Topics like Christian nationalism, mass immigration, and cultural heritage dominate much of the national conversation and social media ecosystem, and for good reason: We want to know who we are as genealogical creatures embedded in unique cultures and nations, and how our Christian faith can forge influence for the good. Moreover, irresponsible immigration policies have destabilized Western nations, forcing us back to foundational questions about the necessary conditions for stable social order. It’s appropriate to give serious consideration to the composition of a population and how different people groups shape cultures. But appropriate questions can quickly become dark considerations, such as whether preserving national heritage requires protecting the purity of bloodlines. Acknowledge Real Tension We should acknowledge the tension: Scripture presents a high view of nations and diverse people groups, but it offers an even higher view of Christ and the Christian responsibility to the kingdom of God. Scripture affirms that God made the nations, sets their boundaries, and delights in their distinct glory. These things are not irrelevant to how God fashions history and people. Yet the Bible never commands Christians to preserve an ethnic heritage or national identity as if our faith or God’s mission depended on it. The New Testament consistently decenters bloodlines and nationality (without nullifying them), placing instead a greater emphasis on a higher loyalty to Jesus and his church (Phil. 3:20; Eph. 2:19). The Bible tells us to maintain the faith, not preserve bloodlines. Scripture doesn’t command us to preserve ethnic heritage or national identity as a Christian obligation. Furthermore, while natural law theory can appreciate and appropriate the presence of distinct people groups as a feature and function of human society’s natural development, it does not demand the preservation of distinct bloodlines—natural law merely insists on the stable development of cultures that allow for the common good to be pursued. Scripture commands fidelity to Christ and his church, while affirming nations and ethnic differences as providential goods to be stewarded, not idols to be sacralized. A providential good is a biblically warranted fact of existence that we acknowledge and celebrate, even if we aren’t called to give concerted moral effort to perpetuate it. At the same time, we should also resist the tendency to reduce cultural heritage, ethnicity, and nationality to irrelevant throwaways unbecoming of Christian reflection. Christians are called to gratefully embrace our ethnicity, while we’re called to advance God’s kingdom. The Bible tells us to maintain the faith, not preserve bloodlines. By way of definitions, a “nation” may be defined as a people inhabiting a particular geographic territory, sharing common laws, institutions, and a public life that binds them together as a political community under God’s providence. A nation is thus more than mere bloodline; it’s a corporate reality of social order, customs, identity, and governance that enables a people to pursue common goods. By contrast, “ethnicity” refers to the inherited patterns of culture, memory, and identity—language, kinship, tradition, and custom—that organically develop and are transmitted among a people over time. Ethnicity is a marker of heritage and belonging, while nationality is a marker of political membership and civic solidarity. As distinct ethnic groups form, they naturally develop territorial markers—borders—that enclose and protect their shared cultural life. These borders, in turn, give shape to political communities. In this way, nations and ethnicities mutually reinforce the cultural imagination of a people. The modern concept of “race,” however, is more ambiguous: It isn’t a biblical category but a social construct that emerged in modernity to classify human beings by physical traits such as skin color, often in ways that obscured the richer realities of nation and ethnicity. Race, in this sense, is a reductive lens, collapsing complex cultural and national identities into superficial biological features. Both nation and ethnicity are providential goods to be stewarded with gratitude, while race must be handled with caution, lest it distort God’s vision of human diversity. Neither nation, ethnicity, nor race is ultimate; the Christian’s highest allegiance is to Christ and his kingdom, which embraces people “from every tribe and language and people and nation” (Rev. 5:9). While ethnicity can acknowledge the reality of physical characteristics that arise as people groups intermarry and settle, using physical characteristics as the monocausal basis for classification is severely limiting—and, as history reveals, prone to horrific abuse—in understanding the complete plethora, depth, and uniqueness of ethnic diversity. Israel and the Old Covenant Israel had a distinct calling from Yahweh to preserve its unique status among the nations. But while Abraham was the progenitor and patriarch of what would become the Jewish people and the nation of Israel, there was nothing special about his lineage or status. Coming from Ur of the Chaldeans, he was an idolator himself (Gen. 11:28, 31; Josh. 24:2) before God called him to leave his homeland, promising to make him a great nation (Gen. 12:1–3). From the beginning, God’s promise to Abraham included a promise to the nations before the establishment of Israel, meaning the calling of Abraham and the establishment of Israel as God’s covenant people was never solely ethnically exclusive—even if ethnic realities eventually resulted. Ultimately, all the nations would be blessed through his line (v. 3). Israel’s covenantal relationship to God, inaugurated by Abraham’s call, is what made it distinct, not its existence as a reducibly genetic or ethnic people. While Scripture states that God made a covenant with Abraham and his descendants (who are a people group), this ethnic reality neither tells the whole story nor encompasses the full scope of redemption. Non-Jews could assimilate as Jews in the Old Testament sense—though better said, they became Israelites by covenantal adoption, not by bloodline (Ex. 12:38; Josh. 2; 6:25; Ruth 1:16–17; 2 Sam. 11:3, 11). The covenant community was open to all who abandoned idols, embraced Yahweh, and accepted the covenant’s stipulations (Ex. 12:48; Lev. 24:22; Num. 15:15–16; 1 Kings 8:41–43; Isa. 56:6–7). Laws against intermarriage (Deut. 7:3–6) existed to protect against outside pagan influence, though cross-ethnic marriage itself was sanctioned (see Ruth the Moabite with Boaz the Israelite, Ruth 4; Rahab the Canaanite and Salmon the Israelite, Joshua 2 and Matt. 1:5; Zipporah the Midianite and Moses the Israelite, Ex. 2:21; 18:1–12). Mosaic dietary and ceremonial codes marked Israel off from the nations (Lev. 11; Deut. 14). But stipulations, along with genealogical records and land boundaries (Num. 34), while central to Jewish identity, served a redemptive-historical purpose: preserving the line of promise that would come to fulfillment in the Jewish Messiah and Savior of the world, Jesus Christ (Rom. 2:28–29; Gal. 3:16, 29). Even here, we see a new hypothetical emerge: As non-Jews would assimilate into Jewish customs and marry among their new tribe, new ethnic realities would likely be forged as different people groups united. This is why it’s inappropriate to speak of ethnicity as a purely static, inflexible category. When Israel is used as a template for Christians to transpose their expectations on the modern nation-state, we run the risk of flattening out Scripture’s storyline, confusing promise with fulfillment. The laws that formed Israel’s identity were temporary, preparatory, and ultimately fulfilled in Christ. New Testament’s Reframing Central to the New Testament experience is the breaking down of the Jew/Gentile division (Eph. 2:14; 3:6). The question of Jewish identity and Jewish legalism formed the basis for many central debates found in the New Testament epistles. Romans, Galatians, and Ephesians are occasioned, in part, by debates on who constitutes God’s covenant people. While ethnicity doesn’t cease in the New Testament, it’s ultimately relativized as Paul repeatedly decenters ethnic identity (1 Cor. 7:19; Phil. 3:4–8). When Paul declares, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Gal. 3:28), notice what this text says and doesn’t say. It doesn’t, as some are tempted to believe, evacuate natural categories of their essential constitution. Men are still men who become Christians. Women are still women who become Christians. Jews don’t cease to be Jewish ethnically, nor do Greeks. Paul claims that in Christ, there’s a soteriological equality not defined by bloodline, nationality, or ethnic status. Grace does not erase nations; it subjects them to a higher love and ultimate citizenship (Phil. 3:20). The only “holy nation” in the New Testament is the church (1 Pet. 2:9), even while nations themselves persist. Christians are called to gratefully embrace our ethnicity, while we’re called to advance God’s kingdom. Again, there’s no prescriptive command in Scripture to preserve one’s bloodline as an end pursued for its own sake. There is, however, a command to preserve and advance the faith throughout the existing nations of the earth (Matt. 28:18–20). In whatever shape these nations eventually take, the picture of eschatological glory envisions a diverse set of people united in their worship of the triune God (Rev. 5:9; 7:9–10). That diversity seems not to serve diversity for its own sake but as a reflection of God’s design for unity under his lordship. What Scripture Affirms About Nations Does the Bible’s focus on redemption render ethnic identity, cultural heritage, and borders as illegitimate concerns? No. We aren’t called to a borderless globalism. We should actively resist it, in fact. In Christ, we can affirm the goodness of ethno-cultural differences and national sovereignty while confidently asserting that globalist impulses run contrary to the providential separation of the people into distinct nations. Consider Genesis 1:28—the creation mandate. Adam and Eve, and their descendants, were meant to fill the earth, subdue it, and develop culture, geography, and society—all under God’s rule. This would naturally lead to diverse expressions of the one human nature and mission (culture, land, family, labor). God’s original design involved multiplication, spreading, and likely diversity—but not through linguistic confusion, fragmentation, and estrangement. Humanity was originally called to be united under God as it diversified across the earth. But at Babel, it rebelled through a false, self-exalting unity. God’s scattering of the nations was therefore both a judgment for their pride and also a providential reassertion of his original design. Pre-fall, humanity was united in its potential for diversity. Regarding unity: Humanity begins with one man and one woman, created in God’s image, with a shared purpose—fill the earth, subdue it, rule over creation under God’s authority (vv. 26–28). They share one language, one worship, one moral order. Regarding diversity: While not yet expressed in nations or languages, diversity was latent—baked into the creation mandate to be fruitful, multiply, and spread across the earth. This would naturally lead to differentiated cultural forms, roles, geographies, and even perhaps dialects over time, but all under a shared obedience to God. Post-fall, humanity was fragmented in its diversity and united in its rebellion. The fall fractures unity: Sin introduces alienation—between man and God, man and woman, and eventually, person against person (Gen. 3–4). This culminates in Genesis 11 with Babel, where diversity becomes division. Instead of ordered plurality, we get confused tongues, scattered peoples, and political estrangement. Nations emerge in antagonism rather than cooperation. Cain builds a city; Lamech sings of vengeance; Babel tries to consolidate power. This is diversity without unity, and it’s unstable and violent. The current brokenness of nations doesn’t negate the fact that nations are part of the creation order (Gen. 10; Acts 17:26). As noted above, these ontological distinctions—in whatever shape they take—persist into eternity. Richard John Neuhaus says, “When I meet God, I expect to meet him as an American.” Nations are thus good, but they’re a penultimate concern. Christians can honor, love, and steward their ethnic and cultural heritage as a gift, not as an ultimate command or standard to organize their Christian lives by, nor as an ultimate commitment that supersedes redemptive promises. This means I can relish my American identity. I can embrace the land, customs, and language of my ancestors. I can also actively hand down the inherited traditions I’ve received to my descendants, with gratitude—and even see those inherited traditions as tied to the transmission of my Christian faith. Loving one’s culture, teaching it to one’s children, and delighting in its customs aren’t just “permitted” but fitting responses of gratitude—natural loves are not rivals to divine love when ordered rightly but tributaries flowing into it. The Bible doesn’t call us to forsake enculturation and embrace multiculturalism. The persistence of ethnicity and nationality is an organic reality and providential good. But ethnicity, culture, and borders are subject to the vicissitudes of change—cultures develop, ethnic migration yields assimilation, languages evolve, borders get redrawn. Consider the fact that many people groups in Scripture are no longer walking the earth. The Amalekites, Hittites, the Philistines, and many more peoples are no longer identifiable as people groups. The natural flow of history—migration, conquest, decline, exile, and intermarriage—means there are always currents of gradual flux beneath culture and people. Nations are thus both static and dynamic. They exist but are always subject to the forces of time. Here, there is a Burkean and conservative argument to consider: Peoples, cultures, and borders naturally develop. To be clear, the mere fact of “change” does not signify something inherently “good.” I can point to many ways the natural progression of American culture is regressive in terms of its assault on creation order norms. Where cultures change, they should change gradually and naturally—at a pace that ebbs and flows without being overwhelmed, and without cultural revolutions or technocratic mismanagement accelerating them. While natural affinity may predominate simply because people inhabiting a geographic area develop shared customs, values, and languages, ethnic and cultural heritage are nevertheless subject to gradual shifts over time. What does this mean, practically? A white person will likely, as a simple statistical reality, marry another white person, since white people may dominate a given area. But natural, organic occurrences as a providential reality don’t mean it’s morally obligatory for a white person to marry another white person. This explains why it’s entirely biblical, moral, and suitable for a white man to marry an ethnically Chinese woman or for an African American woman to marry a man of Bangladeshi background. While there may be a natural merging of ethnic identities where each partner brings his or her unique ethnic customs, it poses no biblical difficulty. The slow, tectonic shifts in the movement of people groups are a fact of human existence. We can and should hold out for the possibility of new nations, new languages, new peoples, and new cultures to take shape over long spans of time. Errors to Avoid Understanding the differing array of nations and cultures doesn’t mean the cultural practices of those nations and people are all morally equal. Adopting a posture of acceptance about the reality of cultural and national differences doesn’t require us to slip into a silly and haphazard cultural relativism. There’s no biblical mandate to view all cultures as moral equals, especially where cultural and ethnic systems engage in barbaric and crude practices that violate biblical ethics. Furthermore, none of the considerations I’ve argued above suggests we should collapse national distinctions or condemn strong borders as sinful or lacking in compassion. Strong borders are, in fact, biblical. Christians must balance their compassionate concern for protecting the dignity of all persons with the need for law and order. Individuals who enter our country illegally broke the law and, facing just consequences, must seek to rectify their illegal status. Excusing or acting indifferent toward illegal immigration insults our fellow citizens by depriving them of the public services they are entitled to as citizens. Additionally, nothing above dictates what an ideal immigration policy ought to be—that is a determination made by legislators using the virtue of prudence. The Bible does not prescribe how many immigrants or refugees a nation should accept. It does not tell us what the proper ratio is between citizens and immigrants. Compassion is not the only response to a broken immigration system. We must advocate for wise border policies and cultural assimilation that serve the nation’s interests first, balanced with the church’s focus on uniting diverse peoples under the gospel. From the natural law arises a principle of justice by which every nation possesses the right of self-determination, ordered and constrained by the demands of justice. There’s no biblical mandate to view all cultures as moral equals, especially where cultural and ethnic systems engage in barbaric and crude practices that violate biblical ethics. There are two errors to avoid in this conversation. The first is confusing providential goods with salvific goods, treating ethnic and cultural preservation as a Christian duty. The second error is a rootless cosmopolitanism that rejects nations and diverse cultural expression altogether, treating the world with an undifferentiated sameness that denies cultural particularities that are part of God’s good creation. The biblical response is to see nations as real, good, and enduring but not absolute or endlessly fixed. Christians are called to honor these distinctions without idolizing them. Practical Considerations Unless their culture is engaging in barbaric activity, Christians should never be embarrassed or reluctant to celebrate the good aspects of the cultural heritage in which God has placed them. Neither should we absolutize it. Furthermore, the gospel calls believers to a unity across ethnic and national lines—to remember that the church’s mission is to disciple people from all nations, not to seek ethnic or cultural preservation as its own end. We can and should be taught in the local church to love our country, our ancestry, and our culture while never confusing it with God’s kingdom. The best of human culture is, after all, a common-grace fulfillment of the dominion mandate. In this way, though nations and cultures can develop sinful patterns of existence, diverse human cultures in themselves should be received as gifts, not cast aside as morally trivial. Culture and peoplehood are the tapestry of memory, language, custom, and art through which God has providentially placed us. Delighting in it is part of what it means to give thanks in all things. Singing the songs of our forebears, honoring the civic formation that Christianity plays, celebrating historic holidays, preparing traditional meals, or teaching our children the stories of their people are not acts of idolatry but of stewardship and gratitude. These practices remind us that God rules not over a faceless humanity but over particular peoples and places. To love one’s culture in this way isn’t to rival our allegiance to Christ but to rejoice in how the goodness of creation adorns our lives with beauty, memory, and belonging. Christians are called to preserve their faith, love their neighbor, love their nation, seek the welfare of their society, honor civil authority, and bear witness to Christ’s lordship amid them. We can unapologetically thank God for our heritage, teach our children about it, and steward it with gratitude. Nations will persist into eternity not for their own glory but as God-glorifying tributaries flowing into a common destination: the new Jerusalem (Rev. 21:24–26). The church’s task isn’t to secure a bloodline or cultural homogeneity but to proclaim a Savior.

Two years ago—in fall 2023—the internet was abuzz over the publication of an ancient manuscript that seemed to contain material from one of the most famous gospels outside our New Testament: the Gospel of Thomas. The online chatter was immense, which was why I wrote a lengthy article analyzing this discovery. Unbeknownst to most people, however, the same volume of the Oxyrhynchus Papyri (vol. 87) also contained two manuscripts of the New Testament, one from Romans and one from Revelation. But these received hardly any attention from the media. There was no buzz. This disparity highlights an intriguing reality: There always seems to be a disproportionate cultural fascination with “lost” gospels or “hidden” texts about Jesus. Write an article about the canonical texts, and you might get a few hits. Write an article about a new, lost, or forgotten gospel—and how it changes everything we know about Jesus—and there’s a reasonable chance it’ll go viral. Publishers haven’t missed our culture’s insatiable appetite for all things lost. Books are more likely to sell if you can find a way to get some key words in the title: “lost,” “forgotten,” “secret,” or “hidden.” Here’s a sampling of real titles just over the last couple of decades: Lost Scriptures: Books That Did Not Make It into the New Testament Lost Christianities: The Battle for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew Secrets from the Lost Bible The Secrets of Judas: The Story of the Misunderstood Disciple and His Lost Gospel Hidden Records of the Life of Jesus Forgotten Scriptures: The Selection and Rejection of Early Christian Writings This raises an important question: Why are people so intrigued by the concept of “lost” gospels? Allure of the Hidden In 2001, Philip Jenkins published an intriguing little book that hasn’t received the attention it deserves: Hidden Gospels: How the Search for Jesus Lost Its Way. Jenkins tackles this issue head-on, arguing that modern scholarship has been derailed by an imbalanced quest to replace the canonical gospels with alternative versions like the Gospel of Thomas. While Jenkins explores many motives and causes behind our culture’s fascination with lost gospels, he homes in on one. The Western world, particularly America, perpetually distrusts authority, especially religious authority. Jenkins writes, “Quintessentially American is the distrust of external authorities such as the clergy, and the sense that through their affected learning, the priests have hidden the truth from the people.” The Western world is inherently drawn to conspiracy theories. We love the idea that for generations we thought the truth was one thing, only to discover it’s something different. And usually such a “discovery” is achieved through the earnest and tiresome work of intrepid reporters or investigators working against the machine. After all, if “the truth is out there,” then you just need a Mulder and Scully to uncover it. There’s a reason such conspiracy theories are so attractive. If someone can believe that the church (or Christianity) has been wrong for thousands of years, then exposing that wrongness suddenly becomes a work of justice and liberation. It allows scholars (or reporters or even laypeople) to feel they have a worthy cause to fight for. They’re now on a righteous quest to free people from religious oppression. So, argues Jenkins, these lost gospels are perfectly suited to meet this cultural need. They provide an opportunity for people to believe what they always wanted to believe anyway. Quest for Equality But there’s more going on here than just a proclivity toward conspiracy theories. The interest in these lost gospels is also driven by another quintessentially American value: a desire to give every view an equal standing. Lost gospels are attractive to our culture because they’re a reminder of the diverse viewpoints that exist about Jesus. They demonstrate that not all understood Jesus in the same way. They reveal that the landscape of religious viewpoints is vast and wide. And, of course, this is true. There are many religious positions out there. Opinions about the identity and person of Jesus abound. But the issue isn’t the existence of diversity. Rather, it’s the implications our world draws from that diversity. Our culture moves subtly from merely observing diversity to insisting it must mean no one view can possibly be right. Our culture moves subtly from merely observing diversity to insisting it must mean no one view can possibly be right. So, lost gospels are attractive precisely because they allow a person to say, “See, I told you there are other legitimate perspectives out there about the person of Jesus.” The work of the German scholar Walter Bauer has been particularly influential in raising questions about the theological character of early Christianity. His 1934 book, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, argues that in the earliest centuries, there was no such thing as “Christianity.” Rather, there were many different “Christianities,” each claiming to be the original, authentic version. And, argues Bauer, each of these versions of Christianity had its own books, its own gospels about what Jesus said and did. Why does Bauer’s theory matter? Because it effectively means all gospels are (or must be) the same. We only value Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John because those were the gospels valued by the version of Christianity that eventually prevailed. If another Christian group had prevailed, maybe we’d be reading the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Peter, and the Gospel of Mary. In sum, it seems some people are drawn to alternative gospels because (at least in their minds) these provide the opportunity to pick the version of Jesus they prefer. If all versions of Jesus are equally valid, I can just choose the one I like. Better Way There’s nothing wrong with being intrigued by lost gospels. I’m intrigued by them! A large portion of my academic career has been devoted to studying them. But we always have to make sure we aren’t studying any gospel—including the canonical gospels—merely to satisfy or justify our preexisting preferences about the way we want Jesus to be. We don’t simply get to create the Jesus we like or the Jesus we prefer. Instead, we need to discover Jesus as he actually was. The only way to do that is to engage in a historical investigation into whatever gospel is in front of us, asking whether there are reasons to think it accurately captures the Jesus of history. How can that historical investigation be done? How can we determine which gospels are genuine? In The Genuine Jesus and the Counterfeit Christs: New Testament and Apocryphal Gospels, Simon Gathercole, professor of New Testament and early Christianity at Fitzwilliam College, Cambridge, charts a clear way forward. This new volume—essentially an abridged version of his earlier and larger work The Gospel and the Gospels: Christian Proclamation and Early Jesus Books—argues that the best way to distinguish early gospels from one another isn’t by analyzing their authorship, date, or popularity but their theological message. Gathercole says that the theological standard to which any gospel should be compared is the gospel message of the apostles. But where do we turn to discover this message? He argues it can be found in the “creedal” statement laid out by Paul in 1 Corinthians 15:1–11 and the major theological loci it contains. In that statement, argues Gathercole, Paul essentially summarizes the apostolic message in four key elements: (1) Jesus as the “Christ” (or Messiah), (2) Jesus’s saving death, (3) Jesus’s resurrection, and (4) Jesus’s fulfillment of Scripture. The best way to distinguish early gospels from one another isn’t by analyzing their authorship, date, or popularity but their theological message. With this theological standard in hand, Gathercole spends the bulk of the volume simply comparing various gospels to that standard. Of course, he compares Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John to this creedal formula to see how they measure up. And then he compares a selection of apocryphal gospels to this creedal formula: the Gospel of Peter, the Gospel of Thomas, Marcion’s Gospel, the Gospel of Truth, the Gospel of Philip, the Coptic Gospel of the Egyptians, the Gospel of Judas, and the Gospel of Mary. Gathercole reaches two key conclusions. First, the canonical gospels form a very close match with the early apostolic message, whereas the apocryphal gospels typically don’t. Apocryphal gospels might share some of the four theological points, but none contains all of them. Second, the reason the canonical gospels match the early apostolic message isn’t coincidence or happenstance but because the canonical gospels are historically connected to the early apostles. Gathercole then offers a brief historical account of how the four gospels are connected to apostolic sources (e.g., Mark is dependent on Peter’s own teachings). Insightful Perspective All in all, Gathercole provides an insightful perspective on how to differentiate gospels from one another. He succeeds wonderfully in debunking the all-gospels-are-the-same paradigm that’s so dominant in our culture, and even in the academy. Of course, theological comparison isn’t an absolute criterion for distinguishing canonical from apocryphal gospels (and Gathercole never claims it is). While the existing apocryphal gospels don’t fully match up to these four theological loci, it’s certainly possible an apocryphal gospel could, in principle, affirm all four theological truths in an orthodox manner. We currently have fragments of apocryphal gospels that are more or less orthodox, though their fragmentary nature prevents a full analysis. Here’s the key point: While unorthodox views are enough to disqualify a gospel from canonical status, orthodox views aren’t sufficient to qualify them. Canonical gospels are certainly orthodox, but they’re more than orthodox. If our goal, however, isn’t so much to establish canonical versus noncanonical boundaries but rather to establish which gospels most accurately reflect the earliest apostolic message to which we have access, then Gathercole’s volume has demonstrated the canonical gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—are undoubtedly most consistent with the earliest Christian teachings about Jesus. The comparison isn’t even close. For this reason, my hope is that The Genuine Jesus and the Counterfeit Christs will be widely read. This slimmed-down volume is clearly intended for more than scholars but also for pastors, ministry leaders, and just about any person interested in knowing more about the origins of our gospels. Readers will realize our gospels aren’t in the canon merely because of political pressure or an ecclesiastical power grab. They aren’t there arbitrarily or randomly. They’re there because they embody, most faithfully, the “faith that was once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 1:3).

My neighbor Evan (I’ve changed his name) is a successful, extroverted fortysomething: hip, engaging, friendly, and easy to talk to. He’s always willing to lend a hand, an ear, or a tool. His kids are the most respectful and responsible middle-schoolers on the block. Evan and his wife know I’m a pastor; we’ve had them over for dinner; we do our best to initiate as much conversation and front-porch interaction as we can. Yet Evan doesn’t seem particularly curious about the deeper questions of life. He hasn’t identified any God-shaped hole in his heart. It’s not that he seems hardened or closed off to faith; he just doesn’t appear to have any persistent spiritual hunger. I sent Evan a text message to invite him to church this past Easter. He never responded. I think a lot about Evan. I think about him when I preach: How would this message resonate with him? I think about him when I pray: How can I love him and witness to him more faithfully? And I think about him as I lead: How might I help him experience the church—and the gospel it proclaims—as interesting, compelling, and credible? What I really want is for Evan to see the world differently. I want him to apprehend and be changed by the fact that “the last word in human affairs is represented by a man hanging on a cross.” It’s God, of course, who must open Evan’s eyes. But the Westminster Confession reminds us that “God, in His ordinary providence, makes use of means.” And one of those means is the church. I want my church––and your church—to give our neighbors a new set of “lenses” through which to see the world. And we can. When churches take seriously our calling as countercultural communities, we start to do the work of cultural apologetics without even thinking about it. Because we love our neighbors and want them to know Christ, we think more intentionally about “how we do what we do.” And without losing any of its depth and richness, what we do starts to reflect the gospel’s transformative power in ways that our neighbors often find compelling. Here are five ways that happens. 1. Preaching That Engages Doubt “What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you,” Paul declares in Athens (Acts 17:23). He aims his message at the gaps and idiosyncrasies in his hearers’ worldview, graciously confronting their inconsistency. Effective preaching in our late-modern world follows the same pattern. When churches take seriously our calling as countercultural communities, we start to do the work of cultural apologetics without even thinking about it. The influence of postmodern epistemology and skepticism means we’re all doubters now. A wise, evangelistically attuned approach to preaching seeks to reveal the flaws and gaps in modern ways of thinking, contrasting the weakness of cultural narratives with the strength and beauty of the gospel. Editors often instruct journalists, “Show, don’t tell.” Compelling preaching does the same. It doesn’t just tell people what the Bible says; it also shows the gospel to be more existentially satisfying, more intellectually compelling, and more situationally applicable than the cultural narratives on offer around us. This type of preaching takes its stand “between two worlds,” confronting modern worldviews with Scripture while putting the Bible in dialogue with modern concerns. The church’s preaching is an apologetic. 2. Hospitality That Welcomes the Outsider Humans are distinctly aware of social cues. We quickly discern in-group and out-group dynamics, and we react accordingly. Churches that value theological orthodoxy can unintentionally create strong insider-outsider dichotomies: We place those who believe into one category and those who don’t believe into another. But the gospel frees us to emphasize our common humanity without erasing or minimizing our differences. Evan and I share much in common. We’re husbands, fathers, and citizens. We work and play and eat and sleep. We pay taxes and cast votes and root for our favorite teams. We have hopes, dreams, fears, and uncertainties. We love, trust, and worship someone or something. Churches that love the gospel highlight these shared human realities. They genuinely welcome outsiders by emphasizing our common, shared humanity. This allows them to be bold and forthright in communicating the gospel while displaying humility and generosity toward fellow image-bearers. The church’s hospitality is an apologetic. 3. Worship That Shows the Arc of the Gospel Years ago, a wise author posed a provocative question that changed the way I think about worship: “How is your worship service forming the expectations of the people who attend?” My answer was this: “It’s teaching them to expect three fast songs, then two slow songs, then a sermon and a benediction.” The church I served at the time was a standard evangelical megachurch with little connection to history and no real concern for catechesis. It relied on an emotionally powerful worship experience and a relevant and interesting sermon to do the work of Christian formation. Thinking about my kids and my neighbors has changed my convictions about Christian worship. Our services now follow the “gospel arc” of historic Christian liturgy, which includes singing, corporate confession of sin, spoken creeds, the Lord’s Prayer, and weekly Communion. The order of our worship service communicates something. It moves people along the storyline of Scripture from creation to new creation. It works on an implicit, affective register, drawing people into a pattern of worship that helps them connect the dots of guilt, grace, and gratitude. The church’s worship is an apologetic. 4. Community That Rejoices in Repentance and Faith A few years ago, I was invited to a local alumni club meeting for my alma mater. The gathering was held at a sports bar so we could watch our team play an important football game. It quickly became evident that the orienting center of this little community—the thing we gathered to rejoice in—was our football team. Every community rejoices in something. And a gospel-oriented church rejoices in repentance and faith. We rejoice in confessing our sin, acknowledging our need, being honest about our weakness. We rejoice in the grace of Jesus Christ and the glory of God’s promises in Scripture. And by rejoicing in these, we become strangely countercultural. A friend said to me recently, “Growing up, I never heard my dad apologize. He never admitted he was wrong about anything. When I first met some Christians, and they were confessing their sin to one another and asking for forgiveness, it radically affected me! I had never experienced that kind of humility.” The church’s community is an apologetic. 5. Atmosphere of Resilient Hope Suffering is the one experience guaranteed to every human being: “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33, NIV). And the gospel gives Christians a hearty resilience amid suffering. The order of our worship service communicates something. It moves people along the storyline of Scripture from creation to new creation. Paul and Silas, when imprisoned, sang hymns (Acts 16:25). Stephen, when martyred, forgave his attackers (7:60). And Peter, writing to the earliest Christians, urged them to “rejoice insofar as [they] share Christ’s sufferings” (1 Pet. 4:13). Christians don’t “grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thess. 4:13). Our grief is a hopeful grief. Because a gospel-loving church is full of human beings, it’ll also be full of death and dementia and divorce and Down syndrome. These things come for us, just as they come for all the sons of Adam and daughters of Eve. But we face them leaning forward in great hope, anticipating the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. And that speaks volumes to a culture imprisoned by an “immanent frame.” The church’s hope is an apologetic. Embrace Our Calling The church exists to confront the world: “If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you” (John 15:18). The church exists as a transformative influence within society: “You are the salt of the earth. . . . You are the light of the world” (Matt. 5:13–14). And the church exists as a contrast community, an alternative kingdom to the kingdoms of this world: “Be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world” (Phil. 2:15). Since “the power which has the last word in human affairs is represented by a man hanging on a cross . . . the only hermeneutic of the gospel is a congregation of men and women who believe it and live like it.” The church doesn’t just do apologetics; the church is an apologetic. May we embrace our calling and fulfill it to the glory of God.

Melissa and Courtney talk with Megan Hill about how God’s Word helps us understand the deep hurts that can come from God’s own people. They discuss why church hurt is so painful as well as why we shouldn’t run from church when we’ve been hurt. They talk about how to know when it might be right to leave a church and how to find comfort in God’s Word. Listen to this episode if you’ve ever experienced church hurt or want to care for those who have. Recommended Resource: Sighing on Sunday: 40 Meditations for When Church Hurts by Megan Hill Related Content: Let’s Talk: Overcoming Church Hurt Understand Church Hurt’s Source We’re Hurt, and Healed, in Community Discussion Questions: 1. When you hear the phrase “church hurt,” what comes to mind? How would you define it in your own words? 2. What makes church hurt different from conflicts in other areas of life, such as work or friendships? 3. How did the biblical examples of church hurt that were shared encourage or convict you? 4. How can you come alongside those in your church who are healing from past hurt? In what specific ways can you pray for them? 5. How would you discern whether it’s time to leave a church community? Who could you turn to for wise, godly counsel in that process? 6. How does understanding God’s perfect justice equip you to encourage and reassure those struggling in the wake of church hurt?

'I'm going to take a break'