The Ethics of Abortion 
By / Dec 27

The debate over the ethics of abortion long predated the infamous Roe v. Wade decision and will continue well after the life-saving Dobbs decision in June 2022. Many throughout ethical and philosophical circles have put forth various arguments for abortion and a woman’s right to choose. Christopher Kaczor recently released an updated version of his thorough and helpful book, The Ethics of Abortion, engaging these arguments from a philosophical perspective that is focused on the equal value of the baby, the mother, and the father.

Kaczor unpacks the loaded language used in these debates and does this alongside a forceful critique of most of the major arguments for abortion. He even addresses potential questions about emerging technologies like the use of artificial wombs in the future.

This book is full of trenchant insight into ethics in a post-Roe world. I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to understand and respond to the debates over the morality of abortion and its intersection with social ethics.

I Will Die in a Foreign Land 
By / Dec 27

Set against the backdrop of the Ukraine revolution against Russia in 2013-2014, I Will Die in a Foreign Land, by Kalani Pickhart, is historical fiction that provides a window into the past, present, and future battle over Ukraine’s freedom. The novel braids together the stories of four individuals caught up in the violent protests that culminated in a deadly confrontation at Independence Square in Kyiv and ultimately led to the Russian annexation of Crimea. It is a haunting portrait of a people who have been fighting a long time for the right to rule themselves and their land. 

Although the politics at play in the 2014 “Maidan Revolution” are complex and nuanced, the novel exposes the human cost of the centuries-old Russian-Ukrainian conflict. It is a must read for those seeking a richer understanding of the present war with Russia. I was left with a deeper appreciation for the strength and endurance of the Ukrainian people.

After Acts 
By / Dec 27

What happened to the apostles after the book of Acts? In his book After Acts, Bryan Litfin brings readers along as he conducts a comprehensive investigation into answering this question. He provides background for these biblical characters and presents historical evidence that points to different theories surrounding what came next for them. Throughout the book Litfin consistently amplifies the reality that they surrendered everything for the sake of the gospel. While history is unclear, Litfin reinforces the reality that we can be certain these individuals spent their lives on mission so that people would hear the good news. 

In a way, this book is not solely a historical resource, but also a call upon its readers to ask themselves: how am I spending my life for the kingdom of God? After Acts will leave you encouraged by the boldness, faith, and love for the Lord on display in the apostles’ lives.

What is the value of the Word illustrated?
By / Sep 8

“You probably don’t have another book like this in your library” (9).

These are the words that open Patrick Schreiner’s new book, The Visual Word: Illustrated Outlines of the New Testament Books. And I suspect he’s right. The Visual Word stands alone in its uniqueness and, in many ways, its utility. The book is an achievement that gives modern-day Bible readers an aid, as Jen Wilkin writes, “in having not just ears to hear the Word in context, but also eyes to see.”

Schreiner, a professor of New Testament at Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and the author of several books including The Kingdom of God and the Glory of the Cross and The Ascension of Christ, teamed up with Anthony Benedetto, an accomplished and award-winning illustrator and designer, to produce this gripping resource.

If you are a Bible reader looking for a jolt to help energize and inform the way you apprehend the New Testament, take a look at this creative and beautiful accompaniment to the Scripture.

“What is this book?”

“For most of you this is not a typical book on the Bible” (10). 

Indeed, not only is this not a typical book on the Bible, it is not a typical book at all. While many works of contemporary theology are packaged in a sort of narrative format, tracing a logical route through the entire arc of their argument, The Visual Word is packaged not as narrative but as a collection of illustrated outlines covering each book of the New Testament. Thus, instead of being read straight through (though you can certainly do that), the book is meant to serve as a resource that sits next to one’s open Bible, illuminating the context of the Scriptures, enabling the reader to better comprehend and remember God’s Word.

Schreiner’s own experience as a seminary professor has been that many of his students have responded positively to the method that he and Benedetto employ in this book. When developing and using visual aids, he “could see things clicking in the students’ minds as they followed the author’s train of thought” with the help of his drawings (10). 

Fast-forward to today, and The Visual Word stands alone as a resource, a study tool, and a vivid and new way to interact with the final 27 books in the canon of Scripture. 

Who is this book for?

Who is The Visual Word for? In a word, everyone. 

In the introductory pages, Schreiner instructs his readers on the best ways to utilize this resource, from “church members and attenders” to “pastors” to “Sunday School teachers, lay Bible instructors, parents, and professors” to “students.” There are specific instructions and uses outlined for each group, but the common thread that ties each directive together is this: The Visual Word is for you. 

Regardless of where you find yourself, whether a young student or an experienced pastor, there is something within the pages of this book that will be of great benefit. Students, for instance, may find it useful to treat The Visual Word like a textbook (11), while many pastors may discover it’s helpful in their sermon preparation. Whatever the case, it is clear that anyone’s shelf this book occupies will be aesthetically enriched (it is a beautiful book, but more on that later). But more importantly, anyone’s Bible study accompanied by Schreiner’s and Benedetto’s labor in these illustrated outlines will be spiritually enriched.

Employing beauty and beholding beauty

One of the central themes of The Visual Word, though it goes largely unstated, is the idea and importance of beauty — the beauty plastered on each page of the book and the beauty of the Scriptures themselves. In a day of weakened attention spans and biblical illiteracy, “we need resources that help readers better understand Scripture,” yes, “but also that help readers love Scripture,” as Brett McCracken writes. And there is simply nothing more potent to awaken love than beauty. 

The icons and images illustrated by Benedetto do a masterful job of employing beauty for the sake of helping readers excavate and behold the beauty embedded in the Bible. As Schreiner writes early on, “Each book of the Bible contains a story. An argument. Like a symphony or a play, the Bible was not put together haphazardly but carefully designed to communicate something” (10). And that something, as Mike Reeves argues in Delighting in the Trinity, is “the beauty, the overflowing kindness, the heart-grabbing loveliness of God” (9), and, I might add, the sacred text he has given to make himself known to us. 

One of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s most famous lines was his declaration that “beauty will save the world.” As Christians, we can go even further than Dostoevsky by saying that Beauty, himself, created the world, sustains the world, and will one day return to his world and make it right. And it takes an encounter with God’s beauty in Christ for us to come awake to this reality. 

To that end, Schreiner and Benedetto have pulled back the curtain of Scripture just a bit further — and done so beautifully — so that their readers can discover the beauty of God’s Word and encounter the beauty of God himself. 

How the grace of Jesus enables us to say no to pornography
By / Sep 2

We live in a pornified culture. From popular television shows to music, and even billboards along the highway, pornographic images and language are pervasive. As it becomes more normal and increasingly ubiquitous, we may wonder: is there any hope for unseating pornography from its cultural position of power and influence?

Ray Ortlund, with his signature optimism, answers with an emphatic, yes! In his new book, The Death of Porn: Men of Integrity Building a World of Nobility, Ortlund pens a letter to young men charging them to do just that — to take up the noble cause of dismantling the pornography industry by the power of the Spirit and with the grace of Jesus. The Death of Porn is unique from start to finish. I suspect it will be a spark that ignites a movement lasting for generations. Ortlund recently talked with us about this and more. Read more below.

Your latest book, The Death of Porn: Men of Integrity Building a World of Nobility, as the title suggests, tackles the topic of porn. What compelled you to write this book?

I wrote this book because so many of the magnificent young men I know are held back by this one thing: porn. I long to see this generation of men set free, men rediscovering their dignity and purpose, men perceiving women with the same God-given dignity and glorious purpose. And if enough men dare to believe in their true greatness, we will be at a turning point — the death of porn, the birth of revival.

It’s a unique book in that it’s written as a series of letters from you, “an older man” (your words), to your reader, presumably a younger man. What inspired you to take this approach?

I was inspired by a letter from way back in 1791. John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement, wrote a letter to a young politician named William Wilberforce. It was the last letter Wesley wrote before he died. He called Wilberforce and his friends to give their lives to bringing down the slave trade in the British Empire. And they did. It took a lot of courage and many years. But they succeeded. And now it’s time for the young men of this generation to fight for the freedom of everyone being exploited by the predatory porn industry.

The Death of Porn is a book that seeks to help liberate men and women from the chains of pornography, and it does that primarily by pointing to Jesus, our union with him, and the call he places on our lives. Why is remembering Jesus, and remembering who he’s made us to be, a more effective antidote against the pull of pornography as opposed to the “white-knuckling” approach that we often encounter? 

No one is helped by being pressured, cornered, or shamed. The only way we really grow is the opposite — by being dignified, included, and lifted up. I believe that with all my heart. After all, the Bible says, “By grace you have been saved” (Eph. 2:7). So let’s move all our chips over onto the square of God’s grace, and let’s find out what only he can do for us — and through us — in this desperate generation!

The tone of the book is overtly optimistic. Considering the cultural behemoth that is the pornography industry, why should Christians share this optimism? Can we really bring about the death of porn?

Short answer: Yes! If the risen Jesus has all authority in heaven and on earth, then we have no right not to be wildly optimistic. I only hope that my book is optimistic enough, given what Jesus can do.

Longer answer: Our risen King loves to inspire social justice. For example, the Second Great Awakening in the early 1800s launched schools, hospitals, libraries, orphanages, and labor unions. It awakened Christians who addressed prison reform and poverty and slum housing. They could have shrugged their shoulders and said, “Nothing ever changes in this world. Why even try?” But what cowardice that would be! What a betrayal of Christ himself! The fact is, those brave Christians did make their world a better place. 

Now, in our time, our risen Lord is calling us to be his new resistance movement in a world of injustice, saying a loud no to the porn industry — stigmatizing it, marginalizing it, diminishing it — and saying a loud yes to the worth of every man and every woman. Let’s give our lives to the liberation of this generation, not because we can foresee our chances of success, but because we can see the worthiness of the cause. And we know that Jesus loves to flip impossibilities into actualities!

You talk a lot in the book about nobility. How would you define the term nobility, and what does nobility look like in practice?

Our God-given nobility is a major theme in the Bible. For example, “But he who is noble plans noble things, and on noble things he stands” (Isa. 32:8). There is nothing second-rate in Jesus! All he is for us, all he brings to us, is noble, uplifting, worth reaching for.

Here is what the biblical word noble means: a heart that’s all-in. Not a perfect heart, but a generous heart that cares for others, including every victim of porn.

In practice, it looks like a Christian man reaching out to one other man — any man who wants his freedom back. And that Christian guy nobly shares his heart, his honesty, his vulnerability with that friend. And together those two men begin a journey into a new impact they’ve never dreamed could be theirs. It starts small, but it makes a big difference, because the risen Jesus is right there with those two men. 

To that point, one of the practices that you advocate for in the latter half of the book is the act of confession. You say, “We don’t overcome our sins by heroic willpower. We confess them to death” (89). How does the act of confession diminish the power of sin and the shame that it brings?

Dietrich Bonhoeffer nailed it: “The more isolated a person is, the more destructive will be the power of sin over him.” We never do well, when we cover up our sins, hidden in the secrecy that shame demands. 

But when we dare, by faith in Christ crucified, to confess our sins to a faithful brother, we are no longer alone. We step out of the shadows of denial and start walking in the light together (1 John 1:7). We can finally turn to God in prayer and find healing (James 5:16). Any man who lives in ongoing confession will never be alone again. It is so freeing!

As the book’s subtitle suggests, you are not just calling your reader to a life of personal purity, though that’s certainly included. You are trying to convince your reader that “we can make a world of difference.” You say, “Jesus is calling you to build a new world of nobility, to the furthest extent of your influence, for the rest of your life” (103). Can you talk about that?

Porn is a justice issue. Yes, our personal character is on the line. But even more, our social conscience is at stake. Jesus is not saving isolated individuals here and there. He is creating a new community of beauty in this world of brutality. We, in our life together, are his liberating counterculture, and his “holy city” will last forever (Rev. 21-22). He is calling every man in this generation to join with him in building his new world right here, right now.

Relatedly, in the final chapter you offer practical ideas on how to build this world of nobility. As a father of three boys, one of them really hit home for me. You tell the reader to “educate the rising generation in our history and our stories of nobility,” and then you say something striking: “if you don’t fill their imaginations with greatness, porn will fill their mind with ugliness. Our kids long for nobility. God has planted it deep within them. Teach them how to be at their best” (107)! For fathers and mothers and mentors helping raise children in our day, how important is this? Where’s a good place to start?

We grownups can and must invest in our children for their long-term future. How? For starters, let’s read to our children. Every evening after dinner, rather than watch TV or look at our phones, let’s cuddle on the sofa and read good books to our kids. Let’s read aloud the great stories of the Bible — even acting them out together! Wouldn’t that be fun? And let’s read to them The Chronicles of Narnia, the legendary tales of chivalrous knights, the heroic stories of valiant soldiers and sacrificial mothers and courageous reformers and brave explorers. Okay, there’s a time for silly books. But let’s make sure our kids fall in love with the inspiring stories! They’re going to need all the inspiration they can get, when they face the future as adults.

Undoubtedly, there may be some reading this interview who find themselves in the throes of pornography addiction, experiencing shame and wondering if they can put this addiction to death in their own life, much less the society at large. What would you say to that person? How would you encourage them to move forward?

Yes, some readers are thinking that very thing right now. I’m glad to say this: You are not alone. You are not beneath God’s grace. You are not such a spectacular sinner that you can defeat the risen Savior. But there is one hard step you must take. You must call a faithful friend right now and say, “Can we get together? I’m not doing well, and I need help.” And the two of you get together this week. And you pour your heart out. And with your faithful friend, you begin a new pattern of weekly get-togethers for honesty, prayer, and healing (James 5:16). Yes, it can be embarrassing. But your outpouring of confession and sorrow is where the Lord himself will visit you with his powerful grace. Your new beginning is just a phone call away. It’s how you can start a new life — in transparency, honesty, openness. Jesus himself awaits you. So, make the call?

Your book’s dedication page is one of the most beautiful and hopeful I have ever read. When you think about your grandchildren’s generation, knowing the culture they’ll encounter as they grow up, what are your hopes for them?

I hope, most of all, that my grandchildren will feel deep within how good God is, how glorious he created them to be, how bitterly distasteful all sin is, how life-giving Jesus is, how powerful Christian community is, and how they can advance the cause of Christ in their generation. What will matter far more than what they own is what they believe. If my grandchildren, and yours, will believe the gospel in its totality, they will not just cope; they will flourish. And the world they hand down to their children will be a better place, for the glory of God.

Why and how reading shapes your soul
By / Jul 8

I remember a seminary professor of mine saying once, “The biggest problem most preachers have is they don’t read enough fiction.” I’ll admit, at the time, with all the problems I could list that most churches and pastors experience, a lack of novels was not near the top of my list.

In time, though, I came to realize this professor was right, and more importantly, I came to understand why. I realized, too, that when it comes to moral decision-making, the same holds true. So I’ll propose a similar ally in a quest for understanding and nourishing our moral and ethical frameworks: stories. Here’s why.

Stories speak the soul’s native language.

As humans created in the image of God, we’re hard-wired by God to be drawn toward narrative. This makes sense at one level when you stop and think about the fact that, as creatures, at our most basic level, we are all part of one cosmic story of redemption authored by God himself. We are born with an innate knowledge of this story’s Author (Rom. 1:20). Those of us in Christ have been given a preview of the plot’s culmination and are commissioned to reshape our own lives in light of our role in that final, everlasting chapter.

On another level, we’re created to love stories because God reveals himself to us in story form — and does so for a reason. Think about the nature of Scripture. At Sinai, God dictated the Ten Commandments to Moses. He could have just as easily done that with the entire Bible, giving us a divinely inspired systematic theology textbook. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave us a long and winding story about people and places and problems that often feel quite distant to us. And in spite of that, God tells us this is our story, and challenges us to find our place in it.

Much closer to home, the effect narrative has on us is powerful. Your average boy doesn’t learn about bravery from a daycare lecture on virtue; instead, long before he’s able to spell chivalry, he’s captivated by the hero racing into dark caves to ward off dragons and save the princess — and he’s playacting the same script in the woods and on the playground. More awkwardly, we’re all familiar with “that guy” at the gym —Jock Jams blaring in his ear buds, staring into the mirror between sets admiring his simulated swing as he imagines being the hero who hits the game-winning home run. In both cases, the story and script drill down deeply to the level of one’s own identity and intuitions.

For most, our first exposure to injustice, glory, sacrifice, rescue, heroism, and wickedness is often in some story. And our lives and psyches are shaped in ways we often don’t even realize by the stories we read, superimpose on our lives, and then rehearse in ways big and small. Why is that?

Stories sneak past the fallen soul’s defenses.

In Scripture, there’s a reason that Nathan, when forced to confront King David on his adultery with Bathsheba and subsequent murder of Uriah, told a story about a rich man selfishly stealing a ewe lamb from a poor man. David, not seeing himself as part of this story, is outraged by the audacity of the man. And it’s only at that point that Nathan cries out that “You are the man” in this story, the one you say “deserves to die” because of his wickedness (2 Sam. 12:5). Nathan knows if he leads with an accusation, “You murdered Uriah! How could you?,” he’ll be met with some justification from David, “You don’t understand!” Instead, Nathan abstracts David’s sins and refashions them into a story that gets around the defenses David’s heart has constructed.

You and I, though, do the same thing that David did: we put up defenses that justify whatever actions we take. Any good preaching class uses Nathan as an example of how to preach, because sin has constructed barriers into the human heart to guard it from oncoming accusation. The job of the preacher is to find ways around those defenses.

In the same vein, Jonathan Haidt, in his excellent book The Righteous Mind, argues convincingly that when it comes to moral judgments and decision-making, our intuitions come first, strategic reasoning second. When strategic reasoning does come in, our reasoning acts less like a judge, impartially weighing evidence, but acts instead like a press secretary, immediately seeking to find justifications for decisions.

When we read, then, we do two things at once. On the one hand, we feed our instincts. Stories are uniquely absorbed into our lives and identities in ways that aren’t always easy to perceive. In reading, we don’t merely consume as in visual media. In reading, we engage: we go to different places, experiencing things not available to us in our own localities. We are confronted with difficulties we did not create and thus forced to feel empathy for people and situations we might not otherwise have occasion to consider. On the other hand, when we read we also welcome concepts in through a back door that evade the walls we have constructed in our own hearts. We invite pangs and insights that a sterile and shallow world of our own construction might never otherwise allow to enter in.

Of course, not all stories are nourishing; not all food is healthy. And reading, in and of itself, makes not a more virtuous person. But make no mistake: stories are powerful. As we identify with what we take in, we feed our ethical imaginations and broaden our moral vocabulary — creating categories, carving pathways, and cultivating instincts that show up in hundreds of ways every single day.

If that’s the case, then, as counterintuitive as it may sound, when it comes to moral decision-making, you are what you read.

Why the fear of the Lord is good news
By / Jun 8

We live in a culture that is anxious and fearful about all kinds of things. Lack of control, loss, and a million “what-ifs” plague our thinking and grip us with fear almost daily. And though we like to think the defensive posture we take against these fears will allay our phobias and amend the dangers lurking around every corner, it leads us toward a more resolute posture of misdirected fear and moral confusion. All this, says Michael Reeves, is a “consequence of a prior loss: the fear of God.”

In his latest book, Rejoice & Tremble: The Surprising Good News of the Fear of the Lord, Reeves addresses this idea of fear head-on, and he calls the church to a retrieval of the doctrine of the fear of the Lord. And, contrary to what many may assume, doing so leads not to “morose and stuffy” disciples, but to a deep, abiding happiness and “delight in God.” 

Reeves recently spent time answering some of our questions about his excellent book. Read our interview below.

You do a lot of work in the book ensuring that the reader arrives at a proper, biblical definition of the word “fear.” How does modern culture define fear?

Our culture is a deeply anxious one. From Twitter to television we fret about global terrorism, extreme weather, pandemics, and political turmoil. Though we are more prosperous and secure, though we have more safety than almost any society in history, we are constantly looking for ways to eradicate our fears. And this should be no surprise: when your culture is hedonistic, your religion therapeutic, and your goal a feeling of personal well-being, fear will be the ever-present headache. 

But the real reason for our anxiety is our loss of the fear of God. Having lost God as the proper object of healthy fear, our culture is necessarily becoming ever more neurotic, ever more anxious about anything and everything. Without a kind and fatherly God’s providential care, we are left utterly uncertain about the shifting sands of both morality and reality. In ousting God from our culture, we feel helplessly fragile. No longer anchored, society fills with free-floating anxieties.

When the Bible uses the phrase “fear of God,” what does it mean by that?

The right fear of God is a blessing of the new covenant (Jer. 32:39–40). The Lord promises: “They shall fear and tremble because of all the good and all the prosperity I provide” (Jer. 33:9). This is not a fear of punishment. Quite the opposite: in Jeremiah 33, the Lord reeled off a catalogue of pure blessing. He would cleanse them, forgive them, and do great good for them. And they fear and tremble precisely because of all the good he does for them.

In fact, it is Jesus’ own filial fear that believers are brought to share. Jesus fears the Lord his wonderful Father (Isa. 11:3). Now it is not that he loves God and has joy in God, but finds (unfortunately) that to fulfill all righteousness he also must fear God. Quite the opposite: the Spirit who rests on him is the Spirit of the fear of the Lord, and his delight is in the fear of the Lord. This filial fear is part of the Son’s pleasurable adoration of his Father; indeed, it is the very emotional extremity of that wonder.

You say part of society’s confusion about fear and its larger moral confusion is a consequence of our collective loss of this fear of God. How does a proper fear of God calm the fears and anxieties that our culture is perpetually plagued by?

The fear of the Lord acts like Aaron’s staff, which ate up the staffs of the Egyptian magicians. As the fear of the Lord grows, it outgrows, eclipses, consumes, and destroys all rival fears. So the Lord could advise Isaiah, ‘do not fear what they fear, nor be in dread. But the Lord of hosts, him you shall honor as holy. Let him be your fear, and let him be your dread’ (Isa. 8:12-13). When the fear of the Lord becomes central and more important, other fears subside. 

To be clear, the fear of the Lord does not eclipse and consume other fears simply because it sees God is bigger than the other things I fear, though there certainly is that. It is beauty that kills the raging beast of anxiety. See, for example, how in Psalm 27 David speaks of the Lord’s ‘light’ and ‘salvation’ as the balm for his fears. Here is truth for every Christian who needs the strength to rise above their anxieties, or who needs the strength to pursue an unpopular but righteous course. The fear of the Lord is the only fear that imparts strength.

You distinguish in the book “between wrong fear and right fear.” Can you describe why, at the root of “wrong fear,” we’re likely to find unbelief? How does unbelief contribute to a confused or wrong fear?

Yes, this wrong fear of God is at odds with love for God. Where a right fear falls down in worship leaning toward God in love, a wrong fear dreads, opposes, and retreats from God. This is the fear which generates the doubt which rationalizes unbelief. It arises in good part from a misunderstanding of God. The unfaithful servant in Jesus’s parable of the 10 minas displays exactly this problem when he unfairly complains to his master, “I was afraid of you, because you are a severe man” (Luke 19:20; also Matt. 25:24, 25). He sees nothing of his master’s kindness: in his shortsighted eyes the great man is all parsimonious severity, and therefore the servant is simply afraid. He is just like Adam who, though once convinced of God’s goodness, becomes tempted by his own sin to think of God as mean-spirited and uncharitably restrictive. When people, through misunderstanding, become simply afraid of God, they will never entrust themselves to him, but must turn elsewhere for their security.

In contrast, you state that “faith is fertilized by the (right) fear of God.” How is it that a proper fear of God bolsters our faith in God?

Right fear is part of the make-up of the heart that trusts God, which is why we read in Scripture of this fear moving or giving birth to faith. The Israelites, for example, “saw the great power that the Lord used against the Egyptians, so the people feared the Lord, and they believed in the Lord and in his servant Moses” (Ex. 14:31). In fact, saving faith cannot be separated from the right fear of God, for we will only trust in God to the extent that we have this fear that leans toward him. Right, wondering fear prompts us to trust in God. Only a God-fearing heart will ever be a God-trusting heart.

Is there a connection between the fear of God and our love for God?

Absolutely! Sometimes fear of God and love of God are put in parallel, as in Psalm 145:19-20. Similarly, Moses equates fear and love in his summary of the law (Deut. 6:1–5). The living God is infinitely perfect and quintessentially, overwhelmingly beautiful in every way: his righteousness, his graciousness, his majesty, his mercy, his all. As such, we do not love him aright if our love is not a trembling, overwhelmed, and fearful love. In a sense, then, the trembling “fear of God” is a way of speaking about the intensity of the saints’ love for and enjoyment of all that God is. It is love for God as God.

When we have a proper fear of God, what is the result? What kind of person does this right fear form us to be?

You naturally expect that the fear of God would make you morose and stuffy, but quite the opposite. Unlike our sinful fears, which make us twitchy and gloomy, the fear of God has a profoundly uplifting effect: it makes us happy as we share Christ’s own pleasure and delight in God. 

‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge,’ wrote Solomon (Prov 1:7). In the fear of God we know God. Any ‘knowledge of God’ that is devoid of such fearful and overwhelmed wondering is actually blind and barren. The living God is so wonderful he is not truly known where he is not worshipped and heartily adored. We who love theology need to remember that there is no true knowledge of God where there is no right fear of him. In the fear of God we also know ourselves: it is when we are most thrilled with God and his redemption that our masks slip and we see ourselves for what we really are: as creatures, as sinners, as forgiven, as adopted.

The fear of the Lord is also — and most famous for being — the beginning of wisdom (Prov. 9:10). Mere intelligence is not a safe guide to walking through life wisely. We need the fear of God to steer our abilities, and without it, all our abilities are a liability. Take the brilliant young theological thug online: he may just be as bright as he thinks he is, but his untempered ability only makes him more dangerous. 

How can followers of Jesus cultivate a biblical fear of God?

Psalm 130:4 teaches us that forgiveness is the most fertile soil for growing a right fear of God. Without God’s forgiveness we could never approach him or want to. Without the cross, God would be only a dreadful judge of whom we would be afraid. It is divine forgiveness and our justification by faith alone that turns our natural dread of God as sinners into the fearful, trembling adoration of beloved children. ‘Oh! that a great God should be a good God,’ wrote John Bunyan, ‘a good God to an unworthy, to an undeserving, and to a people that continually do what they can to provoke the eyes of his glory; this should make us tremble.’1John Bunyan, The Works of John Bunyan, vol. 2 (Glasgow: W.G. Blackie & Son, 1854; repr. Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1991), 14.

For those who sincerely desire to fear God aright but find that “right fear” elusive, what words of encouragement do you have for them? 

Know that the filial fears of Christians are the firstfruits of heaven. For when we rejoice in God so intensely that we quake and tremble, then are we being most heavenly, like the angels who fall on their faces in ecstatic wonder. But for now, Christians see in part and so we only love and rejoice in part. We hang our heads, knowing that moments of filial, trembling wonder are all too faint and all too few. But when we see him as he is, that ecstasy will be unimpaired and absolute. Now our fearful wondering at God is partial; then it will be unconfined.

Yet as we wait, the answer to our spiritual lethargy comes at the foot of the cross. At the cross you simultaneously repent and rejoice. His mercy accentuates your wickedness, and your very wickedness accentuates his grace, leading you to a deeper and more fearfully happy worship of the Savior. It is there that our resisting dread of God turns to fearful adoration.

  • 1
    John Bunyan, The Works of John Bunyan, vol. 2 (Glasgow: W.G. Blackie & Son, 1854; repr. Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1991), 14.

What is religious liberty, and why is it important?
By / May 24

In America, religious liberty is often called our “first freedom.” Yet religious liberty today seems to be under constant threat. But why?

What is religious liberty? To whom does it “belong”? And why is it important for our society, generally, and more specifically, for the mission of the church? Andrew T. Walker, author of the recent book, Liberty for All, spent time answering these questions.

Walker’s book deals thoroughly with religious liberty and will help you make sense of why it is so important. Furthermore, it will help shape your efforts toward preserving this “first freedom” for subsequent generations. 

Religious liberty is a term we hear thrown around a lot today. And though the term is used often, our culture seems to lack a consensus on exactly what it means.

How would you define religious liberty? 

There are two main ways to think about religious liberty: (1) As an intrinsic property where individuals (and their communities) should be free to come to conclusions about religious convictions voluntarily; and (2) as an extrinsic property where individuals (and their communities) should be free to live out the implications of their faith in every arena of life. Religious liberty helps secure a forum for authentic gospel proclamation. It is a forerunner to authentic gospel acceptance. It is the pathway for authentic gospel ethics.

What are some of the biggest challenges and/or threats to religious liberty in America today? 

The biggest challenge to religious liberty is its politicization as a culture war issue rather than as an issue central to the experiment of constitutionalism. Because religious conservatives are on the defensive in an increasingly secularizing society, it has become a tool to retreat to, which is both a necessary safe harbor but not a sufficient safe harbor in the long run. To possess religious liberty is to possess the opportunity to make arguments, which should seek to persuade or at least invite goodwill disagreement. Where even goodwill disagreement is impossible, religious liberty will not be sufficient in the long run when measured against a secularizing society that defines reasonableness in exclusively secular terms.

You say that religious liberty in our society “has been sadly situated as a culture war issue,” when what it needs “is an apologetic arising from Christian conviction.” What do you mean by this? 

When Christians talk about religious liberty, it is more often done in the context of it being a constitutional guarantee. While some biblical arguments have been made for religious liberty often by appeals to isolated texts, there has really been no concerted effort to tie religious liberty to biblical theology, or to situate it as a foundational pillar to public theology. That’s what my book attempts to do — to make an argument that religious liberty has theological coherence within the full-sweep of the biblical canon that is a prerequisite for how we understand our place in, and engagement with, the world.

If religious liberty is a principle founded in the Christian faith, does this mean that it should only be extended to professing Christians? In other words, who “qualifies” for the exercise of religious freedom? Why? 

The argument I make in Liberty for All is that when we understand the themes of eschatology, anthropology, and missiology, we come to understand that religious liberty is an essential component to life in this age, which necessarily means it applies to all, religious and nonreligious alike. 

Just as one example to anchor biblical thinking: We live at a time where not everything has been brought under the reign of Christ in a climactic sense. If we are living in a time between the ascension of Christ and the second coming of Christ, what are we to do with non-Christians who do not believe like we do? Banish them? Make them second-class citizens? Religious liberty helps address the interim period the church finds itself in and how it should relate to non-Christians.

Should Christians advocate for the religious liberty of other faith traditions, then? What might be some eventual consequences of not doing so? 

Yes. If we treat our liberty in an American regime as uniquely superior to others or more deserving because of Christianity’s history in America, we will find ourselves isolated and alone if and when Christianity falls out of favor. We all hang together or hang separately, so to speak, when it comes to religious liberty, and that’s because our rights are reciprocally ordered within our constitutional regime.

You talk in the book about where a government’s jurisdictional lines are drawn (or should be) when it comes to matters of religious liberty. Why does a government not have the authority “to declare what is or is not Christian,” for instance, and what might be some of the consequences when it attempts to exercise that kind of authority? 

Because, simply, declarations of what is true religion or false religion has not been authorized or delegated to the government according to Scripture. Government is a temporal institution not fit to make pronouncements on religion. Moreover, we should not want it to do that, especially in those environments where Christians are in the minority. When a government believes it can make such pronouncements, it is a government that is over-stepping its bounds. It is the opposite of a “limited government.” Practically speaking, it’s also futile. England has an established church, but its status in the culture is limited almost exclusively to the ceremonial. When church and state ally themselves to one another, what results are dead churches fueled by nominalist religion.

You argue that “the internal logic of the gospel recognizes and even demands religious liberty.” Can you expound on this? 

Succinctly, to truly believe the gospel means that one voluntarily believes the gospel, which presupposes a context where there is no coercion or penalty for conversion. Moreover, to truly believe the gospel, it must be grasped sincerely and by the individual compelled by the gospel’s message. The state is thus entirely ineffective at effectuating belief within the person. If that’s the case, religion should not be something attended to by the state.

Religious liberty, of course, is not merely a dynamic between citizens and their government, but also between citizens and their neighbors. As you argue in the book, for the Christian, religious liberty “is integral to the advancement of the gospel.”

How does religious liberty relate to the mission of the church? 

When we share the gospel, are we going to go to jail when doing so? When someone purports to accept the gospel, will they be guilty of violating a blasphemy law? How you answer that question reveals the inevitability of some sort of religious liberty regime, whether for good or ill.

Since religious liberty and the mission of the church are so closely tied to one another, what can Christians be doing now to ensure that this “first freedom” of ours endures in American society?  

The best thing we can do is study, learn, and retrieve a tradition that is so central to the Baptist experiment in North America. Baptists have largely overlooked how religious liberty is one of their key distinctives. That’s one of the goals of my book — to recover the Baptist distinctive of religious liberty.

Why reading classics can help us answer age-old questions
By / May 5

Italian journalist and novelist Italo Calvino once said, “A classic is a book that never finishes saying what it has to say.” Even those who don’t enjoy Greek literature can understand Odysseus’ desire to return home in The Iliad. And though it is unlikely that our own decade will be as decadent as the 1920s, all who read The Great Gatsby can understand the desire of the title character to reinvent yourself and overcome your past. 

In her new series of edited classics, Karen Swallow Prior, professor of English and Christian & Culture at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary, invites readers to return to (or read for the first time) works that continue to ask and answer questions of modern readers. We are not the first to ask questions about the relationship between science and religion, identity, and the juxtaposition of true faith and nominal Christianity. In returning to these great works of literature, Prior hopes to give readers a chance to wrestle with those questions in new ways guided by their Christian faith. 

Why did you choose the four stories so far in the series? Is there something unique about these four: Heart of Darkness, Sense and Sensibility, Jane Eyre, Frankenstein?

First of all, I chose from works in the public domain so as to avoid copyright questions and expenses. Fortunately, my area of expertise centers on literature that is well within those bounds. From there, I chose works that I know and love well. Narrowing it down to just six from there was still rather difficult! Ultimately, I wanted to choose works that wrestle with questions and themes that are particularly relevant to the church right now.

And to be totally transparent, I wanted to choose some works that I thought would be likely to appeal to male readers since so much evidence indicates that Christian men read fiction far less than other genres. Classic literature is for everyone.

Are there any books that you are hoping to include in the series in the future?

The last two books in the series will be Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy and The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. They will release in March 2022.

One thing that I think stands out about these editions is not just the text, but the way the physical book is itself a piece of care and craft. Is there a deeper reason for this, or is it only a decorative decision? How does having the book in a bound and beautiful text help to also shape the reader? 

One of the keys to understanding literature — and all art, really — is that form is everything. As Marshall McLuhan would say, “The medium is the message.” From the start, this project was envisioned as one that would bring beautiful stories to the reader — and to the church — in a beautiful form. Now, to be clear, I have no problem with cheap paperback versions of classics and own many myself. (They are perfect for carrying around to class or reading in the swimming pool.) But the market is overwhelmed with these editions. And while gorgeous clothbound editions of the classics are available from other publishers, as far as I know, none have been produced by any publisher for Christian readers specifically. 

My publishing team and I put a great deal of thought into the cover colors, design, finish, the paper, the ribbon marker, and even the font. (The font and page layout were improved even more with the second set.) These are volumes to own for a lifetime and to pass down. My copies join books on my shelves that have done the same, books that are now 100 or 200 years old.

Each of the introductions to the books concludes with the “Reading as a Christian” section. Why did you include that? What are practices you would encourage Christians do when reading fiction? Is there a Christian way to read or perspective that Christians should have when reading?

In my book, On Reading Well: Finding the Good Life through Great Books, I focus more on the practices and habits that can improve our reading. In this series, through both this part of each introduction and later in the discussion questions (since I have committed to having no plot spoilers in the introductions), I talk about the themes that have particular relevance to us as Christians. These themes are, as I mentioned above, part of the reason I chose each work. 

Of course, great books are relevant to all people in all times because their greatness is in the way they capture universal themes. Most classics are published and edited by scholars who either aren’t Christians or may even be hostile to the Christian backdrop of these works. These books offer a different perspective than what is commonly out there today.

The story of Frankenstein and his monster is both a horror story and science fiction. In this genre, there seems to be a warning about trusting too much in the power and goodness of science devoid of a larger framework. What cautions does this offer to a modern audience faced with a rapidly advancing technical age where what was fantastical can become commonplace in the matter of a few years? 

This question is one that I think makes Frankenstein timelier than ever. As I explain in the introduction, the premise of the story was not as far-fetched as it might seem since similar kinds of experiments and questions were common at the time. The central question the novel asks — what is the responsibility of a creator (or Creator) toward his creation — is ever more pressing. Frankenstein helps us to see that science is never just for the sake of science — it is an attempt to fulfill deeper human needs and desires. And it is those we need to address in the ways that only our Creator can, even as science allows us to improve human lives and human flourishing. Undertaken apart from our true purpose as human beings, however, science can also bring harm and destruction.

You say that the most unsettling part of Frankenstein is not the story, but the way it is told: nested stories and unreliable narrators. Why is that more unsettling than a reanimated corpse driven by passions? Do you see any corollaries in our own moment of how the unreliable narrators of our cultural stories contribute to the sense of unease?

I have lived more than half a century. I have taught for many years literature that spans many centuries. And yet, I never imagined myself living in a time when truth — even simple facts — could be so contested, debated, and unreliable. We are living in a time when so many competing narrators are vying for our attention and confidence that it is increasingly difficult to know what is true. Both Frankenstein (and, perhaps, even more Heart of Darkness, another book in the series) demonstrate the limits of human perspective and knowledge. 

We are wise to understand, then, that our limited understanding must be measured against the only reliable source of truth we have — God and his Word. We are our own unreliable narrators. But by God’s grace, we can see ourselves within the context of his story. Reading other people’s stories helps to realize our need to do so.

The introduction to Frankenstein notes the importance of the virtues in this story. Your previous book, On Reading Well, was devoted to the study of the virtues through literature. How does literature in general help us to learn and practice the virtues? How does Frankenstein specifically do that?

First time readers might be surprised to learn what a central place virtue has in Frankenstein. It is a recurring theme that demands the reader’s attention by asking us to find that moderation between the various excesses and deficiencies displayed in the novel. When does the zeal for knowledge become a vice rather than a virtue? When does the desire for justice cease to be a virtuous pursuit? What can a world which lacks the influence of women (one half of the human race) become? There are so many things out of balance in the story that it demands that readers seek the virtuous mean.

You say that it was the ordinariness of Jane Eyre that made the novel extraordinary. What do you mean by that? How was it both ordinary and revolutionary for its time?

In their early history, novels tended to be over-the-top, variously, in their sharp humor, their moral earnestness, or their amorous exploits. While drawing on both the Romantic and didactic traditions that came before it, Jane Eyre is more realistic than nearly all its literary predecessors. While it has some unrealistic (and even unsatisfactory) plot elements, the heart of the story is the voice and character of this very “plain Jane” who is so very human in her desire to have a place and people to belong to, to be with someone she loves, and to be a faithful Christian. Jane was revolutionary because she willed these things and she willed them passionately, refusing to accept injustice in a world in which justice was available only to the few who had power and wealth.

Christianity is a pervasive theme in Jane Eyre. Some early critics thought it was an attack on faith, and yet you say that Christianity created Jane Eyre. What accounts for this tension? How can reading this novel help modern readers understand our own nominally Christian context?

Well, you hit the nail on the head in the last part of this question. Jane Eyre was an attack — a powerful attack — on nominal Christianity. Those trapped within nominal Christianity took it as an attack on the real thing. Then, as now, it was, and is, difficult to separate mere convention from truly biblical principles. It is difficult for people in any time to see outside the context of their times, beyond their moral blind spots. But just as Nathan so effectively helped David to see his great sin by telling a parallel story about another man’s sin, so, too, literature about other times and places can help us see the truth by seeing it sideways. It’s easy for us to see now in the world of Jane Eyre where Christians got so many things wrong. The real test is seeing where they are wrong in our own time.

The question of self and identity are core themes in the life of Jane, specifically how an individual must “forge an identity,” a uniquely modern problem (and one that is also present in Frankenstein in the monster’s journey). What in this novel speaks to the way that a modern reader will understand that yearning for identity? Does the novel fully answer the question of identity? 

The novel doesn’t fully answer the question of identity. It would not be a great novel if it attempted to! Rather, good art invites us to see, to perceive, to consider. Indeed, even the ending of the novel (no spoilers!) is one some people find dissatisfying, which I think makes the novel all the better. For in this fallen world, we will not find perfect satisfaction. 

This question of identity that Jane Eyre wrestles with was one that was emerging when the novel was written. Nearly two centuries later, the question has only become more complicated and fraught. As our culture becomes more fractured and polarized, the shards of our identity have less to hold them together. This makes the hope of the gospel — and an identity in Christ — all the more satisfying and real. Jane understood that — yet still had to work it out in her life, just as we must as well.

The mission of God and religious liberty
By / May 4

Before leaving on his missionary journey to India, William Carey, one of the architects of the modern mission movement, told his friend Andrew Fuller, “I will go down, if you will hold the ropes.” Fuller, of course, helped raise the funds to build the institutions that made mission possible. Holding the ropes is an apt metaphor for the relationship between religious liberty and mission: religious liberty facilitates mission by giving space and fostering the ideal conditions for the mission of Christ to continue. The mission of God does not wholly depend on Western ideals of religious liberty inasmuch as it is aided where religious liberty exists. Asked in the reverse, What Christian would want to create obstacles for the announcement of the gospel? No one, of course.

To “hold the ropes,” so to speak, is to facilitate mission. This runs contrary to much of modern Christian discourse that seems to lust after martyrdom status, insisting that any demands for “rights” such as religious liberty run contrary to the witness of Christ, who forsook his rights and died on a cross. When Christians feign sanctimony about discarding “rights,” they reveal a facile understanding of the common good and its connection to an ethic of reciprocity for all citizens, Christian and non-Christian alike. Since religious liberty is ordered to the common good, it is never about special pleas for one group but about identifying one’s liberty as bound up in the broader political community’s exercise of those same equally distributed rights. Those who criticize defenders of religious liberty for making it a culture-war issue and possessing martyr envy will likely someday learn that were ancient Christians to choose between Rome and America, they would have chosen the First Amendment.

While martyrs witness powerfully to the paradoxical nature of the kingdom’s advancement through weakness, this witness does not elide Christians’ responsibility to make their context ripe for gospel acceptance. It is one thing to accept an increasingly marginalized status within a society; it is another to seek it out, believing that social isolation and ostracization are required for faithfulness. Oliver O’Donovan has criticized Stanley Hauerwas and John Howard Yoder for idealizing “catacomb consciousness,” the idea that only a church on the margins can retain purity and distinctiveness. For O’Donovan, there is no inherent virtue in the church being driven to the margins. Yes, the church can do excellent work when removed from the center of power, but to romanticize marginalization is to invite a degree of persecution that most Christians in history would have wanted to avoid. To say that Scripture promises persecution is neither to invite it nor to bask in it but to accept it as a part of faithfulness. We should caution against valorizing marginalization as an exclusive measure of faith. Historically, persecution can root out religion, but the mustard seed metaphor in Scripture also suggests that growth can be faithful (Matt. 13:31–32).

Living the “peaceful,” “quiet,” and “dignified” lives that religious liberty makes possible is not in tension with God’s desire that “all people . . . be saved and . . . come to the knowledge of the truth” (1 Tim. 2:2, 4). In fact, they seem to be complementary. We pray for political tranquility for the sake of gospel advance. To be sure, Christ promises to build his church (Matt. 16:18–19), so we can be confident that no barrier will stand in its path, but wanting to remove barriers is not contrary to this New Testament teaching. There is no virtue in embracing a martyr complex that impedes the gospel’s advance and jeopardizes the work of ministry by inviting hardship. Consider Paul. A Roman citizen, Paul did not shy away from asserting his rights as a citizen (Acts 22). Instead of seeking out a martyr’s death so that the purity of the gospel could be realized, Paul appealed to his political context and the legitimacy of political rule to ensure the gospel’s spread. He did so in particular by appealing to his Roman citizenship and to the political rulers of his day. For Paul, appeals to earthly citizenship were not in opposition to his heavenly citizenship. The former is subordinate to the latter. Paul’s life testifies to the legitimacy of political rule, and also to the need to constructively relate to political authority in such a way that it is not in opposition to the advance of the gospel. 

It would seem that a state limited in its scope makes the enlargement of God’s kingdom more possible. A government that refuses to totalize its jurisdiction and works within its limited confines is acting justly. By refusing to amass or aggrandize power that does not belong to it, it more ably allows for the mission of Christ to succeed. Thus, a limited state is not merely within the province of a much-hackneyed political conservatism but is a faithful steward of the authority that derives from God (Rom. 13:1–7). Governments that allow religious freedom to prosper, whether consciously or not, are at least indirect participants in the unfolding drama of redemption. One hopes that a government, even a pagan one, “would maintain conditions appropriate for believers leading a specifically godly life in government supported civic-peace.” We should hope all government provides the conditions where a fruitful Christian life can be lived without political consequence or threat. In not allying itself with any one religion in particular, and by not impeding the mission of the church, the state is ordered in accord with the service it is to render to God as his “servant” (Rom. 13:4). A government that puts as few obstacles as possible in the way of its citizens being able to freely respond to the call of salvation is doing what God intended the state to do. Advocacy for religious liberty, especially via lobbying and petitioning government, must be seen as a rope-holding activity that ensures that ministry can occur within a given political community.

To use another metaphor, religious liberty is like brush clearing. Untamed terrain needs to be cleared in order for it to be properly cultivated and brought to order. Religious liberty clears a path so that the work of ministry can go forth. In this sense, religious liberty is a context-specific tool that catalyzes mission. To clear brush for a missionary to function as they ought is to cooperate in the mission of God. All of this activity is directed toward living God-honoring lives in every domain of life and advancing the message of salvation.

Where the nexus of religious liberty meets mission and soteriology is the concern for impending judgment. According to Stott and Wright, “The God who is Lord of history is also the Judge of history.” From this sentence arises an urgency, since the current era in which the church finds itself is not eternal. A coming judgment over this era awaits. The reality of this future judgment serves as the backdrop for why religious liberty connects with mission. According to Baptist theologian Jason G. Duesing, “As those living in an era of religious liberty between the time of Christ’s ascension and his certain return, the knowledge of what awaits us on the last day should serve as a warning to all outside of Christ that the freedom to worship other gods without the judgment of the one true God will come to an end.”

Even more foundationally, a focus on the theological underpinnings of religious liberty and the mission of God fosters a greater awareness of the church’s own rationale for advancing religious liberty in society: humanity’s destined judgment. As I have sought to make clear throughout this book, it is eschatological judgment and our reason-using and truth-seeking nature that make religious liberty intelligible from a Christian perspective. The promise of judgment and the accountability of the person before God make sense only within a horizon of mission and the attainment of salvation. Christians insist on the necessity of religious liberty so that persons untainted by coercion can make voluntary professions of faith. It is correct to infer that religious liberty is not an end in itself. Instead, it is a means and a tool that the church utilizes to accomplish its mission with efficiency and effectiveness for the sake of the gospel.

This is why religious liberty is an urgent task of Christian ethics. As a social ethic, it informs a critical nexus that conceives of religious liberty as both useful and necessary for mission. An ethic of religious liberty is intrinsic to mission. Religious liberty is therefore foundational to the church’s public theology since it serves as a firmament to the gospel’s advance. It is, as it were, a grand corallary to Christian ministry in the present era. Christianity prioritizes religious liberty as an evangelistic tool. Where Christianity has any influence in society, a milieu of religious liberty ought to follow from Christian teaching when Christians apply their doctrine to society and seek to influence it.

Those heralding the gospel will exercise every tool at their disposal to see the mission of God advance. Moreover, the “historical situation” that Henry references is consequential to understanding that Christian mission is always historically situated, and “situatedness” is not a missionally insignificant category. Christians should desire to inhabit contexts that make gospel proclamation and evangelistic efforts more fluid and reject circumstances that create obstacles to gospel advancement. We should wish this not only for ourselves but also for Christians around the globe.

If Christians care about mission, they should seek to elevate religious liberty in their public theology. Christians should do this not because Christian mission is necessarily contingent on religious liberty but because religious liberty aids Christian mission in its ultimate task of seeing individuals reconciled and redeemed. Understood through an evangelistic lens, religious liberty is appreciated by those who seek to advance the gospel for its utility but not its ultimate necessity.

Religious liberty is not simply a political doctrine that Western Christians enjoy while living in liberal democracies. It is not merely a construct designed to aid religious difference. Religious liberty is a principle that Christians from all corners of the world should prioritize, because it impacts gospel advancement and social tranquility; it forges a connection between the urgent task of mission and the opportunity to take that mission outward.

Most foundationally, however, religious liberty understood from the interior of biblical logic is a principle integral and internal to the gospel itself and essential for the church’s mission in society. According to Barrett Duke, “The doctrine of salvation itself contributes to our understanding of God’s design for religious liberty.” The soteriological moment is an individual event, and faith cannot be coerced. The gospel hinges on a free response. This is not to say that salvation is individualistic. We are saved into a community. But entry into that community comes from individual assent. Thus, an authentic faith assumes an uncoerced faith. A Christian account of religious liberty as mission thus assumes a doctrine of justification by faith alone, insisting that individuals enter God’s kingdom individually and conscientiously self-aware of an expressed faith. No one can attain someone else’s salvation for them, and neither can someone’s salvation be negated by another.

Christian advocacy for religious liberty in society is not pursued primarily to shore up or preserve the reigning political order. It is not pursued under the auspices of “rights,” as important as rights are. Religious liberty must be imbued with theological gravitas. As Michael Hanby argues, concern for only the juridical or political benefits of religious liberty as a social practice neglects the “deeper freedom opened up by the transcendent horizon of Christ’s resurrection.” From this vantage point, religious liberty goes beyond the horizons of law and culture to the awakening of our world to the reality of the ascendant Christ. Hanby says that an outsized focus on the political import of religious liberty leads us to neglect its purpose in light of mission.

If we cannot see beyond the juridical meaning of religious freedom to the freedom that the truth itself gives, how then can we expect to exercise this more fundamental freedom when our juridical freedom is denied? Too often we are content to accept the absolutism of liberal order, which consists in its capacity to establish itself as the ultimate horizon, to remake everything within that horizon in its own image, and to establish itself as the highest good and the condition of possibility for the pursuit of all other goods— including religious freedom.

In other words, the church does not take its marching orders from protections afforded it only by the procedural rules of liberal democracy. The locus of Christian advocacy for religious liberty is the advancement of Christian mission, followed only then by its constitutional legitimacy. The practice of religious liberty is the expression of the church’s mission under the sovereignty of God. In that, the church possesses a freedom of its own constitution. The church, by definition, ought to be a free society living in response to the call of God.

This focus on mission is not meant to undercut or devalue the political and social benefits that accrue when religious liberty graces society (the next chapter argues that Christian advocacy for religious liberty should result in practical social benefits). But implications that follow from Christianity’s primary justification for religious liberty should not blur nor erase the urgency with which Christians advocate for its centrality in Christian social ethics and public theology—the advancement of God’s kingdom resulting in the salvation of sinners.

Religious liberty exists because it issues from a place of sincere urgency, emanating from sober conviction about the judgment awaiting humanity. Any practice of religion that fails to uphold liberty as a critical element of its doctrinal system only pretends to be authentic. Halfhearted religion works as a “kind of inoculation or prevention against sincere religion.” Only religions so adamant about the judgment of God will seek the freedoms to advance that message for the sake of humankind. Heartfelt convictions will always seek the liberty to be proclaimed.

Content taken from Liberty for All by Andrew T. Walker, ©2021. Used by permission of Baker Publishing www.bakerpublishinggroup.com.