Trump Signs Federal Law Criminalizing Revenge Porn, Deepfakes

Backed by Christian groups, the bipartisan Take It Down Act aims to protect against online exploitation.

President Donald Trump and First Lady Melania Trump

Jim Watson / AFP via Getty Images

Publishing or distributing sexually explicit material of a person without their consent is now a federal crime, and social media platforms and other websites must remove such images within 48 hours of notification.

That’s the gist of the bipartisan Take It Down Act President Donald Trump signed into law Monday, which First Lady and former international model Melania Trump lauded as a major point of her Be Best Initiative and which sex abuse watchdog groups applauded.

The law criminalizes nonconsensual images including AI-generated content commonly called “deepfake pornography,” as well as video images and photography either created without the subject’s consent or distributed without such consent.

The Danbury Institute, a conservative Christian public policy group, began endorsing the Take It Down Act last year, when the legislation was introduced by Senator Ted Cruz. The institute called its bipartisan support “a welcome display of unity in the protection of innocent citizens and the promotion of public decency,” and its chairman Scott Colter celebrated the new law as an example of the Trump administration working alongside Christians.

Leaders from the Danbury Institute, the Heritage Foundation, and the Ethics and Public Policy Center attended Monday’s signing at the White House Rose Garden.

President Trump signed the Take It Down Act yesterday! A huge step forward to protect America's kids online. @MELANIATRUMP said AI and social media is the "digital candy" for this generation – addictive and sweet, but unlike candy it leads to abuse of our children. 💯 pic.twitter.com/4PeyEwdMRO
— Clare Morell (@ClareMorellEPPC) May 20, 2025

In a statement released on social media, the Southern Baptist Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission said Southern Baptists applaud Trump’s signing the bill.

“Because pornography is a distortion of God’s gift of sexuality, a violent assault on the imago Dei, and a corrosive plague upon individuals, families, churches, and society, we will continue to advocate for policies that keep this material from our public spaces,” the statement said.

Image-based sexual abuse affects a growing number of people, watchdog groups say, with the pornography industry fueling the abuse. A study released in March found that 1 in 8 young people personally knew someone under the age of 18 targeted by deepfake porn or knew someone who had used deepfake technology against another minor.

The National Center on Sexual Exploitation (NCOSE) and the Parents Television and Media Council, two groups invited to the White House lawn to witness the signing, applauded the new law inspired by Elliston Berry, a survivor of deepfake image-based sexual abuse committed when she was 14.

“It would be hard to overestimate the incredible impact this new law will have,” NCOSE said in a press release, emphasizing that with the explosion of AI tools, “anyone can be victimized through IBSA within seconds.”

“The notice and takedown provision established by the Take it Down Act is similar to copyright law,” NCOSE said, “which means we already know it works. Image-based sexual abuse will now be removed as quickly as copyrighted material, like Disney movies, are removed from YouTube.”

Parents Television and Media Council Vice President Melissa Henson said the new law provides relief for survivors, including children.

“Of all the online threats to children, deepfake pornography might be the most insidious, because anyone—even children and teens who aren’t online or don’t use social media—can fall victim to it,” Henson said in a press statement. “To witness the signing of the bill into law, along with families whose children have been victimized by deepfake pornography or sextortion, was bittersweet, but will serve as a powerful reminder of the difference people can make when they advocate for solutions that will protect future generations.”

In an uncommon show of bipartisan support, only two members of Congress voted against the Take it Down Act when it passed in April, Republican representatives Thomas Massie of Kentucky, who has called the legislation “a slippery slope, ripe for abuse, with unintended consequences;” and Eric Burlison of Missouri, who has said it is redundant and federalizes crimes addressed in state law. The act passed the US Senate unanimously.

Penalties for violating the Take it Down Act include prison sentences of up to three years for crimes committed against individuals under the age of 18, and up to two years for crimes committed against adults, with concurrent financial fines, the act stipulates.

Trump signed the act on the heels of NCOSE’s May 13 release of the report “Not a Fantasy: How the Pornography Industry Exploits Image-Based Sexual Abuse in Real Life,” a detailed look at pornography’s global impact on image-based sexual abuse.

NCOSE defined image-based sexual abuse as “a violation of persons that includes the theft, creation, and distribution of sexually explicit material without the meaningful consent of the persons depicted, or the manipulation of nonexplicit material for the purpose of making it pornographic.”

NCOSE includes in the definition nonconsensual distribution of sexually explicit images or videos, recorded sexual violence, video voyeurism, and nonconsensual creation or distribution of AI-generated forged pornography.

First Lady Melania Trump said the new law reflected her efforts to create safer spaces for youth online. Now that the law has been signed, she said, “we look to the Federal Trade Commission and the private sector to do their part” to enforce it.

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Church Life

I Have a Baby Face. It Shouldn’t Discount My Leadership.

Isabel Ong

Ageism persists in majority-Asian churches. But Scripture exhorts us to transform how we speak and act toward young pastors and leaders.

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Unsplash, Pexels

Last year, after I read a portion of Scripture aloud from the pulpit at church, one congregant asked a parent, “Whose daughter is she?” And after I led a night of lament and worship two years ago, a guest remarked to our youth pastor that his young people were so talented.

These people quickly learned that my husband is the pastor and that I am in my late 30s, although I am often mistaken for a college student. It’s a peculiar predicament to be in: On the one hand, it can feel gratifying to appear younger than I am. On the other hand, it can feel unnerving when others make assumptions about my capabilities, my competencies, and my place in the social hierarchy.

In many Asian, Asian American, and Asian Canadian contexts, respecting and honoring elders is important. It can be difficult to break out of these cultural norms and invite younger Christians into leadership spaces.

About 35 percent of the more than 200 Asian American (or majority Asian American) congregations surveyed by the Innovative Space for Asian American Christianity last year reported “no leaders under the age of 30 on the ruling church board.”

The dearth of younger leaders in the Asian American church indicates “significant theological and cultural differences between the generations that affect communal identity, missional priorities, leadership diversity, and pastoral succession,” wrote Dorcas Cheng-Tozun.

Pastors and ministry leaders of Asian descent are all too familiar with such challenges. My friend Christine Yeung, who is from Hong Kong and pastored a Canadian Anglican church at the age of 29, often received comments on her youthful visage from congregants or visitors.

While she sometimes felt as if they were implying she did not have enough life experience to provide them with the pastoral care they needed, she often responded by thanking them and telling them that she received a calling to be in ministry when she was a teenager.

Ageism is a significant hindrance when engaging in ministry in Asian settings, Yeung said. Once, a parishioner she was meeting for the first time looked shocked upon seeing her, frowned, eyed her from head to toe, and said, “You are the new pastor? So young.”

People often made similar remarks to Esther Tan, a 35-year-old Chinese Malaysian who pastors an Indonesian congregation in Los Angeles. Many in her flock are elderly, making her feel as if she is their granddaughter. Although they respect her as their pastor, her role can feel challenging “because we are at a different stage of life and they have so much [more] experience than me,” Tan said. An elderly congregant told her that she could not share her marital problems with Tan because she was “too young,” and asked if Tan could recommend older female pastors to speak to.

Evangeline Chow, a Chinese American who teaches at a school in the Philippines, said her retired-pastor dad often quips, “Chinese American churches are looking for someone with the credentials of a 60-year-old but the energy of a 30-year-old.”

Not all ministers find youthfulness a hurdle. Looking young has been an asset because it helps him “blend in” with teenagers, said Canaan Ee, a Chinese Singaporean who serves as the youth pastor in my Chinese Canadian church. His appearance has helped to break stereotypical notions of what a pastor should act and be like, he added, and allows young people to relate to him as an older brother.

But certain challenges persist. In prior ministry contexts, when Ee was a single 27-year-old pastor, he experienced some resistance from parents who felt he was ill-equipped to advise them on how to disciple their children, even when he offered wise advice like reading the Bible as a family or praying with children every night.

While Ee typically brushes off comments about his boyish appearance, the ramifications of ministering in a context where age-based discrimination occurs implicitly and repeatedly can be deeply damaging because it diminishes the gifts and insights that a younger—or younger-looking—person can bring to the church.

Such approaches or perspectives on Asian church leadership need to be undone and remade in the light of gospel truth. As innocuous as throwaway remarks about a pastor’s or leader’s age seem and as humorous or positive as recipients view them, comments like these may perpetuate the narrative that people who are older are necessarily wiser and are more qualified to lead a ministry or a church.

Scripture invites us in no uncertain terms to lay down these double-edged words. “Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity,” Paul exhorts Timothy regarding his ministry in Ephesus (1 Tim. 4:12).

Honoring our elders is not wrong. Wisdom and spiritual maturity are often developed through life experience. But these qualities do not exactly correlate with age. Paul charges Timothy to set an example as a leader to everyone around him, just as any qualified elder or church leader should at any age.

Paul also recognizes that Timothy’s youth is not an obstacle but an opportunity for him to model Christlike servanthood. He charges Timothy to be proactive rather than passive in not allowing anyone to judge him for his youth and apparent inexperience.

For those of us brought up in cultures where preserving collective harmony and “saving face” is more valuable than clarifying or correcting one another, doing this feels downright impossible. A younger person critiquing or pushing back against an older person’s opinion, however gently it is conveyed, may seem rude or disrespectful.

But when correction is done out of love instead of a desire to impose shame or cast blame, both parties can foster mutual respect, no matter how awkward or uncomfortable such interactions will be.

Another apostle’s letter points to how shared humility can overcome ageist sentiments in the church. Peter addresses both elders and younger Christians, commanding the former to be wise and caring shepherds (1 Pet. 5:1–4) and the latter to submit to their elders (v. 5).

But the final sentence is addressed to all of them. Quoting Proverbs 3:34, Peter emphasizes, “All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because, ‘God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble’” (v. 5).

I appreciate the imagery and directionality that Peter harnesses here. To clothe ourselves with humility is akin to a posture we choose to adopt and put on, allowing it to contour and color our speech and actions. To do this toward one another means that it is a wholly relational practice that dispenses with hasty assumptions and insinuations, opens up space for honest curiosity, and seeks the flourishing of another.

Tan, the pastor in Los Angeles, has experienced the tangible fruit of such humility in leadership. Since last year, congregants in their 30s and 40s have taken up leadership positions in her church; in the past, one person would traditionally hold a position for many years.

Chow, the missionary in the Philippines, has been coaching and training new staff members—ranging from fresh graduates to retirees—at her school for the past three years. While some initially thought she was too young, Chow believes her 12 years of experience working at the school have helped her to gain respect and build relationships with them.

Yet if Chow had remained and served in North America at her home church, where many of the elders and deacons saw her as a baby and watched her grow up, it would be like ministering “in the shadow of youth,” she said. “In their minds, you still might be 15 [although] that was 20-plus years ago.”

As a youth in the Singapore megachurch where I grew up, age was never a deterrent to taking on leadership roles in small groups, congregational worship, or church camps. Rather than issuing negative judgments on my lack of qualifications or experience in the workplace, the Christian leaders and peers around me welcomed and appreciated the time, energy, and effort I sowed into serving God as a teenager.

In my current North American context, my perceived youth has not been an impediment to serving in church through leading worship and fellowshipping with youth and young adults. Still, I suspect I’ll continue to receive comments from people on how young I look until I lose my baby face, get more visible wrinkles, or accumulate more gray hairs.

In the meantime, I remain hopeful that we will have more Pauls who welcome more Timothys in their churches, giving them room and support to grow, develop, and thrive. I remain confident that I will see young leaders who are bold enough to correct others’ assumptions and judgments firmly and lovingly. And I remain certain of my desire to listen to, learn from, and cultivate rich friendships with Christians who are both younger and older than me.

As Tan now responds whenever she receives such comments, “Yeah, God [has] raised the young generation to serve him. I think that’s important as well, right?”

Isabel Ong is the East Asia editor for Christianity Today.

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Culture

Another No-Vacation Summer

Wendy Kiyomi

Our family can’t travel to Hawaii or Disneyland. But God’s refreshment is still within our reach.

Illustration by Elizabeth Kaye / Source Images: Wikimedia Commons

It was a family emergency, of all things, that solved my vacation problem.

My 17-year-old daughter was in a mental health crisis and needed residential care immediately. My husband and I had spent a week sleeping outside her room on a makeshift mat by night and making dozens of calls by day. The only treatment center we could find was 1,000 miles away in Los Angeles.

We received the approval on Good Friday. “Admission is Monday at 9 a.m.,” the director said.

I put down the phone shakily. I was grateful to have gotten this far yet felt that the journey was too much. Jesus Christ had already demonstrated his great love for me on the cross. I threw myself into his arms, so to speak, and waited to be carried.

Many people prayed for us. A friend made us the most delectable roasted-garlic-and-feta potatoes for our Easter dinner, which we possibly ought to have canceled. Another friend booked the tickets for us to fly out on Easter evening. And another friend arranged for her Mennonite friends in LA to host us.

These friends—strangers to me—welcomed us, leading us to a quiet bedroom with towels folded on the table and palm trees glowing yellow through the dark windows. They offered us fruit and different breads for toast in the morning. They were a refuge in a strange land and under strange circumstances.

The author of Hebrews says that in showing hospitality one may entertain angels unaware (Heb. 13:2), and the converse is also marvelously true: By giving yourself over to the hospitality of others, you may be entertained by angels.

Nourished by these gifts, I set out from the strangers’ home on Easter Monday, not a new person exactly but able to get us to the treatment center. After I saw my daughter welcomed and safe, I said goodbye and wandered the bright streets, weepy with relief and wondering where to get tacos.

I like to refer to this trip as my Elijahic vacation. “Vacation” because of the travel. “Elijahic” because it reminds me of how the prophet received extraordinary help in a time of great need—hot bread, cool water, and deep sleep at a wilderness bed and breakfast run by an angel (1 Kings 19).

Our family’s problem is simply this: We can’t take vacation. We look like normal people who can relax, but reserving things in advance or scheduling time off work rarely happens. We don’t travel well, and we tire easily.

There were a few times in the early years when we thought we might have the magic. The winter after our three children arrived, we took them to the mountains for a long weekend. We looked forward to suiting them up in their adorable snow gear. We would go sledding and bond over hot cocoa and storybooks. Later, after we tucked the kids into bed, my husband and I would sit snug by the fire. A sweet first vacation.

It turned out that one child was very sensitive to cold. If her hands got the least bit chilled, they swelled painfully and made her scream. Being outside was miserable; we got disapproving looks from others. We spent the weekend stuck inside with too little to do and not enough toys. We nearly left early.

Okay, so that was a rookie mistake. Our family was new. We hadn’t even adopted our children yet; they were still our foster kids. We had plenty of time to figure it out.

But vacation only got harder. For one thing, we had so many appointments. Our kids had serious health problems and needed doctor’s visits and medication refills. They needed therapy and special education. Sometimes they were in the hospital.

Then there was the cognitive load of managing each child’s “case.” All the calls and reminders and forms and bills and referrals added up. We made mistakes and forgot things and couldn’t keep the fridge stocked. We were not in a headspace to come up with interesting itineraries.

And truly, our family wasn’t normal and couldn’t relax. The kids needed near-constant supervision. That sounds obsessive, but in our case, it’s not. Before they could even talk, our children were swapped around from place to place, never the apple of anyone’s eye. It’s no wonder (and no fault of theirs) that they had no stable sense of self. That only comes from a caring family and community, an inheritance of love and belonging that undergirds the rest of life.

Without that foundation, some children are sensory seeking and impulsive, unable to learn cause and effect and lacking common sense. They may never grow out of this heartbreaking and dangerous reality. Without our intervention, our children rile each other up and get into sticky situations.

Probably our last real attempt at vacation was with family at a country house. We imagined our 10- and 11-year-olds could play in the front yard on a sunny spring day. We would keep an eye on them from the kitchen while we saw to dinner. When a few minutes had gone by and we hadn’t heard them, we went out to check. Far down the hill, a tractor was spraying manure slurry over a newly tilled field. And romping in the furrowed rows were our children, damp with toxic porcine sludge.

And I suppose that is when I knew. Vacation is not for us.

Seven more years have passed, and our family of five has still mostly failed at vacation. “Failed” sounds harsh and even entitled. Lots of people don’t travel overseas or go camping or sailing. They can’t afford it. They are in poor health or have trouble getting around. Some, like us, are caregivers to loved ones with complex needs.

Indeed, vacation has never been possible for everyone. In early 19th-century America, journeys for health and pleasure were the purview of elite Southern planters and wealthy Northerners. Trips have always required money and time. The “weekend” only developed in the 1920s, and before then, many laborers worked Monday through half of Saturday. Working-class families in New York City might take an occasional day trip to Coney Island, while affluent families might spend the summer at resorts or second homes up the Hudson.

As the middle class formed and travel got easier, though, vacation became an expected part of “the good life.” These days, at some level, taking vacation signals that things are going well for you, that you are competent and interesting, that you value “quality time” and “making memories” with your family. I have had to admit that the good life might not be for us.

This realization was a desolation—an indication that we were separate from God’s favor and from other people. It gave me much grief. I felt a pang when people told me they were going on a Disneyland adventure or mentioned a summer place on the beach. The cabins! Everywhere I turned, someone was going to one or coming back from one.

One time, some friends and I were discussing their upcoming plans, and cabins came up. Everyone agreed they were wonderful. Was I alone in my desolation? I couldn’t tell.

“Maybe cabins are overrated,” I suggested.

One of my friends leveled her gaze at me and paused two beats.

“False,” she said. She was almost stern.

In ancient Rome, wealthy patricians took vacation by heading to their country estates for healing baths to escape oppressive heat in the city. The poet Horace encouraged his peers to leave the din of Rome and spent time unwinding in the country. Some Roman towns near the sea developed unwholesome “spring break” reputations that poets Seneca and Martial deplored.

Today, vacation is still about taking a break from normal life and pursuing novelty, pleasure, and a “respite from unpleasantness,” to use a phrase from David Foster Wallace’s beloved cruise ship essay. Vacation involves a change in location. We “get away,” “escape,” and “go on holiday” to nicer places than where we spend our workaday lives.

It seems self-evident that vacation is necessary to flourishing. But is that biblical?

Leisure certainly is. Josef Pieper, a German Catholic philosopher writing after the Second World War, taught that this supremely human and spiritually enlightened “condition of the soul” was neither idleness nor mere fun but an active attunement to God’s presence and a cooperation with him in creation. Leisure emanates from the co-delighting persons of the Trinity. When we rest, when we delight, when we play, we affirm God’s image in us.

But vacation? I see nothing like that in the Bible. I see rest and delight, yes, and celebration and retreat and merrymaking—even pilgrimage. But I do not see vacation. That absence makes me wonder if God’s heart for us might not be vacation after all.

God has rest for us, of course, blessing us with sleep (Ps. 127:2) and establishing the rhythms of Sabbath. An important way that we understand entering into God’s kingdom is as “entering his rest” (Heb. 4).

And God has delight for us. He has embedded pleasure and beauty into our creaturely lives and promised joy in his presence and eternal pleasures at his right hand (Ps. 16:11). The Lord is an extravagant host (Luke 14:15; Rev. 19:9). Big chunks of Old Testament law provide for a godly society in which parties—of celebration and of lament—are thrown properly, regularly, and heartily (Lev. 23; Deut. 14:22–26).

Take the Feast of Booths as one interesting example: a major national, weeklong festival in the seventh month that starts and finishes with a sacred rest day, filled in between with everyone living in temporary huts, feasting and “rejoic[ing] before the Lord” (Lev. 23:40). While the temple still stood, as in Jesus’ time, the Feast of Booths often involved pilgrimage (John 7). Crowds in Jerusalem made music, recited psalms, prayed, sacrificed, ate, and drank in commemoration of liberation from Egyptian slavery and God’s guidance to the Promised Land. First-century observers like Josephus commented that the Jews’ celebration of the Feast of Booths in Jerusalem was a raucous, expensive, and extravagant affair—a party to end all parties.

Isn’t this a kind of vacation? My gut says no, though there was sometimes travel and no regular work and lots of planning—rearing or purchasing the animals, making the sacrifices, packing provisions, arranging for hut materials. But novelty was not expected beyond what the Spirit of the Lord might reveal in the prescribed liturgy. There was revelry, but in worship of the Lord God. Ritual sacrifices meant that death and life commingled in a sober, joyous occasion.

The biblical picture of refreshment differs from vacation in essential ways. Whereas vacation is taken, God’s refreshment is received. Vacation is usually a private arrangement; refreshment is for an entire community. Vacation is special and almost always occurs elsewhere; refreshment is meant as a routine provision for our regular lives. Vacation elevates personal pleasure; refreshment comes through rightly perceiving God and his activity in the world.

As far as we know, Jesus did not take vacation or teach about it, yet he mastered the practices of rest and delight laid out in the law and perfected them in his gospel. Jesus existed in a fluid state of working and resting in the Father (John 5:17; Matt. 11:27–30). Guided by the Holy Spirit, he took the refreshment that came his way. It was quite hand-to-mouth. He dined comfortably and sometimes without invitation at people’s houses (Luke 19:5–9; Mark 2:15–17; John 12:1–3). He accepted their resources, once or twice without asking (Luke 8:3; Mark 11:1–8). He enjoyed sleep even in stressful circumstances (Matt. 8:24). He often observed Sabbath by healing and forgiving sins (Mark 1:21–32). He went on retreat occasionally but let people freely interrupt him for “work”—healing, teaching, feeding (Mark 6:30–44; Matt. 12:15). In paying affectionate attention to those around him, he let the Spirit’s tenderness and compassion minister to him.

He was the Shepherd and the Lamb. He was the host and the guest. He was always at work and always at leisure. As he heralded the coming of his just and joyful kingdom, established the church, and sent the Holy Spirit, vacation was superfluous.

The vacationlessness of Jesus comforts me, for I have a Savior who sympathizes. My family may not spend this summer at a cabin, but we will have other accommodations prepared for us. We cannot manufacture our own magic, but we find his supernatural gifts poured into our ordinary life. He has already shown himself capable of providing rest and delight in the least likely situations and without our help, as in Los Angeles.

A summer with nothing planned seems boring, but it too is a gift because it means that we are around—for the routine blessings of Sabbath and worship as well as many marvelously unplanned divine connections. We are available to our neighbors and local church. Through impromptu gatherings, haphazard dinners, acts of service; at the Lord’s Table, in prayer, in the laying on of hands, and through the occasional prophetic word; we are present to the Holy Spirit. We minister and are ministered to and see his wonders in our lives. Occasionally we do need to travel, and we have found ourselves in cities and in farm towns, by friends, family, and strangers, feted with extraordinary hospitality and friendship.

These gifts are a down payment of the rest and delight that the Lord is bringing about in his coming kingdom for me and my children. Only Providence can provide the inheritance of belonging and love that we lack and long for.

“One must completely abandon any attempt to make something of oneself,” Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, but live “unreservedly in life’s duties.” In this way, he says, we “throw ourselves completely into the arms of God.”

I am not saying that a sightseeing trip is bad or that it’s wrong to want a week at the beach. I am saying that by abandoning any attempt to take a specific kind of vacation, we throw ourselves into the arms of God and find gifts far superior to anything we might ask or imagine.

Vacation may yet come to me. But it may not. For the present, I have a delightful inheritance, and the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places. I cannot wish for anything better.

Wendy Kiyomi is an adoptive parent, scientist, and writer in Tacoma, Washington, whose work on faith, adoption, and friendship has also appeared in Plough Quarterly, Image, Mockingbird, and The Englewood Review of Books. She is a 2023 winner of the Zenger Prize.

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Books

Review

Meet the Evangelical Abolitionists Who Can Guide Today’s Church

Obbie Tyler Todd

A new book studies three leaders who fought slavery with a comprehensive theological vision.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons

Today, it has become almost cliché to frame the antislavery figures from 19th-century America as prophets. David W. Blight’s 2018 biography of Frederick Douglass bore the title Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom. According to Blight, a “guiding theme” of Douglass’s life was his “deep grounding in the Bible, especially the Old Testament.” Harriet Tubman has been called the “Fugitive Prophet” and Sojourner Truth the “Prophet of Social Justice.”

This habit, despite being a bit overused, is understandable. After all, some of the more extreme freedom fighters of the era saw themselves as actual prophets. John Brown, who led the raid at Harpers Ferry in 1859, believed God had called him to eradicate slavery from America. Nat Turner, who led the largest slave revolt in American history, claimed he had received divine visions. When it comes to abolitionist history, prophetic imagery abounds.

However, in Bearing Witness: What the Church Can Learn from Early Abolitionists, Daniel Lee Hill strikes a different chord. Rather than drawing on the language and themes of Old Testament prophets, Hill, a theology professor at Baylor University’s Truett Seminary, gives the movement against slavery a distinctively New Testament framing. Abolitionists, he argues, went beyond simply exposing the sins of a nation or church. They developed models of reform and renewal that can guide evangelicals today.

Hill’s goal in Bearing Witness is to “highlight and retrieve the key insights of abolitionary figures for the sake of articulating how evangelicals might bear witness to the gospel of freedom in their shared, common life.” Much of the book takes the form of a theological dialogue with three African American abolitionists: David Ruggles, Maria W. Stewart, and William Still.

Hill stresses that each of these figures understood themselves as evangelical. They attacked the institution and ideology of slavery by using what Ruggles called “evangelical weapons.” Among these weapons were Scripture, a biblical understanding of humanity, the moral law of God, close personal communities, personal piety, a willingness to bear one another’s burdens, and a commitment to preserving historical memory.

As a result, these three abolitionists offer more than examples of heroism from the past. Because their witness was so theological in nature, we can recover it not simply for inspiration but for its value in aiding contemporary movements of church reform. “What is required,” Hill insists, “is recognition, reflection, gratitude, and, ultimately, retrieval.” Alluding to G. K. Chesterton’s famous quip about tradition and intergenerational democracy, he adds, “The dead have something to say indeed. It is time we let them vote.”

We live at a moment when the precise meaning of evangelicalism is fiercely contested, with some questioning its very existence as a coherent tradition. We live, too, at a moment when critics indict the American founding itself for the founders’ complicity in slavery. In such a context, I appreciated Hill’s book for what it affirms about both evangelical and American identity.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons

David Ruggles

Ruggles, Stewart, and Still were not just critics of white evangelicals, according to Hill; they were animated by a common evangelical theology. Hill states unequivocally that by drawing on these abolitionists, he is “making an argument about the very bones of the evangelical Christian tradition.”

Furthermore, their example can’t be confined within well-worn critiques of founding-era hypocrisy. By highlighting their opposition to the American Colonization Society, Hill shows that African American abolitionists understood themselves not just as evangelicals but as Americans who appealed to the Declaration of Independence and the Bible alike. To have a meaningful conversation about the nature of American evangelicalism, he insists, we must account for these oft-overlooked voices.

Hill’s book excels in presenting the “theo-political vision” of these three abolitionists. Rather than merely reporting on their views of, say, the Fugitive Slave Law, he shows how their theological convictions shaped their approach to public engagement.

Take Ruggles, for example, a freeborn abolitionist who spent most of his time advocating for and protecting fugitive slaves. In his role as founder of the New York Committee of Vigilance, he helped combat the state’s “kidnapping clubs,” which sent Black Northerners to the South in chains.

As Hill emphasizes, Ruggles applied “the long-standing prophetic principle of moral suasion” in different ways than better-known contemporaries like Frederick Douglass did. He demonstrated how enslavers violated the Ten Commandments. He appealed to God’s design for the institutions of marriage and family. He showed parallels between the social ills that prevailed in slaveholding societies and the sins condemned in Amos 2:6–7, which speaks of political, economic, and sexual injustice. And he defended the church’s purity, even invoking 1 Corinthians 5:9–11 to bar slaveholders from receiving the Lord’s Supper.

I appreciated how Hill pushes back against Ruggles’s willingness to condone collective violence for the sake of emancipation, citing Zephaniah 3:14–17 to remind us that God will fulfill his own promises. Nevertheless, Ruggles favored moral exhortation above taking up arms. As Hill notes, “Ruggles’s pamphlets and addresses” were largely aimed at “those on the margins, particularly women and freed slaves.” To me, Ruggles seemed just as revivalistic as he was prophetic. He spoke truth to power—but also to the powerless.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons

Maria Stewart

Stewart, the second abolitionist in Hill’s triumvirate, was “one of the first women, black or white, to lecture in front of an audience of both men and women in a public space on political topics.” This remarkable woman taught Sunday school, started a school for the children of enslaved families, served as a hospital matron in Washington, DC, and became a community activist.

For Hill, Stewart offers a model for retrieving the Bible’s doctrine of humanity, particularly as it proclaims the dignity of the divine image in all people. She grounded her biblical anthropology in Genesis 1, insisting that enslaved people had been endowed with the same capacities for reason and self-government as anyone else, even if slaveholders made every effort to stifle them.

Like many white evangelicals in her day, Stewart advocated for “the creation of new institutions and communities” for spiritual and moral formation. However, for Black Americans, these communities served a countercultural purpose. Although they bore some resemblance to benevolent societies and missions organizations, these “subterranean communities,” as she called them, represented a form of nonviolent “political resistance.”

Hill’s third abolitionist case study considers William Still, credited as the “Father of the Underground Railroad” in his New York Times obituary. As a clerk for the Pennsylvania Abolition Society and as chair of the Acting Committee of the Philadelphia Vigilance Committee, Still was a paid official in the enterprise of abolitionism. Yet he too understood the importance of moral suasion, as expressed in efforts to start an orphanage, run a Sunday school, and help organize one of the first YMCA branches for Black children.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch Tlapek / Source Images: WikiMedia Commons

William Still

Though he served as an Underground Railroad stationmaster, Still arguably left his most lasting legacy as a historian. In 1872, he published his crowning work, The Underground Railroad Records, which compiled personal interviews with hundreds of individuals who passed through Philadelphia on their way to freedom.

As Hill shows, Still intended his book as more than a historical monument; it was written “in the hope that family members who had been separated would one day be able to do what he and his brother eventually did: find one another and become whole.” His historical research and preservation represented a significant ministry in itself, seeking to hold together the most basic unit of American society: the family.

If the book’s first section is an exercise in historical theology, the second section pivots toward constructive theology, asking how today’s church can live out the commitments of the abolitionists it highlights. With a host of contemporary theologians as conversation partners, Hill reflects on promoting “the public good” instead of settling for mere “ecclesial triumphalism.” Just as early African American abolitionists worked diligently to foster Christian community and “bear witness” to the life of the saving gospel, so must today’s church follow their example. Indeed, Hill observes, these spiritual forebears have bequeathed us an entire “evangelical account” for just this purpose.

The continuity between these earlier and latter sections is not always as smooth as one might expect. Hill is obviously well-versed in contemporary theology and incorporates an impressive range of modern scholars. But the book’s second section doesn’t always put these contemporary voices into clear conversation with voices from the past.

Nevertheless, in an age when we often view American evangelicalism through simplistic, nontheological lenses—whether racial, political, social, or financial—Bearing Witness achieves something commendable. From a bitterly divided period in American history, it retrieves a distinctly evangelical vision of shared gospel living that can guide the church’s witness today. Hill’s book reminds us that even the darkest chapters of the American story can yield constructive building materials for the chapters to come.

Obbie Tyler Todd is pastor of Third Baptist Church in Marion, Illinois, and adjunct professor of church history at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. He is the author of The Beechers: America’s Most Influential Family.

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News

Died: Kay Arthur, Bible Study Teacher Who Equipped Millions

Daniel Silliman

The author of more than 100 titles said, “You need to know God’s Word, and there are basics,” starting with how to mark up the text.

Courtesy of Precept Ministries / edits by Christianity Today

The morning that Kay Arthur died, a woman led a Bible study using Arthur’s material as a guide in Gainesville, Florida.

Another did the same thing in Hampton, Virginia. A third in Elizabeth, Colorado. And a fourth in Spokane Valley, Washington. More women gathered more groups the next day—and more will meet tomorrow and the day after.

All of them use Arthur’s books and methods.

“You need to know God’s Word, and there are basics,” Arthur said in 2023. “You want to mark the text. The very action of marking the text and coloring the text—we’re known for being ‘the colored pencil people’ … marking the text, seeing key repeated words, finding out what the text says.”

Arthur wrote or cowrote more than 100 titles explaining and applying her method of inductive Bible study. Her books have sold more than 18.5 million copies combined. Several individual titles, including Lord, Teach Me to Pray in 28 Days, were bestsellers, and several, including Lord, I Need Grace to Make It and A Marriage Without Regrets, were recognized by evangelical retailers as the best in Christian publishing.

Arthur also had a radio and TV broadcast for more than 20 years that reached up to 75 million homes.

And yet for her, the ultimate measure of success was the people she equipped and empowered to study the Bible and teach others to study it too.

“It’s the real priesthood of the believers, you know?” Arthur said. “We teach people how to uncover God’s truth themselves and to hear God through His word.”

Arthur died on Tuesday, May 20, at age 91.

“I’ve never known an individual more devoted to the Lord or to the tireless, faithful teaching of Scripture than Kay Arthur,” Bible teacher Beth Moore wrote on social media. “Thank you, Kay. You were unmatched.”

Pastor and evangelist Greg Laurie called Arthur “a real gem.”

“She loved to study the Bible—and even more than that, she loved encouraging others to study it too,” he said. “She will be missed.”

Arthur was born to Leah and John E. Lee in Jackson, Michigan, on November 11, 1933. Her father was a lay leader in the Episcopal Church, and the family regularly attended church, but Arthur found it all pretty boring. She tried to read the Bible, she later recalled, and couldn’t get through it.

Arthur moved to Ohio to attend Case Western Reserve University and become a registered nurse. She met and married Frank Thomas Goetz Jr. when she was 20. Tom, as she called him, was an athlete and a Navy ensign, and he gave her a huge diamond ring and the hope of a happy life. They had two children together, but the marriage was a mess, Arthur later recalled, partly because of undiagnosed mental illness. The couple divorced after six years.

As a divorcée, she started modeling, going out with various men (including one who was married), and pursing things she thought would make her happy but didn’t.

“I had a mink, I had money, and I was miserable,” Arthur said. “I thought, ‘If I could just erase my past. If I could just have a new start.’”

Then at a party in 1963, a friend told her that she didn’t really need all the things she thought she needed. All she needed was Jesus.

The next morning, the 29-year-old committed her life to Christ. She immediately felt clean, loved, and at peace.

She started reading the Bible again and was surprised to find it was fascinating.

“It became a brand new book,” Arthur said. “I have been in the Word ever since.”

The newly converted mother of two also devoured missionary biographies. After her ex-husband died, she moved to Chattanooga to go back to school and finish her nursing degree at Tennessee Temple University—but also dreamed of serving God on a mission field. One day she saw a prayer card for a missionary scheduled to speak at chapel. She felt God tell her she was going to marry him.

Jack Arthur agreed that’s what God wanted, and the couple wed in December 1965. The following year they moved to Mexico as independent missionaries. Arthur, now in her early 30s, was tasked with teaching the Bible to teenagers. Most of the Bible study material she found seemed really boring, however. Some just asked kids to listen to a lesson and fill in the blanks, not even encouraging them to read the text for themselves.

When Arthur found the work of Bryan College Bible professor Irving Jensen, it felt like a breakthrough. He advocated inductive Bible study—starting with a careful reading of the text, looking for key words and phrases, cross-referencing those with other verses, broadening out to consider the context of the whole book, and then looking for larger takeaways that can be applied to life.

“It takes time, but this Book is the Book that is absolute, pure, unadulterated truth!” Arthur said. “Scripture interprets Scripture. … Go through the Bible book by book. Mark the text. It will soon become your friend.”

The family returned to the US after three years. The couple started a ministry to young people on their 32-acre farm in the Tennessee Valley in 1970 and called it Reach Out. Arthur continued to teach Bible study and developed her own teaching tools to equip people to study on their own.

When she published her first study guide on the Book of Romans in 1982, Reach Out was renamed Precept Ministries. The name was taken from Isaiah 28: “Whom shall he teach knowledge? and whom shall he make to understand doctrine? them that are weaned from the milk, and drawn from the breasts.For precept must be upon precept” (vv. 9–10, KJV).

Arthur continued teaching how to read the Bible for the next four decades. She became “one of the most prolific Bible study authors and teachers in the world,” according to scholar Halee Gray Scott. Arthur has been frequently cited as a major influence on other women with ministries teaching Scripture, including Beth Moore, Priscilla Shirer, and Kelly Minter.

Precept reports it has trained more than 250,000 people to lead Bible studies—many of them women who will teach other women how to read the Bible this week.

One woman has a Bible study in her home in Lakeville, Minnesota. Another in her home in Kennesaw, Georgia. There are others in nondenominational churches in Rocky Mount, North Carolina, and Oconomowoc, Wisconsin; and at a Baptist church in Canton, Texas; a Presbyterian church in Santa Ana, California; a Bible church in Dallas, Oregon; and even an airport in Zanesville, Ohio.

“My burden is for every person to be able to stand on his or her own two feet spiritually. They can’t do that without knowing the Word of God,” she said. “When we see people who are exemplary followers of Jesus Christ, studying the Bible inductively, viewing the world Biblically, and serving the church faithfully in the power of the Holy Spirit, that’s the wonderful finished product!”

Arthur was predeceased by her husband in 2017. She is survived by her three sons—Tom Goetz, Mark Goetz, and David Arthur, who now leads the ministry—as well as nine grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren. The family is planning a private memorial service that will be streamed online for public viewing.

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News

The Gospel of $TRUMP

Harvest Prude

The president’s pro-cryptocurrency policies raise conflict-of-interest and corruption concerns.

U.S. President Donald Trump speaks at the Bitcoin 2024 conference.

Jon Cherry / Stringer / Getty

Since bitcoin’s creation in 2008, many evangelicals have eyed the rise of digital currency with skepticism. Focus on the Family, citing financial adviser Dave Ramsey, compared cryptocurrency to risky strategies like day trading and issued Proverbs-style warnings against seeking to gain riches quickly. Other Christian resources give similar advice, comparing crypto to gambling.

Now, some evangelicals, such as the makers of the God Bless Bitcoin documentary, have become crypto enthusiasts—with the leader of the free world on their side.

“[President Donald Trump’s] big appeal, at least since he entered politics, is to make people feel like they are a part of something,” said William Schultz, assistant professor of American religions at the University of Chicago’s Divinity School. Now supporters can join Trump’s crypto empire. Political scientists and ethics experts say Trump’s cryptocurrency ventures raise conflict-of-interest concerns, trample long-held norms that risk degrading trust in the US government, and pave the way for more corruption from both political parties.

Even though he may not be actively making personal business decisions—Trump has handed control of his business affairs to his sons—“he still benefits from all of his family’s business interests and from their companies,” said Mark Caleb Smith, director of the center for political studies at Cedarville University. It’s a stark departure from previous presidents—every president since the 1970s placed their assets in blind trusts to avoid even the appearance of profiting off the presidency.

With murky origins, cryptocurrency is the Wild West in the financial world. It remains a largely unregulated digital frontier despite a veneer of transparency. The transactions appear on a public ledger, but the identities of participants are anonymous. Digital currency, according to Devin Singh, associate professor of religion at Dartmouth College, appeals to both libertarians and anarchists, who from opposite ends of the political spectrum “see in cryptocurrencies a basis for communal transactions that circumvent state oversight and control.”

That’s made crypto a safe haven for bad actors in the underworld, and it’s partly why “the US, which is the global financial policeman, doesn’t traditionally like crypto,” said Derek Scissors, an American Enterprise Institute senior fellow with an expertise in economics.

Two countries have made cryptocurrency legal tender: El Salvador and the Central African Republic. One reason crypto hasn’t caught on as legal tender for more countries, Singh told Christianity Today: “It was not designed to function as a legal, state-backed currency.”

The Trump administration is steering the United States in a pro-crypto direction. Crypto-related political action committees and other groups spent more than $200 million during the 2024 campaign for pro-crypto candidates. Trump earned crypto support after issuing a campaign promise to make the United States the “crypto capital of the planet.”

Once on record as a crypto skeptic, Trump was not amused when mainstream financial institutions like Deutsche Bank said they wouldn’t do business with him after the January 6 Capitol riot. Now, while Trump is known as a real estate mogul, some estimates hold that around 40 percent of his net worth is bound up in various crypto assets.

Trump has a personal digital meme coin, $TRUMP. Meme coin is more of a collector’s item than an actual currency. A particular meme coin has no inherent value other than its association, which could be with celebrities or public figures, including presidents. Earlier this month, Trump encouraged people to invest in $TRUMP for the chance of face time with him. The top 220 holders of the token will be invited to a private reception Thursday at Trump National Golf Club near Washington, DC.

The invite caused the value of $TRUMP to spike, giving the Trumps more than $1.3 million in fees alone, which are generated whenever someone buys or sells the meme coin. Others, seeing the bump, seized the opportunity to sell their holdings and rake in the cash.

Some who invested have openly said they bought it in hopes of influencing US policy if they do have Trump face time. One example: Javier Selgas, CEO of a cross-border transportation logistics firm, said he would buy $20 million worth of $TRUMP coins as a way to advocate for free trade between Mexico and the US in the midst of the trade war.

Trump’s crypto empire encompasses Trump Digital Trading Card non-fungible tokens, along with Donald and Melania Trump meme coins, a Bitcoin mining business, and other digital plans in the works. His sons Eric and Don Jr., and two other entrepreneurs also manage a crypto firm, World Liberty Financial, which lists the president as its “chief crypto advocate.”

Shortly before November’s election, Trump posted on X encouraging followers to buy the crypto firm’s tokens. The group offered other blockchain companies a partnership where the firms would each buy the other’s digital tokens for “exposure and credibility,” according to The New York Times. Several firms rejected the pitch, with executives telling the Times they considered the offer unethical. But after Trump won the White House, others rushed to invest, leading to most of the $550 million in sales happening after November.

During the 2024 campaign, Trump spoke at the annual bitcoin conference, where he pledged to depart from the Biden administration’s skeptical—critics would say hostile—approach to crypto. “You’re going to be very happy with me,” he predicted.

Pro-crypto policies came in short order. His administration shuttered a Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) unit charged with investigating fraud in digital assets. One dropped case was against a crypto firm, Ripple, which had donated nearly $5 million to Trump’s inauguration fund. Justin Sun, a Chinese crypto entrepreneur who invested $75 million purchasing World Liberty Financial’s tokens, also saw his case put on hold.

The president also created a “Strategic Bitcoin Reserve.” It’s a “virtual Fort Knox for digital gold,” Trump said. The initial reserve will be from bitcoin holdings the government already has, around $17 billion by some estimates, the result of legal cases against criminal operations or civil forfeitures. Another executive order directed federal agencies to develop strategies to obtain more bitcoin, with the caveat that the means must be “budget-neutral” and not cost taxpayers.

Whether to be friendly or hostile toward crypto is a legitimate policy debate, economist Scissors said. “Where it gets difficult is you’re now taking a policy position which happens to align with your family’s financial situation.” If crypto loses value, he said, “we’re going to have a skewed US government response where Trump bails out his family, and it is going to harm ordinary Americans because the Trump family will come first.”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of ‘This will totally tank the economy,’” Schultz with the University of Chicago said. “It’s more a question of, when there are inevitable costs or when the industry struggles, Trump is going to prioritize the leaders of this industry who have supported him.”

The Trump family’s crypto ventures also give foreign investors a convenient way to get close to him—without a federal ban like the one preventing foreign donations to political campaigns. Instead of booking a suite of rooms in the since-shuttered Trump hotel that operated during his first term or schlepping to Mar-a-Lago to haunt his golf courses, dignitaries or investors from anywhere in the world can curry favor with the president by simply a click of their computer mouse. “Basically an open door to bribery,” said Joseph Laycock, an associate professor of religious studies at Texas State University.

Singh, with Dartmouth, said it’s too soon to say whether Trump is guilty of a conflict of interest. “Presidents have had influence over monetary policy in the past,” he said, noting Richard Nixon’s de-linking of the US dollar from gold. But he added that the potential for corruption is higher here: “You can manufacture these large swings in value, as we’ve seen recently with the various meme coins that have been associated with the administration.”

The White House has denied wrongdoing. “I can assure you the president acts with only the interests of the American public in mind, putting our country first and doing what’s best for our country. Full stop,” White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt said.

Smith at Cedarville said it is troubling to even have to ask the question of whether the Trump family’s financial ties to crypto create a conflict of interest. Are people dropping millions into World Liberty Financial hoping for pardons? Are buyers of the Trump and Melania Trump meme coins hoping for access to the president? It’s hard to say.

“When you have a public official like the president making decisions about policy, you really don’t want there to be private concerns at all driving their decision-making, even the hint of a private concern,” Smith said. “This whole crypto approach from the Trumps really clouds that issue pretty dramatically. I think it’s ripe for corruption.”

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Theology

The Oral Majority

Russell Moore

Columnist

A seismic shift from literacy to digital orality may be the biggest threat to evangelical Christianity in our times.

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Unsplash

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

Any organization—business, ministry, school, whatever—typically asks what the biggest threats are to its mission. The assumption behind that exercise is that the most dangerous obstacles are those that one never sees coming.

Consider for a moment that the biggest threat to evangelical Christianity might not be any of those about which we argue and strategize—not secularization or sexuality debates or political captivity, or institutional collapse or perpetual scandals or fragmentation and polarization.

What if all of these are just symptoms of the most perilous threat to the church since the Reformation? What if that threat is, quite literally, right in front of our eyes?

In his book Digital Future in the Rearview Mirror, Andrey Mir draws on the work of media scholars such as Marshall McLuhan, Walter Ong, and Eric Havelock to argue that the technological advancements of our times are causing a shift far bigger than the one brought about by the Industrial Revolution.

Mir contends that what is happening around us is akin to the Axial Age described by philosopher Karl Jaspers—a fundamental shift in human consciousness tied to the emergence of changes in human language roughly between 800 and 200 BC. The Axial Age led to the major world religions as we know them, as well as to science, agriculture, industry, and culture.

Whatever the differences between the scholars with whom Mir interacts, they agree that the primary shift of the Axial Age was one of media—from orality to literacy. That is about more than just the form that information takes.

Cultures of orality are “spiritual” in the sense that a human being is constantly embedded in an environment—all of the senses are active and on alert at the same time. In an oral culture, stories are passed down through repetition, usually through singing or storytelling, and are often heroic epics of past glories or tragedies. This requires a kind of totemic connection to nature and a collective attachment to the tribe. Usually it also requires some form of shaman, the keeper of the stories.

Literacy doesn’t just change the way thinking is handed down, Mir points out, but restructures thought altogether. It requires a momentary shutting down of the other senses in order to focus on only one, the eye, enabling an inward turn. That creates the psychological space for a person to be an individual, to abstract particulars into categories and to contrast their internal life with the overall story of the tribe.

Only with this inward turn can an individual stand apart from collective consciousness, if but momentarily, and experience personal transformation. They can have the potential for a personal relationship with God that transcends tribal and totemic religion.

It is no accident, Mir notes, that the shift from orality to literacy made possible what he calls “the great introspective religious traditions” of Judaism, Christianity, Buddhism, and Islam—all of which have sacred texts.

Mir believes that the acceleration of technology today means that what we now face is an Axial Decade, one in which, in just a few short years, the entire structure of human life will again be changed.

The media transformations of the internet, the smartphone, social media, and artificial intelligence are in many ways undoing the shift from orality to literacy toward what Mir calls “digital orality.”

Literacy required focused attention and internal reflection. But that is now replaced by something that still requires some aspects of literacy—an alphabet, for instance—but is more like orality. Digital life is less like reading a text than it is like joining a chant. It rewards resonance with tribal identity over any sort of quest for objective truth.

We are accustomed to debates over whether truth is discovered or revealed. In a digital orality framework, it’s neither. Instead, truth is performed.

Performed truths must be emotive, collective, and sharable. In social media culture, Mir argues, we now “vote for truth with clicks” the way villages once cheered for the bard. Instead of asking, “What is true?” we ask, without even realizing it, “Whose truth gets applause?”

Within the church, we often find ourselves arguing against the last bad thing—hence the relentless critique of individualism (think of how many people reference “Me and Jesus” who don’t even know it was a song). Mir argues, though, that what we now face with the onset of digital orality is not individualism but the replacement of individuals with what he calls “dividuals.”

Algorithms customize everything to us not on the basis of who we are personally but by the categories by which we can be marketed to. This coincides, he contends, with the identity politics we see characterizing both the right and the left in Western society. We find ourselves defined by the identity-marker characteristics that submerge the personal into the political or the customer tribe.

This, Mir argues, leads to a “digital retribalization” of sharable identities in which tribal loyalty seems, once again, to be a matter of life or death. A byproduct of this retribalization is the inability to form the kind of detachment that would, for instance, place truths and principles over the friend/enemy distinction of who is “one of us” and who is not.

Moreover, the person in a digital framework tends to fuse not just with the tribe but with the immersive environment itself. Notice how your attention span wanes, even if you are trying to read the Bible, when you are constantly aware of notifications and alerts and prompts to chase down another idea, to converse with another person.

The Bible describes the cross-currents of consciousness we are now facing. Note the contrast after the exodus from Egypt between Moses—alone with God on Sinai and receiving from him a written text, the ten words inscribed in stone—and the people left down below.

The people wanted a religious experience characteristic of primary orality. They wanted to fuse with nature, with the power and fertility of the calf constructed with gold. They wanted a totem, not a Torah. And they asked of Aaron that he be not a prophet but a shaman—creating a religious truth at their demand for a sensory, communal, and immediate religious experience.

But the way of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was quite different, demanding not just tribal assent but personal and conscientious obedience (Deut. 30:11–20).

Whatever else evangelical Christianity brings to the rest of the body of Christ, two things are preeminent: an emphasis on the need for personal, internal transformation and an emphasis on the authority of the text of Scripture over tribal or institutional loyalty or identity.

The first is easy to caricature, with eye-rolling at evangelistic presentations that ask, “Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus?” but it conserves an essential gospel truth. If all of Israel follows Ahab into Baal worship, there is still an Elijah.

The king and the court prophets may agree on what truth counts as loyalty, but that overlooks how Jeremiah might, in fact, be the one who carries a word from God. One can leave father and mother—as Peter, James, and John did—or one’s identity as a tax collector, as Matthew did, and respond to the call to “follow me.” That call comes not just to categories or institutions but to persons.

The gospel is more than “Me and Jesus,” to be sure, but woe to us if it is ever less than that. To be heard, a person must hear more than just the collective “truth” of the tribe. One must hear, above all, a voice that asks, “But who do you say that I am?” (Matt. 16:15, emphasis added, ESV throughout).

The evangelical emphasis on the Bible is likewise critically important. Can it lead to a kind of “biblicism” that sets out to ignore church history and the wisdom of the ages? Of course. Could the emphasis on personal memorization and meditation on the Bible lead people, wrongly, to conclude that the collective reading of Scripture is unimportant or to curate their reading in a way that lines up with preexisting prejudices? Yes.

But without a personal encounter with the Scriptures, we end up with the kind of tribal loyalties that Jesus says can cause the church to lose the lampstand of his presence. Every generation must heed these words: “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches” (Rev. 3:22).

The doctrine of biblical inerrancy has been used at times by bad actors who sought to prop up their own authority, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Underlying the concept of inerrancy is a claim that is meant, in the long run, to disrupt the pretensions of shamans and bards.

God has spoken—and spoken truthfully—to his people in a Word that stands outside of them, a Word that invites them to hear and to be changed. An evangelical emphasis on the Bible reminds us that the primary question is not “Is this truth convenient?” or “Will this truth get me exiled from my community?” or “Does this truth have a sustainable audience?” but “Thus says the Lord.”

The gospel is not a tool to sustain individualism, but without a certain kind of individualism, we cannot hear the gospel. We can only hear, as the Ephesians did with the temple of Artemis, the truth claim that props up the glory of the group (Acts 19:27). And, as with Artemis, that truth claim is usually propped up by whoever profits from it (v. 25) as well as by whatever mob is incited to rage against anything that would threaten it (v. 28).

Digital orality is no final obstacle to the gospel or to the Bible—nothing is. But if we do not recognize the way it is reshaping us, we will not be able to dissent from the ways it can numb us away from hearing the gospel, from deep reflection in the storyline of Scripture. If what is at stake is literacy, the costs are high—democracy, science, the rule of law—but these costs are not eternal.

What is truly at stake is more even than all of that. If we don’t see and name the pull to digital orality, we will conform to it. We will then trade in the distinctiveness of evangelical witness as an appeal for personal repentance and faith, as a people of the Book, for something even worse than moral therapeutic deism: oral digital totemism.

That will leave it to a future Josiah to call the people to realize what is lost—a Word from the Lord so hidden that it is not even missed, and the bones of the forgotten prophet who warned of what happens when tribal loyalty replaces the Word (2 Kings 22:9–23:20).

We cannot stop the way the medium is the message, as McLuhan warns. We cannot forestall shifts, axial or otherwise, that are much bigger than any of us.

But we can resolve to keep our attention. We can determine, each of us, to cultivate a focus on the written Word of God and on the inner solitude of prayer. We can keep alive that which can still hear, and thus can still say, “You must be born again.”

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

An Advent Devotional for Many Nations

CT’s translation initiative speaks volumes to Christians longing for resources in their native languages.

Mia Staub

Silvia Santana

Churches start in many unique ways, often in small spaces and cramped quarters. For Silvia Santana in West Flanders, Belgium, it was around a coffee table. Christian Community is home to a Portuguese-speaking community that is growing in that country.

The church started as a small group of women who would read the Bible and pray with one another around a coffee table. Gathering together to read the Word of God aloud in a language they understood was essential. Praying for one another in their native tongue was a lifeline.

Most of the congregants are immigrants who rarely get to speak Portuguese. The cultural differences between Belgium and where many of them come from make them yearn for moments of shared cultural artifacts. Some Christian Community members drive 70 to 80 kilometers to connect with other believers.

“For us, everything is completely different: the language, the food, the houses, the weather.” Silvia chuckled and continued, “The weather is very strange for us.”

Their group grew, and eventually, they gained access to a building to meet in and are in the process of getting a pastor to lead them. In the meantime, much of their community is fostered through WhatsApp chats and coffee.

For immigrants like Silvia around the world, finding a church community that speaks their language is vital. But oftentimes, finding resources for spiritual growth and development is a significant hurdle.

Not only do the congregants feel isolated due to the stark cultural contrasts between home and Belgium, but they have also found that their community is transient. Some members only live in one place for a short amount of time, and many people travel home for the holidays. This makes the community rely even more on spaces like WhatsApp to stay connected to their beloved community.

When the Advent season was approaching, a Brazilian pastor ministering in France knew Silvia and her church were looking for material in Portuguese to use as a Bible study. He connected her with Marianna Albuquerque, CT’s global project manager, who sent Silvia the Portuguese version of last year’s CT Advent devotional.

“When the pastor reached out and said Christianity Today has a Portuguese devotional, I was like, ‘Wow! Christianity Today?!’” Silvia said. Silvia had been a passive follower of CT mainly because of her love of Philip Yancey’s content, but her engagement with CT was renewed when she found content in Portuguese.

Translating articles and devotionals into other languages has become a practical way for CT’s Global Initiative to serve and equip the global church. For many like Silvia, these translations provide new opportunities for spiritual growth.

“We’re reading together every day,” she described. “One person reads to the whole church. The messages are beautiful and very special, and they make us think about things we don’t usually think about! It has already contributed immensely to the challenging time we have been living through.”

CT’s Global Initiative started publishing translations in 2020 as a response to the COVID-19 pandemic. In fact, the task began outside of Christianity Today: Giselle Seidel loved Sy Garte’s testimony in the March 2020 issue enough to translate it into Spanish herself to share with family in Mexico. She then reached out to Christianity Today to offer her services, and the translation team was born.

Since 2020, the team has grown, producing over 1,350 translations of original articles in 2024 alone. Today, 38 percent of CT’s audience of readers lives outside the US.

Translating the Advent devotional has become a tradition for the organization. In 2024, CT published translated versions of that year’s guide, A Time for Wonder, in nine languages: Spanish, Portuguese, French, Indonesian, Simplified and Traditional Chinese, Korean, Arabic, and Russian.

Because of this effort, the members at Silvia’s church could embody the text and personify the devotional readings. Each day, participants were asked to read the daily devotional along with its corresponding Scripture passage in a creative way and share it in WhatsApp.

Some people made videos while walking, others with Christmas music in the background. One teenager read the passage alongside her mother.

“What was really special was reading the details that really affected people,” Silvia said.

She told a story about one of the families at the church who had been founding members but had recently moved back home. Shortly after, the husband experienced health complications and passed away unexpectedly. The wife did the reading for Luke 1:18–20, “Zachariah’s Furnace of Transformation,” by Christina Gonzalez Ho.

Silvia reflected on that sacred moment when the church lamented together. The details and sensitivities of the text and its reflection gave the church a moment to grieve together. Even though the family was far away, the community was brought closer together through the devotion.

“I appreciate the way CT talks openly about faith, and as the name says, about what is going on ‘today,’” Silvia said. “I believe this is their biggest impact. Christians sometimes think that God’s acts are in the past or in the future, and they don’t look for the impact Christianity has in other places right now that are outside everyday community. Christianity Today facilitates contact between Christians, and for us, it is by being able to read articles in English or Portuguese.”

Church Life

Pastors Press on After 46,000 Churchgoers Leave Hong Kong

Joyce Wu

Political upheaval led many to emigrate overseas. Yet some pastors still remain to shepherd those who stay.

Flight passengers walking in the Hong Kong International Airport.

SOPA Images / Contributor / Getty / Edits by CT

Inside an elementary school auditorium on the outskirts of Hong Kong, pastor Samuel Leung led the 200 congregants at his church in the last song of a worship service in March. About half of the worshipers are over 60, so the church offers printed bulletins with a large font to help them read.

Leung, who has pastored Ma On Shan Ling Liang Church for more than two decades, said that just a few years ago, his congregation was twice as big and much younger. But in the past five years, hundreds of thousands of Hong Kong citizens have emigrated since Beijing imposed a national security law to clamp down on the former British colony’s pro-democracy movement.

That loss has hit churches like Leung’s hard. He estimates that about 80 congregants have moved overseas to countries such as the United Kingdom and the US. Reflecting the typical demographics of Hong Kongers who have left, they include pastoral staff members, teachers, lawyers, health care professionals, and middle-class families with children. By 2024, at least 46,000 church attendees had left the city in the past five years, and more than 6,000 were preparing to emigrate, according to a recently released survey by Hong Kong Church Renewal Movement (HKCRM).

Churches are also seeing a loss of attendees for other reasons: Some have not returned to church since the COVID-19 pandemic began and continue to livestream church services. At Leung’s church, about two dozen congregants join online. Others have either started attending other churches or stopped going to church altogether, Leung said.

Beyond emptier worship venues and fewer offerings, some churches struggle to find pastoral staff and volunteers. Church leaders remaining in Hong Kong feel demoralized yet cognizant of the importance of staying and shepherding the flock in Hong Kong. Meanwhile, one church is turning toward serving both those who stay and those who have left through overseas church plants and online services.

During the March worship service at Ma On Shan, two worship team members stood on a large empty stage to lead the congregation in Cantonese worship songs like “Be Not Anxious.” In 2019, the team had 20 members, but most have since left, Leung said. The church tried to expand the worship band in 2020, but the deacon tasked with the job suddenly announced plans to emigrate, leaving the task unfinished. Leung remembers the morale among the worship team was low.

The HKCRM study, which surveyed 778 of the 1,300 local Chinese-speaking churches in Hong Kong, found that the number of Hong Kongers who attended church in person in 2024 had dropped to 198,000, a 26 percent decrease compared to 2019. In 2024, about 26,000 people watched church services online.

Amid the changes, some church plants have returned to their sending congregations, at least two small congregations have begun the process of merging, and others have continued meeting with smaller staffs, said HKCRM’s general secretary Nelson Leung (no relation to Samuel Leung).

Although the latest emigration wave crested around 2022, there’s still a lingering sense of abandonment for those remaining in Hong Kong. The guest speaker at Samuel Leung’s church that Sunday, an editor of Hong Kong’s Christian Times, shared that she felt left behind as many of her friends departed and her fellowship group disbanded. But just as God spoke to Elijah in a still, small voice, she said, God has not abandoned Hong Kong Christians facing difficulties.

For Ma On Shan Ling Liang Church, a big challenge is the shortage of people serving in ministries, Leung said. One way his church has adapted to the smaller congregation is by cutting grade-specific Sunday school classes and instead splitting elementary school children into just two classes. About 40 children regularly attend in Sunday school, down from more than 100 before. The wide age ranges make it more difficult for teachers to manage the classrooms and teach age-appropriate lessons.

Despite the overall drastic downsizing, “we’ve never really cared much about head count,” said Leung. “But we’ve lost the atmosphere in the classrooms and even in worship services.” The church has more than 20 members over the age of 90, and the average age of the congregation now hovers around 45. The lack of younger congregants makes the church feel less lively, Leung explained.

Yet he feels positive about his church going forward: “The Lord has helped us build a relatively unified congregation.” Newcomers who found out about the church by watching livestreamed services have joined the congregation. Some of them have consistently given sizable offerings, which helped buffer the church’s drop in revenue from fewer congregants contributing.

Downsizing has allowed Leung’s church to be more flexible in trying new initiatives, like changing how it approaches small groups. Groups now consist of four people at most as the smaller size means fewer constraints when choosing where and when to meet, said Leung. The groups occasionally combine for Bible studies and celebrations. And since the church has finally stabilized after the exodus, it can plan for several years ahead, Leung added.

The emigration wave has brought similar challenges to many other churches. One congregation faced a financial deficit after about 40 percent of its 125 attendees emigrated, according to a 2022 Christian Times report. Its pastor, who grew up at the church and has pastored there for more than two decades, braced for a salary reduction as he also grappled with despondency from seeing so many congregants he’d known for years leave. Despite the setback, the church continued to visit low-income residents living in subdivided apartments as a way of fulfilling its mission to serve the community around it. “The Lord doesn’t care so much if this church folds as he cares if it has followed his will before it dies,” said the pastor.

The 2022 report said another church, a multisite Baptist congregation, had to close down at least one location to adjust to losing more than 1,000 congregants, nearly a quarter of the church. An Evangelical Free Church of China congregation could not find enough sound technicians or Sunday school teachers after about 30 percent of its congregants moved overseas, the Christian Times reported. The remaining staff members and volunteers resorted to combining classes and fellowship groups and shouldered a heavier workload.

While numerous churches have scaled down, one congregation is expanding abroad.

On the second floor of a commercial building in Hong Kong’s Jordan district, pastor Poon Chi Kong observed an evening worship service in February from the back of the dark sanctuary. The lighting focused on the nine-member worship band playing on the stage. More than 300 congregants, many of them in their 20s and 30s, sang along enthusiastically. The church is only a 15-minute subway ride from the city’s central financial district.

The size of Flow Church hasn’t changed since my last visit in 2019. Although about 120 of its members have emigrated, they have since been replaced by new attendees, Poon said. Some newcomers were drawn by Flow Church’s online content, which ranges from theology classes to pop culture parodies.

“We lost a group of brothers and sisters who built up the church with us from the beginning,” said Poon, who has been pastoring Flow Church since it started in 2018. It takes more effort to lead the new members of the church, he added.

At the same time, the church hasn’t completely lost the members who moved overseas. Poon oversees Flow Church’s satellite initiative, Outflow Mission, which enables those members to gather in cities in England and Canada for corporate worship.

Outflow members rent or borrow rooms in local churches and Christian organizations, where they watch Flow Church’s worship service livestreamed from Hong Kong or listen to the preaching from onsite pastoral staff. Dozens of people gather at each site, as the Hong Kong diaspora has added to their numbers.

The initiative, which launched in 2021, started as the church realized that members who emigrated were struggling to fit in to churches in their new home countries. Flow Church wanted to help them build their own churches, Poon explained. So Poon plans the year’s schedule for the Outflow congregations and supports their leaders. If they decide to go independent, the church doesn’t mind if they forgo the name Flow Church.

Serene Chan is among those who left Flow Church in Hong Kong and have joined Outflow in Manchester. She gathers with about 40 other Hong Kongers on Saturday afternoons at St. Luke’s Church. After services, she stays for snacks and small group discussions.

Prior to joining Outflow, Chan, a former teacher at a special needs school in Hong Kong, checked out local churches. But she found herself spending more time trying to understand Bible terms in English during those services than actually participating in worship. And when she was working as a substitute teaching assistant in the United Kingdom, worshiping in Cantonese at Outflow gave her a break from English immersion throughout the week.

“I still really miss Hong Kong,” Chan said. “When I attend a church here that’s still connected with Hong Kong, I feel a greater sense of belonging.” At Outflow, she’s in charge of the PowerPoint slides for worship services and facilitates a small group.

Chan and about 20 others formed Outflow’s Manchester congregation back in 2022, meeting every other week. A year later, they began meeting weekly. “I can really feel that God is leading and building the church and we are just responding,” Chan said. “God is the one who launched it.”

- More from Joyce Wu

News

Their Families Abandoned Them. Emeagwali Took Them In.

Emmanuel Nwachukwu

A Christian orphanage director pushes back against child abandonment and a broken adoption system in Nigeria.

Orphaned children play in an abandoned amusement park in Nigeria.

Florian Plaucheur / Staff / Getty

Catherine Emeagwali stared into the fragile baby’s dim eyes. Someone had hurriedly wrapped the barely-a-day-old girl in shabby clothes. Her translucent skin and faint veins bore bruising from a rushed birth. Her tiny, uncoordinated feet and hands were covered with dirt. The child had been abandoned underneath a bridge and left exposed.

“My arms were her home now,” Emeagwali said.

Emeagwali has managed Mother Theresa Children’s Home—a private Christian orphanage funded by local donations—for nine years in a quiet suburb of Abuja, Nigeria. The home’s doors are open to vulnerable and abandoned children—some left at the front gate, found in the bush, dumped in garbage sites, rescued from trafficking, or brought to the orphanage by Good Samaritans. The two-story orphanage currently houses 11 children ranging from 1 to 17 years old.

Emeagwali’s mother founded the orphanage in 2007 in response to Nigeria’s crisis of orphanhood and child abandonment. Nigeria has the world’s second-highest reported number of orphans at 17.5 million, behind India’s 30 million. Mother Theresa’s is one of only 278 listed orphanages providing safe shelter—and the possibility of family—to children in Nigeria.

In February 2024, the National Human Rights Commission received 339 complaints of child abandonment across the country, one of the highest rates in any month on record. Nigeria’s high mortality rate, ongoing conflicts, and teenage pregnancies exacerbate the rising number of children without parents.

Emeagwali works with the child welfare department in Abuja to facilitate both domestic and international adoptions in hopes of finding permanent homes for the children who come to her. The orphanage’s walls are plastered with pictures and names of children who once called it home. In some photos, the children pose in their elementary school graduation regalia. Emeagwali has seen 60 children adopted since she began managing the home in 2016.

“The ultimate goal for each child is to be adopted into a loving family,” Emeagwali said.

But legal adoption in Nigeria—though only requiring low costs for citizens (as little as 1.5 million naira, roughly $932 USD) —remains a complex and underutilized process, worsened by cultural and bureaucratic barriers. In 2023, the US State Department warned against international adoption from Nigeria due to fraud, corruption, and unreliable documentation. The State Department also raised concerns about illegal adoption practices, such as coercion and child-buying. The Federal Ministry of Women Affairs in Nigeria also acknowledged some guardians molested and mistreated children in their care.

Emeagwali lamented the lack of proper vetting for adoptive parents. At the same time, she said, bureaucratic processes leave qualified prospective parents disappointed. Meanwhile, desperate couples across Nigeria seek children through illegal channels, sometimes paying millions of naira to get babies. Emeagwali recalled one story of a woman who paid illegal sources 2 million naira (about $1,250 USD) for a baby, then never received the child.

Last January, police in Lagos state arrested eight suspects, including men and women, for selling newborns and young children. Mobolaji Ogunlende—the state commissioner for youth and social development and the one handling the case—acknowledged that the lengthy adoption process may be partly to blame.

Human trafficking related to “baby factories”—institutions in which women “are voluntarily or forcibly impregnated” and held illegally until their babies can be sold after birth—ranked as the third most common crime in Nigeria in 2006.

Nigerian culture puts up additional barriers. Adopted children are sometimes accused of doing witchcraft or causing misfortunes in their adoptive homes. In December 2021, an organization called IHRDA (Institute for Human Rights and Development in Africa) sued Nigeria for failing to protect these children from abuse. Some Nigerians believe adoption opens the way for fertility. Without proper vetting and follow-up with adoptive parents, abuse can go unnoticed.

“It is heartbreaking that these children are sometimes in danger of returning to conditions from which they were rescued,” Emeagwali told CT. “They are not objects to be used and dumped at will.”

To combat abuse, the child welfare department in Abuja updated its policy to require families to foster children for three months before adoption can be certified, acting director of the department Idris Yahaya told CT.

Emeagwali has submitted proposals to the child welfare department in Abuja for vetting families more effectively and hiring more social workers to visit adoptive families, but the Nigerian government hasn’t moved forward yet with these reforms.

Emeagwali said she hopes churches will get more involved in adoption by organizing seminars where adoptive parents can help others learn through their successes and failures.

“By this way, we can weed out bad adoptions and make every adoption story a success,” she said.

The baby Emeagwali found under a bridge in 2018 became one of her success stories. The little girl tested positive for HIV at the hospital the next morning. Still, doctors remained optimistic about her recovery. With diligent care—sterilized bottles, safe feeding, and medication—her HIV status turned negative within months. Emeagwali said a vetted Christian family adopted the child on the weekend of her first birthday.

“Adoption is beautiful when done for the right reasons but devastating when done for the wrong reasons,” Emeagwali said.

“But as long as [the children] are with me,” she added, “they will have a home.”

- More from Emmanuel Nwachukwu

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