Content - History Category

Four Indigenous Authors Reflect on Native American Heritage

Sat, 01 Nov 2025 01:47:00 GMT

In this article, four authors share wisdom from their stories, cultures, and faith journeys. T. Christopher Hoklotubbe, Terry Wildman, Randy Woodley, and H. Daniel Zacharias offer reflections on what they treasure most about their heritage, what they wish others understood, and why Indigenous wisdom is vital for the future of the church and the world.

What do you most treasure about your culture and background?

Terry Wildman, project manager for the First Nations Version (FNV): Even though I often mourn growing up outside of my Native ancestry and culture, I deeply value what I have been able to learn and reclaim over the last twenty-five years. The guidance of mentors who are deeply connected to their tribal roots has shaped my path. Two naming ceremonies and several sweat-lodge ceremonies centered around Creator Sets Free (Jesus) have been especially meaningful.

I deeply value my relationships with dear Native friends, which—along with the five years I spent living on the Hopi reservation—have given me spiritual insights and a relational understanding of Creator that the Western culture I was raised in simply could not offer.

I’ve come to value how Native culture brings faith into a holistic relationship—with the land, the people, and the stories that carry wisdom across generations. That way of living and believing has deeply shaped my journey and my work on the First Nations Version, as I try each day to walk Creator’s good road, led by his Son and Spirit.

Randy Woodley, author of Living in Color: The foundational worldview, which is an understanding that we’re related to all of creation—that’s the treasure I come back to daily. On our farm, this isn’t abstract theology; it’s how we live. When we save seeds or tend the soil or watch eagles circle overhead, we’re engaging with relatives, not resources. My mother taught me this before I had words for it, and my wife, Edith, and I now live it out on every acre of Eloheh Indigenous Center for Earth Justice and Eloheh Farm & Seeds. This worldview holds the antidote to the extractive, exploitative relationship with creation that’s killing the planet. It’s sophisticated wisdom that Euro-Western cultures desperately need. What I treasure most is that this way of being is resilient—it survived genocide, forced assimilation, and centuries of attempts to erase it. It’s still here, and it still works. And we all need an Indigenous worldview to survive well into the future.

H. Daniel Zacharias, coauthor with T. Christopher Hoklotubbe of Reading the Bible on Turtle Island: The worldviews and lifeways of my cultural heritage provide me with something essential to every human being—a place of belonging and rootedness, and cultural tools to process life and, in my case, to live out Christian faith in a way that honors who I am.

T. Christopher Hoklotubbe: I appreciate the Chata (Choctaw) hymns, many of which were sung along the trail of tears. For the Choctaw people, who pride themselves on embodying the values of faith, family and culture, all three come together in the traditional singing of these hymns.

What is one thing in particular that you wish others knew or better understood about Native American history and culture?

Terry Wildman: I wish people understood that Native identity is not a relic of the past, but a living journey. Tribal nations are still here—often overlooked—and many of us are working to reclaim as much as we can of what was lost. Our ceremonies, our languages (even those being recovered), and our spiritual perspectives are gifts from our Creator and treasured gifts to society if they have ears to hear.

The truth—both historically and today—is that many Native people have been forced to live in two worlds in order to survive. Recognizing that tension can lead to deeper understanding and respect for the resilience and wisdom within Native communities.

Randy Woodley: We're still here, and we’re not a historical footnote. Too many people relate to Indigenous peoples in the past tense, as if we died out with the buffalo or got absorbed into some romantic sunset. While it’s true that I actually don’t have that much Native American blood, I cherish the worldview my ancestor’s held and try to make them proud. But, the violence didn't end in the

1800s—it continues in environmental racism, in the epidemic of missing and murdered Indigenous women, in the ongoing theft of Native land and water rights. At the same time, we’re not just victims of tragedy. We’re scientists developing climate-resilient seeds, we’re theologians reimagining Christianity outside colonial frameworks, we’re artists and activists and farmers. We’re your neighbors—and yes, some even have wifi on the rez now. (That’s a joke). The Indigenous future isn’t about returning to a romanticized past; it’s about applying ancient wisdom to contemporary crises in ways that could save us all. That’s what people miss: Indigenous knowledge isn’t museum material, it’s survival technology for a planet in crisis. Turns out our ancestors were the original environmentalists, and they didn’t need a Patagonia jacket to figure it out. Oh, and also we have a really good sense of humor…some of us anyway.

Danny Zacharias: In terms of history, people just need to know the history of Indigenous peoples in their country. History on this continent did not begin when Columbus was found lost on our shores, and it is not a “woke” agenda to teach and remember the full history of a place, the good and the bad.

For instance, one part of understanding the history of these lands is knowing that modern state divisions are arbitrary. I currently reside in Mi’kma’ki, the ancestral and unceded territory of the Mi’kmaq peoples. Mi’kma’ki encompassed all of Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, part of Newfoundland and Labrador, part of New Brunswick, part of Quebec, and part of Maine. Canadian provincial borders, nation-state borders, and US state borders are relatively recent in the history of these lands. As we discuss Native American Heritage Month, we need to learn that these modern borders broke up territories of the First Peoples, and we need to also know that Canada celebrates Indigenous History Month in June, with my current home province celebrating Mi’kmaq history month in October.

In terms of culture, on the whole Indigenous cultures are much more holistic and balanced than modern Western culture. Indigenous people can be your teachers and bring healing to our very fractured and disintegrated lives.

Chris Hoklotubbe: I wish others knew that they were invited into the dance, so to speak. Pow wows are generally open to all people and there are many inter-tribal dances where non-Indigenous people are invited to join. While there are many inspiring and challenging stories to learn about Indigenous culture and history on Turtle Island, I think the most transformative learning will only come after authentic relationships and friendships have been made.

In what new or unique ways would you like to see Native American Heritage Month observed?

Terry Wildman: I hope this month can become a time of shared storytelling in both Native and Christian communities. I’d love to see churches invite Native elders, storytellers, and translators—not only to share cultural heritage but also to talk about how they live their faith today. Including traditional voices alongside Christian ones helps us recognize the common ground in our stories, worldviews, and spiritual perspectives.

I would also like to see Christian leaders become advocates for Native voices—offering their platforms and choosing to listen, especially to how the message of Creator Sets Free (Jesus) was distorted through the church’s collaboration with government policies and boarding schools. I believe this kind of listening could foster healing, rebuild trust, and open new pathways toward restored relationships.

Randy Woodley: I’d like to see Native American Heritage Month move beyond the tired images of feathers and drums—though those are beautiful in their proper context—and into something that actually costs settlers something. What if churches and organizations used November to examine their own land relationships? Who lived on the land you occupy before you got there? What treaties were broken to make your presence possible? Better yet, what if Heritage Month became a catalyst for returning land to Indigenous communities or establishing conservation easements in partnership with local tribes? Observation without action is just performance. Let’s make it about repair, restoration, and right relationship. And maybe invite actual Native people to lead these conversations, not just attend a commemorative service where we’re trotted out like historical artifacts.

Danny Zacharias: That’s a big question to ask an Indigenous person, with responses that can happen at many levels. At the most basic level, Christians just need to care – care about the lands they live in, care about its history, and recognize the people that God originally gave the lands to. These are storied places, and settlers have very rarely chosen to place themselves into these stories and live well by them.

I would invite people to learn about the land they are on. Learn about the Indigenous people and stewards who traditionally called it home and territory, the treaties that were made (or broken) that allowed settlers to make new homes, and the ecosystems and watersheds that sustain it. With that knowledge, I’d invite people to re-engage the land around them with a prayer of gratitude and for eyes to see how you can leave it a little better than they found it as a good neighbor.

Chris Hoklotubbe: I would invite people to learn about the land they are on. Learn about the Indigenous people and stewards who traditionally called it home and territory, the treaties that were made (or broken) that allowed settlers to make new homes, and the ecosystems and watersheds that sustain it. With that knowledge, I’d invite people to reengage the land around them with a prayer of gratitude and for eyes to see how you can leave it a little better than they found it as a good neighbor.

If you could offer one piece of encouragement to Indigenous people right now, what would it be?

Terry Wildman: As someone who continues to walk the path of reclaiming my Native ancestry, I want to encourage you to hold onto and preserve whatever you have of your Indigenous identity. That identity is a sacred gift from our Creator and reflects his beauty and purpose in ways that are uniquely yours.

The world needs your voice, your prayers, your leadership, and your cultural wisdom. Stand firm in who you are—you carry something incredibly sacred that the wider culture has failed to recognize but deeply needs.

Randy Woodley: Your own people have survived worse than this, and the wisdom that carried them through is still alive in you. Whether you grew up on the rez or in the city, whether you speak your language or don’t, whether you know your clan or you’re still finding your way home—you belong to a story of resilience that spans millennia. The dominant culture will try to convince you that Indigenous ways are backward or irrelevant, but they’re lying to themselves as much as to you. The world is waking up to what our ancestors always knew about living in balance with creation. Your voice matters. Your presence matters. The way forward isn’t about perfectly reconstructing the past; it’s about carrying forward the essence of who we’ve always been and letting it speak to this moment. Don’t let anyone convince you that being Indigenous is about nostalgia. It’s about the future. And remember—we’ve been predicting the apocalypse for five hundred years; we’re the experts at surviving it.

Danny Zacharias: Continue to live as who you are and who Creator made you to be. Some of us did not have our culture or heritage passed on and have done the work of reclamation, while others have been steeped in their culture since birth. Continue to be proud and to be fierce. We belong to Creator, and we belong to these lands—it is who we are.

Chris Hoklotubbe: The path to healing and reconciling is through restoring relationships: with Creator, the land, and among ourselves. I encourage you to pray for the Holy Spirit to guide your consideration in how you might walk alongside Indigenous people as a good ally and friend in our work to restore land, protect water, build healthy communities, and revitalize traditional lifeways and languages.

An Interview with the Author of "Swing Low"

Tue, 04 Feb 2025 12:00:00 GMT

An Interview with the Author of "Swing Low"

What Is Juneteenth? How Christians Can Engage with Black History

Thu, 30 May 2024 14:39:00 GMT

What Is Juneteenth? How Christians Can Engage with Black History

A Conversation on Christian Abolitionist History with Douglas M. Strong and Albert G. Miller

Tue, 20 Feb 2024 16:08:00 GMT

A Conversation on Christian Abolitionist History with Douglas M. Strong and Albert G. Miller

A Conversation on Greco-Roman Mythology and New Testament Studies with Sandra Glahn

Wed, 12 Jul 2023 15:08:00 GMT

A Conversation on Greco-Roman Mythology and New Testament Studies with Sandra Glahn

A Conversation on Christian Nationalism with Paul D. Miller

Mon, 14 Nov 2022 21:16:00 GMT

Paul D. Miller has a long resume of service in the White House, the Pentagon, the CIA, and now at Georgetown University, where he teaches international affairs. His book The Religion of American Greatness is the first of a forthcoming trilogy on political philosophy for our polarized times.

You argue there's a big difference between nationalism and patriotism.

Paul D. Miller: The difference is that when asked how to define America, patriotism prioritizes the principles while nationalism prioritizes the culture.

Patriotism is the love of country, of our home and of all things familiar to us. I am using love in a very specific and Christian way: to love is to desire the good of the other. I desire the good of the United States and of my fellow Americans. That means I love and accept them as they are, and I also want to see them live amidst the blessings of peace and justice. Desiring the good of the country means that I want to see us strive towards greater measures of peace and justice, to recognize our past failings and turn from them.

Nationalism does not accept the country as it is; it strives to make the country and its people into a certain kind of country and a certain kind of people, ones that conform to their preferred cultural template of "Anglo-Protestantism." You often hear a kind of odd self-hatred from nationalists: they can't love America as we actually are because we've departed so far from their vision of what we should be. They can only love America insofar as we abide by their imagination of what America used to be.

The book is both an engagement in the "grand conversation" about ideas of historical importance but also a very personal book for you, isn't it?

Miller: My first book (a version of my dissertation) was all duty, my second (on grand strategy) was ambition, my third (n just war) a calling, and this one (on Christian nationalism)—pure agony.

Writing The Religion of American Greatness presented an extraordinary intellectual challenge. I think I reorganized the chapters seven or more times, and about a third of the original text ended up on the cutting-room floor. Beyond that, this book was emotionally draining and spiritually challenging. It required me to reexamine a social and political movement that had been a part of my life. I had to stop and reexamine my heart, my motives, and my tone virtually every word I wrote.

Sometimes I wrote from a place of anger. I had to think long and hard about whether it was true righteous indignation or something more selfish and whether it was helpful to leave it in. I ended up cutting almost—almost—all of it out. I worked very hard on the tone of this book knowing that I was speaking to, and about, friends, family, and members of my community. I wanted to speak with genuine gentleness and love without sugarcoating the rebuke.

What wisdom can you offer us about how we might pull ourselves out of the spin of polarization we're in?

Miller: Turn off the TV and log out of social media. Staying abreast of the news is important, but that's best done in print. Reading rather than watching forces us to engage more critically.

Read history. Our current squabbles look smaller and less apocalyptic when you understand the depth of struggles we've been through in the past.

Do something local. If you're going to be an activist, do it in a context that forces you to meet your neighbors and your public officials face to face, to treat them like humans and listen and respond to them in real time.

If you could travel to or live in some other country, where would it be?

Miller: If I could afford it, I'd travel almost anywhere. I love taking our kids to different international restaurants to give them just the tiniest sense of how vast and varied the world is. I look forward to having eternity to experience the riches of every nation, people, tribe, and language—whose diversity reflects the infinitely broad and deep character of the God in whom all people find their unity.

Why Christians Are People of the Book: A Theology of Publishing

Tue, 23 Nov 2021 20:32:00 GMT

By Al Hsu

Christians are People of the Book. But the Bible doesn't actually call us "people of the book." That phrase isn't in Scripture. It comes from the Koran. Islam refers to Jews and Christians as people of the book. The Koran says "If only the People of the Book had faith, it would be better for them,"¹ and "O ye People of the Book! Believe in what we have now revealed."²

So the phrase comes from Islam, in a somewhat disparaging way. But Christians have received it and taken it on as our own because it resonates with us. Puritans, Baptists, Methodists have all described themselves as People of the Book. Christian missionaries in Africa and Asia were known as People of the Book because of their focus on Bible translation and producing written versions of Scripture. It's consistent with our Christian history and theology.

The God Who Publishes

Theologically, it goes back to God's identity. Christians are People of the Book because God is God of the Book. John 1: In the beginning was the Word—the logos—and the Word was with God and the Word was God. We root our theology of publishing in two main themes: revelation and incarnation. Revelation: God has spoken. God communicates. God has a word for humanity. And incarnation: The Word has become flesh. God pitched his tent among us. God reveals the word in ways that we can hear and understand—in our own human language, embodied in local words. The divine Word is expressed and understandable in human language, using our communications media.

A key text for us is John 20:30-31: "Jesus performed many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not recorded in this book. But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name."

These are written that you may believe. This is a revolutionary statement. The Gospel writer has every confidence that this text, these written words, can bring someone to faith in Jesus. It's a contrast to mystery religions where you had to have some sort of secret knowledge or mystical experience. In Christian tradition, you can read a text in Greek, in Latin, in English, in your own heart language, and that text has the capacity to generate belief. It's revelational, it's incarnational. And for Christians, writing is not just informational. It's formational. It's transformational. The biblical writers were convinced that written texts could change people's lives. That's why the Scriptures were written. These markings on a page, pen and papyrus, somehow still conveyed all the transformative, revelatory power of God.

For Christians, writing is not just informational. It's formational. It's transformational.

Making Things Public

As publishers, we take on the ancient role of the herald. The herald's vocation is proclamation. The herald is an agent of the king. A king's herald declares to the inhabitants of a kingdom what needs to be known so that all in the realm may flourish.

If you want to see where publishing shows up in Scripture, read the old King James. The King James uses the word "publish" to describe the announcement of news.

Isaiah 52:7: "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation."
Mark 1:45: "But he went out, and began to publish it much, and to blaze abroad the matter."
Mark 13:10: "And the gospel must first be published among all nations."
Acts 13:49: "And the word of the Lord was published throughout all the region."

The etymology of "publish" is to make something public. The work of publicity and PR (public relations) makes things public about a company, product, or individual. Good publicity means that good things are being said publicly about something, that someone's name is being spread more widely across a realm.

God is a publisher. He makes things known about himself. Jesus is a publisher, publishing good news across the land. And Christians are publishers, making public the story of Jesus. The Greek word euangellion, translated as "gospel," means "good news." In the first century, "gospel" had military connotations for when Caesar sent messengers to spread word that his reign had come to a new territory. We make public the reality of the life and ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus, and its implications for all of humanity. Proclaiming the gospel is "good newsing."

Christian publishing is rooted in this sense of public proclamation and external witness. We are publishers in God's image. The king has good news for the world—his kingdom is at hand! Slaves will be set free, the blind will see, the lame will walk, the poor will rejoice. We are heralds of this king and publish this good news for all to hear.

God is a publisher. He makes things known about himself. Jesus is a publisher, publishing good news across the land. And Christians are publishers, making public the story of Jesus.

Heralds proclaim news to those both inside and outside the kingdom. To those who are not yet subjects of the king, the news is evangelistic and invitational. Come join this kingdom and find liberation and freedom in service to this king! To those who are already in the kingdom, the news is more educational, like civic lessons—here is what it means to be a citizen of this kingdom. This is how the kingdom works, and how you can grow and live as kingdom people.

So publishing is missional. Christian publishing focuses outward. And this is the difference between writing and publishing. A private journal may be devotional writing for personal reflection for the writer. But unless it is made public, it is not publishing.

Publishing requires an audience. As Andy Crouch puts it in his book Culture Making, culture making requires a public. "Culture making requires shared goods. . . . Until an artifact is shared, it is not culture." Christian publishing is a vocation with a public culture-making purpose. So a question for us: Who is your public? To whom are you making things public?

The Codex Revolution

Because publishing is incarnational, it takes form in the physical media of the day. As People of the Book, Christians were instrumental in developing the physical book—the codex. Parchment notebooks with leaves and covers. While Christians didn't invent the codex, they popularized it in a media revolution. In the Old Testament Jewish era and Greco-Roman era, books were rolls and scrolls. But in the first and second centuries, Christians were early adopters of the codex.

For the early church, the portability of the codex book meant that itinerant preachers could carry Scripture with them wherever they went. Christian writings didn't need to be housed in a synagogue but could travel on the road. In times of persecution, it was easier to hide a codex than a scroll. As the gospel went forth, it did so not only in word and deed, but also in conveniently carried books that enabled Christian mission and ministry to flourish.

Codices were convenient for preaching and teaching. Scrolls were good for sequential access, reading through a Gospel, but the codex was better for random access. A codex of Paul's letters was easier to use, because you wouldn't need to unroll past Romans and 1 Corinthians to get to Ephesians or Colossians. You could just open the codex to the right passage. Also, a codex was less expensive than a scroll. It was good stewardship; you could write on both sides of a page in a codex, not just one side of a scroll.

Codex books were the earliest Christian artifacts. Before art and architecture, before crosses and cathedrals, books were evidence of the early church. The codex became a distinguishing mark of early Christianity.

Being in codex form was a sign that writings were Christian. Acts 19:19 notes that in Ephesus, those who had practiced sorcery who became Christian publicly burned their (pagan) scrolls. Christian converts disavowed the textual forms of their old religion and adopted a new format for sacred texts. If you were a pagan, you had scrolls. If you were a Christian, you had codex books. As the church spread, Christian codices supplanted scrolls in the general book trade. Codex books were just 1.5% of books in the first century, but by the fourth century, they were fully half the market.

Codex books were the earliest Christian artifacts. Before art and architecture, before crosses and cathedrals, books were evidence of the early church.

By the second century, codices were compiled and canonized as the body of Scripture that we know as the New Testament. In the fourth century, Jerome's Latin translation was a biblioteca divina, a divine library. By the thirteenth century, it had shifted from "the books" to ta biblia, the Book. And then Christians launched another media revolution in the sixteenth century with the printing press and the Gutenberg Bible.

Publishing as a Missionary Order

We stand in the tradition of the scribes in the scriptoriums, the makers and keepers of the books. And these scriptoriums are missionary orders. Our work as editors is to commission and send out books to herald their messages to those who need to hear them. Publishing is a missional calling.

Books are little missionaries. Books can go places that we can't. One of IVP's authors is an extreme introvert and rarely travels. But her books have been translated into a dozen languages. She rejoices that they are going places that she would never go, and can speak to readers in heart languages that she could never learn.

And so it continues with us. Publishing is revelational, incarnational, transformational, missional. That's the tradition we have inherited, the vocation we're called to continue. May we go and do likewise, as People of the Book.

A Conversation on American Democracy with Robert Tracy McKenzie

Wed, 22 Sep 2021 13:44:00 GMT

In his book We the Fallen People, historian Robert Tracy McKenzie takes an unflinching look at the nature of democracy throughout American history. In this interview, he explores the current polarized political climate, our interpretation of the Founders' theology (or better yet—their anthropology), and how our view of human nature has impacted American democratic thought. Read more in this press release.

What led to your interest in democracy and now sharing about it in the context of political polarization?

Robert Tracy McKenzie: We the Fallen People reflects my deep concern for the future of American democracy and even greater concern for the public testimony of American Christians. The political polarization that engulfs us poses a dire challenge to both. My ultimate goal is not to make a political statement but rather to help Christians think Christianly about democracy. We must think Christianly before we can act faithfully, and as we do so, both the witness of the church and the stability of our political institutions will benefit.

My ultimate goal is not to make a political statement but rather to help Christians think Christianly about democracy.

What is your main thesis in We the Fallen People?

McKenzie: That over time Americans have largely embraced democracy for the wrong reason. As C. S. Lewis argued long ago, there are really only two basic reasons to endorse majority rule: The first is because you have confidence in human nature. The second is because you don't. The former is what Lewis called the "false, romantic" understanding of democracy, and yet it's the understanding that most Americans, including most American Christians, adopted long ago.

With Lewis, I contend that a deep appreciation of human sinfulness must be the starting point of our thinking about democracy. Our failure to start there both worsens our malfunctioning political system and intensifies the polarization that so bitterly divides us. Part of the problem of American democracy, in other words, is that we Americans think too highly of ourselves. Part of the solution, I suggest, is consciously to redefine ourselves as "We the Fallen People."

What do you hope your book contributes to the present dialogue on democracy?

McKenzie: To begin with, I hope it makes us more aware of the implicit assumptions about human nature that not only inform how and why we defend democracy but also explain why we can grow so impatient with it. Our Founding Fathers assumed that no form of government could flourish that was predicated on a false understanding of human nature. We need to recover their sense of urgency in this regard.

By starting with a focus on the Founders, We the Fallen People can remind readers that there is an alternative to the path we have chosen, that it is entirely possible to champion majority rule without turning a blind eye to human sinfulness. Indeed, the Founders would persuade us that a healthy appreciation of our fallenness is essential to a flourishing democracy and vital to the long-run preservation of our liberty.

At a time when populism pervades American politics, We the Fallen People should help readers in thinking both historically and Christianly about that powerful phenomenon. I dive deeply into the presidency of our first populist president, Andrew Jackson, and draw lessons from that era for our own moment in history. Although populist rhetoric can be effective at calling attention to real injustices in our society, too often at the heart of the populist message are assertions that weaken democracy and, more critically, contradict biblical truth.

The Founders would persuade us that a healthy appreciation of our fallenness is essential to a flourishing democracy and vital to the long-run preservation of our liberty.

How do you understand the relationship between Christianity and the American Founding Fathers?

McKenzie: I think Christians have devoted too much attention to the question of whether the Founders were individuals of authentic, personal Christian faith. Caught up in the culture wars, we have been determined to prove that they were Christian men, guided by Christian principles with the goal of founding a Christian country. In We the Fallen People I turn our attention from the Founders' theology to their anthropology, from what they thought about God to what they thought about us. And their view was unequivocal: although they rarely used the term original sin, they held a view of human nature that accorded closely with that orthodox Christian doctrine, the belief that we come into the world as fallen beings who want nothing so much as to rule and please ourselves. Within a couple of generations that understanding had been all but vanished from the public square however, and American democracy ever since has rested on the more comforting, though unbiblical view, that we are individually good and collectively wise.

How has the critique of Alexis de Tocqueville contributed to our ideas about American democracy?

McKenzie: The answer, I'm afraid, is not very much, at least outside of scholarly circles. Tocqueville's Democracy in America is the most important book ever written on the topic, but it is far more often cited than read, and we're the poorer for it. His masterpiece is full of brilliant insights, but arguably the greatest is his recognition that democracy per se is morally indeterminate. It can lead to "servitude or liberty, enlightenment or barbarism." That's a sobering reminder we need to hear every day. Tocqueville also said much that we need to hear about the relation between Christianity and democracy. Writing two centuries ago, he credited American Christianity with restraining what he labeled "the tyranny of the majority," but he also warned that the church's positive influence would vanish when Christians began to ally themselves too closely to a particular political party or leader.

Where do you see the American political system in twenty years?

McKenzie: A wise historian never predicts the future, so I'll just share my fears and hopes.

My fears are twofold, and I'll state them bluntly: It's entirely conceivable that neither democracy nor Christianity will flourish in the United States in the future as they have in the past. The US is in the grips of a crisis of democracy fueled by a level of partisan polarization unequaled since the Civil War, and faith in our political institutions, and in democracy itself, is plummeting. At the same time, it seems likely that the political engagement of US Christians in the midst of this crisis of democracy—of white evangelicals, most especially—is mortgaging the long-run witness of the church in exchange for short-term influence. This is a tragic, catastrophic miscalculation. Polls indicate that the United States is undergoing head-spinning secularization, and it appears that the political witness of the church is only accelerating that trend.

It's entirely conceivable that neither democracy nor Christianity will flourish in the United States in the future as they have in the past.

My hopes, in comparison, are more modest: I believe that neither of these trends are inevitable and both can be reversed. In neither respect have we passed the point of no return. That point is looming on the horizon however, and time is running short.

Five Authors Discuss Black History, Faithful Justice, and Hope for the Future

Sat, 30 Jan 2021 02:47:00 GMT

Learn from Black Voices During Black History Month and Beyond

These five IVP authors share their ideas for new ways we can be celebrating Black History Month as well as their hopes for the future of racial reconciliation in America.

What stories should be covered this year during Black History Month that you feel might be overlooked? Why is it important to address these issues?

Barbara Peacock, author of Soul Care in African American Practice: Persons from the African diaspora, enslaved and free, provided labor that built the White House, the United States Capitol, numerous government buildings, and the basic infrastructure of American institutions, which inherently bear the hands and hearts of African Americans. African Americans have not only picked cotton on plantations and nurtured Euro-American families but we must also be acknowledged for the intellectual, highly skilled creative and artistic acumen that founded colleges and universities; the invention of products consumed daily without thought; insight and contribution to the fields of science, medicine, law, the military, business, theology, finance, and architecture, etc.

An intentional effort to educate and make others aware of this rich history must be shared with all of American society and not confined to the segregated entities of Black families, communities, and churches on Sunday morning. African American history extends beyond February, which has officially been designated as Black History Month. Our history is integral to the whole of American history and needs to be recognized as such.

MelindaJoy Mingo, author of The Colors of Culture: Stories that highlight the accomplishments and achievements of Blacks and not just the struggles and pain. These stories often get overlooked in light of current events that only highlight racism and despair. The history of the Black church and its vital spiritual impact and leadership of the Black culture and nation as a whole is rich in historical contexts that deeply explain the faith of Blacks.

Terence Lester, author of I See You and When We Stand: There is a tendency to focus on the "one-in-a-million" stories, the stories that inadvertently reinforce the harmful idea that equal opportunities are available for all if only you worked hard enough to succeed. They often spotlight those who are considered model minorities, throwing the rest out of focus, diminishing the disproportionate struggles of racial inequality that affect people of color.

Just because one BIPOC person has been successful, we need not use that person's success to discredit the millions of other people who suffer from systemic issues. During Black History Month, I believe more stories of current people working to lift up their communities should be highlighted and those who dedicate themselves to speaking up for those whose voices have been silenced. Jesus honored every story of those he was proximate to! We should do the same.

Have recent events changed your perspective about faithful justice? If so, how?

Antipas Harris, author of Is Christianity the White Man's Religion?: The social uprising of 2020 signaled that faithfulness to justice must be a long-term commitment to systemic change. We must not assume that because a racial problem like the killing of an unarmed black person is not the national optic, the problem has subsided.

Racial injustice is far more of an American problem than the sustained attention to it reveals. The recent events alerted me to the fierce urgency of now. Another generation is battered with the same historic racial tensions that previous generations endured. I am afraid that the world we leave behind will be far worse than the current state of injustice. We have work to do. This is more than a notion.

MelindaJoy Mingo: The events of 2020 changed my perspective about faithful justice. I had a personal awakening that some things have changed in our society for good in areas of justice, but in so many ways some things remain the same. The winds of adversity and injustice swept through our nation, and there were so many painful images and instances of disunity and misunderstanding that my perspective of faithful justice is that it still is not the foundation of our country. We are still having some of the same conversations about race and justice that we've had for over a decade. I am hopeful, and I am also sobered. Many people of color are invited to sit at tables where they have not been invited before to talk about their experiences and share stories, but it's not enough to invite people to the table to talk about issues unless they have real honor to bring their lived experiences, giftings, and insights so that lasting change in the area of racial reconciliation can occur.

Terence Lester: The events in 2020 increased my desire to show up on the frontlines like Jesus. If we really think about it, Jesus was a frontline worker. He came close to lepers, healed the sick, and grieved with people who lost loved ones. He was the embodiment of what it means to show up for neighbors struggling with a crisis as it relates to injustice.

Jesus addressed issues of justice not with a highlighter but with his life. In a year full of unprecedented trauma, pain, and historically significant events, the embodiment of this dedication to justice was more vital than ever. Striving for faithful justice is much more than giving talks or writing opinion pieces to highlight critical issues. Instead those striving for faithful justice must focus on real-life work on the ground where it is needed most. Faithful justice means action now.

What does faithful justice mean to you?

A. D. "Lumkile" Thomason, author of Permission to Be Black: Faithful justice considers all who are made in the image of God as worthy of equitable treatment, and it is about people being willing to put themselves in harm's way to see that reality manifested.

Terence Lester: Faithful justice means fighting for what is right even when it is not popular or given attention. Faithful justice means showing up in lament and standing up regardless of popularity, convenience, cost, and even calculated risk. This is what Jesus did. Even when it was not popular, Jesus ate with tax collectors, affirmed women, and was proximate to those religious leaders who were shunned. Jesus came for the poor to preach good news to those who were oppressed, and he did this without thought to the target it made him. If we are to be faithful in this way, we get a chance to identify with the one that came and set the standard for humanity—our Savior. We must emulate his struggle and strive toward faithful justice unwaveringly because it is simply in our makeup as believers.

MelindaJoy Mingo: Faithful justice is an intentional and conscious act of being true to the heart of what I believe, and it has always been our Father's desire for all people, especially the marginalized and oppressed, to have human dignity and intrinsic value. Genuine and faithful justice is giving a voice to those who don't normally have a voice in society, such as the poor and oppressed. It is both continued and deliberate actions when it is not the popular thing to do and when it goes against the norm of the culture.

Faithful justice is when I allow my character and heart to be intentional in being aligned to God's system of justice, which is actually the fullness of mercy and grace, unbiased, and producing true repentance. It is loving the other, the foreigner, the stranger, the oppressed, and a willingness to right inequities not just for one instance or circumstance that occurs in society but rather a faithful commitment to truly be an image bearer of Christ and to do his will.

Antipas Harris: Faithful justice is not merely a struggle for personal fulfillment. It is when each of us participates in a constant pursuit of a world in which all people are viewed and treated in such a way that lifts them to equal personhood with all others. Faithful justice is, moreover, a commitment to contributing our gifts and resources to the concern for the common good. This includes advocacy for the weak and vulnerable members in society. It involves ongoing efforts for sustaining equity in community, treating each other fairly, resolving disputes and grievances, distributing resources according to common need, upholding the dignity of the human person, promoting peaceful interaction, enhancing political and economic participation, and encouraging a sense of stewardship for the natural world.

What questions should people be asking around Black History Month that historically they have not asked? How would you answer those questions?

Barbara Peacock: As I ponder history, I ask myself, What are some aspects of African American history that need to be highlighted during African American History Month? Is it the Black Lives Matter protests of 2020 as a result of the injustices and murders of persons like Trayvon Martin, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and numerous others? Should we highlight movements that sought justice under the leadership of people like Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., and John Lewis? Should we focus on knowledge and growth with the invention of peanut butter by George Washington Carver, the vision to celebrate Black history with Carter G. Woodson; leaders in the entertainment and sports industries like Michael Jackson or Michael Jordan; or the founding of historically Black colleges and universities?

The people, events, inventors, and discoveries that need to be highlighted in Black history are innumerable and cannot be summarized or effectively acknowledged in merely one month.

MelindaJoy Mingo: While Black History Month is so misunderstood by some and the question is asked, Why do we need a Black History Month? I believe that the greater questions are, Why have the historical achievements and struggles of Blacks been so overlooked, and how can we remedy that misunderstanding and lack of information in 2021?

I believe one key question that can be asked is, What can I learn that will allow me to see my Black brothers and sisters as equal? and lastly, How do I position myself as a learner during Black History Month so I can learn from the lived experiences of Blacks in this country? Even though I may not understand or relate to any of the experiences, I will not discredit the pain and struggles of a people who have been instrumental in the shaping of this nation through inventions, etc.

A. D. "Lumkile" Thomason: We need to acknowledge the contribution of African Americans to this country, and one month should not be the starting and stopping point. Black History Month is just a wake-up call.

What is your hope for the future when it comes to the idea of racial reconciliation?

Terence Lester: Our focus for the near future should be on racial justice, rather than skipping steps to rush to racial reconciliation. Many White Christians think that racial reconciliation solves many of the injustices that persons of color face. I think there needs to be a robust education of the differences between the two because they are not the same. Making the distinction between the two is vital because reconciliation and progress cannot organically come without first acknowledging and rectifying the historical systems that have disadvantaged Black and Brown people. There can be no forgiveness without lament and repentance.

When overlooked or hastened as a way to assuage guilt, this can result in more significant harm through putting a superficial Band-Aid on issues that require more extensive surgery to achieve long-term change.

MelindaJoy Mingo: My hope for the future in the area of racial reconciliation is that followers of Christ will grasp the idea that reconciliation begins first in our personal lives as we look deeply within and sincerely identify any areas that can hinder us from seeing others as people of value, worth, and dignity. As believers, we have already been given the ministry of reconciliation, and we can move from reconciliation to racial righteousness. It is righteous to walk in humility and love toward our brothers and sisters of all races. It is the right thing to do in the eyes of God.

Antipas Harris: I hope that America pauses to reconsider its history for the purpose of lamenting the racial problem and revisioning a more just path forward. We need a focus on conciliatory strategies. Because there is no point in America's past that models how things should be, the challenges we face require a creative ethical imagination. This involves all of society and all of the systems, structures, and attitudes that have privileged Whites and oppressed people of color. The responsibility of conciliatory racial vision and action rest on White people as well as people of color. We must work together as one people joined by a common Creator, a common life, and a common destiny.

Politics, Christian Discipleship, and Seeking the Common Good

Thu, 02 Jul 2020 20:23:00 GMT

By Jeff Crosby, Former IVP Publisher

As a publishing house, we desire to speak thoughtfully and in a balanced but bold manner into questions on the integration of faith, discipleship, and politics; on what constitutes the common good and building a just society—not only in election years, but every year. That mission is hopefully reflected in the titles we've gathered for our Books on Politics & Government page.

It's not an easy task for authors or publishers, but it's a vital exercise for a liberal democracy such as ours today.

My Political Awakening

My own political and spiritual awakenings happened at virtually the same time in the mid-1970s. Books played a significant role in both. By 1974, Watergate had forced Richard Nixon's resignation, which made way for Gerald Ford's brief ascent to the White House. Quickly on the heels of that came the nascent candidacy of a former peanut farmer from Plains, Georgia, in the 1976 U.S. presidential election.

The Christian publisher Word Books, then based in Waco, Texas (now a part of HarperCollinsChristian Publishing in Nashville), released an overtly supportive and lavishly illustrated campaign biography, The Search for Jimmy Carter by Tom Collins during that election year. Both it and The Miracle of Jimmy Carter by Howard Norton and Bob Slosser (Logos International, Plainfield, New Jersey) were premiered at the Christian Booksellers Association's (CBA) annual convention in the summer of 1976 in Atlantic City, New Jersey, of all places. The latter book would sell 600,000 units in its first month, become a New York Times bestseller, and signal fervent evangelical support of the former governor of Georgia.

After Carter's election, Broadman Press, the publishing arm of the Southern Baptist Convention (now known as LifeWay/B&H, also headquartered in Nashville), published a limited gift edition of his campaign autobiography Why Not the Best?, originally released in the summer of 1976 by Bantam Books as Carter appeared headed for the Democratic nomination for president. My copy of the Broadman Press book is numbered 3849 of 5000, stamped in gold foil on a back cover that is also festooned with an embossed image of the U.S. Capitol dome.

1976 was labeled by Newsweek as the "Year of the Evangelical," with Carter's victory and the eager publishing tied to it being Exhibit One of that reality. Four years later, Carter was out of office and the evangelical vote was labeled by many observers as a key difference between the 1976 and 1980 election cycles.

"Many evangelicals in the 1980 presidential election voted for Ronald W. Reagan over Jimmy Carter, even though President Carter was perceived at the time to be more evangelical in his theology and church participation than then-Governor Reagan," Francis Beckwith, a professor of philosophy and of church-state studies at Baylor University in Waco, writes in his book Politics for Christians: Statecraft as Soulcraft. "For Reagan's supporters, his policies and not his theology were decisive for them. Although at the time these evangelicals would have likely chosen Carter over Reagan to teach Sunday school, they preferred Reagan in the Oval Office because they believed that Reagan's policies best advanced the common good."

I fell short of voting age in the 1976 election, but proudly (as a relatively new believer) cast my vote in 1980 for the incumbent with the intent of keeping this explicitly evangelical leader in the White House.

It turns out, I was in the minority.

Carter lost in a landslide and returned to Plains with his wife Rosalynn and daughter Amy to pick up the pieces. I consulted more books to make sense of it all.

In a Newsweek article in 2006, reflecting on the outcomes of the 1980 election, journalist Jon Meacham wrote, "Three years after defeating Carter, President Reagan delivered a speech to the National Association of Evangelicals (NAE) in Orlando. The speechwriter's first draft was on the harsh side, and as Reagan edited the remarks, he added the following in his small, neat handwriting: 'The commandment given us is clear and simple—'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself'."

Meacham acknowledged that the injunction is indeed clear, but it was not at all simple then, nor is it now. "How well we fulfill that injunction, believer or no, is perhaps the most consequential question of our time, or any time," Meacham wrote.

It was an interesting time to be forming notions of what constitutes Christian discipleship and faithful political engagement as a citizen. It was a divided, tense time in American society.

Much like today.

Seeking the Common Good as Christians

In his writing, Beckwith reminds us that the word "politics" is derived from the Greek word for city: "polis." As we engage ideas related to politics we are attempting "to understand 'the city,' the inner workings of a community and the way by which it governs itself over time." He goes on to state the we must concern ourselves with "what it means to be a citizen as well as whether the government under which these citizens live is just or unjust."

Do the Christian Scriptures have anything to say to us in this matter?

Both Carter and Reagan purported to believe they do, but they expressed it in very different ways in their domestic and foreign policies, and in their personal lives.

Beckwith also believes the Bible has something to say. In a chapter in Politics for Christians titled "Liberal Democracy and the Christian Citizen," he asserts there is a scriptural warrant for making the common good a standard for evaluating candidates and elected officials in office. He lists four broad areas to watch for:

The stranger is my neighbor (Luke 10:27, Luke 10:29-37)
Helping the less fortunate (Matthew 25:31-46, James 1:26-27)
The just nature of the state (Deuteronomy 24:19-22; Proverbs 31:8-9, Isaiah 58:6-10)
There is a rightly-ordered social fabric (Exodus 20:2-17)

"It seems clear that because Christians in a liberal democracy have the historically unique power to enact laws that advance the common good, they have a special obligation to take their citizenship seriously and use good judgment in voting and supporting legislation and political candidates," Beckwith writes. "This is not to say that Christians will always agree on the proper route by which the government ought to advance the common good. But there is no doubt that they have a biblical mandate to advance it."

In the fall of 1984, I was asked by a church in central Indiana to teach a course using the book The High Cost of Indifference, published that summer by Regal Books and edited by Richard Cizik, who was then a staff member of the NAE. The class was designed to consider the biblical mandate in response to a number of hot-button issues of the day, including abortion, religious liberty, nuclear war, crime, and the role of the media in public discourse, among other things. The book attempted to address the issues in an irenic, measured fashion but fostered combative responses from the church members who felt that it (and I) were not tethering to a sufficiently conservative point of view, at times.

I was thankful when, in 1992, a book by the theologian, philosopher and former Fuller Seminary President Richard Mouw, Uncommon Decency: Christian Civility in an Uncivil World, was released and became a touchstone regarding civil engagement in the public square.

It was particularly Mouw's chapter "Open Hearts: The Importance of Civil Attitudes" that provided reassuring guidance for opening ourselves to other people whose stories, perspectives, and values may be different from our own.

Mouw's construct suggested that opening our hearts to civil attitudes includes:

Empathy: "To project myself into another person's feelings so that I begin to understand what it is like to have his experiences."
Curiosity: "We ought to want to become familiar with the experiences of people who are different from us simply out of a desire to understand the length and breadth of what it means to be human."
Teachability: to not just learn about another person but "to learn from them. No matter how antagonistic a perspective may be toward things that we hold previous, we should be willing at least to listen to the criticisms."

In his introduction to Athanasius's On the Incarnation, C.S. Lewis wrote, "It is a good rule, after reading a new book, never to allow yourself another new one till you have read an old one in between." Mouw's Uncommon Decency is one of the "old books" that I re-read annually as a reminder to maintain civility in what seems to be an increasingly uncivil time.

As he concluded his integrative work on politics and Christianity, Baylor University's Francis Beckwith wisely wrote, "Like so much of life on this side of eternity, politics must be put in perspective. It is not everything, but neither is it nothing. It has its place."

Growing up in the 60s and 70s in Indiana, my family would receive each day a copy of The Indianapolis News with 2 Corinthians 3:17 imprinted under its masthead: "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." It was a daily reminder of the integration of faith and care for "the polis."

Books are vehicles for promoting liberty, for shedding light on darkness. They help we, the citizens of our country, sort out issues related to this messy, fragmented, exercise we know as politics and faithful civic engagement. In a time when many of us are distracted by clickbait and popular opinion, books still have a tremendous impact. Here's to reading—widely, thoughtfully, carefully, deeply.

Jeff Crosby served as publisher of InterVarsity Press from 2016-2021 after more than twenty total years at IVP. He is now the president and CEO of the Evangelical Christian Publishers Association (ECPA). His writing has appeared in Conversations Journal, Books and Culture online, The Living Lutheran, Urban Faith, Crux, and many other journals and magazines. He is the editor and compiler of "Days of Grace Through the Year," a collection of meditations drawn from the writings of Lewis B. Smedes.

Evangelicalism in the Early Twenty-First Century

Fri, 08 Dec 2017 21:30:00 GMT

By Mark A. Noll

The word “evangelical” seems to be in trouble—but for two different reasons. In the rough and tumble world of American politics, the label is now often used simply to designate the most active religious supporters of President Donald Trump. By contrast, in the rarified world of professional scholarship, academics now sometimes treat it as a term with so much ambiguity, fluidity, and imprecision that it cannot meaningfully designate any single group of Christians. For both of these contemporary opinions, there are some admittedly good reasons. Yet stepping back for a longer view historically and a wider view internationally opens up another possibility: maybe the scholars are too fussy and the pundits too short-sighted.

My own interest in this issue is not merely academic since I serve as coeditor of the five-volume History of Evangelicalism Series by IVP. That experience leaves me with a personal stake in the question, but has also provided a number of unusually helpful insights. The five authors from three countries (or four if you consider Scotland as separate from England) explore developments in the British Isles (Ireland, Wales, and Scotland as well as England), North America (Canada as well as the U.S.), and the settler societies of the Caribbean, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa where evangelicalism out of Britain has exerted an enduring influence. To say the least, the series reveals extreme diversity among Protestant Christians who called themselves evangelicals or who have been so regarded by historical consensus. Yet commonalities of not only belief and practice, but also sentiment and instinct, are often as obvious as the diversity. The rewarding chance to work on the series has, in turn, provided a propitious angle from which to comment especially on questions of diversity, continuity, incoherence, and coherence raised by contemporary debates over the meaning of "evangelica" and "evangelicalism." It also points to a conclusion that the most significant present-day questions about the history of evangelicalism do not arise from American political turmoil but from the shape of world Christianity as a whole.

Does "evangelical" mean anything at all?

In the contemporary American narrative promoted by the media’s obsession with partisan politics, evangelicals are the white conservative voters who have gone from solidly supporting the Republican party (especially Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush) to giving even more overwhelming support to the nationalistic populism of Donald Trump. A big recent book by Pulitzer Prize-winning author Frances Fitzgerald presents this narrative in carefully researched detail. Entitled The Evangelicals: The Struggle to Shape America, it implies that its plot line—with three-fourths of its over 600 pages devoted to the white Christian Right—captures the essence of evangelicalism.¹

Neither this book nor the many other accounts that echo it are foolish. With 80% of white evangelicals, as identified by pollsters, voting for Donald Trump in 2016, and a similar percentage affirming their approval of his presidency to date, it is obvious why accounting for white evangelical support of right-wing nationalism remains a prominent feature of American political analysis.

Yet if the identification of white American evangelicals as a right-wing political force makes considerable sense, the limitations of that identification are just as obvious. In a careful review of Frances Fitzgerald’s book, Randall Balmer of Dartmouth College points out that in some American eras, evangelicals included as many social progressives as conservatives.² Before the Civil War, the nation’s best-known evangelist, Charles Finney, and several of his converts like Theodore Dwight Weld led the struggle against slavery. After the Civil War, the firmly evangelical Frances Willard guided the Women’s Christian Temperance Union in its fight to protect women and children from abuses fueled by alcohol. In our era when evangelicals can be confused for the Republican Party at prayer, it is worth remembering the situation from little more than a century ago. For more than two decades, William Jennings Bryan, three-time Democratic candidate for president, was the United States’ best known evangelical layman and also one of the nation’s most ardent advocates for the income tax, female suffrage, and peaceful international arbitration as a substitute for war. Even in the recent past, Randall Balmer points out that international efforts for peace in the Middle East and elsewhere were led by Jimmy Carter, a Southern Baptist Sunday School teacher—a point Balmer has developed in a full-length study of the United States’ 39^th president.³

Other evidence of the same sort abounds. A recent book by Heath Carter of Valparaiso University entitled Union Made examines labor and industry between the Civil War and World War I.⁴ It documents fulsomely the many Bible-believing, church-going, and Christ-honoring union organizers who fought for workers’ rights—against, to be sure, Bible-believing, church-going, and Christ-honoring captains of industry. In the present, the record of the Salvation Army, World Vision, the International Justice Mission, and other such organizations shows that white evangelicals have never constituted a monolithic political force. Observers like Balmer and Carter do not deny that evangelicals have often contributed substantially to conservative political causes, but they are certainly correct that throughout American history “evangelical” has always meant more than the Right Wing.

Careful historians perform a much-needed service by complicating the story of how evangelical motives underlie evangelical social and political action. The evangelical stress on personal conversion and personal moral responsibility has, in fact, often been aligned with worries about Big Government and insistence on individual choice as the key to social betterment. But those same evangelical convictions have also spurred a wide variety of creative plans for collective reform as well.

The evangelical stress on personal conversion and personal moral responsibility has, in fact, often been aligned with worries about Big Government and insistence on individual choice as the key to social betterment. But those same evangelical convictions have also spurred a wide variety of creative plans for collective reform as well.

The conceptual challenge from scholars poses a more basic question than the simplistic equation of evangelicalism and right-wing politics. This challenge focuses on the religious meaning of the term, which is proper since evangelicals have always insisted that religion is their primary concern. But how should that primary concern be defined?

In 1989 my coeditor for the IVP series, David Bebbington (University of Stirling, Scotland), provided a succinct definition in his book, Evangelicalism in Modern Britain, that has been widely referenced.⁵ The definition identifies evangelicalism as a form of Protestantism with four distinct emphases:

conversion, or “the belief that lives need to be changed”;
the Bible, or “the belief that all spiritual truth is to be found in its pages”;
activism, or the dedication of all believers, especially the laity, to lives of service for God, especially in sharing the Christian message and taking that message far and near;
and crucicentrism, or the conviction that Christ’s death on the cross provided atonement for sin and reconciliation between sinful humanity and a holy God.

While many, both scholars and popular writers, have employed this definition to good effect, others have pointed out difficulties. Most obvious in an American context are divisions created by race. Along with many white Protestant groups that are marked by these four characteristics, so too have many African Americans. Yet the American embrace of slavery, followed by culturally enforced segregation, means that whites and blacks who share these religious emphases share very little else. An evangelicalism that includes both blacks and whites might make sense in very narrow religious terms, but far less in the actual outworking of American history.

A development of only the last half century also complicates the picture. The differences between Roman Catholics and Protestants, especially evangelical Protestants, once was as clear-cut as possible. But no longer. Almost all surveys focused on religious commitments now turn up at least some Catholics who in belief and practice look an awful lot like evangelicals. The once unbridgeable chasm is now being bridged.

The differences between Roman Catholics and Protestants, especially evangelical Protestants, once was as clear-cut as possible. But no longer. Almost all surveys focused on religious commitments now turn up at least some Catholics who in belief and practice look an awful lot like evangelicals. The once unbridgeable chasm is now being bridged.

A broader historical challenge has recently come from Linford Fisher of Brown University in a substantial article documenting that “evangelical” has often meant less, and sometimes more, than the Bebbington definition.⁶ From the time of the Reformation and for several centuries, Fisher shows that the word usually meant simply “Protestant” or, almost as frequently, “anti-Catholic.” During the eighteenth-century revivals associated with George Whitefield, Jonathan Edwards, and John Wesley, “awakened” believers in Britain and America did not use the word too frequently. When they did, it meant “true” or “real” religion as opposed to nominal or only formal religious adherence. Fisher also shows that after World War II, former fundamentalists in the United States endorsed the word as they sought a less combative, more irenic term to describe their orthodox theology and their desire to re-engage with society. Organizations like the National Association of Evangelicals and the wide-ranging activities of Billy Graham popularized the word. In the process some Pentecostals, Lutherans, Mennonites, Christian Reformed, and others who had not been associated with the main body of America’s earlier “evangelical Protestants” were now glad to join in using it to describe themselves. At the same time other Protestants who had thought of themselves as evangelicals began to avoid the word as designating something too close to fundamentalism.

In more recent days several authors have highlighted further indications of uncertainty. In a thoughtful recent consideration of “Billy Graham’s Legacy,” Margaret Bendroth points out that self-described evangelicals have a long history of disagreeing among themselves on issues like biblical inerrancy, women’s ordination, and homosexuality. But now such disputes seem to have reached a deeper level. She identifies of the publication in 2011 of Rob Bell’s book, Love Wins, which addressed the question whether all humans will ultimately be redeemed, as particularly telling. Bell’s suggestion that they would be saved generated intense push-back from others, but also some support—and all from within the camps usually designated evangelical.⁷ The questions raised by Fisher, Bendroth, and others concern whether the word “evangelical” has been applied with sufficient consistency to make it worthwhile as a category of analysis.

The international picture only adds more ambiguity. A wider lens that takes in the world beyond the United States reveals the same political diversity that characterizes the American past. As documented in the five-volume series from InterVarsity Press, modern evangelicalism in its early decades included many in the American colonies who firmly supported American independence, quite a few Presbyterians and Congregationalists in England who agreed, but also significant English leaders like John and Charles Wesley who considered independence both anti-biblical (they cited Romans 13) and hypocritical (they meant slave owners howling about violations of their “liberty”). The later campaign against slavery in the British empire by William Wilberforce and his associates remains the best recognized evangelical mobilization for human liberation—though less attention has been paid to the conservative positions on domestic political questions that the Wilberforce circle adopted. During the second half of the nineteenth century, Primitive Methodists in England led in the formation of agricultural trade unions, and some of the original organizers of the Labor Party actively supported the evangelism of D. L. Moody. Throughout the English-speaking world, evangelicals joined those who supported unionization, wanted more government support for education and medical care, and actively campaigned for social welfare. Individuals like Samuel Keeble in England, Joseph Branch in Wales, and W. G. Spence in Australia represented large evangelical constituencies in these efforts, even as other evangelicals spoke out against those who pushed for progressive social causes.

More generally, the changing shape of world Christianity puts contemporary American debates into an appropriately broader context. The 2001 edition of David Barrett’s World Christian Encyclopedia identified 210 million Christian believers as “evangelicals” worldwide, with another 510 million as “Pentecostal, Neo-Pentecostal, or Charismatic.” Of those numbers only 64 million evangelicals lived in Europe or North America, only 116 million of the Pentecostal-charismatic total. Full-scale interpretation in a recent book by Mark Hutchinson and John Wolffe, A Short History of Global Evangelicalism, and a comprehensive reference volume edited by Brian Stiller, Evangelicals Around the World, flesh out Barrett’s statistical picture.⁸ The two books describe an increasingly diverse, but still recognizable worldwide network linked by shared religious convictions. Together they indicate that the politics and preoccupations of the contemporary American media should not be allowed to dictate what “evangelical” means.

The changing shape of world Christianity puts contemporary American debates into an appropriately broader context.

Yet for some thoughtful individuals who in former days rested comfortably with the evangelical label, precisely these contemporary controversies have ruined the term beyond repair. Jay Green, the immediate past president of the evangelical-founded Conference on Faith and History, may be one of those. In his analysis, a kind of intellectual political energy had been responsible for the founding sense of purpose that in the mid-1960s brought the Conference into existence. But now, with a different “politics of evangelical identity” at work in American society at large, Green despairs: “It is simply no longer the case that evangelicalism functions as an expression of Christian faith capable of sponsoring either serious intellectual engagement or genuine cultural renewal.”⁹

But others say, “not so fast.” Molly Worthen of the University of North Carolina has insisted that “evangelical” remains a viable term when considered as a “shared conversation” about how to reconcile faith and reason, what true salvation means, and how private faith relates to modern secular life. In turn, Worthen can conclude about the contemporary United States that “the religious right is really the product of a civil war within evangelicalism. It represents the political efforts of a fairly narrow slice out of the myriad evangelical traditions that have been active in American and Western history.”¹⁰ If she is correct, then closer attention to that history should help answer questions about the uncertainties of the present.

Evangelical identity in the English-speaking world

The History of Evangelicalism Series shares some of Molly Worthen’s optimism about the viability of the term, but from a broader angle (the English-speaking world) and a longer period of time (the early eighteenth century to the start of the new millennium). These five volumes carry a mostly coherent story from the early 1700s through the twentieth century, but not because all of the many individuals and organizations identified as evangelicals stood shoulder to shoulder on all questions of Christian belief and practice. Instead, coherence comes from two overarching realities. The books, first, find it an easy matter to trace multiple connections descending historically from the colonial Great Awakening and Britain’s Evangelical Revival. Second, they document a clear historical trajectory marked by serious commitment to the authority of Scripture, the saving work of Christ’s death and resurrection, the possibility of lives revived and redirected by the converting power of the Holy Spirit, and the necessity for all believers to put their private faith into public action. To put it differently, the books hang together because they record a continuous history of English-speaking Protestant Christians defined by an evolving, but connected investment in the commitments specified by David Bebbington. Brief attention to the five IVP volumes brings particular perspective to the dialectic between diversity and cohesion in evangelical history.

Brief attention to the five IVP volumes brings particular perspective to the dialectic between diversity and cohesion in evangelical history.

For the nearly two centuries treated by the first three books in the series, some questions about the boundaries of evangelical identity are easy to answer. Evangelicalism from the early eighteenth century to about 1900 can be viewed as a shared conversation that was more than a conversation. Evangelicals in the British homeland, the American colonies, and then in British settler colonies could be identified as the most vocal anti-Catholics of their era because they believed that Catholicism undercut the dynamic of personal faith required for “true religion.” The many disagreements in their shared conversation concerned theology (especially Calvinism versus Arminianism and then the meaning of baptism), church order (especially state-church Anglicans and Scottish Presbyterians versus those who believed in the separation of church and state), and orientation to politics and social reform (with competition among individualistic, voluntary, paternalistic, and government-directed positions).

The sharpest division arose over whether slave-holding ruled out evangelical fellowship and cooperation. The contribution by John Wolffe (Open University, U.K.), The Expansion of Evangelicalism: The Age of Wilberforce, More, Chalmers and Finney (2006), explains in detail how plans for a trans-national Evangelical Alliance in the 1840s enlisted a wide range of British, North America, and a few continental Protestants. When in 1846 representatives gathered in London, they agreed on the authority of the Bible, the life-changing work of the Holy Spirit, the atonement won by Christ on the cross, and more. Yet because these evangelicals disagreed over whether slave holders could join the Alliance—and because Americans were offended that this issue sidelined their objection to state churches—, the Alliance never became a vigorous international organization.

Nevertheless, within limits, evangelicals throughout the period were easily identified by networks of preachers, prayer meetings, publishing efforts, and personal witnessing that reached back to the eighteenth-century revivals. Diversity within these networks—over theology, denomination, education, geography, class, and race—did threaten disruption. But deeply shared attitudes pushed toward cohesion. In my contribution to the series—The Rise of Evangelicalism: The Age of Edwards, Whitefield, and the Wesleys (2003)—I draw attention to a memorable expression of these attitudes from George Whitefield, the era’s leading public evangelical. When he was once reproved by a group of his fellow Anglican ministers because he was sharing pulpits with Presbyterians and coordinating his evangelistic campaigns with Baptists, he replied that “It was best to preach the new birth, and the power of godliness, and not to insist so much on the form; for people would never be brought to one mind as to that; nor did Jesus Christ ever intend it.” That attitude—favoring revivalistic outreach and considering spiritual unity more important than any other kind—defined a broad evangelical tradition that burgeoned in numbers and cultural influence during the early decades of the nineteenth century.

That attitude—favoring revivalistic outreach and considering spiritual unity more important than any other kind—defined a broad evangelical tradition that burgeoned in numbers and cultural influence during the early decades of the nineteenth century.

John Wolffe’s Expansion of Evangelicalism singles out several key figures who exemplified the evangelical energy of that age. William Wilberforce’s campaign against slavery broadened out to a number of philanthropic ventures that included educational reform at home and protection of native peoples in the expanding British empire. A stage actress turned dedicated author and educator, Hannah More, wrote dozens of didactic books aimed at what she considered the interests of ordinary people. Literary scholars were once accustomed to scoff at her efforts, though a more recent generation of scholars has admired the savvy with which she operated in an intensely patriarchal society. Thomas Chalmers gained recognition as one of Scotland’s leading apologists (with modern astronomy particularly in view) and one of its most noteworthy urban reformers (with unfortunately not too successful programs combatting industrial poverty). As leader of the faction that in 1843 left Scotland’s established Presbyterian Kirk over practices compromising parish control over local churches, Chalmer’s legacy can still be viewed in the “Chalmers Memorial” and “Chalmers Presbyterian” churches sprinkling the landscape in Canada, New Zealand, and Australia. In the United States, Charles Grandison Finney memorably democratized preaching, theology, reform, and intellectual life, sometimes against intense opposition from other evangelicals, but with enduring influence on later generations. Coherence, either of unified action or shared conversations of disagreement, characterized the age of evangelical expansion.

Coherence, either of unified action or shared conversations of disagreement, characterized the age of evangelical expansion.

But with exceptions. My book on the eighteenth century treats the evangelical conversions of enslaved Africans, mostly in the colonies but also the Caribbean. These converts, included David George, who founded Baptist churches in Georgia, Nova Scotia, and Sierra Leone, and Oladuah Equiano, whose Interesting Narrative (1789) detailed his evangelical conversion and also his struggle against slavery. John Wolffe’s Expansion of Evangelicalism shows how such conversions continued during the first half of the nineteenth century. But he also explains why white evangelicals frequently refused fellowship with these black believers. David Bebbington’s contribution—The Dominance of Evangelicalism: The Age of Spurgeon and Moody (2005)—details the effects of the American Civil War on denominations like the African Methodist Episcopal Church. As soon as they could, emancipated slaves poured out of the white-dominated evangelical churches for denominations under their own control. Most maintained evangelical beliefs, but network ties with white evangelicals suffered a breach that has continued to this day. The impetus to create separate cultural expressions for white evangelicals and black evangelicals had been present from the start. The result is a challenge for historical interpretation: do groups sharing evangelical beliefs, but not religious practices and with few ongoing connections—agreeing on most doctrines but inhabiting divergent cultures—constitute one historical reality or two?

Do groups sharing evangelical beliefs, but not religious practices and with few ongoing connections—agreeing on most doctrines but inhabiting divergent cultures—constitute one historical reality or two?

Much clearer is what David Bebbington aptly describes as the widespread “dominance of evangelicalism” at the end of the nineteenth century. Evangelical beliefs continued strong in most of the older denominations (Congregational, Presbyterian, Baptist, Methodist, even Anglican and Episcopalian), even as newer Protestant bodies promoted their own versions of evangelical truths (Churches of Christ, Plymouth Brethren, the Salvation Army). Although the proliferation of evangelical sub-groups can be viewed as a thinning of unity, it also testified to the evangelical capacity for cultural and theological adaptation.

David Bebbington concludes his book with a tour of the evangelical horizon at the end of the nineteenth century. Significant forces were working to weaken evangelical cohesion, especially the rise of urban industrialization that was pushing traditional evangelical strongholds to the suburbs as well as the tendency of wealthier urban church leaders to modify doctrine under the influence of elite conceptions of science, the ancient world, and the human personality. Yet even stronger were markers of network cohesion. The weekly sermons of Charles Haddon Spurgeon streamed out of London to eager readers throughout the English-speaking world and beyond; D. L. Moody was every bit as popular in England, Scotland, and Canada as he was in the U.S.; evangelical denominational families made up in informal contact what they lacked in formal international organizations; and forms of spirituality responding to the era’s Romantic currents (especially Keswick teaching on the higher spiritual life) attracted adherents worldwide.

Unprecedented challenges to evangelical coherence arose in the twentieth century, as spelled out with considerable detail in the contributions by Geoffrey R. Treloar (Australian College of Theology and University of New South Wales), The Disruption of Evangelicalism: The Age of Torrey, Mott, McPherson and Hammond (2016), and by Brian Stanley (University of Edinburgh), The Global Diffusion of Evangelicalism: The Age of Billy Graham and John Stott (2013). The individuals featured in the subtitles of these book show that the extensive national and international networks forged in earlier decades remained vigorous. R. A. Torrey, one of D. L. Moody’s chief lieutenants, traveled literally around the world to promote “true religion” as depending on the active work of the Holy Spirit. John R. Mott’ great ecumenical energy culminated in the Edinburgh Mission Conference of 1910 that drew together a wide assembly of evangelists, church planters, and missionary medical and social workers. Amy Semple McPherson became a North American phenomenon as she proclaimed a Four-fold Gospel of healing and redemption, which translated older evangelical emphases into a new Pentecostal form. The energetic theological efforts of T. C. Hammond in Ireland and England made him a key figure in the creation of InterVarsity Fellowship, led to his recruitment by Australian Anglican evangelicals, and marked a fresh presentation of conservative evangelical teaching. In Brian Stanley’s narrative, John Stott and Billy Graham serve to show the broad, ongoing attraction of evangelical preaching and the multitude of international connections that earned both of these figures world-wide respect. Where Stott’s ministry ran along lines first established by the British empire, Graham’s more closely followed the post-World War II expansion of the United States’ international influence.

Yet even more than in earlier volumes, these books feature the internal strains experienced by the evangelical networks descending from the eighteenth-century revivals. Geoffrey Treloar rehearses the well-known story of Fundamentalist-Modernist conflict in the United States. Although such battles had considerably less impact elsewhere, they did leave a significant legacy in the evangelical world at large. From the beginning, parties that historians have called “liberal evangelical” and “conservative evangelical” were able to agree between themselves on the centrality of Scripture, the indispensability of the New Birth, and the imperative to live out the faith actively. Increasingly in the twentieth century, by contrast, that cooperation declined. “Liberal evangelicals” appeared increasingly as only the moderate faction among mainline or modernist Protestants; “conservative evangelicals” faced rising demand within their own ranks to “separate” completely from the world. The result narrowed the range of possibilities that evangelicals had once pursued among themselves.

From the beginning, parties that historians have called “liberal evangelical” and “conservative evangelical” were able to agree between themselves on the centrality of Scripture, the indispensability of the New Birth, and the imperative to live out the faith actively. Increasingly in the twentieth century, by contrast, that cooperation declined. “Liberal evangelicals” appeared increasingly as only the moderate faction among mainline or modernist Protestants; “conservative evangelicals” faced rising demand within their own ranks to “separate” completely from the world. The result narrowed the range of possibilities that evangelicals had once pursued among themselves.

Geoffrey Treloar’s extensive treatment of the First World War details the effect of world events on evangelical interests that Brian Stanley carries further. That war intensified nationalistic commitments, disrupted international communications, and tested resilience in the face of death and destruction. The Depression that followed—and then the Second World War, the Cold War, de-colonization, technological innovation, and global economic expansion—challenged local evangelical movements in different ways. The fact that The Global Diffusion of Evangelicalism is the one book in the series to make extensive use of websites for research signals the altered landscape for religious communities in the recent past. In developing themes from the earlier books, Stanley attends to how recent developments grew out of or modified earlier patterns: Pentecostal and charismatic expansion, debates concerning the character of Scripture and proper hermeneutical practice, along with initiatives in apologetics and preaching. For all evangelicals, however, the important new reality is now “the explosive popular Christianity of the southern hemisphere.” The Protestant or Protestant-like forms of Christianity that are expanding so rapidly in Africa, China, and Latin America are not concerned with the problems of nominal religion or the threat to Christianity of Enlightenment rationality, but with poverty, disease, oppression, and demonic forces. The Christian gospel confronting these enemies bears some resemblance to the message proclaimed by George Whitefield, Charles Haddon Spurgeon, or Billy Graham. Yet the cultural contexts in which these battles occur are also very different from those in which generations of English-speaking evangelicals proclaimed the gospel message.

The Protestant or Protestant-like forms of Christianity that are expanding so rapidly in Africa, China, and Latin America are not concerned with the problems of nominal religion or the threat to Christianity of Enlightenment rationality, but with poverty, disease, oppression, and demonic forces.

The Global Diffusion of Evangelicalism is a fitting conclusion to the series because it shows so clearly evangelicals carrying on shared commitments from before, while also confronting a Christian world in which those commitments are being at least partially marginalized. The five volumes do indicate that “evangelical” and “evangelicalism” have always been flexible terms. They also show that the terms retain a considerable measure of cohesion when positioned against the background of a shared history and fleshed out in specific affirmations about the Bible, Christ’s saving work, Christian activity, and the converting power of the Holy Spirit. Our world of rapid change and media rush-to-judgment threatens to destabilize all matters that once seemed fixed and secure. Yet for the terms “evangelical” and “evangelicalism,” ambiguity is not the only possibility. When used with responsible attention to history and careful focus on generally accepted norms of the Bebbington definition, they can still communicate reality and not just confusion. Readers of the five IVP volumes will, however, also realize that recent American preoccupations are missing the most important question about evangelicals in contemporary history. That question asks how evangelicals of British and American heritage, however defined, will participate in the rapid changes now taking place in Christianity throughout the world.