Weston Blaha

Category: Deconstructio

  • Federal Headship and the Collapse into Moralism

    Federal Headship and the Collapse into Moralism

    During the Ice-pocalypse of 2026, I spent some time reading Ruined Sinnners to Reclaim.1 It is a theolgically rich and convicting book that re-ignited my interest in an aspect of Covenant Theology called “Federal Headship.”

    Federal Headship is one of the most frequently misunderstood doctrines of Covenant Theology. It is also one of the most commonly abandoned; often without recognizing it until it is too late. And when it is abandoned, the theology of sin does not become simpler or more humane. It simply veers—almost inevitably—into one of two damning ditches.

    Federal Headship is the biblical teaching that God deals with humanity through covenantal representatives. Adam stands as the head of the human race–the old creation; Christ stands as the head of the new creation. As such, Covenant Theology holds that guilt and righteousness are not first acquired by imitation, but by representation. Scripture’s controlling categories are not merely “following Adam” or “following Jesus,” but being “in Adam” and “in Christ.”2

    When that covenantal structure is flattened into moral influence or denied altogether, the theological consequences become predictable. The story of redemption slips off the road into one of two theological ditches: Pelagianism or Liberalism.

    The First Ditch: Pelagianism and the Denial of Condemnation

    Pelagianism denies that Adam’s sin is imputed to his descendants. Imputation can be defined as God’s covenantal act of counting a representative’s guilt or righteousness as belonging to those united to him. Pelagius (360-420AD), from whose namesake we get “Pelagianism,” rejected the imputation of Adam’s sin upon mankind (regularly called “original sin”). Humanity, in his view, is born morally neutral. Adam is not a covenant head whose guilt is reckoned to us, but a negative example whose behavior we unfortunately repeat.3 Repeated behaviors grow to enslave the will, leading to bondage and slavery to sin. Significantly, for Pelagius, each individual’s bondage to sin is self-acted and disconnected to Adam’s first sin.

    The result is subtle but devastating. Condemnation is no longer covenantal. Instead, it becomes merely behavioral. Sin is reduced to imitation rather than inheritance. Judgment is grounded in accumulated personal acts. In effect, Pelagianism evacuates works of their covenantal weight in condemnation. Man is not guilty in Adam; he only becomes guilty once he personally chooses to sin.

    And while this is an appealing perspective, it fails to align with Scripture. As Saint Augustine (354-430AD) repeatedly argued against Pelagius, this account cannot explain either the universality of death or the logic of Paul’s Adam/Christ parallel in Romans 5.4 Adam ceases to function as a Federal Head. Instead, he becomes a teacher—albeit a bad one.

    The Second Ditch: Liberal Theology and the Restoration of Works for Salvation

    At the opposite end of the biblical story, Theological Liberalism performs a remarkably similar move—but this time with Christ. Here—not in every liberal account explicitly, but functionally—Jesus is not the second Adam who stands in the place of His people, bearing their guilt and securing their righteousness. He is reduced to a moral exemplar, a model of love, justice, and self-giving that we are meant to imitate. The cross, therefore, is not substitutionary but exemplary. It serves no role in justification; only inspiration.5

    Salvation, in this framework, is no longer something declared but something achieved. Justification falls away and moral transformation becomes the controlling category. The question subtly shifts from “What has Christ done for us?” to “How closely are we following Him?”

    Ironically, this move reintroduces works as the basis of salvation—not always explicitly, but inevitably. If Christ is primarily an example, then final acceptance with God rests on the quality of our imitation. Christ, like Adam before Him, is not a covenant head. He is merely a teacher.

    Same Grammar, Different Ends

    Pelagianism and Liberal Theology are often treated as theological opposites. In one sense, they are. One minimizes guilt while the other minimizes grace. One is optimistic about human moral capacity, while the other is optimistic about moral progress. But structurally, they share the same grammar.

    • Both reject Federal Headship.
    • Both replace imputation with imitation.
    • Both collapse covenant into ethics.

    Pelagianism removes works as the ground of condemnation, whereas Theological Liberalism restores works as the means of salvation. One tells us we were never truly guilty. The other tells us we must now become worthy.

    The Narrow Road Between the Ditches

    Biblical Christianity refuses both errors by standing firmly on covenantal ground. In Adam, we are truly guilty apart from personal acts of disobedience. In Christ, we are truly righteous apart from personal acts of obedience. As the Reformed confessions consistently insist, the same representative logic that grounds our condemnation is the logic that grounds our assurance.6 Federal Headship humbles us by removing boasting at the front end of the story, and it comforts us by removing fear at the back end. The narrow road is not moralism, and it is not optimism. Importantly, Federal Headship is the lived reality of union with Christ. Paul makes this explicit in Romans 6, where he grounds both justification and sanctification, not in moral effort, but in participation in Christ’s saving work:

    "Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.” (Rom. 6:3–4)

    Notice the logic. Paul does not say that baptism symbolizes our intention to follow Jesus’ example. He says we were baptized into Christ—into His death, burial, and resurrection. The believer’s new life flows from a prior union, not from moral imitation. Because Christ is our covenant head, His death counts as our death, and His life counts as our life. Sanctification is not the means of entering union with Christ; it is the fruit of already belonging to Him.

    This is why Federal Headship is not opposed to spiritual transformation or sanctification. Rather, it is the only foundation that can sustain these things. When union with Christ is preserved, obedience becomes possible without becoming meritorious, and grace remains grace. Only a Gospel grounded in representation rather than imitation can both condemn us honestly and save us completely.

    1. David Gibson, Jonathan Gibson, Ruined Sinners to Reclaim: Sin and Depravity in Historical, Biblical, Theological, and Pastoral Perspective, (Wheaton: Crossway, 2024). ↩︎
    2. Romans 5:12–21; 1 Corinthians 15:21–22, 45–49. Paul’s Adam/Christ typology depends explicitly on representative headship rather than imitation. ↩︎
    3. Pelagius’s views are preserved primarily through his Commentary on Romans (fragments) and through the writings of his opponents. See Pelagius, Commentary on St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, trans. Theodore de Bruyn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). ↩︎
    4. Augustine, On the Merits and Forgiveness of Sins, and on the Baptism of Infants, esp. Book I–II, where Augustine directly ties original sin, death, and federal representation to Romans 5. ↩︎
    5. For representative examples of moral-exemplar Christology, see Albrecht Ritschl, The Christian Doctrine of Justification and Reconciliation, and Adolf von Harnack, What Is Christianity? These works explicitly reinterpret atonement away from substitution toward moral influence. ↩︎
    6. Westminster Confession of Faith, ch. 6 (“Of the Fall of Man, of Sin, and of the Punishment Thereof”) and ch. 11 (“Of Justification”), which explicitly ground both condemnation and justification in federal headship and imputation. ↩︎
  • Heracles Bow, Church Hurt, and the Sin of Communal Isolation

    Heracles Bow, Church Hurt, and the Sin of Communal Isolation

    Heracles’ bow is a strange artifact in mythology. It was a gift of divine strength, once used by a hero to conquer monsters and complete impossible labors. But in the play Philoctetes by Sophocles, the bow has changed hands. It’s no longer in the hands of Heracles, the strong—it’s in the hands of Philoctetes. Philoctetes was wounded in service of his people–a venemous snake bite that festered eternally in his leg. It stank, it revolted, and his very own people set him adrift in exile because the rot was so revolting. This is the man Sophicles centers his play around: Philoctetes, the wounded and exiled.

    Suddenly, the bow is no longer a symbol of power–it’s become a symbol of pain and isolation. The task of Odysseyus is to return the bow to combat–but in doing so, he must first restore the man.

    This story, ancient as it is, speaks powerfully to a modern wound: church hurt. Like Philoctetes, many Christians have found themselves exiled—sometimes quietly, sometimes dramatically—not because they abandoned the church, but because they were abandoned by it. They still carry faith. They still carry spiritual gifts. They still love Jesus. But they are deeply wounded and deeply alone.

    Church Hurt and the Temptation to Isolate

    Church hurt doesn’t always look like betrayal or abuse. Sometimes it’s simply being overlooked. Sometimes it’s rejection. Sometimes it’s the slow ache of not being seen, not being believed, or being treated as disposable.

    The natural reaction to that kind of pain is to retreat. Like Philoctetes, the wound festers—not just physically, but spiritually. We begin to believe lies:

    • “I’m better off alone.”

    • “I’ll never trust the church again.”

    • “My gifts don’t matter anymore.”

    • “God might love me, but His people clearly don’t.”

    And so we hold the “bow”—our strength, our calling, our worship, our insight—but we wield it in exile. We keep the faith… from a distance. We conflate the perfect Christ with the blemished Bride.

    But this is not what God wants for you.

    Isolation Is Not Healing

    Hebrews 10:25 says clearly:

    “Do not neglect meeting together, as is the habit of some, but encourage one another…”

    This command isn’t a guilt trip—it’s a lifeline. God doesn’t call us into community to control us. He calls us into community to heal us. The tragedy of Philoctetes wasn’t just his injury. It was that he had to suffer it alone. How many believers today are quietly bleeding out from church hurt, convinced that no one would understand—or worse, that no one cares?

    The enemy loves isolated Christians. That’s where he does his best work—where bitterness festers, trust dies, and spiritual gifts grow dusty. But isolation, no matter how justified it may feel, is never the solution.

    The Church That Hurts Can Also Heal

    Let’s be honest: the church can wound. It has. It will. But the church can also heal. Because Christ is still the head of the Church—and He binds up the brokenhearted (Psalm 147:3).

    God’s design has always been a people, not just persons. That’s why the early church devoted themselves not just to prayer and teaching, but to fellowship (Acts 2:42). Because healing rarely happens in private. The place where the wound came from is often the place where the wound must be addressed. Not the exact people, perhaps—but the body of Christ as a whole.

    You don’t need to go back to the place that hurt you. But you do need to come back to the people of God. Not every church is healthy. Not every church is safe.

    But Jesus has not abandoned His church. And He has not abandoned you.

    Wielding the Bow Together

    Your wounds don’t disqualify you. In fact, they might be the very thing God uses to minister to others. The bow—the gifting, the calling, the strength—is still in your hands. But it’s meant to be wielded in the context of community, not in exile.

    Galatians 6:2 says:

    “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

    This is what the church should be. Not a place that ignores wounds, but a place that shares them. A place where healing happens, where strength returns, where your presence matters. So if you’re sitting on your own island, holding Heracles’ bow, wondering if you’ll ever belong again—hear this:

    You do. You’re needed. And there is still a place for you at the table.

    Not because the church is perfect, but because Christ is.

  • A Call For Discernment

    A Call For Discernment

    In our cultural moment, skepticism toward news media has become second nature. It is common to hear someone dismiss CNN as hopelessly biased, or to claim that Fox News is propaganda. Whatever one’s political persuasion, people instinctively evaluate who is speaking, what their agenda is, and whether they can be trusted. We may disagree on which sources are credible, but few of us naively accept a news broadcast simply because it appears on television.

    Yet, when it comes to Christian voices—books on the bestseller list, podcasts in the “Christian” category, or sermons that circulate online—many believers lower their guard. If something is labeled “Christian,” it is often received without much thought or discernment. Snippets and sound bites are passed to others without thought to the theological trajecory of the pastor, speaker, or writer. We probably wouldn’t like to consider the “Christian” music we consume. But why this discrepancy? Why are we instinctively critical of news outlets but inherently trusting of Christian influencers?

    The “Christian” Label and It’s Assumed Authority

    The term Christian functions today as a kind of brand category. Just as a label like “organic” or “locally sourced” signals a set of expectations in the grocery store, so too the “Christian” label signals (to many) a guarantee of safety and faithfulness. But biblically, the mere use of Christ’s name does not confer authority.

    Jesus warned His disciples that “false prophets will come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves” (Matt. 7:15). The Apostle John likewise instructed, “Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God” (1 John 4:1). And in Acts 17, the Bereans were commended as noble not because they accepted Paul uncritically, but because “they examined the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so” (Acts 17:11).

    If the early church was called to test prophets and even Apostles, how much more should we test the latest conference speaker or author? John Calvin once remarked that “Satan disguises himself as an angel of light, and his ministers feign the title of pastors” (Institutes IV.3.1). In other words, the danger is not outside the camp alone—it comes clothed in religious garb.

    Why We Drop Our Guard

    1. The Desire for Rest
    News media exhausts us. With constant spin and half-truths, skepticism becomes a daily posture. When believers turn to Christian spaces, they long for trust, safety, and encouragement. It feels burdensome to weigh and test everything when what we crave is comfort. Yet, resting in Christ must not be confused with resting in human teachers. Our comfort is found in the Good Shepherd’s voice, not in every voice that claims to speak for Him.

    2. The Pull of Tribalism
    We often gravitate toward teachers who confirm our existing convictions. Whether theological or political, these “tribes” give us a sense of belonging. Once inside, we lower our guard because critique feels like betrayal. But discernment is not betrayal—it is obedience.

    3. The Halo of Success
    Celebrity pastors, bestselling authors, and well-produced podcasts give the impression of credibility. Yet, history teaches us that popularity and faithfulness rarely go hand in hand. Jeremiah, faithful yet despised, stood against hundreds of prophets who assured Judah of peace (Jer. 6:13–14). In our day, polished platforms often carry more weight than doctrinal fidelity.

    4. Biblical Illiteracy
    Perhaps the most sobering reason we accept nearly any Christian voice is simply this: we do not know our Bibles well enough to spot error when it arises. Hosea’s warning rings true: “My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge” (Hos. 4:6). When we cannot distinguish the voice of Christ in Scripture, every voice that bears His label sounds convincing. A generation of Christians raised on devotionals, soundbites, and inspirational slogans often lacks the grounding in the whole counsel of God necessary to discern truth from half-truth. This is not just a weakness—it is a spiritual danger.

    The Reformed Position On Discernment

    The Reformed tradition has long emphasized the necessity of testing teaching by Scripture alone (sola Scriptura). The Westminster Confession of Faith affirms: “The supreme judge by which all controversies of religion are to be determined… can be no other but the Holy Spirit speaking in the Scripture” (WCF 1.10).

    This means that no matter how compelling a teacher may be—whether Luther or Calvin, Edwards or Piper, Osteen or Furtick—their words must be received only insofar as they are consistent with the Word of God. But not JUST their words: their presuppositions (the assumtions and starting points for how they approach Scripture and what they believe about it). The Reformers themselves modeled this humility. Calvin repeatedly exhorted his hearers: “We must not receive as true whatever may be spoken under the title of religion, unless we are assured that it comes from God” (Institutes IV.8.8).

    A Call To Critical faithfulness

    It is striking that we extend skepticism toward the voices that shape our political opinions, but suspend it toward those that shape our eternal souls. The stakes, however, are infinitely higher in the church. If we should weigh politicians’ words carefully, how much more the words that claim to reveal the gospel?

    This does not call us to cynicism but to biblical discernment. We are called to listen carefully, compare faithfully, and test continually—holding fast to what is good and rejecting what is false (1 Thess. 5:21). The church does not need unthinking consumers of Christian content; it needs discerning disciples of Christ. And the only way to grow in discernment is to grow in biblical literacy. Without deep familiarity with God’s Word, we are left vulnerable to the next “Christian” fad or the most persuasive voice in the room.

    Practical Steps For Growing In Discernment

    1. Read the Whole Bible Regularly
    Don’t only camp in familiar passages or devotionals. Read through the full counsel of God—Old and New Testaments alike—so you gain the breadth and balance of Scripture’s teaching.

    2. Join a Doctrinally Sound Church
    Submitting yourself to ordinary preaching and the accountability of elders is God’s design for guarding against error (Eph. 4:11–14). The local church is a safeguard that YouTube cannot provide.

    3. Study with Confessions and Catechisms
    Tools like the Westminster Confession or Heidelberg Catechism anchor you in historic Christian orthodoxy. They are not replacements for Scripture but summaries of what the church has long confessed to be biblical truth.

    4. Test Popular Voices
    When you hear a sermon or read a book, ask: Is this consistent with the plain teaching of Scripture? Does it exalt Christ or the self? Does it align with the gospel of grace or drift toward moralism, legalism, or self-help?

    5. Pursue Depth, Not Just Inspiration
    Don’t settle for surface-level encouragement. Look for teaching that presses you deeper into God’s Word and challenges you toward holiness and knowledge of Christ.

    Conclusion

    We do not (and should not!) give blanket trust to politicians simply because they bear the title. Why, then, should we give blanket trust to Christian influencers simply because they bear the label? The label does not sanctify the message. Christ does. Our call is to listen with open Bibles, to discern with Spirit-sharpened minds, and to hold fast to the voice of the Shepherd who alone speaks words of eternal life.

    Many studies reveal that we are the most biblically illiterate generation surrounds by more access than any generation of Christians before us. Until the church is once again saturated in the Scriptures—knowing, loving, and wielding the Word of God—we will continue to be swayed by whatever voice calls itself “Christian”–tossed to and fro by the winds of doctrine, as it were. But if we grow in biblical literacy, discernment, and submission to Christ’s Word, we will be equipped not only to reject what is false but to rejoice in what is true.

  • Why David Feared Losing the Spirit (and Why You Don’t Have To)

    Why David Feared Losing the Spirit (and Why You Don’t Have To)

    Most of us know Psalm 51 as David’s heartfelt prayer after his sin with Bathsheba. It’s the psalm we turn to when we need to confess, when we feel the weight of our sin, when we cry out for God’s mercy. But one little line in the psalm often puzzles people:

    “Cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me” (Psalm 51:11).

    Why does David pray that? Doesn’t God promise to never leave us? Doesn’t the Spirit dwell in every believer forever?

    The answer becomes clearer when we remember David’s story—and the tragic story of the king before him.

    David Saw What It Looked Like to Lose the Spirit

    David wasn’t speaking in the abstract. He had lived through Saul’s collapse.

    Saul was Israel’s first king, demanded by the people, chosen by God, and anointed with the Spirit. But when Saul disobeyed—first in offering an unlawful sacrifice, and later in sparing what God commanded him to destroy—God rejected him as king. Scripture tells us:

    “The Spirit of the LORD departed from Saul, and a harmful spirit from the LORD tormented him” (1 Samuel 16:14).

    From that moment forward, Saul’s reign unraveled. He became paranoid, insecure, and violent. David—who served in Saul’s court as a musician—watched the whole thing unfold up close. In other words, part of David’s kingly “education” was as an eyewitness to how easily life unravels for kings who are deprived of YHWH’s Spirit.

    So when David sinned with Bathsheba, he knew exactly what was at stake. He wasn’t just afraid of feeling spiritually “dry.” He knew what God’s divine justice demanded—and he begged God not to let that be his fate.

    The King’s Sins Were Never Just Personal

    In Deuteronomy 17, God gave Israel a vision for kingship. Contrary to ancient Near Eastern norms, the king wasn’t supposed to be a military powerhouse or a collector of wealth. Instead, he was to be a brother among brothers, someone who kept God’s Word close, wrote out a copy of the law, read it daily, and led by example.

    In other words: the king was supposed to embody covenant faithfulness for the people. He was to be the “Israelite exemplar.”

    That’s why Saul’s disobedience was catastrophic—not only for him, but for all of Israel. And that’s why David’s repentance mattered so much. His cry in Psalm 51 was not just a guilty conscience seeking comfort; it was a king asking God to restore him so that Israel itself wouldn’t be left adrift. David’s cry of repentance and mercy was intercessory as much as it was personal.

    What About Us?

    So what does all this mean for us today? A few takeaways:

    1. The Spirit is essential for true leadership. Titles, charisma, or influence can never replace God’s presence. Without the Spirit, leadership is hollow.

    2. Repentance is more than personal. When leaders repent, they don’t just restore themselves—they help preserve the health of the whole community they serve.

    3. Christ is the King who never lost the Spirit. Saul lost Him. David feared losing Him. But when the Spirit descended on Jesus at His baptism, John tells us it “remained on Him” (John 1:32). Through Christ, the Spirit is secured in the Kingship for His people forever.

    The Good News

    David’s prayer shows us the fragility of human leadership. But it also points us to something better. Our hope doesn’t rest in pastors, parents, or earthly kings getting everything right. Our hope rests in Christ, the true King, who perfectly obeyed, who always pleased the Father, and who pours out His Spirit on the church without measure.

    So when you read Psalm 51, don’t hear David panicking about losing salvation. Hear a king who knows what happened to Saul and desperately wants to avoid the same fate. And then lift your eyes to Jesus, in whom we are secure forever.

  • From Fog Machines to Incense: Why Millennials and Gen Z Are Turning to Liturgy

    From Fog Machines to Incense: Why Millennials and Gen Z Are Turning to Liturgy

    Once upon a time, the ideal church had stadium seating, LED walls, and a worship set indistinguishable from Coldplay. But something is shifting. Slowly, quietly, almost counterintuitively, young Christians are trading smoke machines for incense, TED Talk sermons for creeds, and hype music for hymns. This isn’t a rejection of Christianity. It’s a rejection of thin Christianity—marketed, manufactured, and sometimes, morally bankrupt.

    The End of the Attractional Model

    The numbers are impossible to ignore:

    • 57% of young adults (18–35) say they’re disillusioned with the performance culture of modern church services (Barna, 2023).
    • Churches built on production value but lacking doctrinal depth are losing young adults rapidly, especially post-COVID (Lifeway Research, 2022).
    • Meanwhile, traditions like Anglicanism, Eastern Orthodoxy, and confessional Lutheranism are quietly growing, with Millennials and Gen Zs citing “stability,” “sacramentality,” and “the ancient faith” as primary draws (Pew Research, 2021).

    Howesver, the crisis isn’t just about style—it’s about substance.

    The Failure of Celebrity Christianity

    The attractional, platform-driven model of church is imploding. Ravi Zacharias. Carl Lentz. James MacDonald. Bill Hybels. Houston. Chicago. Seattle. Hillsong. Willow Creek. Each moral failure left not just broken institutions, but disillusioned congregants—many of them young. These churches often slipped into an error which blurred the line between spiritual leadership and brand management.

    For Millennials and Gen Z, many of whom were raised in or around these churches, the damage is personal. Their pastors were brands. Their churches were empires. And when it all fell apart, it felt like betrayal. The result? Not always atheism—not always deconstruction–but often exile. They didn’t leave Jesus; they left a system that packaged Him like a product.

    A Rejection of Postmodern Drift

    But there’s more than just disappointment. There’s also a deeper shift at play: a philosophical revolt against postmodernism itself. Behind all of this lies a long-coming cultural exhaustion. For decades, postmodernism told us:

    • Truth is personal.
    • Morality is relative.
    • Institutions are oppressive.
    • Everything should be fluid.

    Gen Z (those born 1997-2012) has grown up inside this cultural logic—and it has failed them too. They’re drowning in freedom without form; choice without meaning. What began as liberation now feels like disintegration. They want boundaries. They want permanence which, closely tied to this, means they want assurance. “Give us something real.”

    And so, paradoxically, they are running not toward novelty—but toward tradition. Toward structure. Toward the truth-with-borders that creeds and liturgies provide. They want truth that doesn’t flex with public opinion. Democracy is great, but we do not want truth to be democratic.

    “The modern self wants autonomy without limits. But meaning requires boundaries.”
    —Carl Trueman, The Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self

    The return to liturgial worship, then, becomes not just church preference—but cultural resistance. It rebells against religious weightlessness and demands gravitas.

    The Hunger for Rootedness

    In place of celebrity pastors and curated sermons, young Christians are seeking:

    • Churches where Scripture is central.
    • The sacraments are serious.
    • Songs with strong theology, not just emotional vibes.
    • Worship that doesn’t depend on charisma but is shaped by ancient rhythms of grace.

    “Liturgy roots us in something enduring when everything else feels like sand.”
    —Tish Harrison Warren, Liturgy of the Ordinary

    The Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, sacraments, the church calendar—these aren’t just words and deeds. They’re instruments of formation, drawing weary modern souls into a faith that doesn’t collapse under pressure of individualism. These people are not chasing novelty. They’re chasing rootedness—a way to tie their lives to something older, deeper, and durable.

    Ancient Form, Living Faith

    It is important to emphasize: this isn’t nostalgia. This isn’t your hair-style from the 80s coming back into vogue. This is much more formative, much more impactful, much more lasting: it’s discipleship.

    “We are not just brains on a stick. We are lovers, shaped by rituals more than arguments.”
    —James K.A. Smith, You Are What You Love

    In this light:

    • Confession becomes countercultural honesty.
    • Creeds become resistance to relativism.
    • Communion becomes a protest against consumerism.
    • The church calendar becomes a reorientation of time itself.

    Liturgy grounds the rhythms of life into something real.

    In a culture trained to deconstruct everything, liturgical worship reconstructs the soul’s purpose. It insists that we are part of something greater than ourselves. It binds us to the body of Christ throughout the ages. As such, liturgy doesn’t just express who we are—it forms our identity.

    You Don’t Need a Cathedral

    Here’s the good news: You don’t have to be Roman Catholic, Orthodox or Anglican to lean into liturgy. You don’t need incense, robes, or a Gothic sanctuary. You simply need intentionality and the willingness to hold the line against patterns and designs that highlight hype over holiness. A simple, liturgucal service has:

    • Call and response.
    • Communion.
    • Psalm and hymn singing.
    • Preaching of the Word.
    • Historic creeds and prayers.
    • A church calendar that teaches Christ’s story, season by season.

    Even low-church Protestants can—and should—recover these rhythms. Because in a world of distraction, these are repetitive and necessary tools of spiritual formation. In a culture of postmodern instability, they become anchors of grace for weary souls.

    Conclusion: A Church With Memory

    Many young adults aren’t leaving the church because they are done with Jesus–they’re leaving because the church forgot how to be the Church. But the way forward isn’t innovation: its recovery. Young adults are daily bombarded with the new, but what they need is the old.

    Gen Z want to be part of something bigger than themselves–something tested and true, something that feels enduring. Creeds and confessions and established church liturgy unite the Church through the ages–the Church catholic(lower-case “c”!)–in a way that fog machines and celebrity pastors cannot. Instead of being of Apollos of Paul, young adults desire to be of Christ and his Church. It’s about being a part of something bigger, not being the biggest part of something.

    So, in an age of curated identities, collapsing platforms, and theological drift, the most radical thing a Christian can do…

    …is confess, and say together:

    “I believe in God the Father Almighty,
    Maker of heaven and earth.”

    Barna Group. The Open Generation: United States, 2023.

    Lifeway Research. Worship Attendance Trends Post-Pandemic, 2022.

    Pew Research Center. America’s Changing Religious Landscape, 2021.

    Carl Trueman, The Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self, 2020.

    Tish Harrison Warren, Liturgy of the Ordinary, 2016.

    James K.A. Smith, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit, 2016.

  • How We Raise Children to Break

    How We Raise Children to Break

    One of the most fundamental aspects of the Christian experience is suffering. That may sound like an odd thing to say, but it isn’t. The Bible frequently attests to the role of suffering in the life of the Christian:

    “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” –John 16:33

    “Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” –2 Timothy 3:12

    “Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” –Matthew 16:24

    There are many verses saying similar things. The message is clear: Christian, you will suffer. But do we, though? Do you think of your life as one of suffering? In our American, Christian-neutral culture, do we indeed suffer?

    Admittedly, there are different causes for suffering. There is persecution, where you suffer for your faith. There’s physical suffering, where you endure personal ailments, injuries, and calamities. But there is a third type of suffering as well: the kind of suffering that accompanies grief. This is suffering in which life just doesn’t go our way. Your company closes its doors without warning, and you are left unemployed. A family member has an untimely death. A move requires new schools, churches, and friend groups. A despicable sin may be uncovered in someone you admire and esteem. These things cause deep grief with significant consequences. This type of grief, above all else, tends to cause what is termed “a crisis of faith.”

    A crisis of faith is when external influences cause a Christian to ask deep and significant questions. These questions often begin the process known as “deconstruction.” Ian Harber defines deconstruction as a “crisis of faith that leads to the questions of core doctrines and untangling of cultural ideologies that settles in a faith that is different from before.”

    Suffering, the kind that causes deep grief and emotional hurt, can be a catalyst for sending a Christian into a crisis of faith—then down the road to deconstruction. And if we have fragile children who do not understand suffering, we are priming them to break when that crisis of faith appears.

    The goal of this post is not to address all forms of deconstruction/reconstruction but rather to shed light on how well-meaning Christian parents often over-shelter their children so that they lack the biblical framework and skills to handle adversity.

    The Christian Coddle

    When you consider the cultural landscape in America, there is little suffering compared to the rest of the world. We have unparalleled medical care. There are no wars at our borders nor raiding tribes that plunder towns and kidnap our children. Pirates do not hijack luxury yachts on our coastline. We have clean drinking water and plenty of food. Compared to much of the world, we do not suffer at the same level as most.

    As such, our context for suffering is different. On the whole, the scale is less extreme. Suffering in America is often manageable or even preventable—we are nothing if not a country with expendable resources. So, parents in America have this remarkable and globally unique ability to remove their children from the grief of much suffering. This is a blessing! But it can also have unintended consequences.

    We see it in small ways. With enough sponsorship, your child will find a select team to play on (even if you start and fund the entire team yourself!). We can afford tutors and personal trainers. Many teens do not need summer jobs because both parents work. We can move to get our kids into different schools or afford tuition for a private school. In other words, we have options. But the danger with options is that we are often never forced to develop the grit and determination that suffering demands, that adversity requires. Without the muscle tearing, it cannot become stronger.

    In Plain Terms
    Christian parents: your children need to endure suffering with you by their side. They need to endure disappointment and loss so that their “faith muscles” have been torn and can grow. Suffering is a means of grace—it releases the control we thought we had over life. When we fail to allow our children to endure suffering and learn how to have hope amidst pain, we are ensuring that they will be ready to shatter when that first real crisis of faith occurs without you.

    What this doesn’t mean:
    It doesn’t mean that you allow your child to have the weight of the world heaped upon their shoulders or that you open their eyes to the deepest, darkest atrocities that this world offers. We are to guard their hearts.

    What this does mean:
    It does mean, however, that you don’t insulate their world so much that adversity never arises. We cannot shield them from the reality of death and mankind’s fallen nature. Our children need to know that, in Christ, there is hope amidst even the worst pain.

    Ian Harber summarizes this well: “There are two ways suffering can change you. The first is by breaking you down, leaving you afraid, paranoid, and void of hope. The other is by breaking you open, leaving you with a wider heart, and expanding your capacity to love.”

    Parents, our children need to encounter suffering with you by their side, with you walking them through it, pointing them all along the way to the hope we have in Christ. To do anything less, to coddle them until college, is not only a disservice to them but also a danger to their soul.

    To use a workout analogy: Someday, the suffering of this world will test the strength of your child’s faith. Have you allowed them to do the reps to build up the muscle to endure it, or have you done the work for them?