Hello, fellow wayfarers … How our tendency to confuse revival with success keeps us winning our way to death … What encouraged me in a note from a former 15-year-old in crisis … Why a friend thinks revolution has to be ordinary … A bookshelf for your island Hotel California … This is this week’s Moore to the Point.
A Real Revival Is Not Controllable
“I saw on a news clip that Bible sales are up,” a woman said to me this week. “Does that mean we are in a revival?”
The news reports this woman noticed are consistent with what Bob Smietana at Religion News Service cited from a new Pew Research Center study: A growing number of Americans—almost a third—now believe religion’s influence is rising in America.
Last week, my friend David French noted in his New York Times column that he senses a changing spiritual temperature, but argued that it might not be revival we are feeling. French sees something more like a revolution—a movement that combines the language of faith with what political scientist William Galston calls the “dark passions” of anger, resentment, and revenge.
At the same time, in recent years we have seen signposts of what very few would doubt are moments of revival—the renewal at Asbury University, for instance. Whatever one thinks of the word evangelical these days, one mark of virtually anything included in that designation is a hope for and openness to revival.
It seems that this is a time of both warning and hope. One kind of revival is a sign of God’s favor, another kind a sign of God’s absence—and we ought to pay attention to both.
Almost 20 years ago, Jewish commentator David Frum, now at The Atlantic, offered an outsider view on why evangelical Christians seemed to so often want to claim their brand as a “majority” in American life—silent or moral or “real American.”
“Christian conservatives often react with hostility to bad news, even when they hear it from their friends,” Frum wrote. “Good populists, they confuse the observation that they are losing with the opinion that they ought to lose. And they usually reply to bad news by citing polling data that indicate substantial public support for their positions.”
I winced when I reread these words after all these years. While I don’t think I’m anybody’s idea of a populist, I can see how, at least psychologically, I did indeed embody the mindset Frum described. That was often, for instance, one of the ways I argued for the superiority of evangelical Protestantism to the mainline denominations—or how I argued that my more conservative Baptist wing was superior to the Baptists on our left. Our churches were growing, and their churches were not.
To some degree, my point was and is valid. After all, I was reacting to some of the more extreme liberalizing forces, which argued that modern people cannot accept virgin births or second comings, so Christianity must “change or die” by throwing the supernatural overboard. But if that argument worked on its own terms, then we should see Unitarian Universalist megachurches or global church-planting movements of congregations with rainbow flags. We don’t.
If someone said to me, “I want to quit my job and take up origami because I want to be a millionaire,” I might well respond by saying, “Have you ever seen a millionaire who became rich doing origami?” That would be addressing the argument on its own terms. But I would miss the chance to point out a more important problem: “You can’t even make a recognizable paper swan.”
Many of us went well beyond engaging the argument for revival on its own terms—often implicitly assuming that bigness is an argument for God’s blessing and that one’s “rightness” could be seen in the success itself. That argument, though, leads us to a heretical view of God.
If the growth of conservative evangelicalism in the late 20th century implied God’s approval of us, then did that mean God had previously approved of liberal mainline Protestantism when, in the first half of the century, it was growing? Back then, did God side with the massive and liberal Riverside Church in New York City and reject the small, struggling Gospel Mission down the street from it?
Was God an Episcopalian who became a Southern Baptist who became nondenominational and now has baptized himself with the Holy Spirit and become a Pentecostal? That’s the absurdity to which a metric of judging fidelity by “success” will lead.
Twenty-five years ago, the historian Martin Marty noticed this subtle change in us, in what he described as a shift from “truth claims based on unpopularity to truth claims based on popular success.”
Marty said the typical conservative evangelical mindset throughout history has included an insistence on an objective standard of truth—standing above and outside of history. This usually has resulted in what is considered strange, weak, and foolish when judged by the standards of the outside world. Marty pointed out that Jesus uses the metaphor of a “little flock” when speaking of his people, promising such as these the kingdom (Luke 12:32).
The implication in Jesus’ words is that those who follow him will be tempted to fear because they will feel, based on the evidence of quantifiable success, that they are endangered. The flock will be little when judged by the standards of human categories, but they will receive a kingdom given to them in Christ—and therefore not visible until he is (17:20–24).
When success is measured by public opinion, the stakes are high. When the sign of God’s favor is seen in popular response, we inevitably start to see the market—however that market is defined—as the revelation of God. And when the market shifts what it wants, the entrepreneurs must change with it. In some eras that means sexual “liberation,” and in others it means the humiliation of opponents.
Jesus describes the Beast of Revelation to John as having near-universal popularity and success: “Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it?” (Rev. 13:4, ESV throughout). In this case, what seems like revival is actually collapse, while what seems like collapse—believers being conquered (v. 7)—is actually revival.
Revival, as Jesus reveals it, entails a change of affection (2:4–5). Sometimes that is seen in explosive growth (as on the day of Pentecost), and at other times it is seen as a tiny remnant conserving what is true. In either case, the church—and individual Christians—should know both how to be “brought low” and how to “abound” (Phil. 4:11–12).
We should pray for revival. That starts with knowing what it is. Revival is not a market or an artifact. Revival cannot be controlled; it can only be received. Revival is the wind of the Spirit—a wind that often tears down a Babel before it calls out an Abram from Ur.
Revival doesn’t start with a blueprint or, God forbid, a marketing plan, but with a state of helplessness and dependence. When God showed Ezekiel a field full of dried-out bones and said, “Son of man, can these bones live?” the prophet responded, “O Lord God, you know” (Ezek. 37:3–4). That was the right answer. And it should be ours.
God can send revival. But that will mean, as it usually does, that the kind of religion the age wants—the kind that can be livestreamed and monetized—will first have to fall. Real revival is disturbing and disrupting, which is why so many of us, if left to ourselves, prefer the counterfeit kind.
Revival? We can’t handle revival. That’s the point. Revival—the real kind, the kind that can’t be controlled—handles us. And the first thing it blows away is the stick by which we measure our success.
A Note from a Former 15-Year-Old in Crisis
I am really grateful for the notes and messages that come in from so many of you. One of them especially struck me this week, from a pathologist who asks to be called here simply Jim C.
“Recently, I have been relistening to the audio version of your book Losing Our Religion,” Jim writes. “The recounting of your spiritual crisis at age 15 made me think about my own crisis at the same age, though it was of a different type.”
Jim writes that he, as an adolescent, was introduced to reading the Bible by a Sunday school teacher and found himself both fascinated and convicted by the Scriptures. “I felt the strong call of Jesus to follow Him, but I did not want to give up my right to myself,” Jim writes. “I was in deep spiritual turmoil. I did not contemplate suicide, as I was also very afraid of ending up in hell. Finally, I told the Lord, ‘I give up, take my life.’”
“Still I was in turmoil and unsure what to do,” Jim writes. “I came across a book on my Dad’s bookshelf entitled Mere Christianity by someone named C. S. Lewis (I don’t think my Dad has read the book to this day; he is 93),” Jim writes. “I knew nothing about the author but read the book. It ended up laying down a spiritual grid for my life going forward. I believe that next to the Bible, it has been the most influential book in my life.”
Jim’s note made me laugh, as he closed it with: “One last comment. When I found out that you and Tim Keller were friends, it was almost as good as when I learned that C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien had been friends (I read LOTR in eighth grade).”
Tim was indeed a Tolkien-statured person, but I’m no Lewis, just a random hobbit. Still, I was cheered to read of this story of a very similar experience to mine. Grace is amazing. I am grateful, Jim, for this note.
J. D. Greear on What Culture Wars Are Doing to Us
I have only passed out one time in my life—and J. D. Greear was there. No, it was not at a bar or a drinking party but at a Southern Baptist Convention Resolutions Committee meeting. You can hear about it over on this week’s episode of the podcast, where I talk to my friend J. D. Greear, pastor of The Summit Church in Raleigh/Durham, North Carolina.
More importantly, we talk about this question: What if the real radicals right now are the ones who refuse to join the outrage mobs? We talk about his unlikely friendship with the person who tried to dox him. Along the way, we talk about where he sees the American church going, how to evangelize in this moment in history, and how to get beyond culture wars to genuinely change things. I ask him whether he thinks the megachurch has had its day—and what might replace it.
You can listen here.
Desert island Bookshelf
Every other week, I share a list of books that one of you says you’d want to have on hand if you were stranded on a deserted island. This week’s submission comes from reader Barbara Hull from Elk Grove, California. Here’s her list:
- On the Road with Saint Augustine by James K. A. Smith: What a fantastic find! A book that captures two of my favorite things, travel and the amazing mind of St. Augustine. Smith takes the reader on a journey to the places and ideas that molded Augustine’s restless, God-seeking heart, along with ancient and contemporary thinkers asking the same questions. I am ready to pack my bags and go with them, after leaving the island, of course.
- Something More by Catherine Marshall: This book has been on my bookshelf for decades. Other than the Bible, it was the first book that I read that dealt with the need for “something more” in the face of great loss and disappointment. It was also the first book that shaped my understanding of the work of the Holy Spirit in making us more like Jesus. Today, just seeing it on the shelf reminds me of God’s faithfulness and the work of the Holy Spirit in my life.
- The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey: Elisabeth Bailey is bedridden and often alone. But in a terrarium on her bedside table is a small woodland snail whose life captivates and invigorates Bailey’s own. This small masterpiece on the connection between humans and nature reveals how life-giving observation can be, even of very small things. What creature could deepen my experience on a desert island?
- Prayer by Timothy Keller: Beyond providing food and shelter on the island, there should be no excuse for not having time to pray, and there will certainly be a need to pray. Keller shares not only his own prayer life but the thoughts and practices of the saints who have gone before us. My one abiding takeaway from this lovely and practical book is that God is constantly revealing who He is when I pray, and God’s revealing will strengthen and sustain me.
- Everything Sad Is Untrue (A True Story) by Daniel Nayeri: Having read the recommendations of both Moores, Beth and Russell, this book just had to be read. A fictionalized memoir of a middle-school-aged Iranian refugee in Oklahoma would supply endless encouragement to a person stranded in an unfamiliar existence. The family is in Oklahoma because Daniel’s mother became a Christian and was under a sentence of death in Iran. This book provided the liveliest book club discussion we have had all year! Funny, sad, and full of wonderful insights into American culture, it testifies to an enduring hope that everything sad will, in God’s timing, become untrue.
- 75 Masterpieces Every Christian Should Know by Terry Glaspey: After nonstop communing with nature on the island, it will be refreshing to remember creations in art, literature, music, and film. Some can be recalled, and others put on a bucket list to enjoy in post-island life! This book is visually beautiful and the stories behind each masterpiece inspire. What a wonder that the creator of the universe gives His creatures the same joy of being able to create!
- The Great Divorce by C. S. Lewis: How can a person choose just one of C. S. Lewis’s books for the desert island? This fantasy of a bus trip from Hell to the bright edge of Heaven, with the invitation to stay and never return to Hell, bends the mind. The ideas that keep the bus riders from choosing Heaven will be familiar as I reminisce over my own journey of faith and the assurance that “if we accept Heaven we shall not be able to retain even the smallest and most intimate souvenirs of Hell.”
- Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather: While living in New Mexico for two years, a longtime resident said that reading Death Comes for the Archbishop is essential to understanding New Mexico. Beyond grasping the culture of a unique place, the stories of Archbishop Jean Marie Latour and Father Vaillant are beautiful, moving, and so human. These characters are stand-ins for the real first archbishop and his fellow priest who were sent to New Mexico in the 1850s, Archbishop Lamy and Bishop Machebeuf. Cather wrote: “I’ve always wanted to try something in the style of a legend, with a sort of New Testament calm.” This book opened the door to other Willa Cather treasures.
- Church History in Plain Language by Bruce L. Shelley: This is another book that has been on my shelf for decades. Not this copy, actually, because the first one fell apart from use. Shelley’s book was eye-opening for me and formed the foundation for many Sunday morning classes revealing God’s sovereign hand at work through the people and events that form the history of the church. It is such a wonderful reminder that as believers, we are part of the “great cloud of witnesses” God is using to bless the world.
- The Valley of Vision: A Collection of Puritan Prayers and Devotions edited by Arthur Bennett: This small but mighty treasure chest of Puritan prayers is essential for flourishing on a desert island, in the suburbs, and anywhere else that the Lord places us. Whether the daily Puritan offering is carefully chosen or randomly picked, Valley of Vision will invigorate, correct, challenge, calm, and bring faithful focus to my individual prayer life. What a blessing that the Puritans wrote down their prayers and meditations for the ages to come.
- A Candle in the Dark: Grace Notes from Scripture by Rick Hull: Every day for almost two years during the height of COVID, my husband, Rick, sent out an email with a Scripture text and a short note, full of gentleness, humor, and everyday life. (And it had the same “return message in a bottle” that Dr. Moore described in a recent Moore to the Point.) Through the darkest days of lockdown, racial strife, sickness, and death, God’s candle of hope shone brightly. This self-published book continues to comfort and encourage readers. On the island, this book would deliver two important things: God’s promise-filled Word and the assurance that someone knows I am missing and is searching!
Thank you, Barbara!
Readers, what do y’all think? If you were stranded on a desert island for the rest of your life and could have only one playlist or one bookshelf with you, what songs or books would you choose?
- For a Desert Island Playlist, send me a list between 5 and 12 songs, excluding hymns and worship songs. (We’ll cover those later.)
- For a Desert Island Bookshelf, send me a list of up to 12 books, along with a photo of all the books together.
Send your list (or both lists) to questions@russellmoore.com, and include as much or as little explanation of your choices as you would like, along with the city and state from which you’re writing.
Quote of the Moment
“The Nazi world does not recognize any God except Hitler; for the Nazis are as ruthless as the Communists in the denial of God. What place has religion which preaches the dignity of the human being, the majesty of the human soul, in a world where moral standards are measured by treachery and bribery and fifth columnists? Will our children, too, wander off, goose-stepping in search of new gods? We do not accept, we will not permit, this Nazi ‘shape of things to come.’”
—Franklin D. Roosevelt, May 27, 1941
Currently Reading (or Re-Reading)
- Timothy Keller, What Is Wrong with the World? The Surprising, Hopeful Answer to the Question We Cannot Avoid (Zondervan)
- James Schiff, ed., Selected Letters of John Updike (Knopf)
- Peter Pomerantsev, How to Win an Information War: The Propagandist Who Outwitted Hitler (PublicAffairs)
- William A. Galston, Anger, Fear, Domination: Dark Passions and the Power of Political Speech (Yale University Press)
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Russell Moore
Editor in Chief, Christianity Today
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