This is Part 3 of a three-part series on a Christian response to diversity. Part 1 can be read here. Part 2 can be read here.

The future is a scary place. And the future is here.

In my work as a theological educator, I see firsthand how scary it is for seminary students preparing to minister in this world.

The proverbial rug has been pulled out from under their feet. As denominationalism dies, the old support structures crumble. The technologies of social media and AI keep outpacing anyone’s mastery of how to navigate them, never mind figuring out how to shepherd a flock through this new landscape.

Meanwhile, political partisanship continues to escalate, polarizing every family and church until there is no middle ground on which to work together.

All of this affects my work, because many are anxious about diversity initiatives in education. I have found, however, the tone of the conversation immediately changes when those holding this fear hear my seminary’s sole focus when it comes to these initiatives is our effort to train ministers to reach all nations.

In Part 1 of this series, I address the biblical basis for my seminary’s view. In Part 2, I address the way our view affects ministry. Here, I will address how the need to minister to a diverse world affects how we train ministers today.

Things I’ve had to change

I have to admit, I was not always attentive to this issue, and I would be the first to admit I still have much to learn. To try to help others consider this important topic, I have had to change four things in my teaching.

1. Trust in God’s providence.

“You belong here.” That’s a mantra Willie Jennings repeats to his students whenever they are in doubt.

We cannot always understand God’s providence, but we must always trust it. When God calls students to us, we must trust that calling and do all we can to support them.

I didn’t always think so. I thought more in terms of “merit,” without realizing some of our students who struggle the most often do so in a way that “merits” important life skills for ministry.

Being bilingual and having skills to operate in multicultural environments are in high demand by church search committees and nonprofit employers. Yet, students with such skills often struggle in theological education because theological education in this country was designed by and for a narrow demographic.

Some students struggle because of certain physical disabilities, but in reality, the ability to overcome such struggles makes them better equipped to help others.

When I see students struggle, for any reason, I now try to remind them: “You belong here.”

2. Protect women’s calling.

“Every member is a minister.” That was a motto at the church where I grew up.

Admittedly, that church did not ordain women because they believed the Bible reserved “headship” for men. Nevertheless, women ministered, led and even preached.

Some Texas Baptists still debate whether women can be pastors, but there is no debate as to whether they can be ministers.

To train ministers well, we must help them see how important women are to the church.

I affirm women’s ordination to all forms of ministry, and yet I cooperate wherever possible with those who disagree with me.

One area not up for discussion is God calls women. Therefore, women who often have their calling questioned need to be reminded they are members of the body of Christ. And in Christ’s body, “Every member is a minister.”

3. Be the lead learner.

“Dime más.” That’s Spanish for “Tell me more.”

Rather than be the sage-on-the-stage and the professor-who-knows-it-all, Elizabeth Conde-Frazier uses this simple prompt with her students.

Often, there is a question behind the question, and often comments have a backstory. This is especially true for students who come from different cultural settings. They can feel vulnerable in traditional institutions of higher education.

Until I hear the context of their questions and learn the background that informs them, I cannot fully help the student find the answers they seek.

The biblical virtues of humility and care require us to take a listening posture. When there is a need, before acting out of a messiah complex, a good teacher will say, “Dime más.”

4. Provide various perspectives.

“Education, not indoctrination.” That always has been a guiding principle at my institution.

While we never have questioned that, in my own practice at least, I did have blind spots where I was providing only my own perspective. Even when I thought I offered a range of doctrinal views on a certain subject, they were a range of views that fell within my own comfort zone.

Many of us, for example, thought of Richard Hays’s Moral Vision of the New Testament as the one-stop-shop for New Testament ethics since it covered so many issues. However, it wasn’t until I read Esau McCaulley’s Reading While Black that I realized how many issues that were crucial for African American Christians went unacknowledged by Hays and other scholars.

Unintentionally, this is a form of indoctrination, a form of only offering “our” perspective instead of helping students consider various perspectives on their own. If we are going to train ministers to minister to all people, then we truly must offer “education, not indoctrination.”

Don’t fear the future

To be clear, I have not focused on these things in my teaching because I’m pushed to follow a certain ideology. I have come to see these matters as central to the Great Commission.

This is because I have often seen how our graduates get sent to the front lines of God’s kingdom, only to find out the battle plan they were given doesn’t match the spiritual enemies they are facing. They face wicked problems like poverty, human trafficking and attacks on human rights. Ignoring these kinds of issues would mean failing to prepare ministers for future ministry.

The future is a scary place for many ministers and future leaders, and many in this work need encouragement. To that point, I note how many fears we have are real, but they belong only to the near future. And yet, we know “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and discipline” (2 Timothy 1:7). Anything driven by fear is not of God.

We do not need to fear the future, but we do need to prepare for it. We need to prepare ministers for this ever-changing world. As we do so, we can do it with confidence, knowing the long-term future already is guaranteed. The battle is already won. Christ has established his church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it (Matthew 16:18).

We will see the day when “every knee shall bow … and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord” (Philippians 2:10-11). And on that day, we know what victory will look like.

We will see a multitude “from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb” (Revelation 7:9). This multitude will come from “the ends of the earth” (Psalm 22:27) to give God the glory. May it be so. World without end. Amen and amen.

This is the last of a three-part series. Part 1 can be read here. Part 2 can be read here.

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David Wilhite is professor of historical theology at Baylor University’s Truett Theological Seminary. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

This is Part 2 of a three-part series on a Christian response to diversity. Part 1 can be read here.

Yeehaw, and amen! Yes, that really is an expression heard at some churches in my area.

Cowboy churches are some of the fastest-growing churches in the Baptist General Convention of Texas. Their aim is to carry out the Great Commission and reach people, primarily rural people, who would not attend church otherwise. These tend to be predominantly white congregations.

Meanwhile, a growing number of Black churches in urban centers continue to hold to the best of their tradition while also adapting to reach a new generation with online media. Instead of responding in person to the pastor’s call, “Can I get a witness?” by shouting, “Amen,” they insert a raised-hands emoji in the chat on their computer screen.

Simultaneously, new church plants that target Spanish-speakers allow people to worship in their native tongue. Alabado sea el Señor!

Is all this Babel, or is it Pentecost?

In Part 1, I explored the biblical basis for why Christians should value diversity. In short, God doesn’t undo Babel; he baptizes it and calls it Pentecost. God uses many languages to reach all peoples for the gospel. Here, I will consider what this means for Christian ministry.

Clearly, the gospel is for all people, and so it crosses all lines of identity. So far, so good. I think all Christians would agree … in principle.

However, given today’s climate, how should this be applied in specific places in ministry? How do we balance a Great-Commission-motive to reach a specific demographic—be it rural, urban or otherwise—without letting that turn into a little Babel where we all try to speak the same cultural language?

A church story

When I was younger and preparing for ministry, my fellow students and I looked at the case of a certain megachurch in our town—Hunter Street Baptist Church. Many years prior, it had not been so “mega.”

The congregation had dwindled to the point it could barely keep its doors open. Then, it moved from its original inner-city location, which at the time was a “transitioning neighborhood,” to the suburbs.

The church still went by its old name, even though it no longer was on Hunter Street. The church transformed and began to reach young, suburban families. Considering this case as young students, we easily faulted it as white flight.

Then, I had a unique experience while in seminary. I, a white kid from the country, somehow ended up on the staff of a predominantly Black church. But not just any Black church. It was the church that had purchased Hunter Street Baptist Church’s old campus—Sardis Missionary Baptist Church.

Sardis’ pastor told me how his church had come to acquire Hunter Street’s campus. Sardis was reaching the community around Hunter Street, and it had outgrown its old building. Hunter Street Baptist Church had not wanted to move, and its pastor had decided he would lead that congregation to reach its community, or else the church would die trying.

Then, Sardis’ pastor met with him and asked to purchase his campus. In fact, he told Hunter Street’s pastor the Lord had told his congregation to buy Hunter Street’s campus. After much prayer and discernment, Hunter Street agreed and moved to the suburbs. The result: Both congregations grew and began to reach their respective communities.

A hard truth

To be honest, I don’t like that story. I had joined the staff of Sardis Missionary Baptist Church because I believed God wanted to reform and desegregate the church. That was 40 years after Martin Luther King Jr. observed,“11 a.m. Sunday is the most segregated hour of the week.” And yet, little had changed over those 40 years.

I wanted the churches to merge and become an integrated congregation. Or I wanted God to smite (what I had assumed was) the white-flight church and scatter its people like Babel of old. But that’s not what God did. God turned Babel into Pentecost.

The challenge of diversity in ministry

I still believe congregations need to do more work to be inclusive of all people. White churches can hire people of color as ministers. English-speaking churches can offer a translation of their service in Spanish. Or better, they can hire a pastor who speaks Spanish and have it translated into English. I can list countless ideas of how we could do more.

And yet, I have to admit these matters are complicated. Urban churches often are the only place where Black people can express themselves freely in their own cultural language. Spanish-speaking churches offer a place where Spanish-speaking Christians can unburden themselves and worship God in their native tongue.

If churches become multicultural and multiracial, they often end up defaulting to the lowest common denominator of cultural expression, which means they look and sound white. Valuing diversity in the church is the right thing to do, but it is not easy.

This does not mean we stop trying. We can do two things at once. We can lament the fact Sunday morning is still the most segregated hour of the week, and we can celebrate the fact imperfect communities continue to carry out the Great Commission.

Put differently, we still can strive to be ministers of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:18), and we can recognize how God turns Babel into Pentecost.

What we cannot do is deny God values Pentecost.

Jesus’ and Paul’s challenge to the church

Although it is especially difficult at the local congregational level, we cannot simply ignore the mandate to reach all nations (Matthew 22:37-39) or deny the call for every nation, tribe, people and tongue to gather around the throne of Jesus (Revelation 7:9).

At the least, we cannot—in good faith—say to those of other cultures, “We do not need you.” We cannot, because the apostle Paul was clear, even though the body of Christ is made up of diverse members, the eye cannot say to the ear, “I don’t need you,” and the hand cannot say to the foot, “I don’t need you” (1 Corinthians 12:21).

If this is true, then how will predominantly single-culture churches address issues that affect those who belong to other cultures in our community?

Good news

I am happy to report, there are positive signs of change in my denomination. Now, 1 out of every 5 churches in the BGCT is Hispanic. Additionally, many white churches are partnering with sister congregations to help in specific ways.

For example, a pastor recently told me an encouraging story about his church’s work with migrant communities. His church is predominantly white, and many of the members hold certain political views that may seem at odds with this particular ministry.

Yet, some of these same members in his congregation had formed the security team that stood guard each week during the church’s work with Spanish-speaking members of the city.

After some weeks of this, the leader of this security team told the pastor, “Well, Pastor, I guess we can disagree about immigration, but as Christians, we can’t disagree about immigrants.”

I want to applaud those who are striving to carry out this difficult task. Many feel under attack and discouraged. Too often, the news cycle clouds the vision of church members, and so the work to reach all people is misunderstood as carrying out a political agenda.

We must be clear: This is not some left-wing political ideology infiltrating our churches. This is not a matter of the political right versus the political left. It is a matter of right versus wrong. In fact, if we can keep partisan politics out of our churches, we can keep the gospel at the front and center of our work.

Can I get a witness? Alabado sea el Señor. Yeehaw, and amen!

This three-part series will conclude next week with Part 3. Part 1 can be read here.

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David Wilhite is professor of historical theology at Baylor University’s Truett Theological Seminary. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

This is Part 1 of a three-part series on a Christian response to diversity.

What happened at Babel was bad, right?

Or was it?

What if Babel was not so much a punishment as it was a prompt?

God commanded humans to “fill the earth” (Genesis 1:28; 9:7). Yet, at Babel, people tried something else. Instead of spreading out and filling the earth, they huddled up to build a tower.

In response, God “confused their languages” (Genesis 11:7). While that seems like a bad thing, it turned out God “scattered them abroad over the face of all the earth” (Genesis 11:9), which was God’s original plan anyway (Genesis 1:28; 9:7).

After Babel, God called Abraham and his descendants, so “all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Genesis 12:3). Spoiler alert: this comes true!

This is how the story ends, with “every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb” (Revelation 7:9).

Sure, at Babel the people had disobeyed, but God has a way of working all things together for the good (Romans 8:28), even things we might see as negative.

Babel’s many languages may seem negative, but strictly speaking, the result is not entirely bad. In fact, when given the chance to reverse Babel at Pentecost, God kept the many tongues (see Acts 2). Instead of “fixing” Babel, God baptized it. God used the diversity of languages to reach a diverse world.

This is why it is so problematic when Christians accept the way “diversity” has become politicized. My colleague Joe Rangel recently wrote on this, and I’d like to support him by adding a few things I’ve had to reconsider recently, because many from my own tradition—majority culture Baptist churches—have been asking about this topic recently.

Segregation vs. congregation

Jesus gave his followers the command to evangelize “all nations” (Matthew 28:19), going as Abraham’s spiritual descendants to the “ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8). And as we carry out this Great Commission, we also obey the Great Commandments (Matthew 22:37-39), which means we love our neighbor, even if our neighbor is a Samaritan (Luke 10:25–29).

The result will be churches with no demographic barriers, so “there is no longer Jew or Greek; there is no longer slave or free; there is no longer male and female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).

Of course, Paul’s statement does not mean Greeks stop speaking Greek, or Jews stop being Jewish. Males and females in Christ still are male and female. The point is the demographics that remain are subordinated now to our ultimate identity as followers of Jesus.

So, any church that discriminates—segregates—has betrayed its essence—the antithesis of segregation: “congregation.” The church is—and every church should aspire to be—a diverse place, inclusive of every nation, tribe and tongue.

Of course, in reality, many churches are what church planters call homogeneous units, where everyone looks the same and belongs to the same culture. Like attracts like. Birds of a feather flock together.

This is “natural,” however, only because our fallen nature tends toward Babel, toward the Babel humans wanted, where we all speak the same language. It is to defy God’s call to be a light to all nations. Even in Acts, the church backslides in this way.

An example from Acts

In Acts 6, an embarrassing scene occurred. The Greek-speaking widows in the Jerusalem church were being neglected. The apostles immediately summoned a church business meeting, which appointed seven who would “serve.”

The Greek word for serve (diakoneō) is the word from which we derive the title “deacon.” In other words, the matter was so serious, the early church formed the first deacon board. What was it about this scene that demanded such drastic action?

The early church in Acts believed it was living in the Messianic Kingdom. That is, the re-established kingdom promised to Abraham’s descendants, ruled by a Son of David.

Many prophets had described this renewed kingdom with its “new,” or renewed, covenant. For example, Joel foretold what God would do: “I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions. Even on the male and female slaves, in those days I will pour out my Spirit” (Joel 2:28-29).

At the first Pentecost, Peter quotes this passage in Acts 2:17-18 to show the prophecy was being fulfilled. The Acts church sees itself as living in the Messianic Kingdom. Or, at least, it should live that way.

Diversity needs Pentecost

Other prophets gave further descriptions of the renewed covenant community, such as Zechariah and Malachi, who insisted God’s people would care for the “alien and the widow” (Zechariah 7:10; Malachi 3:5).

The prophet Jeremiah took this further when speaking about the renewed covenant: “if” (and only if) you care for the alien and the widow, then God will keep this new covenant with you (Jeremiah 7:6-7).

Fast-forward to Acts 6, and you immediately see the problem. The Jerusalem church had neglected alien widows. To be “alien” in the Bible is to speak another language and/or come from another land.

When this is brought to light, the church springs into action, appointing seven who were “full of faith and the Holy Spirit” (Acts 6:5). These newly appointed deacons also had another quality: they were Greeks. That is, they were Greek-speaking Jews who were to some extent Hellenized.

Have you noticed the names of these deacons? Stephen, Philip, Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, Nicolaus. These are not Jewish names. Philip is a name shared with Alexander the Great’s father, so a name of one of the most famous Greeks in history, and one connected to Hellenization.

In other words, if you intend to minister to Greek-speakers, you appoint Greeks. Their ability to speak the language and know the culture is one of their assets. And if the church is going to reach a multicultural and multilingual world, we need Pentecost.

What this means for diversity

What does all this mean for “diversity” in terms of our current political climate? The answer: It’s complicated.

There are lots of anxieties and debates around “diversity for diversity’s sake,” DEI, Critical Race Theory and a host of other political hot potatoes. Before we can begin to address all of that, we need to acknowledge in the church there is no question God turns Babel into Pentecost, and God loves Pentecost.

To set government politics aside for the moment and to focus this conversation strictly on the church, there is no argument about inclusivity when it comes to the church. The church is for all people.

“Diversity” seems like a good word for this, a word that describes God’s vision for the kingdom. But I will concede, it is a word arising more from our current culture than from Scripture. But that doesn’t make it unbiblical.

Lots of words used by Christians are from our current culture, as opposed to the Bible, such as the word “budget.” While a lot of pastors might like to get rid of that word, it is here to stay.

If we tried to put it in strictly biblical terms, we would speak of hospitality and koinonia. In truth, we need bigger phrases to describe it, such as “all nations,” “the alien, the orphan and the widow,” “no respecter of persons,” and “every people, tribe and tongue.”

Even then, we still would need more comprehensive explanations, ones that can account for Adam’s commission, Abraham’s calling and Christ’s kingdom. But if we are looking for just one word, then I guess we could call this “Pentecost.”

This three-part series will continue next week with Part 2.

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David Wilhite is professor of historical theology at Baylor University’s Truett Theological Seminary. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

“You never know what it’s gonna change
But it’ll always leave a mark
That’s the thing about praise”

(Benjamin William Hastings and Blessing Offor, “That’s the Thing About Praise”)

Scores of books and articles have been written to explain the role worship plays in the journey of individual disciples and in the life of the church. But rather than taking that approach to explaining the importance of worship, I would like to share a few episodes from my own journey with Christ.

I hope these episodes will encourage worship leaders in the midst of what can be a thankless job, remind pastors to support those in their worship ministries, and inspire believers to invest themselves—vocationally and devotionally—in the discipline of worship.

Beauty and heart

Growing up in a small, rural church as I did, I was around singing my entire life. My mother sang. My sister sang. We sang hymns in church. But most of this singing did nothing to stir my soul.

Part of the reason is, like most rural Baptist congregations of the time, my church had not yet learned to sing a dialect—to borrow language from pastor and church historian Dennis Wiles—I could call my own.

But there was a deeper problem. Our little congregation tried hard, but there was precious little beauty in its worship services.

I want to invite you to experience something through the eyes of my adolescent heart. I stand in the brand-new worship center of a historic Baptist church camp in Siloam Springs, Ark.

As I look around, I see an aesthetically pleasing, well-lit and acoustically sound space with views of the surrounding trees and the night sky. There are a thousand teenagers just like me, young men and women thirsty for something real, hungering for even just a taste of Christ’s presence.

On this night, we are introduced to “Shout to the Lord.” More than 30 years later, this song is known almost universally by Christians around the world, but back then, it was fresh and new. As we slowly pick up the words and tune, something amazing happens.

There isn’t a scrap of sheet music anywhere in that auditorium, at least among the worshipers. And yet, layer after layer of harmony emerges, each performed with astonishing clarity.

The high, sweet voices of sopranos and the rich intonations of tenors like me carry the melody, but mezzo sopranos and altos find their place, too. Then boys who never thought they could sing, or never thought singing was manly enough, find themselves carried away as their baritone, and even bass, voices join the chorus.

For the first time in my life, my heart bursts open, and tears flow down my face. I’ll never actually get to know most of these men and women, but for one night, for one week, we become one as we worship our risen King.

Just as importantly, I begin to understand God is not simply the author of conviction and judgment. He is the author of beauty, too. In that moment, men were men, and women were women, and yet they came together in a symphony of praise to the One who made them in his beautiful image and saved them through his beautiful Son.

I could not unsee what I saw that night. I could not unhear what I heard that night. The skeptic might chalk it all up to overactive amygdala, but that skepticism besmirches the beauty of that moment and misunderstands God’s purposes in creation.

The course of my life was altered by that experience of worship, and I don’t think God values it any less because I wasn’t a crusty old curmudgeon.

Unity and maturity

During the years that followed, worship was my refuge, my mentor and my comfort. I cherished my private moments of praise and lament, and I learned to lead congregations into the presence of God through song.

One summer, I sat in a field with tens of thousands of others as a parade of Christian bands played and sang. My seminary friends and I got to the concert early that morning, and we had a prime spot near the front of the assembled throng.

Behind us sat three teenage girls. They were not really that much younger than us, but it felt like a yawning chasm stood between us and them.

We spoke in low, relaxed tones about supposedly weighty matters, and we took frequent breaks from the broiling Texas heat. They, by contrast, talked incessantly. I don’t remember them moving all day. They just talked nonstop—no matter what band was on the stage.

Late that afternoon, it was Twila Paris’ turn to try and draw the attention of sweaty, tired people as they milled around looking for something cold to drink. Or there were the “kids” who, like our teenage companions, had more energy than sense.

For us, this particular performer was of special interest, for we knew of her history as a writer of worship songs. At first, she only performed her latest adult contemporary hits. Then, something remarkable happened—just as it did in that climate-controlled, architecturally pleasing chapel years before.

The mood on the stage became more subdued, and the chords of a familiar tune filled the air. It was “We Will Glorify,” and with the first note, the chattering behind us ceased. And then, those adolescent voices joined perhaps 70,000 or more others, covenanting together to “glorify the Lamb.”

There aren’t enough of those kinds of events. In that field, people from every race, denomination and generation joined their hearts as well as their voices. For one precious moment, unity was found. And in its shadow, three adolescent girls grew up a little. So did some seminary students.

Suffering and comfort

Worship gave me language to express my longings for the good things of God, and it coaxed me along toward spiritual maturity. But more often than anything else, I have experienced worship as a faithful, tender companion in suffering.

Cindy Morgan’s “I Will Be Free” was not, as far as I know, used in congregational worship, but its use in my private experiences of God’s presence carried me through times of deep personal pain.

Steven Curtis Chapman’s “Be Still” and Chris Tomlin’s “Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone)” ministered to my family in the aftermath of my uncle’s suicide.

“The Goodness of God” was an anthem for my wife and me after she was diagnosed with breast cancer.

And Barlow Girl’s “Never Alone,” along with Cory Asbury’s “Reckless Love” and “Egypt,” helped me reinterpret my suffering as an arena for the expression of God’s fathomless love rather than as evidence of God’s disavowal of me and disdain for my pain.

But if there is one experience that exemplifies how God’s mercy has been expressed to me in worship, it is an event that occurred after a cancer support group meeting in the fall of 2022.

My wife and I walked out of the meeting, only to discover the church where the group met was having a praise night in the sanctuary. We walked in and immediately joined our voices with hundreds of others, many of whom had become precious to us during and after our time at that church.

They were singing Phil Wickham’s “Living Hope,” and before we knew it, we were crying and lifting our hands, just as we also lifted our voices.

I’ll never forget being embraced by a retired Air Force officer after the service, who loved us enough to add his tears to our own. My wife never will forget the encouragement she received from the pastor’s wife, who forcefully declared her soul-rending diagnosis would not end her life.

God and us

Sometimes, I hear pastors and theologians browbeating their audience with the dictum, “Worship is not about you.”

At one level, that certainly is true. We obey the psalmist’s exhortation to “enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise” (Psalm 100:4), because God is God and God is worthy.

Nevertheless, I fear, in our zeal to combat the narcissism so rampant in our culture and in our churches, we have misrepresented both God and worship.

God is love, which means God is always and eternally concerned about those whom he created. Worship is our opportunity to bring not only our praise, not only our lament, but also our whole selves into God’s presence. And when we do that, we should not be surprised when God does many beautiful and surprising things in, through and for us.

Wade Berry is pastor of Second Baptist Church in Ranger and has been a resident fellow in New Testament and Greek at B.H. Carroll Theological Seminary. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

Los líderes de la educación superior en Estados Unidos están trabajando con diligencia para hacer que sus instituciones respondan a las realidades demográficas. Una de esas realidades es el crecimiento de la población hispana.

Barry Creamer, presidente de Criswell College—institución en la que sirvo como vicepresidente de asuntos estudiantiles y comunicaciones, así como decano de estudiantes—ha dicho: “La misión de Criswell College es capacitar líderes cristianos para servir en toda la sociedad. Hace varios años, al comparar el 9  por ciento de nuestros estudiantes que eran hispanos con el 40  por ciento de nuestra sociedad inmediata que lo era, supimos que estábamos quedándonos cortos respecto de nuestra propia misión.”

En Criswell College, el compromiso con la causa de servir a más estudiantes hispanos no es solo aspiracional; es medible. En los últimos seis años, nuestra población estudiantil hispana ha crecido del 9  por ciento al 25  por ciento, lo que nos ha convertido oficialmente en una Institución de Servicio Hispano (Hispanic-Serving Institution).

Este crecimiento ha venido acompañado de una expansión deliberada de la representación hispana entre nuestro personal, en niveles ejecutivos, medios y de entrada. En conjunto, estos esfuerzos nos colocan en una posición privilegiada para servir, orientar y empoderar de manera efectiva al grupo demográfico de más rápido crecimiento en Estados Unidos.

Criswell College ha contado con el apoyo de HACU (Asociación de Colegios y Universidades) para “desarrollar liderazgo y personal hispano”, lo que, según el presidente Creamer, “nos ha ayudado a nivelar el terreno, de modo que nuestra población estudiantil refleje mejor la totalidad de la sociedad a la que nos proponemos servir”.

Superando los retos

No obstante, nuestro trabajo colectivo no está exento de desafíos. Recientemente, el fiscal general de Tennessee, Jonathan Skrmetti, presentó una demanda cuestionando la legitimidad y equidad de los fondos federales asignados a las Instituciones de Servicio Hispano.

Como alguien que ha visto de primera mano el impacto transformador de estos fondos, debo expresar respetuosa pero firmemente cuán críticos son estos recursos.

El requisito principal para convertirse en una Institución de Servicio Hispano es que al menos el 25  por ciento del alumnado se identifique como hispano. Este umbral no excluye a otros; simplemente reconoce y apoya aquellas instituciones que han hecho esfuerzos intencionales para reclutar, retener y graduar estudiantes hispanos. No se trata de preferencia, sino de progreso.

La reciente demanda del fiscal general de Tennessee contra el Departamento de Educación de EE.UU. debilita décadas de avances hacia el desarrollo de liderazgo de estudiantes hispanos.

Las Instituciones de Servicio Hispano no son excluyentes; son respondedoras. Estas instituciones atienden a casi dos tercios de todos los estudiantes de pregrado hispanos en Estados Unidos, la mayoría de los cuales son los primeros en su familia en asistir a la universidad y provienen de entornos económicamente desfavorecidos.

La realidad

Las subvenciones federales a Instituciones de Servicio Hispano no desplazan a estudiantes de otros grupos, sino que empoderan a las instituciones para cerrar brechas de equidad, mejorar la culminación de títulos y reforzar la capacidad en comunidades con pocos recursos.

Solo en 2023, más de 228 millones de dólares en subvenciones a estas instituciones permitieron impulsar iniciativas críticas en áreas como educación STEM, asesoramiento académico y desarrollo de infraestructura.

Estas subvenciones han permitido a instituciones como Criswell College ofrecer apoyo académico especializado, mejorar los resultados de éxito estudiantil y construir la infraestructura necesaria para preparar futuros líderes y ciudadanos que enriquecerán y servirán a nuestras comunidades.

Dado que los hispanos constituyen ahora casi el 20  por ciento de la población estadounidense—y siguen creciendo—esta inversión no solo es estratégica, sino esencial.

Empoderar a las instituciones académicas para servir a una población creciente no debe ser temido ni bloqueado, sino alentado.

Una perspectiva bíblica

Desde un punto de vista bíblico, las expectativas de Dios para su pueblo son claras: “¿Qué pide el Señor de ti, salvo que practiques la justicia, ames la misericordia y camines humildemente con tu Dios?” (Miqueas 6:8).

Esto no es una sugerencia; es una exigencia divina arraigada en el carácter de Dios.

En Criswell College, definimos a los líderes como cultivadores y pacificadores: personas que no solo piensan teológicamente, sino que también viven de forma redentora. En ese espíritu, creemos que la reciente demanda no es simplemente una cuestión de política pública, sino una prueba de convicción moral y espiritual.

Negar la oportunidad a una comunidad históricamente marginada es rechazar la justicia y la bondad que Miqueas nos llama a perseguir.

Luis Juárez es el vicepresidente de asuntos estudiantiles y comunicaciones, y decano de estudiantes en Criswell College, y exalumno de La Academia de Liderazgo (2024-2025) de HACU—Asociación de Colegios y Universidades. 

Leaders in American higher education are working diligently to make their institutions responsive to demographic realities. One of those realities is the growing Hispanic population.

Barry Creamer, president of Criswell College—the institution I serve as vice president of student affairs and communications and as dean of students—has said: “Criswell College’s mission is to equip Christian leaders to serve throughout society. Several years ago, when we compared the 9 percent of our students who were Hispanic with the 40 percent of our immediate society which was Hispanic, we knew we were falling short of our own mission.”

At Criswell College, the commitment to the cause of serving more Hispanic students is not just aspirational; it is measurable. Over the past six years, our Hispanic student population has grown from 9 percent to 25 percent, officially designating us as a Hispanic-Serving Institution.

This growth has been complemented by a deliberate expansion of Hispanic representation across our staff at the executive, mid-level and entry-level tiers. Together, these efforts place us in a prime position to serve, mentor and empower effectively the fastest-growing demographic in the United States.

Criswell College has been helped by the Hispanic Association of Colleges and Universities “in developing Hispanic leadership and staff,” which “has helped us level the playing field, so our student population better reflects the whole of the society we seek to serve,” President Creamer has said.

Challenging the challenges

However, our collective work is not without challenges. Recently, Tennessee Attorney General Jonathan Skrmetti filed a complaint  questioning the legitimacy and equity of federal funding allocated to Hispanic-Serving Institutions.

As someone who has seen firsthand the transformative impact of this funding, I must express respectfully and firmly how critical these resources are.

The core requirement for becoming a Hispanic-Serving Institution is to have at least 25 percent of your student body identify as Hispanic. This threshold does not exclude others. It simply recognizes and supports those institutions that have made intentional efforts to recruit, retain and graduate Hispanic students. It’s not about preference; it’s about progress.

The recent complaint by the Tennessee attorney general against the U.S. Department of Education’s support for Hispanic-Serving Institutions undermines decades of progress toward leadership development for Hispanic students.

Hispanic-Serving Institutions are not exclusionary; they are responsive. These institutions serve nearly two-thirds of all Hispanic undergraduates in the United States, most of whom are first-generation college students from economically disadvantaged backgrounds.

The reality

Federal grants to Hispanic-Serving Institutions do not displace students from other groups but empower institutions to close equity gaps, improve degree completion and build capacity in under-resourced communities.

In 2023 alone, more than $228 million in grants to Hispanic-Serving Institutions enabled critical student success initiatives in areas like STEM education, academic advising and infrastructure development.

Federal grants to Hispanic-Serving Institutions have empowered institutions like Criswell College to provide tailored academic support, improve student success outcomes, and build the infrastructure necessary to prepare future leaders and citizens who will enrich and serve our communities.

Given that Hispanics now make up nearly 20 percent of the U.S. population—and growing—this investment not only is strategic, it also is essential.

Empowering academic institutions to serve more of a growing population should not be feared or blocked, but should be encouraged.

A biblical perspective

From a biblical standpoint, God’s expectations for his people are clear: “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8).

This is not a suggestion, it is a divine requirement rooted in God’s character.

At Criswell College, we define leaders as cultivators, laborers and peacemakers—people who not only think theologically, but also live redemptively. In that spirit, we believe the recent complaint is not simply a matter of public policy, but is a test of moral and spiritual conviction.

To deny opportunity to a historically underserved community is to reject the very justice and kindness Micah calls us to pursue.

Jesus described this type of leadership in the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10). It was the outsider, not the religious elite, who stopped, saw the brokenness and acted with compassion. He became the cultivator of healing, the laborer who took responsibility and the peacemaker who restored dignity where it had been stripped away.

In the same way, the Hispanic Association of Colleges and Universities’ Leadership Academy cultivates and equips leaders from Hispanic backgrounds to walk into places of power, including Capitol Hill and college presidencies, often for the first time.

Now, more than ever, the Hispanic Association of Colleges and Universities deserves our full support. It is one of the few national organizations boldly standing in the gap, developing leaders, influencing policy and calling our country to invest in its largest growing minority population.

Luis Juárez is the vice president of student affairs and communications and dean of students at Criswell College and a 2024-2025 alum of the Hispanic Association of Colleges and Universities’ La Academia de Liderazgo/Leadership Academy.

(RNS)—Juneteenth is sacred to me. It is not merely a holiday. It is a homecoming of the spirit, a holy moment of truth-telling, a faithful act of remembrance.

My ancestors were enslaved in Galveston by Michel B. Menard, the city’s founder. They were members of First African Baptist Church, now known as Avenue L, founded in 1848.

They were people of faith who believed one day their freedom would come, just as it did for the children of Israel. And when that day finally arrived on June 19, 1865, they rejoiced.

This year, however, Juneteenth carries even more weight. Through DNA testing, I recently uncovered an uncomfortable truth. I learned my second great-grandmother, Celestine, was born of rape. Her mother, Sarah, was an enslaved woman.

Celestine’s father was Watt W.C. Seawell, a white man who was the grandson of Virginia Gov. John Tyler Sr. and the nephew of U.S. President John Tyler Jr.

Sarah was legally Seawell’s property. She had no voice, no choice. She could not give consent. Her body, like the bodies of too many enslaved Black women, was a battlefield in America’s original sin. This is not just my family’s story. It is America’s story.

Yet today, powerful forces are attempting to erase that story.

President Donald Trump recently signed an executive order titled “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History.” In it, he called for the removal of what he labeled “improper, divisive or anti-American ideology” from our museums, textbooks and public institutions.

He is seeking to eliminate what he calls “wokeness,” by which he means the uncomfortable truths about race, power and injustice in America.

The truth set free

But I say this: The very truth Trump wants to erase lives in my DNA. It is my inheritance, and it is my sacred responsibility to tell it.

The rape of my great-great-grandmother is not divisive. It is a historical fact.

The legacy of slavery, resistance, Black faith and the struggle for freedom is not anti-American. It is what made America.

Truth is not the enemy of patriotism. Silence is. That is why Juneteenth is more important than ever. It is a day not just of celebration, but also of reckoning, a day to proclaim liberty and also to proclaim truth.

In Leviticus 25:10, God’s word declares: “And ye shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof: it shall be a jubilee unto you.”

My ancestors longed for that Jubilee—for the day they could be free, return to their families and rejoice without chains. In Galveston, on June 19, 1865, that day finally came. Union Gen. Gordon Granger declared the enslaved were free. Undoubtedly, they shouted, wept and gathered in places like Reedy Chapel AME Church to thank the God who had not forgotten them.

But freedom was only the beginning. The newly emancipated had to reimagine their lives.

My ancestors changed their names. Other newly freed African Americans built schools, churches and communities. They rejected the myth of the “happy slave” and lifted their voices with conviction, as the old spiritual declares: “Before I’d be a slave, I’d be buried in my grave and go home to my Lord and be free.”

Tell the truth

Now, 160 years later, we are called to do the same. It is my prayer that Juneteenth 2025 will move us to tell the whole truth about slavery, not just the sanitized version.

I pray we will be compelled to protect truth in our schools, in our churches, in our museums and in our memories. And I pray we will have the courage to confront those who would rather comfort the powerful than confront the past.

Too often, America still lives in the reflection of slavery. I think of the Bowieville Plantation House in Upper Marlboro, Md. Its reflection shimmers in the still waters of the pond before it—pristine, undisturbed and unchanged. And that is what we too often see in this nation: the quiet preservation of the very systems that should have been dismantled long ago.

But reflections are not reality. And Juneteenth reminds us Jubilee is still possible. Freedom is still worth fighting for. And truth, no matter how painful, is still what sets us free.

Rev. Kip Bernard Banks Sr. is pastor of East Washington Heights Baptist Church in Washington, D.C. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

Every Juneteenth, Americans—especially Texans—gather to remember a delayed but powerful declaration of freedom.

On June 19, 1865, Union General Gordon Granger arrived in Galveston and issued General Order No. 3, proclaiming the enslaved people of Texas now were free.

That freedom already had been signed into law two and a half years earlier, but it meant nothing until it was enforced. Until that day, thousands of men, women and children remained in chains—many never living to see the promise fulfilled.

Today, Juneteenth is marked with family cookouts, worship services, parades, music and moments of sacred remembrance. While I’m not Black or Texan, I find myself drawn to the deep, spiritual truth embedded in that day.

I’m from Palestine—the place where our faith was born and took root. And yet, in the very soil of that sacred story, freedom still feels heartbreakingly far away.

Dividing walls

When I was a boy, summer meant running with my siblings and cousins beneath the olive trees at my aunt’s house outside Jerusalem. Those trees were old—older than all of us—planted by hands long gone.

We used to imagine angels swaying in the olive branches, convinced Jesus probably had sat under one, or touched it, or eaten its fruit. But that grove is no longer open to us.

A towering 25-foot cement wall now cuts through it like a scar. Water that once ran freely to my aunt’s garden has been diverted to serve illegal Israeli settlements—populated by new immigrants from Ukraine, the United States and elsewhere—perched on the hilltops above.

The jasmine she once tended now wilts. She sits quietly most afternoons, sipping Arabic coffee in the shade, whispering prayers over dry soil, hoping for a cloud that never comes.

Delaying checkpoints

My friend Sally, a nurse in Ramallah, has to pass through an Israeli military checkpoint every day just to get to work in Jerusalem. She was born there. Her family is buried there. But she needs a special Israeli permit—constantly reviewed and sometimes arbitrarily revoked—just to enter her own city.

On Christmas Eve, a baby arrived at her hospital with a dangerous fever. Sally was stuck at the checkpoint for six hours. A journey that should take less than 30 minutes stretched into agony. By the time she made it through, the baby had developed sepsis. He lived. But his parents—Christians like us—since have left the country. They couldn’t bear the fear anymore.

Stories like Sally’s aren’t rare. And they aren’t told to stir pity. They’re shared in the hope someone will listen and remember.

The Jesus I follow

When Jesus stood up in the synagogue and read the words of the prophet Isaiah—“The Spirit of the Lord … has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives”—he wasn’t speaking from a place of privilege or ease.

He knew what it meant to live under occupation. He saw how power was wielded and misused. He walked roads patrolled by armed soldiers. He sat with people taxed, humiliated and cast aside.

That Jesus—the one who called the poor blessed and set the oppressed free—that’s the Jesus I follow.

A similar weight

Juneteenth, for many, is a celebration of justice finally being carried out. But it’s also a sobering reminder of what happens when justice is denied—or even delayed. For two and a half years, freedom was law but not reality.

Imagine giving birth in slavery after freedom already had been declared. Imagine working someone else’s field while your liberty sat idle on paper.

We Palestinians carry a similar weight.

Since 1948, people like me—Christian, Samaritan, Muslim, atheist alike—have lived under military occupation. Our roads are broken up by checkpoints. Our farmland is taken or burned. Our homes are demolished or stolen. Our dignity is tested at every turn.

We carry ID cards that determine where we can go, whom we can marry, whether we can study, pray, work or receive medical care. Bethlehem is no longer just a Christmas hymn; it’s a city under surveillance.

One with the other

Some of you reading this may not be sure what to make of a “Palestinian Christian.” I get that. Come visit and see. I’ll take you to our Palestinian churches.

You’ll hear hymns and sermons in Arabic. You’ll see children lighting candles in ancient sanctuaries. You’ll taste our bread and wine, sit at our tables and realize we’re still here—living, worshiping and witnessing.

Supporting Israel doesn’t mean turning a blind eye to Palestinian suffering. It’s not betrayal to question policies and actions that strip people of dignity.

Loving the Jewish people—which I do—doesn’t mean silencing the cry of Palestinian mothers pleading for permits so their children can receive cancer treatment. Our lives are not threats. We’re not enemies. We’re neighbors who want to live in peace and feel safe as well.

Freedom for the captive

I’m not writing to accuse anyone. I write because I believe the gospel calls us to see each other as God sees us. Jesus didn’t ask to see permits before healing the sick. He didn’t build walls to keep the hurting out. He broke bread with strangers. He reached out to the marginalized. And he spoke truth to power—even when it cost him everything.

That’s what makes Juneteenth so sacred. It’s not just a historical milestone; it’s a theological one. It echoes through time: God does not forget the captive. And when people of faith act—even when it’s late—the chains fall.

So, this Juneteenth, as you lift your voices in worship and remember your ancestors’ long walk to freedom, remember also the people of Bethlehem, Ramallah, Jerusalem and Gaza. Remember the children born behind walls and under siege, the fathers praying for safety, the grandmothers watering dry soil with tears.

Christian solidarity

Let this be more than a holiday. Let it be a prayer. A reckoning. A commitment.

Pray for us. Tell our story. Invite a Palestinian Christian to speak at your church. Support ministries that bring healing and love to everyone—Israeli and Palestinian. Write your elected officials and ask them to uphold justice and dignity for all.

And when you sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem” next Christmas, don’t just picture a star and a manger. Think of a living town, full of real people, still longing to breathe free.

We’re still here. Still believing. Still holding on. And we wait for the day when we, too, will mark our own Juneteenth—a day when no one needs a permit to pray, when water flows where it’s needed, and when children run freely through olive groves their ancestors planted in hope.

Until that day comes, we ask only this: Remember us, love us and stand with us, as your forebears once stood for freedom.

Jack Nassar is a Palestinian Christian based in Ramallah, Palestine. He holds a Master of Arts degree in political communications from Goldsmiths, University of London, and brings professional expertise across multiple sectors, driving positive change. He can be reached at: jacknassar@aol.com. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

A quiet, introspective 14-year-old cousin in my family—we’ll call him Travis—suggested the biggest issue young men his age are facing are mental health challenges, and I’m inclined to agree with him. I was not certain of what challenges and circumstances Travis had to deal with on a daily basis, but I only could imagine.

At his age, I lived inside my head, often pondering concerns and issues that felt bigger than life. It often was a struggle to find adults who were open-hearted and open-minded about the invisible weight I was carrying through adolescence and adulthood.

For some of us, we’re still bearing the burden of the circumstances and challenges that pushed us into unhealthy thinking and unstoppable habits.

The Bible teaches us in Christ we are more than conquerors (Romans 8:37), we have victory (1 Corinthians 15:57), we are a child of God (Romans 8:16), and we are friends of Jesus Christ if we do what he commands (John 15:14).

And yet, many of us are wrestling daily with the feeling of being less than, ineffective, defeated and unworthy.

When we choose something or someone outside of the framework of our identity in Christ, things get unstable. We lose sight of who we are to God.

We may find ourselves attracted to people, places and things that deliver empty promises that sound like the answer we were searching for. We isolate ourselves. Sometimes, we even pose and put on a face that shows we have it together, praying nobody discovers our feelings of inadequacy and shame.

Blessing of other believers

I was fortunate to connect with a Christian counselor who made it her mission to point me to what it meant to have my identity rooted in Christ, using Scripture to affirm that truth. Between connections with family, friends, and brothers and sisters in Christ through church and groups, I realized I was not alone in this Christian journey.

My thought life was challenged because of other believers. I was affirmed in my identity in Christ and the unique gifts God gave me. And I was encouraged by others when I faced circumstances that threatened to bring back old, unhealthy beliefs about myself.

What if that shy, quirky kid heard over and over God loved us so much he sent his son to die for us, to pay for all of our sins past, present and future?

Or how about the teenager, striving to try and do everything right, only to fail on a daily basis, whether it was a thought that popped up or a word uttered. What a relief it would be to hear over and over they have been justified or made right by Christ’s blood (Romans 5:9), and when things got difficult to “stand firm in the faith” (1 Corinthians 16:14).

Pastoral encouragement

My pastor has been preaching a sermon series lately on being on fire for Jesus, and one of the points he made in the sermon was we must be courageous.

People need to hear the gospel, even in times and spaces both inconvenient and risky. Certainly, it doesn’t mean we walk around like self-righteous bullies, but instead tell the truth in love.

When I heard the latest message within the sermon series, it made me think about how much boldness and courage it takes to be the me God calls me to be, especially in Christ. In today’s society, that takes courage and bravery. It requires honesty, humility and transparency to admit you’re not perfect and you’re in need of a Savior, Jesus.

The world needs to see there are people in our world who are part of the daily struggle of thinking differently about what they think about, striving to learn to see themselves the way God sees them.

We can love people with the love of Jesus simply by being available to others through conversations, the kind where we listen to others who are going through difficult challenges, walking with them through the messiness of it all.

We can take steps to utilize our social media platforms for good rather than evil, for uplifting and building one another up rather than participating in time-wasting, unhelpful online engagement.

And for ourselves, we can take time to stop everything we’re doing, and consider why we believe what we believe, why we think what we think, and biblically evaluate if any or all of it is truly God’s will for our lives.

Kendall Lyons is a writer, minister and cartoonist who publishes on his Substack page Kendall’s Comics. He is also the illustrator of Your Identity in Christ: Finding Who You Are in Who He Is by David Sanchez. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

“Can you explain how your work contributes to evangelism?”

This is a question I often hear when I share about our work supporting international religious freedom. It reveals an assumption—that advocacy and evangelism are separate disciplines, and that the latter is the calling of the church. This is far from accurate.

I believe defending religious freedom is part of the mission of God.

Throughout Scripture and church history, the growth of the church often has been accompanied by persecution. When ministries bear fruit, they frequently attract opposition. Churches are shuttered, pastors arrested and believers harassed—all for faithfully living out the gospel.

The response to persecution is part of ministry, too. To sustain the fruit of evangelism, church leaders often are called to push back against discrimination and injustice. Advocacy becomes a form of stewardship—protecting what God is growing.

How 21Wilberforce works

When 21Wilberforce receives a call or a WhatsApp message from a pastor whose church was closed, or who was visited by the police, or who is at risk of an unjust criminal prosecution, we answer by helping the pastor plan how to respond.

We pray, plan and carry out a response together as partners. We ask Christian leaders of persecuted churches, “How is God calling you to respond to this persecution, and how can we come alongside you?”

This partnership is obedience to the prayer of Jesus in John 17:20–23 that the church may be one in love and truth.

The response to persecution takes many forms. It can include:

• Peacebuilding and strengthening interfaith relations.
• Documenting rights violations.
• Public testimony and awareness-raising.
• Engaging with the offending government.
• Legal counseling and court cases.
• Reporting the situation to the United Nations Human Rights Council in Geneva.
• International advocacy and diplomacy.

21Wilberforce collaborates with indigenous Christian leaders in the discernment process and helps them navigate the diverse range of approaches and tools for addressing persecution.

Effectiveness of local efforts

Often the most effective responses are led locally by national Christian alliances and denominations, pastors, lawyers, humanitarian workers and Christian advocates who know their context intimately.

At times, international advocacy in places like Washington, D.C., or Geneva is needed. But it always must align with the discernment of local church leaders.

In fact, we sometimes decide not to initiate a public campaign, because indigenous leaders believe attention from the West could escalate societal hostility and would play into a false narrative that Christianity is the West’s religion.

Enduring hardship

Not every pastor or church leader is called to public advocacy. Many quietly endure hardship while remaining deeply faithful to the work of ministry.

Christians in some countries today are living out a story like the one in Acts 8: “On that day a great persecution broke out against the church in Jerusalem, and all except the apostles were scattered throughout Judea and Samaria. … Those who had been scattered preached the word wherever they went.”

We must pray for wisdom and humility as we support these leaders who navigate challenges we in the West never may understand fully.

My challenge to you

To my fellow Christians, especially those in the United States and other wealthy nations, I urge you: Move beyond mission silos. Don’t separate evangelism from pursuing justice and religious freedom. Instead, ask church leaders on the frontlines how God is calling them to respond—and how you might walk with them in unity, courage and purpose.

Wissam al-Saliby is president of 21Wilberforce, a Christian organization advocating for religious freedom and human rights. This article first appeared on the 21Wilberforce website and is republished by permission.

Questions of gender and identity are front and center these days. For many Christians, it’s a time of cultural tension. Rather than responding with silence or self-righteousness, what if the church led with compassion?

For those who are transgender or born intersex, the church too often has offered judgment instead of understanding. Yet, the gospel calls us to walk with those who are hurting, offering truth without abandoning love.

I invite the church to consider how we can support those navigating gender and embodiment with biblical conviction and Christlike compassion.

Understanding the terms

According to Mark Yarhouse, a Christian psychologist, transgender is an “umbrella term for the many ways in which people might experience and/or present and express (or live out) their gender identities differently from people whose sense of gender identity is congruent with their biological sex.”¹

Transgender refers to individuals whose gender identity does not align with their biological sex.

Intersex describes people born with physical sex characteristics—chromosomes, gonads or genitalia—that do not fit typical definitions of male or female. This includes more than one hundred medical conditions where a person is born with one or more atypical features in their sexual anatomy.²

Intersex traits, according to a review in the American Journal of Human Biology, are estimated to occur in about 1.7 percent of the population, roughly as common as red hair.³

These aren’t hypothetical debates. They are lived experiences.

People ask hard questions: “Who am I?” “What’s wrong with me?” “Where do I belong?”

Sadly, too many hear only rejection. But what if the church responded not with blame, but with empathy rooted in biblical understanding?

Creation: The gift of embodied life

Scripture begins with God’s good design. Genesis 1:27 declares, “So God created man in his own image … male and female he created them.”

Our sexed embodiment—male or female—is not incidental. As Preston Sprinkle writes in Embodied: “Our sex is not arbitrary. It’s part of how we reflect God’s image in the world.”⁴

However, we cannot understand fully this design without considering what comes next.

Fall: The distortion of the good

Romans 8 tells us creation was “subjected to futility” and now “groans” for redemption (vv. 20, 22).

The Fall fractured not just relationships and morality, but our bodies and identities. This brokenness can manifest as chromosomal differences, hormonal imbalances or deep psychological distress, which some experience as gender dysphoria.

Yarhouse proposes three lenses to understand gender dysphoria. The integrity lens emphasizes the male/female moral order. The disability lens views dysphoria as a result of the Fall. The diversity lens stresses identity and community.⁵

The disability lens may be the most pastorally useful. It allows us to say, “This isn’t how it should be”—without condemning the person suffering.

Andrew Bunt expresses a similar sentiment when he says: “In terms of theological explanation, those born intersex [or trans] are no different to those born blind or with a limb which is missing or not fully formed. These things are all biological experiences of the brokenness of creation.”⁶

We need to remember we live in a fallen world where even our bodies, including our brains, are not the way they’re supposed to be. In other words, feeling out of sync with one’s body is not always rebellion, as some might believe. It’s often a cry for help in a broken world.

This brokenness includes intersex conditions and struggles with gender dysphoria. These are not sins but signs of a fallen creation.

And while the Bible doesn’t use the term “intersex,” Jesus acknowledges those who were “born eunuchs” (Matthew 19:12)—a category many scholars believe includes what we now would call intersex individuals. Jesus doesn’t exclude them. He recognizes them and gives them dignity.

Sandra Glahn points out, “We need to stop saying every human is clearly either one or the other, male or female, because Jesus is the Truth, and to say so is not to tell the truth.”⁷ It’s a potent reminder to all of us that not every body tells a straightforward story—but each is deeply known and loved by God.

Redemption: Hope for the whole self

In Jesus, God took on a human body. The incarnation affirms the goodness of the body, even one marked by weakness and suffering. Those living with dysphoria or intersex conditions can find comfort in a Savior who understands bodily pain.

Yet, redemption in Christ does not mean every confusion is resolved in this life. Colossians 3:3 says, “Your life is hidden with Christ in God.”

Our primary identity is not in our gender, our struggles or even our clarity, but in belonging to Christ. As followers of Christ, we are called to live in that tension, not to resolve every question, but to follow Jesus in the midst of it.

Restoration: The hope of the resurrection

Our ultimate hope is not found in transitioning or in perfect self-understanding. It is in resurrection. Philippians 3:21 promises Jesus “will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body.”

One day, our embodied experience will reflect fully who we are in Christ, without distortion, without shame.

To those who live with these complexities, hear this: Your story is not unwanted. Your body is not a theological problem to be solved, but a life to be embraced in light of Christ’s redemption.

A new approach for the church

The church must move beyond suspicion and silence. We must hold conviction and compassion together. Here’s how:

• Affirm complexity. Not every experience fits neatly into binary boxes. Let people tell their story.

• Hold truth and tenderness. Uphold God’s design for male and female, but acknowledge the pain the Fall brings to some people’s experience of that design.

• Center identity in Christ. Neither biology nor feelings alone define us. Christ does.

• Create safe places for struggle. People wrestling with identity need community, not condemnation.

The church must be a place that holds out hope, not just rules. A people who witness to Christ by how we carry one another’s pain, not by how quickly we solve it.

As Sprinkle notes: “Christ followers shouldn’t mock the swelling number of people identifying as trans [or intersex]. If that number keeps rising, then so should the number of trans [or intersex] people gathering in our homes and around our tables.”⁸

A word to the intersex and transgender community

To those reading this who are transgender or intersex: I’m sorry for the ways the church has failed you. Your story matters. You are not an afterthought to God.

Psalm 139 declares you are fearfully and wonderfully made. That doesn’t mean your journey is easy or not affected by sin’s distortion of God’s good creation. But it does mean God knows every part of you, even those that confuse or ache, and still calls you beloved.

And one day, your body—your whole self—will be everything God intended it to be, radiant and restored. Until then, your identity is not in the categories you fit into or don’t fit into, but in the Savior who calls you by name.

Taylor Standridge is a Christian podcaster and producer who loves to help people understand who God is and how to live faithfully according to his goodness, grace and generosity. His writing has been featured in Peer Magazine, Christ and Pop Culture, RELEVANT Magazine and NextStep Disciple. He holds a Master of Biblical and Theological Studies from Dallas Theological Seminary. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.

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Footnotes

1. Mark Yarhouse, Understanding Gender Dysphoria: Navigating Transgender Issues in a Changing Culture (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2015), 20-21.
2. Glahn, Sandra. 2016. “What Is Intersex and What Does the Bible Say about It?” Bible.org Blogs. 2016. https://blogs.bible.org/what-is-intersex-and-what-does-the-bible-say-about-it/.
3. Anne Fausto-Sterling, “The Five Sexes, Revisited,” The Sciences 40, no. 4 (2000): 18–23.
4. Sprinkle, Preston, Embodied: Transgender Identities, the Church & What the Bible Has to Say. (Colorado Springs, CO: David C. Cook, 2021), 184.
5. Yarhouse, Understanding Gender Dysphoria, 122.
6. Andrew Bunt, “The Binary and Intersex,” Think Theology, February 15, 2019,  https://thinktheology.co.uk/blog/article/the_binary_and_intersex.
7. Glahn, “What Is Intersex and What Does the Bible Say about It?”
8. Sprinkle, Embodied, 223.

I don’t live in Texas, but I’m a frequent reader of the Baptist Standard. I appreciate the efforts the Standard has made to cover a broad range of faith-oriented news beyond the scope of Texas, the Baptist orbit and even its own orthodox beliefs and affirmations.

I value the Standard because I find many of the other readily available Baptist-based options to be unevenly handed, tilted clearly in a direction that blends news and opinion in just about every posting.

In one popular outlet, almost anything reported on related to a more conservative or evangelical context generally is treated with derision. In another outlet on the other side of the Baptist aisle, you rarely will find any reporting that isn’t positive toward its constituency.

It is for this reason the Baptist community in North America needs the Standard to maintain its current practice and posture, and those who are skeptical of the Standard need to consider whether we, as conservatives, may have eaten the medicine of liberals by opting unflinchingly into a hermeneutic of suspicion.

Influence of postmodern thought

I cut my teeth in ministry among college students and young adults in the late 1990s and early 2000s. During that time, much attention was given to the rise of postmodern thought.

Largely advanced by liberals in academic circles, a hermeneutic of suspicion was introduced as a lever to undermine commonly held assumptions, accepted truths and beliefs that had stood the test of centuries.

Several decades later, I can see the medicine progressives largely introduced into our cultural reality has driven many Christian leaders away—sometimes far away—from the core of the Christian faith they had once held. In some ways, that was predictable, though nonetheless painful.

I’ve known far too many leaders I used to count as those walking the same orthodox path as me who have chosen another route.

Equal-opportunity influence

On the other hand, something surprising has come of the medicine of liberals that I did not expect or foresee. Now, conservatives often have taken the medicine of liberals and have eaten the hermeneutic of suspicion, often without any recognition they are playing into the very postmodern foil they likely would denigrate elsewhere.

It is now more common that our first assumption about any statement, article, sermon or other communication is that it is latent with a hint of something more deeply revealing—and disturbing—than what is there at face value. I get it, I really do.

I have witnessed many people make the progressive turn, and often it does show up in small snippets and bite-sized illustrations that reveal the direction they are heading.

For instance, I recall a very popular Baptist preacher some years ago lifting up panentheism in a sermon illustration as a way of thinking about God and the world. Now, they never explicitly endorsed panentheism, but the way they discussed the topic positively would have left many to believe such a view might be feasible within orthodox Christianity, if not preferable.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but over several years now I have come to see such an illustration was part of a larger pattern advocating for a more progressive Christian understanding. Like breadcrumbs for a mouse, they dropped those hints selectively along the way, so as not to be too obvious to those following them.

In defense of Baptist Standard

However, as a regular reader, I don’t believe the Baptist Standard has any such larger pattern and that those of us who fall within the more conservative side of the Christian house ought to give the team at the Standard the benefit of the doubt in a world where doubt is the default.

Let’s encourage them to report on news as news and to share opinion as opinion, just as they receive our opinions and publish some of them.

Chris Backert serves as senior director of the Ascent Movement attempting to advance a joyful, winsome orthodox witness to whole-life salvation through Jesus Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit.