attendance numbers have rebounded in recent years, some camps have had to limit capacity because of staffing shortages. Others have had to cut back on the programs they offer.

“They don’t have enough workers,” Hunter said.

The CCCA’s job board, findacampjob.com, currently lists hundreds of open jobs, ranging from a director position in Missouri to assistant cook in Minnesota, office manager in New Hampshire, custodian in Colorado, and lifeguard in New Jersey.

The problem plagues both Christian and non-Christian summer camps, according to Henry DeHart, interim head of the American Camp Association. Staffing is challenging because most jobs are temporary and each camp has a wide range of roles that have to be filled.

“Many camps hire staff with a wide range of skill sets—from general camp counselors to camp cooks,” DeHart said. “Other positions require specialized skills and certifications, such as lifeguards or medical staff.”

Camps have often relied on college-age workers, according to DeHart. Those potential employees often don’t seem as attracted to camp jobs as they used to be. Many seem concerned the work won’t be an advantage on future résumés and look instead for summer internships or other kinds of work that will be counted as experience in their fields.

Hunter said those people are missing the opportunities found in work at a camp.

“We believe that camp is the best first job anyone can have, and we believe it’s a great résumé builder,” he told CT. “It would be nearly impossible, I think, to find an office internship that provides all of these opportunities like a camp can.”

Staff members can learn leadership, communication, problem-solving, and all the nimble decision-making necessary to come up with great plans and then adjust on the fly.

And then there’s the eternal impact.

“The icing on the cake for me is the opportunity to make a deep, life-altering, spiritual impact on campers, sharing God’s love and being a positive role model,” Hunter said.

Nitahara was just trying to find a job that would give him a break. After a few high-pressure years in New York City learning to be a chef, he quit in one kitchen and didn’t want to go somewhere with all the same dynamics and dysfunction.

“I felt like I needed to sort of get away from the world in a way,” he said.

Nitahara found a listing for Camp-of-the-Woods in upstate New York and embarked on a three-year journey that would transform his spiritual and work life. He took the job and found himself in the Adirondacks running a kitchen, teaching kids how to cook, and engaging in deep conversations about Christian theology.

He and the sous-chefs and others on staff had long conversations about Charles Spurgeon, Jonathan Edwards, and what the Bible said. Nitahara realized he’d always been a kind of “armchair” Christian, taking things for granted but not actively engaging.

If you had asked him before he went whether he was a Christian, Nitahara probably would have said yes. But in hindsight, he says he was theologically empty.

“That was kind of my impetus for my growth as a Christian,” he said. “I started working with and interacting with a lot of people who were very astute biblically—people who were actually studying the Bible.”

At the same time, he learned a style of leadership that was different than what he’d seen in most high-end restaurants. He could be a gentle and encouraging leader, showing people grace and emphasizing the importance of harmony.

He also learned that he loved to teach younger people how to cook.

“Most of them had never held a knife before, and I had to coach them through it and teach them 21 meals within the span of about a week,” Nitahara said.

Nitahara was there for just three years, and that was 15 years ago. But he says that time at camp was crucial for making him into the kind of chef—and the kind of Christian—he is now. You can deepen your faith with a short stint on staff at a summer camp, according to Nitahara. And you can find your calling.

And you can get pretty good at cooking up 21 meals for hundreds of kids over the course of a crazy, fun, sweaty, life-changing week.

- More from Adam MacInnis

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Christian Reformed Church to Discuss Professors Who Disagree with Doctrine

Hannah Vinueza McClellan

Calvin University proposes differences on sexual ethics can be worked out with three-year process of discernment, mentoring, and prayer.

The Christian Reformed Church in North America (CRC) will consider how Calvin University deals with faculty who have “personal difficulties” with the church’s confessional standards—specifically the standards on human sexuality.

More than 175 delegates are gathering at Redeemer University in Ancaster, Ontario, on Friday for the annual, week-long denominational synod. The agenda includes at least six overtures to modify the way the CRC handles gravamens, heavy issues where members or church leaders are not in complete agreement with the denomination’s doctrine. Since 2022, that doctrine has included a statement condemning homosexual sex, along with adultery, premarital sex, extra-marital sex, polyamory, and pornography. Last year, the denomination said that leaders of the church, including professors at CRC-affiliated schools, must actively work to resolve their differences and cannot hold their gravamens indefinitely.

Delegates will hear how Calvin plans to work through doctrinal disagreements. The trustees of the Grand Rapids, Michigan, school have submitted a 27-page report.

The basic tension undergirding the debate is not new, CRC general secretary Zachary King told Christianity Today.

“I think the question is ‘What is the way that our denomination and Calvin University in particular will navigate the tensions between confessional adherence and academic freedom?’” King said. “And that’s been a tension for a long time.”

King said the denomination had a similar debate in the 1990s over issues of creation and evolution. Other common gravamens include issues of infant baptism and questions about predestination. The denomination has long recognized that professors don’t have exactly the same authority as ministers—and there’s even a distinction between seminary professors and those who teach other subjects—but the CRC still wants professors aligned with church confessions.

“But that push and pull has landed in different places over the course of the decades,” King said.

The trustees’ plan, going forward, is to give faculty a few years to work out personal reservations. They propose “an initial three-year onboarding period” where faculty members are not required to sign on to all the denomination’s confessional statements. Trustees also say they will allow “some indefinite exceptions only after at least six years of service,” which is the typical timeline to tenure.

The report says that the process will involve a period of discernment and mentoring, with “serious theological study and prayerful consideration.” In the case that an exception is granted, Calvin would “still require alignment of personal and professional conduct” including “teaching, scholarship, advocacy, and public pronouncements, as well as advising, guiding, and mentoring students.”

The plan will also require faculty to sign annually. Previously, leaders in the denomination signed only once.

Frans van Liere, a history professor at Calvin, said many faculty members have grave concerns about the recent synod decisions. Nearly 150—including van Liere—signed a letter saying the denomination “could undermine the academic freedom of faculty and our standing as a reputable academic institution.” The faculty said that sexuality should not rise to the level of essential doctrine and the synod was “playing into the narrow culture wars’ conception of orthodoxy.”

Van Liere said he was disappointed the synod went ahead anyway, but he thinks Calvin’s report is a good-faith effort to comply with the denomination’s new rules. He’s still unsure, however, how the trustees’ plan to deal with gravamens on sexual ethics will impact faculty. A lot of questions remain about implementation.

The report does not say how many exceptions will be granted to long-standing faculty, he said, or what aligning “personal and professional conduct” means practically. For instance, would telling students who are struggling with their sexual identity that God loves them as they are be considered advocacy? Van Liere isn’t sure. He believes that Calvin can hold its faculty to ethical standards but that attempting to police pastoral relationships with students and strict-but-changing confessional statements is both dystopian and impractical.

“I don’t know what the outcome is,” he told CT. “But I trust the board of trustees to do the right thing in this matter—to guide Calvin in a way that is good for Calvin.”

Some faculty members have suggested it is time for the university to break from the denomination. Philosophy professor James K. A. Smith wrote an article for the school newspaper arguing for separation.

“The denomination’s ethos has changed considerably and drifted away from the ethos we aspire to at Calvin,” Smith wrote. “We can either continue to be the capacious and adventurous Reformed university celebrated in the academy and around the world, or we can continue to be tethered to today’s version of the Christian Reformed Church.”

Ahead of synod, however, leaders at Calvin have rejected that option. A split is not being considered.

“We remain firmly committed to our covenantal relationship with the Christian Reformed Church,” said university spokesman John Zimmerman.

According to Zimmerman, the university’s report on its plan to resolve faculty members’ confessional difficulties is evidence of the school’s commitment to the CRC and the fact it is not wavering from its mission or its Christian commitments.

He declined to comment on how the delegates would receive the report or whether the plan going forward would be met with approval.

“We believe it is important to allow the synodical process to proceed without presumption about its direction or outcomes,” Zimmerman said.

Denominational leadership also declined to comment on the possible outcomes of the synod’s discussions. King praised Calvin’s trustees for their work on the report, saying the document shows a “deep desire” to commit to both confessional commitments and academic inquiry.

Now it will go to the delegates in Ontario, and they will have a discussion.

“I don’t know where it will go,” King said. “I’m praying that wisdom and good conversation and openness and the gifts of the Spirit will be part of the conversation and will prevail.”

- More from Hannah Vinueza McClellan

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