Tom Lin: Give Gen-Z Students Some Credit

This essay is a new contribution to a weekly series by Christianity Today.

If you tried to design an ideal setting for learning how to be a good neighbor, it would look a lot like a college campus.

As the president of a campus ministry, I might be a little biased in that assessment. But imagine the reality that a brand-new college student faces when they come to campus for the first time. Thousands are already there from every walk of life: athletes, musicians, activists, artists, people of different cultures and ethnicities, introverts and extroverts, people who like to party and stay out late, people who like to stay in and get up early.

All of them chose this school, but none of them chose each other. All at once, they’re thrust into a community, stuck together in dorms and classes and social clubs.

College students have no choice but to learn to coexist. To share space and navigate conflict. To be neighbors.

First, neighborliness requires creativity of witness.

Each day, Christian students at secular universities interact with countless complicated people and circumstances in which God calls them to be Christlike, seeking not “their own good, but the good of others” (1 Cor. 10:24). And, in the power of the Spirit, I see time and again how students respond with creative acts of gospel witness—fresh outreach ideas, innovative responses to injustice, bold prayers for physical healing, exciting calls to faith, authentic acts of relational generosity, and on and on.

One example comes from the College of William & Mary. For many years, the college had a problem with excessive drinking and partying on the last day of classes. To serve their classmates, InterVarsity students set up griddles in the center of campus and made pancakes for students who wanted a free meal and a safe alternative place to hang out. Today, “Pancake House” is a bi-annual event that creatively blesses over 2,000 people every semester, easily making it the largest student event on campus.

Much of the polarization we experience in today’s culture comes down to a lack of creative witness—a dull defaulting to the same staid talking points, stale arguments, and predictable reactions. But Christian students, like those at William & Mary, are learning something different. In their dynamic and diverse campus environment, they’re learning to follow the Spirit into fresh forms of neighborliness that the rest of the American church can learn from.

An Election Season Resolution: Lose the Adverbs

This is an excerpt from John Inazu’s substack, *Some Assembly Required. Read the full essay here.

 

I tell my law students to lose most of their adverbs. It’s generally good to avoid overextended emotion and overclaiming. The other side isn’t always wrong. Few people are absolutely mistaken. You don’t have to really care; just care.

As we inch closer toward what is sure to be a divisive and contested election, each of us might consider our own adverb inventory, especially on social media. You will seldom win an argument by making your point more forcefully, more angrily, and with less nuance. Fewer adverbs might also lower your blood pressure.

Politics at its best—or at least at its most functional—requires similar moderation. Politics depends on compromise.

No side has all the answers, extreme policy positions rarely win, elections are seldom about good versus evil. And every time we type away to the contrary—we’re right, they’re wrong; we’re good they’re evil; we’re smart; they’re stupid—we undermine the moderated discourse on which our civil peace depends.

None of this means the stakes don’t matter—of course they do. This coming presidential election—like every one that has preceded it—will have enormous consequences and its outcome will affect people’s lives and liberties in ways that matter. You should care. Be involved, make your arguments known, and vote.

But as you do, aim for nuance and moderation in your claims. The way we engage with each other—particularly in political discourse—shapes the fabric of our democracy. In an age of polarization, where every issue seems to divide us into opposing camps, it is more important than ever to remember that our words can either contribute to the unraveling of our social fabric, or they can help to restore it one conversation at a time.

Too often, pleas for “civil discourse” come from people in power trying to maintain the status quo by suppressing passion and emotion. You don’t have to play into that game. But it’s possible to express both passion and moderation at the same time.

Kristen Johnson: Unclench Your Fist

This essay is a new contribution to a weekly series by Christianity Today.

Questions about the place of Christianity and the posture of Christians in a pluralistic society have never been merely theoretical for me. They have always been very personal.

I was first drawn to the Christian faith as a child in London. Both the city and the school I attended there were marked by profound religious, ethnic, and cultural pluralism. A few years later, while a freshman in high school, I began to follow Christ more intentionally after a conversion experience in a church youth group in the Washington, DC, area. I spent the rest of high school and college navigating how to inhabit my faith in settings where few shared my convictions.

When I got to grad school and discovered the life and writings of Augustine of Hippo from the fourth and fifth centuries, I felt like I’d finally found the resources I needed to begin imagining a faithful, generous Christian witness in our own time and place.

Instead of white-knuckling our way through life in a pluralistic, rapidly changing society, Christians should learn from Augustine’s openhanded discipleship.

We live in a diverse and quickly changing democracy, surrounded by people with many divergent beliefs and ways of life, and this comes with both opportunities and challenges. We’re able to know and love neighbors very different from ourselves as we share and embody the gospel. But navigating deep difference and rapid social shifts can also be difficult and scary, and we may end up hurting our neighbors rather than loving them well.

Matthew Kaemingk: The Acceptance Stage of Lost Evangelical Influence

This essay is a new contribution to a weekly series by Christianity Today.

American Christianity is in cultural and political decline. In 1937, 70 percent of Americans reported that they belonged to a church. These numbers held relatively steady through much of the 20th century. But in the past 25 years, an estimated 40 million Americans have stopped attending church. As Ernest Hemingway said, bankruptcy comes gradually and then suddenly.

The American public square, previously white and Protestant, is quickly becoming a pluralistic bazaar of diverse cultures, religions, ideologies, and lifestyles. Once dominant and uncontested, Christianity is increasingly one moral vision among many.

How are evangelicals responding to the decline of Christianity’s cultural and political power?

Contrary to media caricatures, evangelicals are not a monolith. We’re responding to this decline in a wide variety of ways. The classical stages of grief can offer an insightful tool for understanding the ways evangelicals are processing their cultural and political decline (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance).

It is quite possible to meet an evangelical at any stage in this grieving process. But of course, this scheme does not fit everyone. Some evangelicals are not grieving at all. They actually celebrate Christianity’s loss of power. This group believes it would be fundamentally good and healthy for Christians to take a moratorium on political engagement, seeing it as beneficial for both America and the church.

While I sympathize with their sentiments, I must object. I believe that Christians are called by God to engage in political life. We must actively seek public justice and mercy. We must vigorously work for the flourishing for our neighbors. This requires us to be involved in politics and exert some level of political power and influence toward these ends. Privileged Christians who wish to politically disengage are abandoning the very neighbors they’re commanded to protect, serve, and love.

No, I believe it is entirely appropriate for evangelicals to grieve their loss of cultural and political power. That said, as any counselor will tell you, there are productive and unproductive forms of grief. The bereft are not permitted to remain in denial, anger, depression, or bargaining forever. Nor are they allowed to hurt others as they wail.

Here’s how we might interact with these stages. The first stage of grief is denial. While some evangelicals are still in denial over the decline of Christianity, their numbers are dwindling by the day. It is becoming harder and harder to ignore Christianity’s marginalization in the media, the academy, the marketplace, arts, and politics. For those still in denial, there is not much to say.

The second stage is anger. Evangelical rage makes for great TV; infantile evangelical leaders coming unhinged attract a lot of clicks. It is thus no surprise that the bulk of media attention has been trained on evangelical fits of outrage, victimhood, and lament over the emergence of a post-Christian America.

The third stage is bargaining. Quite a few articles and books have explored the disastrous ways in which evangelical leaders are increasingly willing to make a devil’s bargain for a few scraps of political power and access.

While much ink has been spilled on these forms of evangelical denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, the final stage has received precious little attention. What might look like for American evangelicals to step into a state of acceptance?

John Inazu: How To Find Common Ground When You Disagree About the Common Good

This essay is the first installment of a new weekly series by Christianity Today.

How do Christians live faithfully and as good neighbors in a world we don’t control?

In 2020, Tim Keller and I coedited a book titled Uncommon Ground. Our project convened a group of evangelical and evangelical-adjacent friends to reflect—as the subtitle said—on how Christians can live faithfully in a world of difference. Since then, however, I’ve rephrased the question for my own work. We should be faithful, yes, but also neighborly. And our world is not just host to real difference of belief; it’s also a world we don’t control.

I owe this subtle but important reframing to my friendship and work with Eboo Patel, the founder and president of Interfaith America. The most important interfaith organization in the country, Interfaith America does not advance a soupy multiculturalism that pretends that all roads lead to heaven or that our differences don’t matter. It takes religious particularity seriously, identifies conflicts and tensions created by that particularity, and works to find common ground across religious differences.

Interfaith engagement that doesn’t devolve into a soupy multiculturalism is difficult—and necessary in our diverse democracy.

I met Eboo nearly a decade ago. On that first meeting, we talked about the challenges of having young kids, busy travel schedules, and public writing commitments, as well as the importance of interfaith cooperation. Since then, we’ve spoken, taught, written, and built together.

As a Muslim, Eboo does not believe in the saving work of Jesus Christ—and that difference between us is no small thing. We have other differences too: Eboo tells more stories than I do. I drink alcohol, and he doesn’t. His language is usually more colorful than mine. We are friends in spite of our differences.

What does this kind of friendship have to do with Christian engagement in the world? Almost everything.